by Joy Ellis
‘Who is this guy? Can I speak to him?’ Cat took out her notebook.
‘If you know a good psychic. He overdosed last year.’
Cat swore silently, but James Cooper was still talking. ‘You could have a word with his brother though. I’m sure he knew what was going on. He lives in Greenborough, in a terraced house down the back of the football ground. Meadville Terrace, dunno the number. Name’s Darren Drew. His brother was Nathan Drew.’
‘Thanks, Jimmy. If we ever see you again in our professional capacity, we’ll remember how helpful you’ve been.’
‘You do that.’
* * *
The massive tower of the parish church, known as the Lighthouse of the Fens, dominated the market square. Avoiding the kamikaze cyclists, Cat made her way around the one way system that led eventually to the football ground.
She left her Ford in the potholed car park of a discount store, and they crossed the road to Meadville Terrace. It was after five and Cat hoped they would catch Darren Drew at home.
Drew’s wife looked at their warrant cards and put a hand to her heart. ‘He’s straight now, officers! Has been for years! He just went through a bad patch with his brother dying and all, honest. What do you want him for?’
Yvonne smiled at her. ‘It’s all right, Mrs Drew. He’s not in trouble. We just want to speak to him.’
After much cajoling and reassuring, they were finally shown into a tiny sitting room with garish curtains and the largest widescreen TV Cat had ever seen.
Here, they had to repeat their assurances and it was several minutes before Cat managed to get to the object of their visit.
‘Darren, we have reason to believe that Avril Hammond didn’t die out on the marshes as people thought. In actual fact, she ran away. We’ve been told that she may have been Nathan’s girlfriend. Any ideas on that?’
Darren sniffed. His misshapen, oft-broken nose twitched. ‘He did say something about it, DC Cullen, but he was off his head most of the time and I never knew whether to believe him or not. Lied like a snake, he did.’
‘Did you ever see her?’
‘A few times, I suppose.’ He looked uncomfortable.
‘Did she come on to you?’
Darren glanced towards the door. His wife was clattering crockery in the kitchen. ‘That’s why I only saw her a few times. She was evil, DC Cullen. She knew I was married, but that never stopped her. I think it made it even more fun for her.’
‘How old was she, Darren?’
‘She told Nathan she was nineteen, but I think she was a bit younger than that.’ He looked towards the door again and spoke quietly. ‘I called in one day. I had a backdoor key to his gaff, and he’d asked to borrow some money. He was in trouble as usual. Anyway, I thought they were both out. I went into the kitchen and stuck a twenty pound note in the cutlery drawer for him. Then I heard this noise, so I went into the hall. The bedroom door was wide open. My brother was buck naked, tied to the bed, face down with his legs wide apart, and she was doing something to him, I don’t know what exactly. The curtains were drawn and a lamp was on, and it glinted on something in her hand. It could have been metal, or maybe glass.’ He swallowed hard. ‘And you know what? She was enjoying herself so much she never even saw me. I went outside and nearly vomited in the bushes.’
Cat felt slightly nauseous herself. ‘Did you tell him what you’d seen?’
‘How could I? I asked him if he was happy with her living there. He never gave me a straight answer and he died a few days later, so who knows?’
‘What happened to her?’
Darren looked at her. ‘Can I get into trouble over this?’
‘No, why should you? You are helping me, aren’t you?’
‘Maybe I know something else, but if I tell you, it never came from me. Is that a deal?’
Cat glanced at Yvonne. ‘We can’t make deals, Darren. Just tell us. It could help bring a killer to justice.’
‘She’s killed someone?’ Darren looked shocked.
‘We think she did, yes.’
‘I can’t tell you in front of the wife.’
Cat thought for a moment. ‘What do you do for a living, Darren?’
‘I’m a mechanic. Why?’
‘Then come to my car with me. I had a bit of trouble with it on the way here, okay?’ Cat raised an eyebrow.
‘Oh, right . . . yeah. Hang on.’ He hauled himself up from the couch and called out to his wife. ‘Just going to take a look at the copper’s motor, alright? Back in ten.’
A disembodied voice called back, ‘Don’t be long, supper’s nearly ready!’
Outside, a misty rain had started to fall. In the confines of Cat’s Ford, Darren’s clothes gave off an unpleasant smell. A mix of engine oil, fried food and stale tobacco.
‘After Nathan died, I decided it was Avril Hammond who did it. He called her Cookie, just that, no full name. One day when he was half sober, and only a bit high, he told me that when he met her, she was living in a squat. She was on the game, trying to earn enough money to go to London. She had “aspirations,” so she said.’
He rubbed at a greasy stain on his jeans. ‘She had run away with another girl from a village close to hers. They were with these town kids in a squat here in Greenborough. They made a living sleeping with all and sundry. Nathan said he really liked her, and her sexual appetite was fine by him, he’d always been a randy little git.’ He wiped an oil-stained hand across his eyes. ‘Thing is, she used him up. Hooked him on drugs, sold his stuff and took every penny he had. For all I know, she might’ve given him that fatal dose.’ He swallowed loudly. ‘I was younger then. I was so angry I would have killed her myself if I’d ever seen her again. I looked for her too, believe me.’
‘She disappeared?’
‘Yup. Off the face of the earth. I searched for months, DC Cullen, and I did come up with one thing. It did me no good, but it may help you. She moved to another squat, over in Kings Lynn. By the time I discovered where, she’d been long gone, but for the price of a line, they told me what she did. She returned to the dosshouse one night and found that one of the druggies had gone too far and overdosed. She took everything the girl owned — a birth certificate, a student’s ID and a crucifix. She told the other squatters it was her ticket to a new life. Everyone believed she stole the girl’s identity. Trouble was, no one knew who the dead girl was. She called herself Hebe, that’s all anyone knew. And the trail stopped there.’
‘Darren, you never knew for certain that she was Avril Hammond, did you?’
‘No proof, no. I just knew it was her. Nathan told me things, little things, but they all pointed to it being the missing girl.’
‘You never thought about going to the police?’ asked Yvonne softly.
‘My brother was in serious trouble, and I tried to look out for him. Because of Nathan, the Old Bill and I were never on the best of terms. I decided to let sleeping dogs lie. Now will you please forget who told you this?’ Darren Drew looked from one to the other of them.
Cat stared out through the rain-smeared windscreen. ‘As I read it, there’s nothing concrete here.’ She looked at him. ‘If I can keep your name out of it, Darren, I will, but I may need to see you again. Is that all right?’
‘Yeah, I’ve told you this much, so why not? Just don’t let on to my missus.’
Darren closed the car door and trundled away. Cat called him back. ‘Don’t mind me asking, but did she — Avril, Cookie, whoever she was, did you and she ever . . . ?’
Darren’s face darkened, and then he seemed to slump. ‘As I said, just don’t let on to my missus. That is part of my life I’ve shared with no one.’ Then, as Cat reached for the ignition, he called back softly, ‘Just the once, DC Cullen, and it was like rape. I felt raped.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
‘Sir! I don’t give a flying . . . Oh, this makes me so damned angry! Surely people’s lives must come first? Isn’t that what being a police officer is all about? You can’t reduce the protection!
Those people will be sitting targets for our killer,’ Nikki fumed.
‘It’s out of my hands, Nikki. Until we get our reinforcements, which hopefully will be tomorrow or the day after, we have to do the day-to-day work as well as the murder enquiry. You will still have officers posted there, we just can’t afford two men twenty-four hours a day, that’s all,” Greg Woodhall replied.
‘Great. Just great! There’s only four of them, for heaven’s sake! Perhaps it would be more cost effective if I stuck them all together in a cell, and charged them bloody rent until the killer’s captured!’
The corners of Greg’s mouth twitched. It’s all very well for him to smile, thought Nikki. These battles over the budget were almost a daily routine by now, but this one was serious.
‘Sir? Ma’am? I’m really sorry to interrupt, but I have something on Avril Hammond.’
Looking relieved, the superintendent slipped away, and Nikki glared at Cat Cullen.
‘Nice timing, Cat. You may have saved his life there — well, his balls anyway! Okay, let’s adjourn to the grotto.’
Joseph and Dave met them at the door to their murder room. ‘Got something, Nikki. Not vital, but another piece in the puzzle.’
‘Then come and join us, said Nikki. ‘I have news, and our Cat has some as well, so let’s party.’
Cat and Yvonne’s information surprised them. Her peers saw Avril as the village bike, whereas the adults thought her a sweet, intelligent child.
Nikki frowned. ‘According to Dr Foley, severely abused or disturbed kids often become promiscuous. But from what you say, Cat, she seems to have been little less than a prostitute.’
‘My source is a rather dubious character, but this time I do believe him. He was quite upset when he told us, cried real tears — unless I’m getting soft.’
‘Did Drew say when all this happened?’ Joseph was scribbling in his notebook.
‘Yes, and he gave me the address of the squat where the addict died.’
‘We’d better check with the Kings Lynn police to see if the body was ever identified. There is no telling how many times Avril’s changed her name since, but at least we might find out what she was calling herself then.’ Nikki looked at Joseph. ‘Will you check up on that?’
‘Yes, I’ll get on to it ASAP. Our news is rather small potatoes compared with Cat’s, I’m afraid. It’s about St Augustine’s churchyard. Do you remember the curate, a big Scot by the name of Campbell? Well, last night he went out there to take some cleaning stuff for Father Aidan. He saw a vehicle parked up in the dark by the back gates with its lights off, so he watched it for a while. He couldn’t see the driver, but when Campbell got out to ask them what they were doing, they drove off like a bat out of hell. Thing is, it was a red Toyota pickup, and yes, I know they are pretty popular around here, but Cyril Roberts had a red pickup truck out at his cottage on the fen, didn’t he?’ Joseph said.
‘And he used to be a butcher,’ said Yvonne. ‘And as Cat said, the dead bunnies had been dissected by an expert.’
‘Time to have another word with him, I guess.’ Nikki puffed out her cheeks. ‘But if it is him, what the hell is he up to? Why not come right out and tell us what’s on his mind? Why fart around with half the cast of Watership Down and a bunch of Tesco lilies?’
‘Perhaps even he doesn’t know why he’s doing it,’ Cat mused.
‘Bollocks! You said it, Cat Cullen, not me. You are getting soft!’
Cat grinned sheepishly.
‘Check him out anyway. Ben, would you attend to that?’ Nikki said.
He nodded. ‘Certainly. What’s your news, ma’am?’
‘Firstly, I want to know if our killer could possibly be one of the club members. We have a problem because there is no way any of them will submit voluntarily to a DNA test.’ Nikki frowned. ‘Now, it has come to my attention that the Briar Patch women are having some sort of charity bash tomorrow night. I have had a friendly word with Sammy, the bar owner, and as soon as the party finishes, we go in and take all the dirty glasses. Rory has agreed to conduct a fingerprint and DNA testing session. I’m looking for traces of Midnight Orchid lipstick, as well as a match for the DNA found at the crime scenes.’
‘You think the killer is one of the club members?’ Cat’s eyes were wide. ‘And killed two of their own?’
‘I don’t actually want to believe that. It could simply eliminate them from the search. There are twenty-five women in that club, plus other non-members who come as guests. A lot of them are of a similar age to Avril. A dozen of them fit the profile. We have no idea what her agenda is. Maybe Richard Foley will help when he talks to us tomorrow.’ Nikki looked up at the purloined clock. ‘It’s well after seven, so you’d better go home and get some rest. I’d like you in at the crack tomorrow, and it could be a very late night, for tomorrow we raid the Briar Patch.’
* * *
A strong wind was howling and moaning around the building. She did not like the wind. Its hollow, unearthly sound reminded her of her childhood. Quintin Eaudyke had stood on the very edge of the marsh, and the slightest breeze called up ghostly whispers and sighs from the watery fens.
Her father would sometimes lock her in her room at night while he was out on the seabank. She knew what he was doing out there under the stars. He was disposing of the animals. Digging shallow graves, throwing lumpy sacks into the outgoing tide. She hated him for that. Most of all she hated him because he was weak.
Mattie would not have been that way. Even as a little kid, her brother had been strong. She remembered the stocky, blond boy screaming and struggling as the metal tines of the machine tore at his young flesh. Her parents never believed that she had seen the accident. She had seemed so “unaffected,” unlike her pathetic father. Unaffected. If only they knew how affected she had been when her brother’s blood sprayed into the soil. It had been the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. It was where it all began.
She paced her lounge, wondering when the phone would ring and announce her visitor. She smiled and her immaculately made up face seemed to gleam. Another weak one, easy to entrap with promises, recreational drugs and sexual favours. She laughed softly. She was so good at giving sexual favours.
She poured herself a small drink and looked into the bedroom. It was ready for her guest. Candles flickered and soft music played. Tonight’s playmate enjoyed hard bondage, no fluffy handcuffs for her. She had no idea of the real danger she faced. It was so easy to take the pleasure further. Then, her partner became irrelevant, the pleasure was all hers. But the Greenborough streets were heaving with police at the moment, so she must be careful.
She drew her curtain aside. There was the squad car, a few hundred yards away. Not that it mattered. That detective inspector would soon work out who she was, so she might as well do what she enjoyed, while she was free to do so.
She walked to the bed, kicked off her shoes and lay down. She stretched her long limbs like a cat. She loved this time, the moments before one of her playmates arrived. It was like part of the foreplay. She was in control. Like a spider, she had built a beautiful web to trap her innocent prey.
How she hated the weak. She despised those mewling children back in the village, none of whom had the courage to open their wet mouths and tell. They never even had the guts to run away, and they were still the same! They deserved to be put out of their misery.
Of all of them, only the Gilmore girl had shown some fortitude. Sally had suffered some of the worst abuse, yet had managed to make a normal life. She lay back on the bed and smiled to herself. The hypnotherapy sessions would cause the detectives some anxiety. The police probably imagined that made Sally a prime target. How stupid. They had no idea that Sally’s trusted friend Julia, the gentle counsellor, was not all she seemed to be. Still, as a reward for her courage she would spare Sally Gilmore. Sally’s own memories would probably destroy her anyway, and she would not have to lift a finger. And if Sally survived, then good for her.
She was glad to h
ave found the Briar Patch women. Now, they had strength. They deceived their families, lied to their loved ones, twisted the truth to suit their own ends. They held down powerful jobs and walked in high places, influencing society and successfully guarding their dark secrets.
She sat up and pulled the thin, satiny gown around her. It was a pity things had gone so badly with dear Madeline. Well, there it was. She would always thank Madeline for putting her back on her original path.
She reached for the glass and emptied the contents in a single gulp. Part of her hoped that Sally would dig deep enough to bring the skeletons of Quintin Eaudyke up through the mire. Let them scream their truths and writhe in pain before crumbling into dust. Time was running out. There were a few more loose ends to tie up, then Sally could sing like a bird.
The sound of the entry phone brought her to her feet. Yes, of course you can come up. I’ll be waiting for you. Just be careful not to be seen, won’t you? We can’t let our secret be known. She ran her tongue over her full lips and walked barefoot into the lounge to answer the call.
* * *
Sylvia Caulfield packed away her thermometer and stethoscope and smiled down at the unhappy child. ‘You’ve frightened your mum and dad enough for one night, now just cuddle that handsome teddy bear and get to sleep, all right?’
The child snuggled down and closed his eyes. Sylvia handed the parents a packet of antibiotics and a prescription. ‘You can breathe again. It’s not meningitis, just a nasty infection. His temperature is coming down already. Start him on those tomorrow, and pick up the other medication in the morning.’ She zipped up her car coat. ‘He’ll be fine, but if you are worried, don’t hesitate to call me, okay?’
She stepped out into the cold wind, pulled her collar up around her ears and looked out across the dark expanse of marshland that flanked the cottage. This really was a desolate spot. Even in the daylight it made her feel uneasy, let alone at night. She walked towards her car and glanced up to the seabank. Silhouetted against a full moon stood a solitary figure. She watched it more closely. It was not, as she had first thought, gazing out towards the Wash, but staring landward, watching her.