Furthermore, Marni Mullins had deliberately done what he asked her not to do, and for that alone Francis was furious. How could she have put herself in harm’s way without telling him? How could she have thought of doing it at all? It was irresponsible beyond belief and Francis had had to suppress the urge to take her by the shoulders and shake her.
‘What if she’d succeeded?’ he’d shouted at her in the confused minutes after the unmasking. ‘This might have been a murder scene and I might have been looking down at your bloody, skinned back.’
Later, Francis had felt scared by his own reaction to what had happened, by how deep his feelings had become. He couldn’t bear the thought of Marni being the Tattoo Thief’s next victim. Thank God the protection detail had heard her screams. Marni might have been in control by the time they arrived, but the fight could so easily have gone the other way.
Francis was still feeling shaky as he made his way up to Bradshaw’s office. That the woman they’d arrested the previous evening was the Tattoo Thief, he had no doubt. She’d broken into Marni’s studio with a knife, and just outside the back door they’d discovered a kit bag with a set of knives, plastic sheeting and ziplock bags. In one of the side pockets was a packet of pills with a prescription sticker on it – beta-blockers prescribed for Sam Kirby. And as they removed the latex gloves she was wearing, the two bleeding heart tattoos on the backs of her hands were revealed. This gave them their link to the attack on Dan Carter and Rose Lewis was already having a field day linking the forensic evidence from the bag, the farm and the earlier crime scenes.
Francis knocked on Bradshaw’s door and went in.
‘Where’s Mackay?’ said Bradshaw, before he was even through the door.
‘Coming up behind me. He just wanted to make sure all the custody paperwork was in order.’
Bradshaw nodded approvingly.
‘Good work, Sullivan. I had no doubt you’d catch the killer in the end. See, I was right about using one of the targets as bait. It drew the killer out. Well done.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Francis gritted his teeth to answer civilly, sitting down on one of the chairs opposite Bradshaw’s desk. ‘But in fact, the credit should go to Marni Mullins. We just arrived in time to pick up the pieces. And it’s not a ploy I would ever have sanctioned if she’d discussed it with me first.’
Bradshaw raised his eyebrows at this, but Francis wasn’t going to tell him how infuriated he was with Marni.
‘However, are you sure this woman is really the killer? It seems doubtful to me. And if you think she is, don’t you think she might have had an accomplice?’
‘At this point, the evidence suggests very strongly that she’s the person we’ve been looking for,’ said Francis. ‘Forensics will confirm either way later today.’
‘And an accomplice? Anyone in the frame for that?’
‘We haven’t come across anything yet that would suggest there was an accomplice involved.’
‘But a woman acting alone? These were very physical murders.’
‘Sir, she’s a powerful woman. Tall, strong, heavily muscled. I would guess she does a lot of weight training.’
‘Mmmm . . .’ Bradshaw didn’t seem convinced. ‘None of the footage from the night Evan died or the witness statements from the aborted attack suggested it was a woman.’
‘Like I said, she’s got a masculine build. The CCTV images are grainy, and as to the witness statements – they were expecting it to be a man and the brain just fills in the gaps.’ Francis shrugged. ‘I’m entirely sure it’s her, sir.’
Rory came in while he was speaking and, with a nod to both of them, sat down on the remaining vacant chair.
‘Everything in order?’ said Bradshaw.
‘I’s dotted and T’s crossed,’ said Rory. ‘They’re putting her in an interview room as soon as they’ve cleaned up her face.’
‘Does she need medical attention?’
‘The duty doctor’s seen her. Broken nose, but apparently an icepack is all they’ll do now. They’ll assess the damage more thoroughly in a few days when the swelling’s gone down. She’s had some painkillers.’
‘Right, we’d better get down there. Sullivan, you take the lead. Rory, sit in. I’ll be watching so just make sure you don’t fuck this up. We need a solid conviction on this and if you do anything to jeopardise it . . .’ He trailed off. They knew what he’d do and it didn’t need spelling out.
Francis stood up and Rory followed him out.
‘The chief thinks she might have an accomplice,’ said Francis, as they took the stairs, two at a time.
‘Don’t see it myself,’ said Rory.
‘Me neither. She looks tough. I think she could have manhandled those bodies on her own.’
Sam Kirby was already in the interview room by the time they arrived, her hands cuffed together as she held an icepack up against her nose. Her cropped grey hair was an unruly mess and her blood-spattered clothes had been replaced by a shapeless grey tracksuit. She sat like a man, legs wide apart, and she was breathing noisily through her mouth.
‘Can we take the cuffs off?’ said Francis to the duty sergeant at the door.
The sergeant came in and unlocked the handcuffs. Francis noticed that Kirby didn’t particularly co-operate with him, even though it was for her own comfort. She rubbed her wrists and glared at Francis and Rory from red, watery eyes, purple bruises already spreading underneath them.
Rory switched on the tape recorder and recited the time, date and names of those present in the room. He read Kirby her rights. Kirby watched him, unmoved.
‘Can you please confirm your identity as Sam or Samantha Kirby?’ said Francis.
When addressed, Kirby switched to staring at a corner of the ceiling beyond them. Francis repeated the question, though he guessed he wouldn’t get an answer.
‘Miss Kirby,’ he said. Her face took on a sneer. ‘We’re investigating your attack on Marni Mullins in the small hours of this morning. We’re also investigating a number of murders and an attempted murder that have taken place in Brighton over the past few weeks. You would honestly be helping yourself if you co-operated with this interview.’
Her fake smile looked more like a grimace on her bruised mouth, but it was her first acknowledgement of their presence in the room.
‘Could you account for your whereabouts at the following dates and times? Sunday the twenty-eighth of May, between twelve a.m. and five a.m.? Tuesday—’
‘It isn’t over until it’s over.’ Her voice grated, loud and harsh as she cut across him.
Francis looked at her fingers and saw dark nicotine stains. ‘Can you explain what you mean by that statement?’
She didn’t answer, but followed his gaze down to her hands. She rubbed her wrists again – they were thick and the cuffs must have been a tight fit – and then resumed looking at the ceiling.
‘Do you mean the killings aren’t over?’ said Francis. ‘We know you had other targets from the pictures we found in the barn. But you won’t be able to kill them now, will you?’
‘It isn’t over until it’s over. It isn’t over until it’s over.’
Francis rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger.
Rory opened a folder that was on the table in front of them. He showed her a photo of Evan Armstrong, the one his parents had given them of him showing off his new tattoo.
‘Do you recognise this man?’ he asked.
Kirby didn’t even look at the picture. ‘It isn’t over till it’s over.’
Rory glanced at Francis.
There was a knock at the door and the duty sergeant came in.
‘Can I have a word?’
Outside in the corridor, the sergeant introduced Francis to a slickly dressed man with an expensive briefcase. He was balding and his dark beady eyes were quickly assessing Francis and his su
rroundings.
‘This is Mr Elphick,’ said the sergeant.
Francis raised his brows. ‘Yes?’
‘I’ll be acting as Miss Kirby’s counsel,’ said the man. ‘I’d like to see my client, check that she’s not been mistreated in any way. I understand that she was injured during the arrest process.’
Francis gave him a disdainful look. ‘Not during the arrest process. Your client, if she instructs you, was injured in the course of attacking Ms Mullins, who thankfully was able to defend herself and apprehend Miss Kirby.’
‘That’s your interpretation of events. I’m sure my client will have a different story to tell.’ He swept past Francis into the interview room.
If she bothered to share it with us.
Rory flicked the tape recorder back on.
‘Resuming interview at three fifty a.m. Now joined by . . .’
‘George Elphick, lawyer for the accused,’ said the lawyer. He knew the drill.
Kirby, Francis noticed, was now looking as smug as anyone with a split lip and broken nose possibly could.
‘I’ll continue my questioning,’ said Francis. ‘Miss Kirby, do you know or have you ever met Jem Walsh?’
‘It’s not over.’
Elphick leant across to his client and whispered something in her ear. She shrugged and he nodded his head vigorously.
‘No comment,’ she said.
And that was it. It’s not over was swapped for no comment. Francis knew better than to continue trying. With the lawyer in place, they wouldn’t be getting anything useful out of Sam Kirby. Not that it mattered. There was plenty of forensic evidence and now they knew what to look for – an exceptionally tall woman – he felt sure they’d be able to pick her out on more of the CCTV footage of the nights and locations in question.
‘Interview suspended,’ he said and Rory flicked off the recorder.
Rory stood up, staring down at Kirby, who was focusing on her own hands.
‘I know where I’ve seen you before,’ he said. ‘You were at Evan Armstrong’s funeral, weren’t you?’
Of course. Something had been niggling at the back of Francis’s mind and it was just this. He’d seen her before, and Rory was right – it was at Evan Armstrong’s funeral. She was the giant woman who’d sat next to them at the back of the church.
George Elphick stood up. ‘I want to request a full psychiatric evaluation of my client before you ask her any more questions,’ he said. ‘There’s a very good chance that she’s not fit to stand trial.’
It was hardly a shock tactic but the door burst open and Bradshaw blustered into the room. ‘Mr Elphick, if I think for one minute you’re obstructing my officers in the commission of their duty, I’ll have you charged for it, mark my words.’
‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ said Elphick. ‘Any judge will see that evaluation is in my client’s best interests. Goodnight.’
He left without a word to his client and she didn’t seem to care if he stayed or went. But as the sergeant handcuffed her to take her back to the cells, she started to laugh. And as she did, she finally made eye contact with Francis.
‘I’ve changed my mind.’
‘About what?’
‘Do you want to know who I am?’
xvi
This is the man who’s brought me down and now, as I stare him in the face, I feel compelled to make a connection with him. I will kill him, at some point in the future. But first I need him to understand who I am. Too many people have misunderstood me and underestimated me in the past. This time, this one won’t. I’ll make myself known, like I should have done when I had my father’s attention, or even back in the days when I had his love.
The policeman looks shocked at my sudden change of heart. But of course, there’s no way he can understand it.
We sit down in the interview room again, just him and me.
‘So go ahead,’ he says. ‘Tell me who you are.’
I tell him my story. I gauge his reactions to things I say and those responses show me who he is. Know your enemies, Ron always said.
‘You want to know what made me who I am today?’
He nods. I can see the triumph in his eyes. He thinks he’s getting a confession. But I don’t think this will be admissible in court – Mr Elphick will see to that.
‘My family has always worked with skin. Kirby Leathers. Set up by my great-great-grandfather a hundred years ago. The company should have come to me, but it went to my brother, Marshall. Daddy’s favourite. Do you have a sibling, Detective Sullivan?’
He gives an imperceptible nod. He knows better than to get drawn in, but he wants to keep the information flowing. This is the game we’ll play.
‘Tell me about him,’ I say.
‘Her. I have a sister.’
‘Do you love her, Detective?’
Revulsion sweeps his features at the way I say it.
‘Tell me about your brother,’ he says, and I can’t resist.
‘Marshall stole my birthright. He should never have been born. He ousted me from the family business and then he ruined it. He mechanised every step of the production process. He bought cheap skins and made bad leather, creaming off the profit until the business had to be sold for a pittance.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I was pushed from the nest.’
Just saying it drags me down.
‘Was your father your role model?’ I ask.
A fleeting look of pain sweeps his features. All the answer I need.
‘And when you left home?’ he says.
‘I became an apprentice to Ron Dougherty. He had the taxidermy shop out in Preston, right by the park. Did you know it?’
‘I remember it.’ The answer is tight and contained.
‘I worked there for years as Ron’s assistant. He was a father to me in so many ways. He gave me a home and a job, and plenty more.’
‘You became a taxidermist?’
‘He taught me all I needed to know. It’s fair to say that we were the best in the business.’ I’m bored now. ‘Tell me, why do you hate your father?’
‘I don’t.’
He’s lying. I laugh.
‘You know this thing’s not over.’
47
Marni
‘Marni?’ Thierry pronounced her name in a way that no one else ever had. Hearing his voice puzzled and reassured her. She opened her eyes.
She was lying in bed in a hospital room. The only other bed, directly opposite her, was empty. Sunlight streamed in through the pale, ill-fitting curtains and she blinked as she focused. There were people sitting on either side of the bed. Thierry and Alex on one side, Francis on the other. At which point she became aware of an atmosphere in the room that you could cut with a knife.
It all flooded back. The Tattoo Thief bursting into the studio. The struggle. The unmasking of a furious woman with bloody heart tattoos on the backs of her hands. Marni gasped.
‘I can never forgive you for putting yourself in such danger,’ said Thierry.
She ignored this. He was being overdramatic.
‘Where’s Pepper?’
Thierry shuffled his chair forward and took one of her hands. ‘He’s fine. But you acted recklessly.’ He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, such a familiar gesture.
‘Where is he?’
‘Merde. The dog’s not important. You could have died. I was so scared, chérie.’
‘Leave me alone, Thierry. I’m perfectly alive as you can see.’
Marni glared at him and pulled her hand away from his. Thierry looked bereft and tried to take it again, but she slipped it out of reach under the sheet.
Alex stared at her with wide, anxious eyes. ‘How could you have done that, Mum? You should have told us.’
�
��You would have stopped me.’
‘Bloody right, we would,’ he said.
‘I don’t need a ticking-off from you, thank you,’ she said testily. ‘I’m the parent, remember.’ But his concern brought a warm glow inside her, and more than a twinge of guilt.
Francis coughed. ‘I’ll need to take a statement from you at some point, Marni. When you’re up to it.’
‘No! You got her into this mess, now leave her alone. She needs to rest. I don’t know what you’re even doing here.’ Thierry stood up and there was something threatening in his posture.
Francis frowned at him across the bed. ‘She’s an important witness in a multiple murder case.’
‘This is your fault. You put her in danger.’
‘He didn’t,’ said Marni. ‘He had no idea what I was doing.’
Thierry snorted derisively. He sank back to his chair and tried again to take her hand.
‘When can I go home?’ she asked.
‘That’s up to the doctors,’ said Francis. ‘You may have had a slight concussion.’
Marni looked down at her left arm. It was swathed in bandages. ‘And this?’
‘Nine stitches. Your sleeve will have a scar on it,’ said Thierry.
‘Damn!’ She turned to Francis. ‘When do you want to do the statement?’
‘Whenever you feel up to it.’
‘I’m good. If I can get some coffee, we could do it now.’
‘Non. You need to rest. This is ridiculous,’ said Thierry.
‘Thierry, I can decide whether I’m up to it or not. You need to back off.’
Thierry stood up abruptly. ‘Okay. So I know where I’m not wanted. Come on, Alex.’
‘Will you be back later?’
Thierry glared at her, but he nodded. ‘Let me know when he’s gone.’
When he reached the door, he turned back to the room. ‘Inspector, can I have a word with you?’
Francis stood up and followed them out.
Marni’s head was throbbing. The last thing she needed was two men fighting over her, especially as she wasn’t particularly interested in either of them. Was she? Suddenly she felt exhausted. She closed her eyes and consciously relaxed the tension in her jaw. She was safe now. The killer was in custody and there was nothing here for her to be afraid of.
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