by Sarah Hilary
‘It was covered by her clothes, so no.’
Sean and Katrina had acknowledged the dead girl as their daughter not in words but with sounds: a wrenched wail from Katrina; raw sobbing from Sean.
‘Did Loz know about the writing? My sisters always knew my secrets.’ Debbie swung away, to answer the station’s phone.
‘How’s the house-to-house going?’ Noah asked Ron. ‘Any sign of Traffic’s missing girl on the Garrett estate?’
‘Put it this way, I’ve had more doors slammed in my face than you’ve had dirty martinis.’
‘I hate martinis.’
‘All right. So I’ve had more doors slammed in my face than you’ve had blow jobs, Detective Sergeant Pin-Up.’
‘How is Mrs Tarvin?’
‘Same as always. Last line of defence against the crap raining down on that dump.’
‘She’ll be keeping an eye out for our girl, I imagine.’
‘Bound to be. We should be paying her a wage … What?’ Ron had seen the look on Debbie’s face when she put the phone down. ‘Not more bad bloody news.’
She gave an unhappy nod. ‘That was St Thomas’s. Logan Marsh died yesterday.’
More bereaved parents. Noah’s teeth ached. ‘When yesterday?’
‘They didn’t give an exact time, just apologised for not informing us sooner, blamed it on an admin error.’
‘Crap.’ Ron clasped his hands on top of his head, turning away. He turned back almost immediately. ‘We’d better show that writing to Joe Eaton before Traffic decide to arrest him.’
Noah agreed, taking out his phone. ‘I’ll let the boss know.’
At Battersea Power Station, the wind whipped in from the water, clattering the crime-scene tape at Marnie’s back. Fran’s team was clearing up. They’d made the showroom secure, collected all the evidence they could.
Marnie had the mortuary’s chill in her bones, still feeling the blank terror in Loz’s stare, the rage the girl was radiating to keep sympathy at bay. There was too much about Loz that Marnie recognised. She wanted to call Ed, just to hear his voice, but there wasn’t time. She was afraid to let the trail go cold. May had been dead less than twelve hours. They had to capitalise on that, get statements from everyone who’d been on site yesterday. Nineteen people, including Jamie Ledger.
Ledger was clocking off. One of the other guards called, ‘See you, Ledge,’ and the nickname made her wonder whether he’d told the truth about how little he liked the rest of the security detail.
‘You need a signed statement,’ he said, before she could open her mouth. ‘Where’re you doing them? Here, or at the station?’
‘Here. Your boss has opened the sales office for us.’ Plenty of desks between the glossy displays in the room reeking of new carpet, expensive printing.
Ledger shoved his arms into a waxed jacket. ‘I’ll see you over there.’
‘Not me. My team. I’m needed elsewhere.’
‘How’s the family? She had a kid sister, didn’t she? May Beswick. I recognised her from the papers.’ His face shadowed. ‘I just wondered how she was doing.’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t talk about it.’
‘Right.’ He straightened up. ‘Tough job, telling the family. I’ve had to do that myself. I wasn’t being nosy, or morbid.’
Marnie nodded, waiting until he’d crossed the site into the sales office before she took out her phone to call Noah.
‘Logan Marsh died,’ he told her. ‘I’m headed over to Joe Eaton’s, thought we’d better see whether the scratches on our missing girl could’ve been writing, like May’s.’
‘Welland will want all hands here. Unless or until we’re sure of a link between the two girls.’
‘Eaton might be able to give us that link.’
‘It’s not a priority. I’m sorry about Logan, but we need the house-to-house team at the power station. We should shorten the perimeter, and keep it tight. I want you back here.’
‘I’m on my way,’ Noah promised.
Marnie ended the call and turned to face the wind, letting its teeth bite her cheek. The rain had eased off, but it would be back, its blunt pressure pushing behind the clouds. She watched the water fold and unfold like a fist, thinking of Logan Marsh in the mortuary, his parents’ pain. Wondering why May had run, where she’d ended up. Well fed, her nails trimmed short. Someone had looked after her. The same someone who’d killed her? Had she felt safe in the weeks before she died? Happy, even?
The phone’s casing was blood-warm in Marnie’s hand, her fingers tracing Ed’s number on the keypad. She’d run, fourteen years ago. Safe at home, but not happy. Running wild when she was thirteen, staying out late, coming home drunk. Testing the boundaries of her parents’ care and patience until she finally worked up the courage to cut the ties and go for good. May hadn’t been wild, not in the same way. She’d come home drunk a couple of times, smelling of cigarettes, but it’d been enough to make her parents wonder if she’d run away rather than been snatched. Loz had accused the police of deciding from the outset that her sister was dead. She was half right. They’d wasted a lot of time wondering whether May was on the streets, asking questions of anyone who might’ve seen her sleeping rough. The wrong questions, as it turned out. May had been hiding, or hidden. At home, she didn’t wash or eat properly. Neglecting herself, resisting her parents’ efforts to put her back on track. Katrina had tried to interest her in clothes, a beauty routine. Spa sessions, retail therapy. Sean took up cooking, hoping to tempt his daughter’s palate back to life, allowing her a glass of wine with meals. Nothing worked. May drifted away. Retreating further and further, until one day she was gone. Then displayed like a child on that bed. Who had taken such good care of her in the last three months of her life? Who hadn’t wanted her to grow up?
Marnie’s phone rang: Fran Lennox. She sought the shelter of a wall, needing to hear the nuances in Fran’s voice. ‘What’ve you got for me?’
‘Blood tests. High levels of hCG. Human chorionic gonadotropin.’
Rain stung Marnie’s skin. ‘She was pregnant? How pregnant?’
‘Seven, eight weeks. No more than that.’
Noah was coming across the site, his head down, long legs dodging puddles.
‘We were wrong,’ Marnie said into the phone. ‘We thought this wasn’t sexual. That the killer saw her as a child. But if she was pregnant, we were wrong.’
‘Or she was with someone else when she first went missing. A boyfriend, perhaps. No ligature marks, or trauma. No evidence of restraint. If we’re talking about a sexual predator, the evidence doesn’t stack up, not yet. I’ll know more after the full post-mortem.’
Noah had joined Marnie, sheltering from the rain.
‘What else was in her blood?’ Marnie asked Fran.
‘No drugs, no alcohol. The only thing throwing a spike is sodium. She wasn’t far off being hypernatremic. That’s salt poisoning, or dehydration. Not enough to interfere with the pregnancy at eight weeks, but not healthy either. If she was being sick regularly, that might account for it. Her parents said nothing about eating disorders?’
‘Nothing. They were sure they’d have known, but they didn’t know about the writing.’
‘Ask her sister about the writing,’ Fran said, ‘and the eating. Siblings usually know a lot more than parents, and from what I saw of the sister, she’s a sharp cookie.’
‘Yes. Call me when you have anything more.’
‘You’ll be the first to know,’ Fran promised. She rang off.
Noah rubbed rain from his face. ‘What’s happened?’
‘May was pregnant. Seven or eight weeks.’
‘Oh God.’ He looked away, pain pulling at his face. ‘So he raped her then he killed her? Do you think he knew she was pregnant when he killed her?’
‘The father and the killer might not be the same person.’
‘Do her parents know?’ Noah covered his mouth with the span of his hand.
‘I’ve only just found ou
t. They didn’t think May was in a relationship of any kind. Well, perhaps she wasn’t.’ Marnie straightened, pocketing her phone. ‘Right now we need to concentrate on how the killer got her here. Fran’s worked the immediate area. We need a team pushing back to the perimeter.’ She showed Noah on the map. ‘The only ways in and out are here, and here.’ She pointed to the Kirtling Street entrance Noah had just used, and a second entry point to the east. ‘He could’ve brought her by river, but for now let’s assume he came by road. Colin’s chasing down all the available CCTV. Let’s walk the perimeter, get our bearings.’
In Kirtling Street, the sun was in Noah’s eyes and mouth, tasting sour and yellow.
Marnie glanced at him. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Headache. It’ll pass. So we need to speak with the Beswicks again.’
‘Yes, we do. I’m thinking the news of the pregnancy can wait until we have the full post-mortem report from Fran, but I want to ask them again about the possibility of a boyfriend. And the writing. Fran’s sure May did it herself. I’d like to rule that in, or out.’
‘Debbie thinks Loz might know. Sisters share secrets, she says.’
‘Fran said the same … Do you think Loz will talk to you?’
‘Depends how angry she is.’ Noah had lied about the headache. It was a migraine, making his eyes blaze in their sockets. He’d taken pills, but if it didn’t clear soon, he’d be no use to Marnie or anyone else. ‘When they find out she was pregnant …’
‘They’ll assume she was raped. That’s why we need the full results from Fran. If we’re going to give them news like that, I want it to be in context.’
They stood in the shadow of the power station’s smokestacks, smelling the river and the building works, seeing London changing shape around them.
‘There are seventeen girls of May’s age reported as missing in London right now,’ Noah said. ‘I checked the system first thing this morning. Four of them went missing in the last six months.’
‘You and I both think there’s a chance this killer will do it again. We have to be prepared for that. We need to build a profile, which is why we have to ask the Beswicks about the writing, so that we know exactly what we’re dealing with.’
‘A monster.’ Noah shut his eyes. ‘Whichever way we look at it, whether or not he held her prisoner and raped her before he killed her – we’re dealing with a monster.’
‘We are,’ Marnie agreed. ‘So let’s find out as much about him as we can.’
Noah’s phone played The Sweeney’s theme tune. ‘DS Jake.’
‘First CCTV sighting.’ It was Colin Pitcher at the station. ‘Two nights ago, 11.52 p.m. on Battersea Park Road.’
Noah switched to speaker so Marnie could listen in. ‘What are you seeing?’
‘May and another girl. About the same age. Skinny, wild hair. Could be the girl Joe Eaton identified from the crash.’
‘Just the two girls?’
‘Yes. They look scared. At least, May looks scared. The other girl’s got her back to the camera. Body language says a stand-off, or a fight.’
‘Which way were they headed?’
‘North, towards the power station. I’m checking the rest of the CCTV on that route, but it’s going to take a while. Not everyone’s handing it over quickly, no matter how nicely I ask.’
‘Send what you’ve got to my phone.’
‘Doing it now.’ Colin rang off.
They headed back to Marnie’s car. ‘Joe Eaton’s girl?’ she said. ‘Do we need to revert to your original plan and pay him a call?’
‘A girl couldn’t have killed May Beswick, could she? And carried her all the way up to that penthouse? It’s not possible.’ Noah waited for the file to load to his phone. ‘But she and May were headed north. Towards the power station.’
‘Towards the Garrett, too. That’s north of Battersea Park Road.’
In the car, they studied the film.
CCTV footage, washed-out, making ghosts of the two girls.
May’s face was an oval, overexposed under a street light. The other girl kept her back to the camera. She was May’s height but skinnier, in black sweatpants and a hoody. The hood was down, showing a tangle of hair, darker than May’s, and brighter.
‘This was the night before she died,’ Noah said. ‘She’s less than a mile from her parents’ house. Why didn’t she go home? Why didn’t she run? Like this other girl, if it is Traffic’s girl.’
‘Bare feet.’ Marnie put her thumb on the screen.
Under the cuffs of the sweatpants, the girl’s toes were white and bony.
‘It’s her,’ Marnie said. ‘Let’s see if Joe Eaton agrees.’
18
Joe Eaton answered the door in his pyjamas. ‘I heard the news. Gina Marsh called. I’d given her my number at the hospital.’ His face was pillow-scarred, left eye still bloodied. ‘Logan died. I said how sorry I was. It’s devastating. He was only just eighteen …’
‘Can we come in?’ Marnie was aware of Noah shivering at her side.
‘Of course, sorry.’ Joe held the door wide. ‘The kids are with Carrie. I’m meant to be catching some rest. Didn’t think I’d sleep, but I did.’ He pointed them towards the sitting room.
Toys, everywhere. A duvet on the sofa, a laptop on a low table. The neck brace from the hospital was in an armchair by the gutted fireplace. The Beswicks had filled their fireplace with bottles of wine. This one was filled with DVDs for the children. Sorcha, and Liam.
‘Carrie is their aunt?’ Marnie said.
‘Ruth’s sister. They love her to bits. It’s not easy getting them to do what they don’t want to. It’s just for today, they’ll be back tonight. Ruth’s improving.’ He grimaced with relief, and guilt. ‘They think she’s going to be okay. I just wish … Logan had his whole life ahead of him. Do you want something to drink? I could use a coffee.’
‘Thanks, but we don’t have a lot of time. We wanted to ask a couple more questions about the girl from the crash. DS Jake?’
‘We have a CCTV sighting.’ Noah held his phone where Joe could watch the clip. ‘We think this might be the girl you saw?’
Joe leaned close, frowning at the phone. ‘She’s wearing different clothes, but the build’s the same. Has she got bare feet? Yes, it could be her. The other girl – it’s May Beswick? I heard on the news that you’d found a body at Battersea Power Station.’
Marnie nodded at Noah, who moved his thumb across the screen, holding the phone up again.
‘The scratches you saw on the girl who caused the crash. Could they have been this?’
Joe leaned in again. ‘This is … writing? You think what I saw was writing?’
‘We wondered,’ Marnie said. ‘You’ll understand that we’re investigating May’s death and what we’re showing you is confidential, and sensitive.’
‘Of course. Her poor parents. Christ … Gina’s coping better than I would, but maybe it hasn’t hit them yet. May was younger than Logan, wasn’t she? Still at school.’
‘She was sixteen.’
‘It could’ve been this.’ Joe peered at the phone, blinking shut his left eye. ‘Writing. On that girl. It could’ve been. But what does that mean? Was she involved in May’s death?’
‘We don’t have any reason to suspect that.’
‘But that’s May with her, isn’t it? That’s May Beswick.’
‘You’ve had some good news?’ Marnie said. ‘About Ruth?’
‘The surgery went well. She’s responding, that’s what they’ve said. I can see her later, before I collect the kids.’ He looked wary, rubbing the palms of his hands on his pyjamas. ‘You’ll want to question her about the crash, about this girl. I don’t know when she’ll be ready for that.’
Marnie glanced at Noah. ‘We’ll be in touch, Mr Eaton. Thanks again.’
In the street, she asked, ‘How bad is it?’
Noah put the flat of his hand on the car. He didn’t answer right away.
‘Migraine?’<
br />
He thinned his mouth. ‘Sorry.’
‘I’ll take you home.’
‘I can get a cab.’
‘It’s not far. I’ll take you. Get in.’
Noah didn’t argue. He climbed into the car vigilantly, as if every bit of him hurt. Fastened his seat belt and shut his eyes. His face was pinched with pain. Marnie started the engine and pulled into traffic as smoothly as she could. She’d known that Noah suffered from migraines, but she hadn’t witnessed an attack up close before. He looked like someone had hit him on the back of the head with a blunt weapon. They were headed the right way for the traffic; it took less than twenty minutes to reach Noah’s flat. She double-parked and cut the engine, switching on the hazard lights before getting out and opening the passenger door for Noah. She waited while he climbed out, standing back to give him space but staying close enough to catch him if he fell.
‘Thanks.’ He leaned against the car for a second before straightening. ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’ She glanced across at the house, remembering how many stairs had to be climbed to reach his flat. ‘Is there someone home to give you a hand?’
‘Sol … But I’ll be okay.’
The blare of a car horn made him wince. A white Kia Sportage was waiting for Marnie to move out of its way. She ignored it, concentrating on Noah. ‘Come on.’
They crossed to his flat, waiting while he searched his pockets for his keys. The Kia Sportage hit its horn again. Noah found the keys and handed them to Marnie. It was an effort for him to stay upright. She unlocked the door and got him as far as the stairs, sitting him down.
Outside, the Sportage was blaring incessantly. Marnie said, ‘Hold on.’
She walked out into the road, to where the Kia was waiting. The driver had a shirt as loud as his horn, suit jacket slung from the hook behind his seat. She motioned for him to wind down his window.
‘You can’t just stop in the middle of the road, you dozy bitch—’
Marnie shut him up with her badge. ‘Find another way round.’ She put the badge away. ‘And stop playing with your horn.’