by Rob Ashman
‘How else were they going to find her?’
He nods and with a swing of his massive arm, bangs the door shut. Two lights flash amber against the darkness followed by the pale glow of an interior light as he squeezes his frame behind the wheel. He pulls away without looking back. I wonder if I would ever see my friend again but somehow, I doubt it.
36
The naked body of Vanessa Wilding hung upside down from the oak beam set into the ceiling. The flesh was ripped from her bones and her dead eyes were cherry red. Her hair was matted with blood on one side where the arterial flow had dribbled down at the end. A ten-litre plastic bucket, that at one time had contained vinyl mat emulsion, was now filled with blood. The forth toe on her right foot was missing.
A passing motorist had made a 999 call to the fire brigade when he saw the flames from the road.
‘Bloody joy riders,’ was the overriding opinion of the firefighters after they’d extinguished the flames. They passed the vehicle details on to the police in the usual way and a sharp-eyed constable working in the control room had made a call to CID. Thirty minutes later, Kray was standing in the kitchen of the run-down farmhouse.
She looked at the body with both her fists clenched and tears in her eyes. Inside her head, a voice was screaming:
This little piggy went to market,
This little piggy stayed at home,
This little piggy …
Powerful lights gave the suspended corpse an iridescent glow.
‘This one is different to the others,’ Mitch said, snapping Kray away from the screaming in her head.
‘In what way?’
‘There is much more tissue damage.’
‘Did the killer use more force? Or a different tool?’
‘Can’t be sure, but it looks like it was more of a frenzied attack. There are incisions caused by the blade which we have not seen before.’
‘Maybe the killer got carried away.’
Kray couldn’t bear to look at the body anymore and walked out.
‘Roz, over here!’ Tavener was at the entrance to the barn. Kray wandered over trying to avoid the worst of the puddles.
‘What is it?’ She entered the building. To the right was the torched remains of the SUV. The inside of the vehicle was charcoal black and the windows had blown out with the intense heat. The acrid smell of melted plastic still hung in the air. Remarkably, the structure of the barn had remained intact, and only one half of the roof had gone up in flames. Black smoke hung in the rafters like rain clouds.
‘Fortunately for us, the brigade didn’t drown everything in water. Apparently by the time they got here, the fire was dying down. We found this.’
Tavener took a pen from his pocket and poked the scorched material at the bottom of the brazier. ‘This looks fresh.’
‘What is it?’
‘It looks like the burned remains of paper overalls and gloves, that kind of thing. It looks like there are more than one set. Also…’ Tavener walked towards the back of the barn, beckoning for Kray to follow. ‘I think whoever took Wilding held her in here.’ He clicked the torch on his phone and shone the beam down the set of steps. He nudged open the door.
‘There’s a blanket. Now, that could be a tramp sleeping rough, but my guess is, when we test it, we’ll find Vanessa Wilding’s DNA all over it,’ he said.
‘Why would you do that?’
‘What?’
‘Why would the killer want to hold his victim here when she was murdered in the house?
‘And why hold her at all?’
‘This one feels different to the others.’
‘I agree.’
‘Get forensics to focus on the burned clothes and this blanket. This might be the breakthrough we’ve been waiting for.’ Kray walked away.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To have an argument with a certain ACC.’
The traffic grew heavier the closer Kray got to town. She cursed the tourists under her breath as she hit yet another jam. Her mind was buzzing with what she had seen at the farm. The prospect of forensics finding evidence linking Palmer to the murders excited her. At last, something that might bust this case wide open and implicate the lying bastard. Mitch had been right when he said the body looked different to the others, her skin was hanging off in shreds with deep gouge marks cut down to the bone.
Kray had to convince Quade that Palmer was the prime suspect. After all, how many more coincidences before she sits up and takes notice? They let Palmer walk and hours later they find the next body. And the worse part of it all – her name was on the board. They knew she was going to be next.
Kray parked up and launched herself up the stairs, taking them two at a time. At the top, she had to stop to draw breath. Having a fight with Quade was going to be a whole heap more difficult if she couldn’t speak.
I need to give up the cigs.
The ACPO suite was quiet, the secretarial staff having long since gone home for the night. Kray knocked at Quade’s door. She could hear voices coming from inside.
‘Come,’ her voice boomed out.
Kray opened the door to find ACC Quade sat at her conference table drinking coffee with a man dressed in faded jeans and an open neck shirt. He was mid-forties with short dark hair and a tanned face.
‘Roz, I thought you were out at the farm.’
What is this, an episode of Emmerdale?
‘Yes, ma’am. I was at the murder scene, but I need to talk to you.’
‘I need to talk to you as well. I was going to wait until the morning, but as you are here now… Would you like a coffee?’
The man in the open neck shirt was smiling at her. It was unnerving.
‘What? No, ma’am, thank you.’ Kray glanced at the man. ‘If I might have a word with you in private?’
‘Oh, sorry, Roz. This is DI Dan Bagley from GMP.’
‘Hi,’ he said. Roz nodded back.
Greater Manchester Police? What the hell is he doing here?
‘Please, Roz, sit down.’ Quade took another sip from her cup.
‘Ma’am, I have something to discuss with you urgently. It concerns the latest victim.’
‘And does it also concern Kevin Palmer?’
‘Yes it does, ma’am, but I need to have that discussion with you privately.’
‘That’s why I wanted to speak to you and that’s why I have asked Dan to join us.’
‘I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t follow you.’ Kray frowned and looked at Bagley.
‘I was concerned after our last conversation, Roz.’
‘Concerned about what?’
‘Concerned that you had tunnel vision with this case.’
‘That’s not true. Kevin Palmer was, or is, our prime suspect. It’s right and proper that we target our resources on him.’
‘When you say prime suspect, you mean only suspect.’
‘We are pursuing numerous lines of inquiry and Palmer just happens to fit into every one. We found a brazier containing burned clothing at the latest crime scene. I’m sure it will give us the forensic evidence we’ve been missing.’
‘My concern is you have a bee in your bonnet about Palmer and cannot see the wider picture–’
‘A bee in my bonnet?’
‘And that is why I have asked DI Bagley to join the investigation. He brings a wealth of experience and will be an asset to the team. You will still be SRO on the case, of course, but Dan will help to bring a fresh pair of eyes.’
‘Don’t you have murders of your own you should be solving in Manchester?’
‘Mary asked me if I could help out.’
Mary, who the fuck calls her Mary?
‘Had a lot of experience of tracking down serial killers have you, Dan?’ Bagley looked down into his coffee. ‘No, I thought not. Look, I have nothing against you, and I’m sure you’re a big hit with the guys and girls over in GMP, but we don’t need your help. We know what we’re doing here. We don’t need this, ma’am.’
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The silence in the room was painful. It was crunch time.
‘Look, Roz,’ Quade said, ‘you haven’t been back at work long. You had a spell on sick leave following a horrendous case where you became a target for the killer. You were attacked and injured. I truly admire the way in which you’ve got back in the saddle, but you need help with this one. You’ve got a one-track mind where Palmer is concerned and it’s blinding you to other possibilities.’
Kray spun the ring round and round her finger. A necessary diversion to stop her punching Quade in her fat face. She said nothing.
‘I’ve briefed Dan and he has some ideas that I want you to hear.’
Kray looked at him but said nothing.
‘Let me start by asking you a question,’ Bagley said, eager to get off the mark. ‘Who is most likely to be the next victim?’
‘It’s written on the board in the incident room, so you already know the answer to that,’ Kray snapped, still spinning the ring.
‘Sadie Raynor, she is the natural choice, if we follow your train of thought. But that doesn’t fit.’
‘How come?’ Kray asked.
‘Because the killer follows the sequence of events in Palmer’s life. Along the lines of the children’s rhyme. Great piece of deduction on that, by the way, seeing that whoever is doing this is following the verses in the nursery rhyme.’
Patronising fuck.
Bagley continued, ‘But if we follow the chain of events, Sadie Raynor would have been one of the first to be killed. She had the affair with Chapman, he was the first victim. It makes sense that she would have been killed around the same time.’
‘Yes, I suppose so, but maybe he’s leaving the best ’til last.’
‘Maybe. But whoever is doing this does seem to be following a strict pattern and leaving Sadie alive goes against the flow.’
‘That is a valid thought.’ Kray had to concede.
‘Let’s look at another part of the case – the lack of evidence. Correct me if I’m wrong, but there is nothing that puts Palmer at any of the crime scenes, plus he has an alibi for two of the murders.’
‘That’s true but we haven’t had time to question him over this latest killing.’
‘Okay, let’s stick to what we know. The other thing that is clear is he has every reason to want these people dead.’
‘Agreed, his motives for carrying out the killings are strong.’
‘Not only are they strong, but they are well known, they are in the public domain.’
‘Err, yes, I suppose so.’ Kray wasn’t sure where this was heading.
‘And Palmer uses the same techniques to murder the victims that he employs when he goes to work. Isn’t there something inherently crazy about that? If you were going to kill someone, would you choose a method that’s so close to home? It makes no sense.’
‘It’s what he knows and it fits with the rhyme.’
‘But who in their right mind would do that? It’s like Palmer is hanging a bloody big sign above his head saying, “I’m over here, come and get me”.’
Kray said nothing.
‘What is your opinion of Sadie Raynor?’ Bagley said, breaking his silence.
‘What sort of question is that? I thought we were dealing with hard facts here, not opinions.’
‘What’s your opinion, Roz?’ Quade chipped in.
‘I spoke with her at her home and my overwhelming impression was she is a woman on a mission. A mission to give herself the lifestyle that was denied to her by Palmer. She openly admitted to me that she lied about him being violent and about how she flaunted her infidelity in his face. She resents him for holding her back and has done everything in her power to destroy him. She considers him a laughing stock.’
‘I’ve read the file notes and she seems to me to be a nasty piece of work.’
‘Yes, I would say so.’ The last comment of Sadie Raynor resounded in Kray’s head.
Bagley looked across at Quade as if seeking permission. Kray could feel the punchline coming.
‘I think, Roz, you’ve been looking at this investigation through the wrong end of the telescope.’
‘What? What the hell does that mean?’ Kray was well and truly lost.
‘Sadie Raynor isn’t the next victim. She’s trying to frame Kevin Palmer.’
37
I’m exhausted. I know I should be riding the crest of a permanent high, but I’m not. My body aches and I have a splitting headache, a clear sign that my inability to keep to a strict medication routine has taken its toll.
I’m sitting on the bathroom floor, the cold of the tiles penetrate the thin cotton material of my pyjama bottoms. I take the kitchen knife and prise away the wooden fascia at the bottom of the shower tray, exposing the plumbing beneath. I lay on my side and work my arm into the gap, feeling around. My fingers touch the plastic bag and I drag it free.
I slide the tab across, releasing the zip lock and pour the contents onto the floor. Boxes and plastic containers scatter around me and I line them up in order. I pick up each one in turn and pop the pills from the blister packs, counting out enough for the coming week. Then, I transfer them into the other boxes – one is marked Paracetamol, the other marked Ibuprofen and the last one has Cold and Flu written across it.
I gather up the boxes and containers, replace them into the bag and shove them back into the recess under the shower. The wooden fascia snaps back into place. I pick the boxes from the floor and place them into the mirror-fronted medicine cabinet mounted on the wall.
I catch my reflection as I close the door. I’m looking drained, washed out. Dark circles have appeared around my eyes and my skin is blotchy. I pop two tablets into my mouth and wash them down with a handful of tap water.
I pad out of the bathroom into the lounge. A tray of half eaten chilli beef and boiled rice is sitting on the worktop. I can’t be bothered to clear it away. I head into the bedroom and curl up under the duvet, facing the wall. All the pieces are now in play, and all I have to do is wait, though, I have to say, that detective woman does seem to be a little slow on the uptake.
The body of Vanessa Wilding crams my thoughts. I can see her swinging back and forth as I drag the blade across her flesh. With each stroke the anger inside me burst to the surface.
I lost control.
I thought about my kids and how this fucking woman had denied me access to them. I thought about my wife spreading her poison and this woman lapping it up, eager to deliver the bad news. The more I thought, the harder I scrubbed. We were trained in work not to damage the skin of the pig. I can’t say I took that into consideration when dispatching darling Vanessa.
It was great to see Irvine. I had forgotten how much I missed him. He was looking good and practicing his speech exercises was obviously paying off. If only we could have spent more time together, but given the circumstances that was not a bright idea.
My eyes close, and I drift off. My alarm will soon wake me for my early shift.
It was a very different story for Kray. It didn’t look like sleep was going to visit her anytime soon. She was lying in bed, staring at the green glow of the digits on the clock. Even a long soak in the bath and two-thirds of a bottle of wine had not worked its usual magic. The events of the day were churning round and round with the same thought careering through her brain. We knew who the next vic would be and still didn’t save her.
The only thing that broke her train of thought was that bloody interview with Palmer. Every time she thought about it, her scars pricked and tingled. She had listened to the tape so many times she could repeat it word for word, yet she could not put her finger on what was bugging her. But one thing she knew for sure – something wasn’t right.
Eventually in the small hours of the morning she drifted into a fitful sleep, Palmer’s words flying around her dreams like helium balloons in a storm.
My alarm goes off, I feel like shit. The fuzzy head of last night has been replaced with a sharp pain behind my eyes, and m
y body tells me I have the early on-set of flu – which I know I don’t.
I drag myself out of bed and into the lounge. The smell of stale food greets me from the half-eaten carton sat on the table; it makes me gag. I pick up the bin from the kitchen, and with a sweep of my hand, I dispose of the plastic container. Doing it last night would have been a better option. I flick the kettle on to boil and head for the bathroom.
The room is cold and the morning air blasts at my face. I need to do something about that before it gets much worse. I stare at my reflection in the mirror and open the door to get my tablets. The less I see of my vacant expression, the better. A scoop of water washes down more tablets. Now, I need to eat.
The wind cuts through my coat as I walk to my car. The sun is not yet awake, and the onset of winter seems ever closer. The heater in my car struggles to de-mist the windscreen. If I’m not careful, I’m going to be late.
I pull into the car park and switch off the engine. My head feels like it is going to split in two, more tablets hit the back of my throat. It is way too early to take them but what the hell?
The factory is a wall of sound as I make my way to goods-in. The screeching, grinding and clanking penetrates my ears. I can’t make out if it is a genuinely louder today or whether it’s down to an increase in my sensitivity. Maybe a little of both.
‘Where have you been, Palmer?’ shouts Vinny Burke.
‘Oh, err, sorry I was taken into the police station to help them with their inquiries. I tried to call but could get no signal.’
‘You know the rules. You are supposed to contact your supervisor if you’re sick.’
‘But I wasn’t sick. I was helping the police.’
‘Yeah, fucking likely story. Still pissed, more like.’
‘I don’t drink.’
‘No! What the fuck is wrong with you, Palmer? Never trust a man who doesn’t drink, that’s what my old man used to say.’
‘I was helping–’
‘Consider this a first warning.’
‘You can’t do that, there are procedures–’