She didn’t invite me to sit, but I did anyway. I wanted to make it harder for her to throw me out. ‘Thanks for seeing me. I’m –’
‘Look, I only invited you in because my neighbour is a nosy cow and I didn’t want to say this on the doorstep. I can’t tell you anything about John Bairstow. That part of my life is over.’ She thumped down onto the chair opposite and folded her arms.
‘I understand it must be difficult.’
‘No, you don’t.’ No malice, no rudeness, just telling it like it is. ‘Sorry, but you have to go. My boys will be home from school soon.’
I spotted a framed photograph of Ariel with a bearded man and two teenage boys, who’d inherited their mum’s overbite. ‘Handsome kids. They giving the girls grief yet?’
A ghost of a smile. ‘And then some. I can’t keep up with their love lives. You got kids?’
I shook my head. ‘No, but I had a teenage brother once.’
‘Then you know. Boys. They’re a different species.’
The smile caught on my lips. Tommy never broke any hearts, unless you count mine.
‘That photo was taken on our Canary Island cruise last month.’ Ariel’s voice was soft and low with an Estuary twang. ‘Rained the whole week. Two thousand depressed tourists bobbing about in a sardine tin. Wasn’t my idea of fun but Miles thought it would be good for . . .’ She sighed heavily.
My bag was on my lap, my hand inside ready to pull out my tape recorder. I let it go. ‘Ariel, I just need two minutes of your time. Please, hear me out.’
She rubbed her lower lip with a finger, erasing more traces of lipstick. It was the only make-up she’d been wearing and, without it, her face looked bare and hard. ‘There’s no point. Nothing you can say will make me talk.’
The hunch in Ariel’s shoulders, the way she avoided my eye, reminded me of Natalia. A subconscious effort to take up as little room as possible. Common in rape victims. Even victims who’d been raped decades ago, apparently.
‘Where did you say you worked again?’
‘The London Herald.’
‘Your name . . . it’s familiar. Wait, it’s coming back to me. I saw you on telly. You found Lydia Lawson.’ I didn’t speak; let her piece it together. ‘Hang on, that’s not why you’re here, is it? Did he have something to do with . . .’ Ariel scratched her eyebrow. Her hand was trembling.
It’s a dead end. Mack’s words gnawed at my nerves. I had to prove him wrong. But bolshie wouldn’t get Ariel to open up. I leaned in and softened my voice.
‘Honestly? I don’t know if John Bairstow is involved. I’m chasing a lead. It could be nothing but . . .’ I shrugged, and clasped my hands in my lap, waiting for her move.
Ariel fiddled with her collar and stared up at the vintage print that was tacked to the wall above the table. A signpost that said Rat race one way and Beach the other. I resisted the urge to speak, to push, to do anything other than show I was a sympathetic listener with time on my hands.
Suddenly Ariel jumped up and dragged a stool over towards the cupboards. She clambered up, reached on top of the cupboard, then hopped down clutching a pack of Marlboro Lights.
‘I don’t smoke but . . .’ She lit a cigarette and opened the back door, shooing the smoke outside. ‘Miles’ll kill me if he smells it. We’re giving up together. Last time he cracked first and I gave him hell.’
I smiled. ‘Take your time.’
‘My therapist warned me about this. Told me the past is never buried. It’ll revisit me in many forms. I didn’t think she meant a reporter. I had years of therapy. Some of it even helped. Not as much as Miles did. When he came along, a year after . . . it happened, I grabbed onto him with both hands.’
I pulled my coat around me. Ariel, in her bare feet, didn’t seem to notice the icy draught. ‘How did you two meet?’
‘In a bar. Not exactly fairytale stuff, but, well, it was a fairytale to me. I was in a bad way, but he saved me.’ Ariel took a long drag, then exhaled the smoke out of the back door, where the wind blasted it straight back in. Unless Miles was an idiot, Ariel’s secret wouldn’t be safe for long. ‘Did everything I could to make myself as ugly as possible. Which took some doing.’ A shy smile. ‘You should have seen me back then. I know you shouldn’t toot your own horn but . . . Here.’ Ariel opened a drawer behind her and handed me a tatty red photo album.
I flicked through pages torn from magazines and catalogues, barely recognising the face staring out at me. It was crafted from sunlight; a golden fringe, mocha skin and kitten-round eyes speckled gold. It was a moment before I properly registered what I was looking at, and I kept my voice neutral.
‘You were a model?’
‘Just Seventeen called me the new Bridget Bardot. Bet you’d never guess that was me.’ I opened my mouth to object but Ariel waved her cigarette around, wafting more smoke into the kitchen. ‘I chose a different path. My looks brought me nothing but trouble. When Miles came along I hitched a ride out of that world. Focused on building a family. To tell the truth, it was a relief. Not caring what I looked like. Every pound I gained, the stronger I became. Said goodbye to the weak girl I once was, the one who allowed herself to . . .’ She stared down at the ground, chewed her fingernail. Then she turned her face towards me, raised her chin. ‘Miles gets it. Says I’m beautiful anyway. Even without all the pretty. Who needs it, right?’
My eyes flicked towards her marabou heels, then to the pearly smudge above her top lip. Ariel still indulged in pretty, but only when she thought no one else could see. The thought made my insides tight with anger.
‘You weren’t weak.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Back then. You stood up for yourself. You sent a guilty man to jail.’ Ariel, leaning on the door frame, flinched, but didn’t look away. ‘You put your neck on the line; you reported the attack, and, let’s face it, not many women get that far. Then you went public, endured a trial; you succeeded. So, no, you weren’t weak. I’d say you were pretty heroic.’
Ariel stubbed her cigarette out on the doorstep and hid the evidence in the outdoor bin. Then she padded over to the counter, put the kettle on and switched off the radio. Without the noise, the air felt charged, electric. The way it always does when a source is about to turn.
‘What exactly do you want to know?’
Heart thumping, I reached into my bag and pulled out the tape recorder. ‘The sex offender I’m looking for is a very specific type. The more detail I have, the better. Can you tell me where it happened?’
Ariel was facing the wall. I heard her exhale slowly. ‘A catalogue shoot in Chislehurst.’
‘John was on the shoot?’
‘He was the photographer. Tall and bald. Round glasses. You know, the Harry Potter kind.’ Ariel shoved a hand into her pocket. ‘I’d only been modelling for a few months and was nervous. John was nice; told me he’d chosen me personally because he knew I had something special. When I was done, he suggested I hang at the house until it was time to catch my train. Said he wanted to teach me about lighting and angles.’
Ariel grabbed two mugs and dumped a heap of sugar into hers. ‘For a while we just talked. I was flattered he took an interest. Then he told me the natural light was better upstairs.’
I left space for Ariel to continue, but a taut silence stretched through the room. The kettle boiled, but she didn’t move.
I took all the emotion out of my voice for the next question. It was important to pull Ariel back from the edge. ‘The man I’m looking for . . . the evidence shows he struggles to perform sexually. He has to be creative during his attacks. Does this sound like John Bairstow to you?’
Ariel closed her eyes. A hint of a nod. This time I waited.
‘At first I fought back. He wasn’t overly strong. But he clamped a pillow over my face. I thought I was going to suffocate. I won’t forget the pain. He used a bottle, then he . . . he finished himself off all over me. I lay there, frozen, as he buckled up his belt.
Before he left, he told me he’d filmed the whole thing. Said he’d edit it in a way that made me look as if I was gagging for it. He’d send the tape to my boyfriend.’
Ariel opened her eyes and gazed over my head. ‘I felt sure my mum would notice. I couldn’t sit down for two days. It took me three to confess. Mum marched me straight to the police station. I’d stashed my clothes at the bottom of my laundry basket so there was plenty of evidence and the bruising on my, you know, proved it was rape. I felt disgusting. He told me I was nothing. Over and over, during the attack. And you know what? He was right.’
Eva’s attacker had said the same thing.
I shifted forward in my chair. ‘Do you know what happened to John? After prison, I mean.’
‘I tried to move on with my life. Never looked back.’ The corners of her mouth dropped. ‘Well, almost never.’
She walked me to the door, her face tight and worn, and held out a cold hand. ‘He was confident, had a certain way about him. That’s why I didn’t see it coming. I never doubted there were others. He was too good.’
I nodded and pushed my card into her hand. Then I charged towards the waiting taxi, the wind chime tinkling behind me.
28
I hopped off the Tube at Embankment Station. I needed to clear my head. John Bairstow had filmed himself sexually assaulting a model, then tried to blackmail her with the evidence. That definitely sounded like the sort of pervert who could go on to set up the Juliets. Then there was the fact he showed up at Amanda’s house the week before she died. And the fact Amanda was hidden under a blackthorn tree. With each step, I became surer of myself. I pulled out my phone and texted Rowley: Big developments, we need to talk.
The sun was dipping behind the city horizon, turning the sky into a patchwork of pinks. It was one of those miraculous February sunsets that comes out of nowhere, providing sustenance to winter-weary souls. By the time I reached Lambeth Bridge, fire had burned to coal and the spectacle was over. I trudged up Vauxhall Bridge Road, lost in thought, when my phone rang.
‘Soph, we’re running a theory this end.’ Kate sounded breathless. ‘We’ve been through the shots of Leo Brand’s party at The Rose and can track Lydia’s movements through the pictures. But there’s a hole. After she fights with Liam, she disappears.’
I frowned. ‘Yeah, she went to DreamBox with Amos.’
‘No, before that, because she reappears in the photos again later on. She argues with Liam, when he returns to the hotel, then she goes AWOL for at least an hour.’
‘What are you thinking?’
‘What if she was working the night of the party? What if she vanished upstairs to meet a client? It’s a long shot because she’s not on hotel CCTV as far as we can tell –’
‘But if she was working for the Juliets that night, they’d know how to sneak her upstairs without being seen.’
I stood on the street corner as the traffic belted past me. Could that be why Liam went back to confront Lydia? He was trying to stop her from meeting a client. And when his pleas fell on deaf ears, he stormed off into the night. Behind me, a lorry driver leaned on his horn and I jumped.
‘I wonder if she was filmed. Someone would have needed to set up a camera in the room beforehand, then take it down again.’
Out of nowhere, Sasha’s voice filled my head. I was distracted. Dmitri was behind him, with a rucksack.
‘What are you thinking? Inside help?’
‘I’ll ring you back.’
I tore towards Pimlico Station, almost knocking a woman into the path of a bus. Yelling out my apologies, I raced underground.
I found him in the alleyway behind the hotel, smoking a cigarette. ‘Your colleague said you’d be here.’
Dmitri frowned and blew out a twist of smoke. ‘You again.’
I pulled out my notebook with ice-cold hands. ‘I need to ask you a couple more questions.’
‘I already told police everything I know.’
‘Not everything.’
A thin smile stretched across Dmitri’s pale face, a knife-mark in uncooked pastry. ‘I was with Sadie Long, remember? I couldn’t have killed Natalia.’
‘You weren’t with Sadie that whole time, were you?’ Dmitri flicked his cigarette butt onto the ground and gave me a cool look. ‘Does the name the Juliets mean anything to you?’
Dmitri stuck his chin out and jammed his hands in his pockets.
‘It’s a high-class escort service operating out of London’s top hotels. Only, it’s not just an escort service, the person in charge is blackmailing the women. Secretly filming them and threatening to expose them if they ever try to leave.’ Dmitri flicked his finger against the wall. ‘My bet is this person would have needed inside help. I’ve been thinking about your movements that night. About how Sasha saw you on the backstairs that evening carrying a bag. Sadie confirmed you were with her until 11 p.m., which would have given you fifteen minutes to make a quick pit stop. If I take this to my contact at the Met, I bet CCTV footage from that day will show you taking that rucksack into a guest room.’
Dmitri’s lip curled and he pushed himself off the wall. ‘You can’t prove what was in that bag.’ He started to walk away and I grabbed his arm. ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’
Dmitri raised his eyebrows. ‘And why not?’
‘Your papers are good forgeries, I’ll give you that.’ Dmitri froze. ‘You know how long it would take for me to alert Immigration? You’d be deported. As well as being charged for aiding and abetting a criminal.’ Dmitri’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t turn round. ‘The man I’m looking for isn’t just blackmailing these women. I think he’s a killer.’
Dmitri froze. When he turned round, the light had gone from his eyes. He sagged against the wall. ‘I didn’t know about the blackmail.’
‘What happened?’
Dmitri pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. ‘He called me six months ago. Said he needed help. All I had to do was rig up the video camera, then take it down the next morning and leave it in a safety-deposit box. I’d get a cut of the fee. Made a few hundred quid each time. It was enough to supplement the shit I’m paid here.’ He took another drag and stamped his feet.
‘And you did it the night Natalia was killed?’
Dmitri nodded. ‘He wanted to film Lydia Lawson.’
‘I need a name.’
‘He never told me his name.’
I pulled out my phone. ‘You’ve got five seconds before I’m calling Immigration.’
‘I’m sorry. I had no idea it would go that far. When Natalia was killed, I wondered if it was him. I was too scared to say anything. But,’ Dmitri inhaled deeply, eyes on the phone, ‘I thought if the press knew, they could dig around.’
I stared at him. ‘You sent me the text the morning after she died?’
‘I didn’t think you’d be on my case so much. Turns out I picked the wrong reporter.’ He laughed thinly. ‘I’m telling the truth. I don’t know his name. But I spotted him once, picking the camera up. And he was at that fashion party the night Natalia was killed.’
A blonde head poked round the wall. ‘Dmitri? Where have you been? Front desk is overrun.’
I leaned in close and put my hand on his arm. ‘What does he look like?’
Dmitri glanced down at my arm. ‘I’m better off taking my chances with Immigration.’ He flicked his cigarette onto the ground and sauntered away.
I slammed my hand against the wall in frustration, just as my phone beeped. It was a text from Rowley. Get here as quick as you can. – R
I strode across the newsroom, shaking off people’s stares.
Kate launched into a tuneless rendition of ‘I Will Survive’ when she saw me.
‘Shut up, you idiot.’ I grinned, slipping off my coat.
‘Seriously, what’s your secret?’
I shrugged. ‘Don’t take no for an answer.’
Kate pretended to scribble it down on a Post-it note. ‘Don’t take no for an answer.
’ She gave me a quick once-over, her hazel eyes narrowing. ‘You look a damn sight better than the last time I saw you.’
‘You mean the crippled-drowned-rat look wasn’t working for me?’
Kate grabbed her notebook. ‘Growler’s waiting.’
We stopped outside Rowley’s door and Kate tucked a corner of her creased blouse into her skirt. ‘Right, let’s get this party started.’
We filed through the door, and I took a deep breath, feeling suddenly unsure of myself. Cheryl was fussing over Rowley’s desk, setting down a cafetière, clearing a pile of newspapers, straightening his mouse mat. Rowley waved her away with a small hand and gave me a curt nod.
‘Philip.’ I looked him in the eye, then sat down beside Mack. On a normal afternoon, when most of the newsroom had slung their jackets over chairbacks, Mack’s suit was immaculate. But today his shirt was half untucked and he wasn’t wearing a tie. When I sat down beside him, he leaned back, crossing an ankle over his knee, a scowl on his face.
Rowley poured coffee into his London Herald mug and looked at me. ‘You said there were developments.’
I took a quick breath. I had one shot at this and I didn’t want to screw it up. ‘I don’t think this murder case begins with Natalia Kotov. I think it begins twenty years ago, with the murder of a sixteen-year-old model called Amanda Barnes.’ I waited for a flicker of recognition to appear on Rowley’s face, but nothing happened. So, Mack hadn’t bothered to fill him in on my theory. ‘Amanda was strangled in a wooded area two miles away from her home in February 1994.’ I held up a photograph of Amanda and passed it to Rowley. ‘Remind you of anyone?’ Rowley’s steel-grey eyes widened a fraction. ‘Amanda was killed by her stepfather, Michael Farrow, who committed suicide in custody. So far, a dead end, right?’ I sneaked a defiant look at Mack, but he looked away.
‘But, get this, a week before Amanda died, a convicted rapist called John Bairstow was seen at her house. This morning I interviewed his victim, Ariel Butters. She told me he filmed the attack and tried to blackmail her. She also said that while John was raping her, he said the phrase you are nothing over and over. Another source who is involved in the Juliets told me that she was raped by the man in charge and he used that exact phrase.’
Breaking Dead: A stylish, edge-of-your-seat crime thriller (The Sophie Kent series) Page 24