The Red Ribbon Girls

by Adam J. Wright

  She turns to Matt. “What’s taking so bloody long?”

  “Got to get his story straight, Guv.”

  “He can’t talk his way out of this, no matter how he spins it.” On the table in front of her are a number of pictures printed from memory cards found in Robert North’s desk drawer. They show Caroline Shields in her flat, in the hallway of Northmoor House, and in the parking area. The computer they took from the flat is in the cybercrime unit, waiting to be forensically analysed. Unfortunately it’s in a queue but Dani has enough to go on with the memory card pictures. For now anyway.

  “Do you think he’s our man, Guv?”

  She’s asked herself this question a hundred times already today. Is Robert North the Snow Killer? The evidence they’ve found so far certainly makes him a suspect but when Dani looks at the man, she finds it hard to believe he’s the killer they’ve been tracking for the past two years. Still, she isn’t going to dismiss him that easily.

  The door opens and North enters the room, followed by the duty solicitor. They both take their seats at the table.

  “You do the honours,” Dani tells Matt.

  He starts the recorder and states the date, time, and who is in the room.

  “Now then, Mr North, we have a few questions for you,” Dani says, “What can you tell me about—”

  “Before we begin,” the duty solicitor says, “I have a written statement signed by Robert North that he would like me to read out and then give to you.”

  “Go ahead,” Dani says, sitting back in her chair. Here comes the story he’s spent the past hour formulating.

  The duty solicitor produces a piece of paper and reads from it. “I, Robert Daniel North, admit that I set up a camera that pointed into the top floor flat at Northmoor House. I did so for security reasons and did not intend to invade anyone’s privacy.

  Furthermore, I would like to point out that I was out of the country when Caroline Shields, the resident in the top floor flat, went missing. I was in Benidorm, Spain visiting my parents from the 12th of December to the 4th of January.”

  Dani feels herself stiffen but doesn’t let her face betray any emotion. Why the hell wasn’t this in the case file? The report she read simply said that Robert North wasn’t at home when the constables visited Northmoor House nor was he interviewed at a later date. The report didn’t say that was because he was on bloody holiday.

  The duty solicitor slides the statement across the table towards Dani. She leaves it there, checks the clock on the wall and says, “Interview paused at 11:23 a.m.”

  Two minutes later, in the corridor outside the interview room, she says to Matt, “Find out if that’s true about him being in Spain.”

  “Yes, Guv.” He takes out his phone and begins dialling.

  Dani pushes through a number of doors until she’s outside the station, standing on the snowy pavement as the traffic rumbles past on Northway. She can’t believe that someone in Henson’s team made a cock up like this. How is she supposed to catch a killer when the inquiry reports aren’t filled in correctly?

  Matt comes outside and offers her a sheepish smile. “I was just talking to one of the constables who did the interviews at Northmoor House. He told me that the reason they didn’t go back to interview Robert North was because they found out he was in Benidorm visiting his parents. They confirmed it at the time. There’s no doubt about it; he was in Spain.”

  “So why wasn’t it in the report?”

  He shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know, Guv.”

  She begins to pace the pavement, frustration building. What else did Henson’s team miss? What else isn’t in the report?

  “Come on,”she says to Matt as she goes back into the police station. “We’re going to go through the case file with a fine-tooth comb. There’s something we’re not seeing.”

  “Regarding Robert North?”

  She shakes her head exasperatedly. “No, not him. We’ve got him on a voyeurism charge but he wasn’t in the country when Caroline went missing or when Stephanie Wilmot was murdered.”

  “So what are you thinking, Guv?”

  She leads him through the corridors to the room they were using before the interview, unlocks it, and ushers him inside. The Caroline Shields case file sits on one of the desks next to a computer that is currently switched off.

  “Take a seat,” Dani says to Matt, gesturing to one of the chairs. She goes to a whiteboard on the wall that has a number of figures written on it and wipes them off with her hand. From a holder attached to the board, she removes a blue marker and writes:

  Snow White

  Diazepam

  Red Ribbon

  “Should I take notes?” Matt asks.

  “No, I’ll do the writing. We need to brainstorm these three things to start with.” Pointing to the words Red Ribbon, she says, “Why did Robert North have a red ribbon in his flat? We know he isn’t the Snow Killer so is this red ribbon just a coincidence?”

  “That’s a hell of a coincidence, Guv.”

  “Agreed. And then there’s the diazepam. Robert North just happens to have a considerable quantity of the same drug the killer uses to sedate his victims. Another coincidence?”

  Matt shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe he just has trouble sleeping. He had a lot of painkillers in his bedside table as well. It probably relates to the accident he was in when he was a child.”

  “The accident,” Dani says, writing the word on the right side of the board. She draws a line connecting the word Accident with the word Diazepam. “Get on to Sandra and see if she can find out more about this accident. Tell her to contact the Norwegian police if she has to.”

  Matt calls DC Sandra Sharp at Headquarters while Dani studies the words on the board. The words Snow White leap out at her. She turns to Matt, who is still on the phone. “Didn’t we find a Disney pencil case in Robert North’s flat?”

  He purses his lips for a moment and then nods.

  She writes Pencil Case on the board and draws a line between it and Snow White.

  Matt ends the call. “She’s been on to the Norwegian police already and they’re sending her some information, apparently.”

  “Great. What we know so far is that Robert North’s brother was killed in the accident along with a young Norwegian woman, right?”

  “That’s all we could find in English.”

  She writes Brother and Norwegian Woman beneath the word Accident.

  “I think her name was Astrid, Guv.”

  “What?”

  “The Norwegian woman. Her name was Astrid.” He consults his notes. “Astrid Andersen.”

  Dani erases the words Norwegian Woman and writes the name in their place. “What about North’s brother? What was his name?”

  “No idea,” Matt says. “We only know Astrid’s name because it was mentioned in the Norwegian news article.”

  “We need to find out the brother’s name.”

  Matt looks doubtful. “Are you sure we should be spending our time on this, Guv? The accident happened nearly twenty year ago.”

  “I want all the information I can get. Now, this Disney pencil case we found in North’s flat. Do you think it’s his?”

  “Doesn’t fit in with the other stuff he owns.”

  “No, it doesn’t. But it does fit in with the items found in Caroline Shields’ flat. She was a big Disney fan. That’s why she was dressed up as Snow White for the Christmas party.”

  “Maybe North stole the pencil case from her flat. He’s the landlord so he’d definitely have a key.”

  “And the red ribbon?”

  “He probably stole that from Caroline as well.”

  Dani writes the words Snow Killer at the top of the board and circles them. She draws lines from the circle to connect it to the words Diazepam and Red Ribbon. “You can see the problem, Matt; the same drug the killer uses and a red ribbon were found in the possession of a man who lives in the same building as Caroline Shields. This is more than a coincidence.”<
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  “But Robert North was in Spain.”

  She nods. “He was in Spain so he had nothing to do with Caroline’s disappearance.” She draws a question mark on the board and connects it to the words Snow Killer. Jabbing at it with the marker, she says, “So who is this? He has access to the same drugs and he saw Caroline that night in her Snow White costume.”

  Matt’s phone rings. He answers it. “What have you got for me?” He listens for a couple of minutes then turns on the computer at the desk and logs into the network. “Yeah, mail those over to me, Sandra. Thanks.”

  He ends the call and looks at Dani. “The Norwegian police are going to phone Sandra with more details about the accident but for now, they’ve sent her some photos that were taken at the scene. She says there are two that we really need to see. She’s sending them over.”

  Dani leans on the back of Matt’s chair while he opens his email. There’s a message from Sandra with two image attachments, entitled AstridAndersen1 and AstridAndersen2. Matt double clicks the first one and it opens up to show the shoreline of a lake. A snow-covered beach sweeps down to the water where sheets of ice float on the surface. In the shallows, Dani can see a human shape floating beneath the ice. She can’t see any details because the photo was taken from some distance away—to establish the location, she guesses—and captures the scene rather than the details of the person under the ice. The only thing Dani can see clearly is the dark green parka the corpse is wearing.

  “Try the next one,” she tells Matt. He clicks the image and it fills the screen.

  Dani’s breath catches. Although this photo was taken almost twenty years ago, the image it shows perfectly matches four images that are burned into Dani’s brain.

  Astrid Andersen is lying on her back beneath the ice, her eyes staring up at the sky. She looks tranquil in death, a serene beauty perfectly displayed like a butterfly under glass. Her blonde hair floats around her head like a halo and floating within that halo is a single red ribbon.

  Chapter 30

  After having tea with Ivy, I go back up to my own flat and peer out of the window. The journalists have finally gone, probably driven away by the weather. The snow is coming down so heavily and so fast that I can’t see anything at all beyond the parking area.

  Sitting on the sofa, I glance over at a silver-framed photograph of Greg that was taken on our wedding day. He’s smartly dressed in a morning coat, smiling at the camera like he doesn’t have a care in the world. A pang of guilt brings hot tears to my eyes. I should have told him that I was going to the papers with my story. Part of me knows that the reason I didn’t is because he would have tried to talk me out of it.

  Picking up my phone, I decide to ring him at work. It wouldn’t be right for him to hear about all of this from the news. Of course, I might be too late; he’s probably already seen a newspaper headline or heard about it on the radio. What must he be thinking?

  The phone tells me there’s no service and I throw it back onto the coffee table. Bloody power cut. That means I can’t work either. Not that I’d be able to anyway; my mind keeps replaying the events of this morning and I’m constantly wondering what’s going on at the police station where they’re holding Rob. Have they uncovered some piece of evidence that links him to Caroline’s death and possibly those of the other women?

  While I’m sitting there in the gloom, I hear a noise from the kitchen like a slow ticking. When I realise what it is, I push myself up from the sofa and storm in there. The leak is back. Water has pooled on the ceiling and it slowly dripping into the sink. I have an urge to go out into the hallway and break open the padlock on the attic hatch. Rob isn’t here to stop me.

  But then I realise I don’t need to break into the attic. I have a set of keys that probably fit all the locks in the house. Not the padlock, of course, since that was put there recently and the keys I have are old. But they will fit the house’s back door, which has to be the secret way into the attic. I know there isn’t a brick wall behind that door because I know Mike used the door to go to and from the shed. And I know there’s another way into the attic because I heard footsteps up there when the hatch was closed and locked.

  And since there aren’t any other doors that could possibly lead up there, the back door is the only possible explanation. There must be a secret stairway that leads up to the top of the house.

  At least if I see where the leak is coming through the roof, I can put a bucket underneath it. Grabbing my phone in case I need to use its light to see by, I put on my coat and hat and take the bunch of keys out of my bedside table drawer.

  Northmoor House is dark and silent as I go downstairs. Ivy’s door is closed and Rob’s has a length of blue and white police tape stretched across it. Outside, the snow has formed a thick layer on the ground. It shrouds my Mini, Mike’s Volvo, and Rob’s Land Rover.

  I walk past the cars and around to the back of the house, blinking away the cold snowflakes that land in my eyes. When I get to the black door, I select the largest key, a long iron thing that looks like it’s about a hundred years old, and place it into the lock. When I turn it, the lock clicks open.

  Wasting no time out here in the snow, I open the door and slip inside.

  I’m in a small, square room whose walls are of bare brick. Against one wall stands a metal ladder. I go to its foot and stare up into darkness. I can’t see how high it goes but I’m guessing it reaches all the way to the attic.

  I turn on the Flashlight app on my phone and direct the light up along the ladder. It barely reaches a few feet before the dark swallows it.

  Determined to find the leak, I put one foot on the bottom rung and give the ladder an experimental shake. It feels sturdy enough. Still I hesitate. I’m not really afraid of heights but climbing up into the darkness is unnerving.

  Stepping up onto the ladder, I realise that I’m not only going up into the attic to find the source of the leak but also to see what else is up there. Rob looked panicked when Greg was going to go up and have a look so I’m sure there’s more hidden up there than just junk.

  Climbing the ladder while holding the phone up to light my way proves difficult. It means I can only use one hand to hold onto the metal rungs and every time I let go to grab a higher rung, I have to wrap the arm holding the phone around the ladder to hold myself steady. This isn’t going to work.

  I stuff the phone into my jeans and I’m suddenly plunged into complete blackness. At least I can use both hands on the ladder, though. I take it easy, making sure my feet are firmly planted on the rung below me before reaching up for the one above. In this manner, I make slow progress but after a couple of minutes, I’m sure I must be approaching the attic.

  Stopping to check, I take the phone out of my pocket and turn on the light. Just a few more feet to a square opening above. I put the phone back into my pocket and climb the remaining rungs.

  When I’m through the open hatch, I use the phone to check my surroundings.

  I’m in the attic. The beam of light reveals wooden beams and the slant of the roof above my head. The floor is wooden, fashioned of rough floorboards. I step off the ladder and the boards creak beneath my weight.

  Even though the phone’s light doesn’t reach far and I can’t see the far end of the attic, I can tell that the room I’m in is expansive. A quick inspection of the roof above me doesn’t reveal any holes. In fact, the roof looks like it’s in good repair. Still, I need to find the area that is situated above our kitchen. There must be a hole or missing tile there.

  Trying to mentally gauge the distance and direction of our kitchen from where I’m standing now, I walk forward a few steps before something on the wall catches my eye. Stepping closer, I see that there are two newspaper clippings taped to the bricks. Beneath the clippings is a small table bearing various items.

  The newspaper articles are old and yellowed by age. Only the headlines are readable, the smaller type having faded into illegibility over the years.

  The first h
eadline says, Car Crash Kills Young Boy.

  The second piece of newspaper once had a small photo beneath the headline but it’s now nothing more than a light grey square. The words above the square of faded ink read, Scandinavian Police Search For Missing Woman And Boy.

  On the table beneath the pieces of paper sits a framed photo. It shows a young Fred and Wanda North standing by a red Volvo with two young boys. It’s snowing and everyone is swaddled up in winter gear. I’d put the older boy at twelve or thirteen. The younger looks eight-years-old, the same age Max was when he died. Although I know the younger boy is Rob, I don’t recognise him because both boys have scarves wrapped around their faces. This was obviously taken on the Scandinavian holiday, before the accident.

  Why is the photo up here in the attic? Is this some sort of shrine Rob has built to his dead older brother? Is this where he comes to mourn?

  Replacing the framed picture on the table, I walk in the direction I believe our kitchen is located, checking the roof as I go. It all seems waterproof so far.

  Then I see a bulky object ahead of me, a darkness within the shadows. Expecting it to be a piece of furniture, I aim the light at it. The beam illuminates a large chest freezer. It’s plugged into a socket on the wall but at the moment, it isn’t running because of the power cut.

  When I see a hole in the side of the metal, near the freezer’s base, I realise that the leak we’ve been experiencing in our flat isn’t due to a faulty roof at all. The power cuts are causing the ice in the freezer to melt and it’s leaking out onto the floorboards before finding its way down to our flat.

  Someone has put grey duct tape over the hole but it hasn’t done much good; the water is flowing freely onto the floorboards.

  I’m not sure why Rob would keep a freezer in the attic, although having seen the size of the basement flat I suppose it makes sense. There’s no room for a freezer down there, especially one as big as this.

  “What does he keep in here?” I ask myself. “A thousand frozen pizzas?”

  I open the lid and look into the freezer. Inside is a solid block of ice that reaches all the way up to the lip, as if the freezer was filled with water at one time and then left to freeze. If Rob has food in here, there’s no way he can get to it. The ice is covered with a coating of frost.