by Anita Waller
Erica nodded and pointed to a sideboard at the back of the room.
A minute later they both cradled a brandy glass filled with more than a single brandy, and Beth waited.
‘Drink that, and talk when you can.’
Erica sipped at the brandy, feeling it hit her stomach and hoping it wouldn’t cause her to race to the toilet for another bout of vomiting. She didn’t know how to talk about the afternoon’s events, didn’t know how to react to her Super’s words of internal investigations and garden leave for the foreseeable future.
It was the worry etched on Beth’s face that made Erica start to talk and once she had started she couldn’t stop.
‘It’s Frannie. Frannie is our killer. Honest to God, Beth, nothing in our life would ever have led me to see that. I’ve been going over and over things in my mind and although I’ve not looked in my journal yet, I know now, with hindsight, that her late-night meetings are all going to coincide with the murders of these girls.’
‘You keep a journal?’
‘I do. It’s so I don’t forget things, and it winds me down filling it in for half an hour at the end of each day. I make a note of mainly nice things that happen, or plans we’ve made, and we always jotted late meetings in it so the other one could check if we weren’t home. My journal will probably be a big part of the evidence against her. Shit, Beth, it was awful this afternoon. I only knew of her identity seconds before we got to her. She parked her car near to where Sam and Mike were on surveillance, and they rang in the number plate for an ID check. She’d already turned into the garage site when they radioed to say it was a Francesca Johnson. The name didn’t click with either of them, and it was raining so hard we hadn’t been able to see much, so I hadn’t recognised her. She was dressed in black, hood almost covering her face. The shock hit me and I almost fell out of the truck to be sick. I was the first into the garage site and she was reversing the Fiesta out of the garage. Her face, Beth. I could see it on her face she was going to reverse into me and kill me.’
37
They hadn’t allowed Frannie to wash. The mud was all over her face, her clothes, in her hair, but they removed the handcuffs once she was safely in the interview room. Her night in the cells hadn’t removed the smirk from her face, nor the cockiness from her attitude.
Frannie smiled when they asked if she needed a solicitor. She said she didn’t need one, the case would only be going to court for sentencing. She continued to smile when they cautioned her.
They left her sitting on the hard straight back chair for ninety minutes, then Flick entered the room accompanied by Ian. Originally DCI Chambers, an officer from a neighbouring station brought in specially to oversee the case in Erica’s absence, had said he would do the preliminary interview, but after speaking with Flick had decided she should do it, in view of her closeness to the case. He would observe from the viewing room, stepping in if he felt it necessary.
Flick logged everybody in for the tape, and then opened her file.
‘Can I say something?’ Frannie asked.
‘Yes, but remember you are still under caution. And please be aware we can get you a solicitor if you should decide you do need one.’ Whatever this woman had done, Flick felt uncomfortable that she hadn’t wanted or requested legal representation.
‘I know. I really only want to say I have done everything you are about to accuse me of, that my wife had absolutely no idea, and no reason to believe the woman she was chasing was me.’
‘Thank you. That will be noted.’ Flick wanted to say ‘we know that, you stupid cow’, but refrained. She took the picture of Susanna Roebuck out of her file and pushed it across to Frannie.
‘This is Susanna Roebuck, where we recovered her body. This isn’t where you left the body. Can you tell us anything more about this?’
‘Yes. I picked Susie up outside the university theatre. It was raining really heavily, and I told her to jump in the car, I’d give her a lift. She said she was waiting for Clare, her friend, so could we hang on a minute, and she got in the front seat. I injected her immediately with Propofol and drove away. I couldn’t kill two people at once, I didn’t have a second syringe.’
‘You knew Susie prior to that night?’
‘Yes, I used to chat to them both after they’d been to the gym. In The Coffee Pot. We got on really well, especially after I told them I had a wife. They were in a relationship, you know.’
‘What happened after you’d injected Susie?’
She passed out almost immediately. It was a dreadful night, and I wanted to get as close to the River Porter as I could. That was the place I had chosen to honour their beauty.’
‘Go on.’
‘I drove her to the pocket park and left the car in the car park. I strangled her there, in the car, because there was nobody about. I carried her to the pocket park steps, and undressed her there, rested her against one of the uprights for the railings. I carved a V into her hand and snipped off the tip of her little finger. The river was so noisy, like a great roar. My lovely little summertime Porter certainly had her winter head on that night. I posed her, beautiful Susie, so that everyone could see what I could see. Her nakedness was her beauty. I bent to collect her clothes to put them in the bag with her little fingertip, and she slipped sideways and into the river. I followed her to try to get her back, but she’d gone, downriver. I climbed out wet through, gathered everything together and went back to my car. It was extremely disappointing.’
Flick suppressed the shudder. ‘I bet it was. What did you do once you’d returned to the car?’
‘I got in and closed my eyes for five minutes. Relived it, so to speak. It’s a massive turn-on, being with a beautiful young dead body, you know. Then I got out, went in the boot, and found a dry pair of jeans and jumper. It was a struggle getting changed in the car, but I couldn’t go home to Erica wet through.’
‘And what was the colour of the dry jumper?’
For the first time Frannie looked surprised. ‘Red, I think.’ She reached across and pulled the picture of Susie towards her, and Flick deftly pulled it back, removing it from her gaze.
She took out the picture of Clare Vincent, and once again Frannie smiled, reliving the moment in her mind.
‘The lovely Clare.’
Flick replaced the picture in her folder.
They went through the full gallery of victims with Frannie, finishing with Victoria Urland.
Flick was feeling sick. The depravity of the woman was obviously being allowed out for the world to see; she could finally be herself, instead of having to pretend to be a career woman with social services, the wife of a senior police officer, and a woman to be admired and respected.
‘Victoria Urland,’ Flick said, and briefly waved the picture in front of Frannie.
‘Ah, beautiful mummy Vic,’ she said. ‘She still had her pregnancy roundness. I knew what time she was going to her bonfire so I was conveniently outside her parents’ house to pick her up. She’d been in The Coffee Pot the day before, with the baby, and we’d chatted. As far as she was concerned, it wasn’t pre-planned. I offered to drop her off at the civic bonfire, told her I was going to a friend’s bonfire. I think she fancied me, and she jumped at the offer of a change of venue. She was dead within half an hour.’
Flick could see Ian’s hands clenched, his knuckles white. He was reaching boiling point.
Ian spoke for the first time. ‘Did you touch them?’
‘What?’
‘Don’t act innocent. Did you touch them?’
Frannie laughed at his discomfort and aggression. ‘You can’t raise an orgasm in a dead body, Ian.’
Ian stood and slammed his hand down on the table. Flick touched his arm, and he slowly returned to his seat.
‘Answer DC Thomas’s question, please.’
‘Maybe,’ Frannie smirked. ‘They were all so beautiful…’
Flick took a deep breath; like Ian, she was struggling to control her temper. She actually wan
ted to grab this woman again by the hair, and slam her face into the tabletop. Instead, she said, ‘Propofol. We found your stash. Where did you get it from?’
‘An American website. You can get anything from the States. But you know that already, don’t you, you’ll have checked the vials from the fridge, without a doubt.’
Flick gathered up her file and both officers stood.
‘Is that it?’ Frannie asked.
‘No. Interview suspended. DS Ardern and DC Thomas leaving the room.’ She switched off the tape.
Leaning slightly towards a bewildered-looking Frannie, she said, ‘We’ll be back for you later to talk about the others. Probably tomorrow. We’ll maybe let you have a shower after that.’
The tension in the briefing room was palpable. Nobody wanted to go home, nobody could raise a smile, and when Flick and Ian walked in all talk stopped.
Flick moved to the front and turned to face the team. ‘She’s admitting to everything. We’ve only covered our five girls so far, but she’s given us everything we’ve asked, and this one isn’t going in front of any jury. She’s refused legal representation. We have to get our heads around the twenty-fourteen questions now, so that’s it for tonight. Thank you, everybody. I realise it’s hard to wind down after the events of yesterday, and I’ll be speaking to the DI tonight. Eight o’clock tomorrow, everybody, and not a moment earlier.’
Without exception, every member of the team asked her to pass a message of support on to Erica, and Flick smiled through it, aching inside. What she was doing should have been Erica’s job, she should have been the one to put this evil woman away for life. Instead, she was going to have to live with the stares and finger-pointing for the rest of her own life, and it simply wasn’t fair. Nobody on the team had seen this coming at all.
Flick and Ian seated themelves across from Frannie. Ian spoke their names into the recorder and immediately Frannie spoke.
‘There are four others.’
‘We know. Leanne Fraser, Lucy Owen.’ Flick hesitated as she glanced down at her notes.
‘Laurel Price and the beautiful Lilith Baker-Jones.’ Frannie smiled as she said the names.
Flick stared at her. ‘You have no remorse? You killed nine women, all at the beginning of their lives, for what?’
Frannie shrugged. ‘I can’t help it. I’ve always known one day I would be caught and then my memories will have to be the only things I have left. I tried. I battled my feelings for two years before I killed Leanne Fraser. Give me my statement to sign, or whatever you need to do, and let’s get it over with. I can spare Erica any court appearances. I’m settled; it’s over for me.’
Flick closed her folder, and stood. ‘Before we switch off, tell me the only thing that you’ve not touched on. Why did you wait five years? Why did you suppress these feelings that you say you have inside you, for five years, because I can tell you now, Frannie, you’re going to face an awful lot of psychoanalysis before they decide whether you’ll serve a prison sentence or whether you need to be somewhere more suitable for your particular proclivities. Either way, I’m sure they’ll keep you isolated from the pretty young girls.’
Frannie heaved a sigh. ‘That’s fairly simple. What I’m going to say next is the last thing I’ll say, because now is the time for me to take what’s coming and to live with my thoughts. They’ll find some medication to suppress what they will call “my urges”, and likely as not stick me in some psychiatric unit until I die. I stopped the killing in twenty-fourteen because something happened to me that was so profound it changed me. It changed me for five years but my true self has surfaced again, and I’ve had to accept who I really am. The thing that changed me five years ago was I fell in love with intended victim number five.’
Epilogue
Two months later
Erica sat on the bench and stared out to sea, wondering if it was safe to return to Sheffield. As soon as news had broken of the identity of the killer, her home had been inundated with press, and she had quickly driven Beth to her own house, gone back, packed a bag and escaped.
She hadn’t had a destination in mind, and had pulled up, blinded by tears, in a layby in Derbyshire, wondering what the hell she was doing. She had rung her Super and explained the situation at home, trying to stifle sobs, and he had calmed her down.
‘I have a cottage in Whitby, and we won’t be going there until it’s considerably warmer than this, Erica,’ he said gently. ‘We leave a key with a lady who fettles it for us, and I’ll ring her to tell her you’re on your way. She’ll explain the heating and stuff, go and I don’t want to see you again until the end of March. By then, I’m hoping this will all be over.’ She had smiled at his Yorkshire use of the word fettle, and thanked him through her sobs.
And today Flick and Beth were coming to see her. They said they were coming for fish and chips, but she knew they were only going to be there to check on her.
And then she saw them, walking and then running towards her. She stood, Flick held open her arms, and said, ‘Group hug.’
They talked and talked, amidst copious amounts of vinegar and salt, and ate their fish and chips. Flick told her Becky Charlesworth and Katie Davids were back at uni, chastened by the experience but determined to do well in exams. It was as if the previous two months had blurred into non-existence, until the subject drifted to Frannie.
‘When are you coming home?’ Beth asked.
‘I don’t know. It’s been the quietest Christmas I’ve ever had, but I bought a tiny foot-high tree to give a nod to the occasion, and sent myself a card. And read. Thank God I remembered to include my Kindle in the desperate bout of packing to get away. I’m off work until the end of March, as per the Super’s orders, so I’ll probably head back in a couple of weeks. Is all the paperwork completed on the case?’ The question was thrown into the discussion with a degree of nonchalance.
‘It’s all wrapped up. In the end it’s not even been that difficult. She’s confessed to every murder, all nine of them. We don’t have a definite date yet, but the Super seems to think it will be the end of March, so bear that in mind when you’re setting your return-to-work date.’
‘Did they find anything when they searched my house?’
‘Not a thing. It seems that garage held everything they needed. She’d bagged up the clothes of each victim, and obviously we got the finger ends straight away from that freezer. She labelled everything – it was almost as if she’d planned for the day when she would be captured, almost as if she wanted that to happen so she could be stopped.’
‘She’s mentally fit for sentencing?’
‘They haven’t said she isn’t. That’s as much as we know.’ Beth leaned back in her chair, and surveyed her empty plate. ‘I’m stuffed. That’s the biggest piece of cod I’ve ever had. It would have been enough without the chips and mushy peas.’
Erica looked at her sergeant’s plate and smiled. ‘You managed though. It’s the Whitby air. Puts hairs on your chest.’
‘I don’t want hairs on my chest, thanks. Shall we order another cup of tea?’
‘No, I’ll get the bill and we’ll go back to the cottage. It’s really cosy, we can relax there and you can tell me how you two are getting on. And the rest of the team.’
It was only when they walked out to get in their car for the long journey back to Sheffield that Erica asked the question.
‘Did Frannie say at any point why she stopped killing for five years?’
Beth and Flick shot a glance at each other and Flick answered. ‘It was virtually the last thing I asked her. She said, “I fell in love with intended victim number five.” I’m sorry, Erica, I wouldn’t have told you that if you hadn’t asked. We don’t know who it was she fell in love with, but it certainly stopped her.’
Erica drew in a breath. ‘It was me. I was intended victim number five.’
‘But your name begins with E.’ Beth frowned. ‘We’ve been working on the assumption it was somebody else whose name began with L
, and then she met you.’
‘No, I met her through work. I had to talk to her about a case, and we fell in love instantly. I had to give my full name for a form we had to fill in, that first time we met. She knew my first name wasn’t Erica, but she always called me that because I asked her to, told her everybody else did.’
‘So what is your real first name?’ Beth was frantically trying to work out if this information needed adding to the paperwork they had already signed off.
‘If either of you laugh, I will personally see to it that you are sent back on traffic duty. Is that understood?’
They both nodded.
‘My mother was a gardener. She loved shrubs. Erica is the genus for heather. I don’t mind Erica. It’s pretty. She also liked Lupinus. I refused to be called Lupin from the age of four.’
‘Lupin?’ both women echoed, staring at their boss.
They held in the laughter for five miles of their journey, and then Beth giggled. Flick knew why, and immediately pulled over, knowing this bit of information would never find its way onto the court papers.
Their laughter filled the night air, and they finally felt the words were right: case solved.
THE END
Acknowledgements
There are many people to thank for this book coming to fruition, and I have to start with Erica Cheetham, Beth Machin and Rebecca Charlesworth for the loan of their names. Thank you, ladies. Hope I did you proud.
When the idea for the book came to me, I didn’t want any old nameless river, I wanted a Sheffield one, and believe me, we have plenty to pick from. I settled on the Porter because I knew nothing about it. On YouTube there are lots of videos by Patrick Dickenson who tracks our rivers, goes under the culverts, and generally spends most of his life wet through. I watched his two videos on the Porter and was hooked. I have since contacted him and he has sent me information about the best places to put dead bodies, and information about the access places. The man is a star, and I am truly grateful, Patrick, for your help.