“Yes. I killed them.”
I left a brief silence before asking, “Did you have kids?”
“No.”
“You didn’t know any of the women you killed in your everyday life, did you?” I said, already knowing the answer from the case files. They could find no links between Abe and the victims, and no one knew why Abe had targeted them particularly. “How did you pick them out?”
“I saw them on the street.”
“Why choose them, out of everyone, though?” I lifted my eyebrows as he shifted uneasily.
“They came to the chip shop.”
I looked at him. That was a lie. I’d seen in Gaskell’s write up that they’d checked the CCTV on the road outside the chip shop, and no one had seen the victims going inside. So why was Abe lying?
“Why did you put them in the sea?” Stephen asked.
“I had my father’s boat,” Abe said, quicker than he’d replied to the other questions, probably because this answer was actually true. “I used it to drive them out to sea.”
“Did your wife know about it?” I said, watching him closely. “Maybe she was your accomplice, hm? Did she help you carry-?”
“No,” Abe snapped, rigid with tension.
“So she never noticed your nighttime trips in the boat? Never asked-?”
“No. She had nothing to do with it.”
I made a note on how obviously protective he was over his wife, or ex-wife now, I assumed.
“She must have been horrified when she found out. That the man she married was capable of such awful things.”
Abe clenched his jaw and didn’t respond.
“Has she visited?”
Abe jerked his head from side to side, a negative.
“Do you hate her for that?”
He looked up sharply. “No.”
We sat in silence for a minute, and the angry fire drained out of Abe almost immediately, his shoulders slumping. I couldn’t quite figure him out, but I had some guesses and a strong gut feeling. I turned to Stephen.
“Have you got anything else you want to ask?”
He looked as troubled as I felt. “No, I think we’re done.”
Abe looked mightily relieved to hear it, and he looked immediately over towards the guards. I nodded at them, and they led Abe out of the room.
“What now?” Stephen asked as I was shutting my notebook and tucking the recording device into my pocket. I was lost in my thoughts, and it took me a moment to respond.
“I think we need to make a pit stop before we go home.”
Stephen looked unimpressed, but I ignored him as we stood up and headed out of the prison.
“Where do you want to visit?” he asked petulantly. “We’ve been away long enough, haven’t we?”
“After that interview,” I began as I frowned at him, “don’t you think it’d be well worth it to talk to Muldoon’s family? His wife, or ex-wife?”
“A phone call won’t do?”
“No.”
We didn’t speak as we headed back to the car, climbing inside. It was Stephen’s turn to drive, but I was almost reluctant to let him, since he seemed so reluctant to do as I asked.
Stephen’s jaw was tight as he said, “Where do they live then?”
I bit back an angry response and instead said evenly, “I don’t know yet.”
I looked up the Snake Killer case notes on the police tablet in the glovebox and found the address of Abe Muldoon’s then-wife. She’d been teary and shocked in the interviews, and police had believed that she knew nothing of Abe’s night time excursions or his violent nature.
I keyed the address into the SatNav, and we set off back towards Cornwall. It wasn’t a long way, but it was the wrong direction for returning to York, and I knew Stephen wasn’t best pleased. After several tense minutes, I couldn’t stop myself from opening my mouth.
“Steph, are you going to be like this the whole way?”
He glanced at me. “I don’t see that this is necessary.”
“Seriously? You can’t tell me that Muldoon convinced you? He’s the worst liar I think I’ve ever met. And did you see how protective he was over his wife?” I shook my head. “We have to try to speak to her.”
“You don’t think that if his family knew something, they’d have come forward by now? Maybe they moved house too and won’t even be there.”
I twisted in my seat to face him. “So you think that going an hour out of our way isn’t worth it? What if they do have crucial information for us? People are dying. We haven’t got that many leads, we-”
He slapped his hand down on the steering wheel.
“This is a waste of time! Don’t you think I care about those victims? About how Georgina was maybe murdered? Of course, I do! Which is why we haven’t got the time to spare to go chasing off after this, this... nonsense.”
I sat back in my seat and clenched my teeth together, frowning. “So this is really because you don’t think it’s worthwhile? Not because you don’t want to be late home tonight?”
“No,” Stephen huffed. “I’m going to be late home, anyway. I’ve already told Annie that. We promised Keira we’d watch her brother’s house-”
I groaned. “Damn, I forgot about that.”
We’d first intended to sit outside Robbie Adams’ house last Friday, but the second body had shown up on Thursday evening, and it’d slipped my mind.
“Look, fine,” Stephen sighed, “we’ll talk to the wife, ex-wife, whatever. But I want it noted that I don’t think it’s going to give us anything new.”
“Alright.” I took the offered truce, however grudging. “It’s noted.”
We picked up a couple of Costa coffees from a drive-through, and Stephen perked up after that. The address we had on our records for Muldoon’s wife, Pauline, led us to a small cul-de-sac of houses that were clearly built in the sixties. A narrow woman with nervous eyes and a lip ring answered the door.
“Hello?”
Stephen and I introduced ourselves and, after politely asking to see our badges, Pauline led us inside and offered us tea. She made small talk, seeming to want to avoid asking why exactly we were at her house, but I knew that Stephen was getting restless, and we needed to get to the point of our visit.
“May I ask, is it Mrs Muldoon or…?” I asked carefully, my hands cupped around the mug of coffee she’d made for me.
“Yes.” Pauline toyed with her lip ring, her gaze falling to her lap. “It’s still- We never… I haven’t changed it.”
I was surprised at that. I’d made the assumption, perhaps too hastily, that Pauline would’ve divorced her husband once she’d heard what happened.
“Why didn’t you?” Stephen asked, an obvious frown on his face.
Pauline looked immediately uncomfortable, more so even than she’d already looked. “Uh, well, I don’t- I can’t really say.”
I watched her, thinking that her nervousness reminded me of her husband’s manner when we’d met him earlier. Stephen was ready to say something else, and I gestured at him to let me handle this. He sent me a dubious look, but closed his mouth. Stephen’s clear disapproval was unnerving Pauline, even scaring her, and I tried to make my expression neutral, even sympathetic, and my voice even.
“We’re sorry to bring up the past,” I leaned forwards slightly as I spoke to her. “We’re interested in your husband’s case-”
Pauline interrupted me. “I wouldn’t say he was my husband.” She met my eyes briefly. “I mean, I haven’t divorced him, but I wouldn’t call him that. I know, I know what he did.” She swallowed and looked down again.
“Of course, I’m sorry. We’re interested in Abe Muldoon’s case, and we’d be grateful to hear any information you might have.”
“It’s been ten years.”
“Aye, I know it has.” I winced. “And I’m sorry to disturb you, but I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t absolutely crucial.”
She looked up then, frowning slightly. “Why’s it important? Wh
y’re you interested in it now? The police told me it was all finished with, and they wouldn’t reopen the case.”
“Did you want us to?” I raised my eyebrows. “Reopen the case?”
She took a sip of tea, looking like she’d said more than she meant to.
“Years ago,” she murmured.
“Why was that?”
She looked at me, a hint of annoyance in the set of her brow. “You didn’t answer my question, detective. Why now?”
I sighed inwardly. I’d been trying to avoid telling her too much, but Pauline seemed more persistent than Abe had been.
“This isn’t public information, is that clear? If this reaches the media, you could be in some trouble.”
She looked concerned, but gave a nod. “I won’t tell.”
“There have been cases showing up in our district, York, with a striking resemblance to the case that happened here ten years ago.”
“What?” Pauline’s eyes widened. “A copycat?”
I shifted in my seat. “Well, that’s what we’re looking into. Nobody else has come asking you questions about Abe recently, have they? Anyone with a morbid interest in the murders?”
“No, nothing like that.” She hurriedly shook her head. “I got some of that negative attention near the start, but it tailed off within a month or so.”
“Good. Then, is there anything you can tell us?” I knew I was pushing her a bit, but I wasn’t sure how much she would volunteer if I didn’t prompt her. “Particularly, anything you didn’t tell the police ten years ago?”
“Are you saying I lied to the police?” She reeled back. “I didn’t! I knew nothing-”
“Woah,” I put up my hands, “I didn’t mean that at all. I’m not accusing you of anything, I swear. We’re just after information, Mrs Muldoon, that’s all.”
Tense, she watched me for a minute, and I tried to keep my expression sincere. I really didn’t think that she’d had anything to do with the Snake Killer murders. Her shoulders dropped.
“Okay. I really don’t have anything to tell you really, I had no idea. I never expected anything like it.”
I wasn’t looking at Stephen, but I knew he was looking at me pointedly, and I could all but hear him saying, ‘I told you so.’
“I’m sure you didn’t,” I assured Pauline, focusing my attention on her rather than my impatient partner. “Did anything come to mind after-?”
“No, you don’t understand,” she broke in. “There was nothing, nothing at all. I still don’t understand it. I worked alongside him at The Blue Anchor, our chip shop, every day. I knew where he was then, and he’d come home with me, too. He went surfing with his friends sometimes, but I asked them whether he’d been lying to me about spending time with them, but they said he’d been with them every time!”
She looked imploring between us. “I know they say he could’ve gone out at night, but I’m a light sleeper, I really am, and we shared a bed.” She flushed slightly at that and took another sip of tea, looking agitated. “I really- To say it shocked me isn’t strong enough. It makes no sense to me, not then and not now.”
“Was he ever violent?” I looked steadily at her, turning over what she’d said. “Even just a slap or a push?”
“God, no,” she said firmly. “No, I was the one with a short temper. He’d get angry sometimes, he was only human, but he’d get all quiet and sulk, mostly. He was never aggressive at all.” Her voice became thick, and she choked up.
I thought about how sure I’d been in the prison that Abe had been lying about his role in the killings, and how rational Pauline’s arguments sounded. She was right; it didn’t make sense. Stephen surprised me by speaking, his chair creaking as he tilted forwards.
“Did you speak to him before he confessed, or after? Did he say anything to you?”
She shook her head. “No, he refused to see me. I saw him in court, that was all. He- he looked scared. I felt sorry for him.” Her cheeks were wet, and I reached over to a nearby table to pick up a box of tissues and offer them to her. She nodded her thanks and dabbed under her eyes. “I’m sorry. I know I should hate him. I do, probably.”
“Thank you for talking to us,” I told her, putting my half-drank cup of tea down on the table.
We made our excuses, and Stephen nipped upstairs to use her loo before we left. Standing alone in the corridor with Pauline, I watched as she chewed on her fingernail, a thoughtful frown on her face.
“If there are these killings happening up north,” she ventured softly, “could they be done- I mean, could it not be a copycat?”
I didn’t know what to say. I’d been thinking exactly the same thing and talking to her had made me more doubtful than ever that Abe was the real Snake Killer who’d murdered those five women a decade ago. But I didn’t know if I ought to say that to Abe’s wife, who was surely trying to move on and live her life and didn’t need this doubt coming up so long after the fact. She spoke before I could find something to say and her voice gathered strength.
“I just never really thought it was him. I couldn’t believe it, but he’d said he’d done it, so how could I deny it? I read all about psychopaths who hide their real selves from their loved ones completely, but Abe wasn’t like that! He was- He-” She broke off as Stephen came down the stairs.
“We’re looking into it,” I said, unable to think of anything better to say. “We’ll be thorough, I swear.”
She pressed her lips together, looking like she was trying to hold back her emotions. “Please keep me updated,” she said quietly.
“We will.”
Heading out to the car, I felt a great deal of sympathy for the woman. She’d clearly loved Abe with her whole soul, and I thought that she did still love him, couldn’t help herself despite reason telling her not to. And her arguments for doubting that Abe was a killer were more than valid.
I started up the car, my thoughts turning away from Pauline’s stricken face and towards more practical matters, like which was the fastest route home.
“I was wrong.”
I turned to Stephen, startled, and it took me a beat to catch up. “Really?”
“Yeah. I don’t believe Abe did it, and I know you don’t either.”
I gave a nod, relieved that he agreed.
“Now we have to do the hard part,” I said as I turned the car back onto the road and set off. “We have to find out who the real Snake Killer is. And we have to stop them before they kill anyone else.”
Eight
After our long drive back from Cornwall, we’d barely arrived at the station before Gaskell had pulled us almost immediately into the press conference. The press had gotten wind of the two bodies being found, and rather than let speculation become rife, Gaskell had chosen to hand out our official responses. Of course, the media had wanted to know whether we were looking at a serial killer here, as well as all the gory details of the killings, and Gaskell had had to dodge their questions.
The tabloids would no doubt twist Gaskell’s evasive words into whatever alarmist story they were trying to swing, but hopefully, the broadsheets at least would give a clearer picture.
I came out of the press conference feeling like my skin was buzzing. Beside me, Stephen looked pale, and he shot me a relieved smile as we walked out.
“Thank god that’s over.”
He wasn’t a fan of talking to the press, or of presentations, or any kind of public speaking.
“I don't think it went too badly.”
I looked over at Gaskell, who’d handled the majority of the media’s questions. He gestured at Stephen and me as we were heading back towards our desks, and we reluctantly followed him over to his office.
“He’ll want an update on Cornwall,” I muttered.
Stephen glanced sideways at me. “Are we telling him our suspicions or…?”
“Aye, I think we have to,” I said under my breath as we arrived at Gaskell’s office and stepped inside, taking a seat.
Gaskell sighed as
he sat down, before crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows. The look made me want to fidget, but I kept still.
“So? Did running off down the country lead you to any big revelations?” His doubting tone made me wince internally, but I kept my expression neutral.
“Aye, we think so, sir,” I said steadily. “We suspect that a witness of the original Snake Killer case, Georgina Pratchett, may have been killed as a result-”
“What?” The doubting look fell off Gaskell’s face and was replaced with shock. He held up a hand. “Killed?”
He may very well have met and talked to the young Georgina, I thought, and bore that in mind as I carefully continued.
“We wanted to speak to her about what she’d seen, but she passed away nine years ago.” I scanned Gaskell’s face and found it tight and unhappy. “She fell from the rocks on the same beach where the killer’s bodies were pulled from the water.”
Gaskell stayed silent, his lips pressed tightly together, as I went on to explain how we’d gone to visit Abe, and later his wife, and how we believed that Abe had been wrongly imprisoned. Gaskell’s expression darkened as I explained, and I couldn’t tell whether it was in anger at us or something else.
When I’d finished, Gaskell was staring past me, looking lost in his thoughts and with a face like a storm cloud. I wanted to prompt him and find out what was going on in his head, but I held my peace, and so did Stephen. When he did break his silence, it wasn’t the sharp denials I’d been half expecting to hear.
“Why did Muldoon confess if he wasn’t the murderer?” he said tersely. “As you said, he wasn’t attention-seeking.”
I glanced over at Stephen.
“We don’t know that yet, sir.” He hesitated. “But he did seem, uh, on edge.”
“Of course, he was on edge, he’s been in prison for a decade, and he was getting questioned by police,” Gaskell scoffed. I wasn’t sure whether or not to respond to that, but Gaskell went on before I could.
“I maintain that Muldoon is the killer,” he said firmly, and my heart sank, “and that my investigation was correct and thorough. And, because of that… I will not order you two to stop your line of enquiry.”
Snakes in the Grass (A DI Mitchell Yorkshire Crime Thriller Book 5) Page 8