Nicky held up his hands, frowning. ‘Just you hold on. Let us do the work for you, Frank. We have more muscle at our disposal.’
‘True. You’re also hemmed in by bureaucracy and rules and red-tape. I’m a free agent. For me there are no rules.’
Nicky paused, but made no further comment. Then he said, ‘That list, the profile … it all points to a seriously disturbed, deranged personality. We’ve already seen clear evidence of that. He’s proved he has intelligence, a keen, methodical brain. But someone, most probably his parents or someone close to him, did something to him. To his mind. How do you feel about that?’
‘You mean am I sorry for him?’ Frank considered this, then nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, I am. I feel sorry for any poor bastard mistreated as a child. But that won’t stop me putting the barrel of a shotgun in his mouth and pulling the trigger.’
Nicky reacted this time only with a raised eyebrow. ‘I don’t know, Frank. That makes me uncomfortable. I see an abused child, I feel the need to protect them. If they grow up to be an abuser, is it really their fault?’
‘We all have choices to make. Not every kid who was abused becomes an abuser. People have to take responsibility for their actions. They have to be held accountable for the things they do. Anything else is just anarchy.’
‘I’m still not sure. It’s an emotive issue.’ His gaze held Frank’s for a moment. ‘That business about the shotgun. You’re not intending to do that, are you, Frank?’
Silence hung between them for a second or two. It was almost a physical presence. Then Frank looked into his friend’s eyes. ‘I’ll tell you this much. If I can get Laura away from him using minimum force, I will. If it takes a battle, then I’m going to fight. If Laura dies, then so does he.’
Frank felt Nicky’s sharp gaze cutting through him, knew his friend would be concerned. Earlier he had caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror, where he saw eyes that had lost their sparkle, leaving them cold and hard and flat. There was anger and frustration in them these days. Darkness beyond. But he hoped there was also a grim determination. Frank realised he was being driven solely by the thought of getting his daughter back, and anyone who got in the way had better watch out.
The doorbell chimed, breaking the spell; the moment had lingered uncomfortably. Frank sank back in his chair. ‘That could be Debs. She phoned just before you got here. I asked her not to pop over, but she might have ignored me. Get it for me, would you. I don’t want to see her right now. Tell her I’ll … I’ll call her tomorrow.’
Nicky got up and moved into the hallway. A minute or so later he came back, Debbie a pace behind him. Nicky shrugged and gave an apologetic grin. ‘I tried. But this is one hard and wilful woman.’
Debbie barely glanced at Frank before she shrugged off her brown suede jacket and began straightening the room. Nicky made his excuses and turned to leave. Frank walked him out to the door, thanked him for all his efforts. When he came back into the dining room, Debbie stood by the window, hands raised defensively.
‘I know I should’ve listened to you. And I know you said to leave it for a while. But … well, I needed to be here with you. And despite what you said earlier, I thought you could do with me being here.’
Debbie and Janet had been like chalk and cheese, both in attitude and looks, yet had somehow forged a wonderful friendship. Debbie had none of Janet’s athletic grace, her body a little too small and rounded for that, with a full chest and heavy hips. But she had a quiet, unassuming way about her that most men found alluring. In a heart-shaped face, her eyes were darkly intelligent, a glint of mischief and humour sparkling in them always.
Frank gazed into those eyes now. Again, there was a stab of pain. He saw the wonderful afternoon they’d spent at Margate together. Them and the two children. Sun. Sand. Sea. Gary and Laura. Him and Debbie. Four inane grins. Laughter.
Days ago.
A lifetime ago.
Now those same lives were either over or irreparably shattered. He wanted to endure his own suffering alone, and had not considered that a selfish decision. But now he saw Debbie’s pain, too. Her own misery. And he recognised the simple need they both shared.
She looked cool as always. Her hair was tied up and held back with claw-like clips, flyaway strands hanging down across the nape of her neck. She wore a simple summer dress, and sandals slapped against her heels as she moved. But her usual carefree air was muted, eyes ringed, cheeks more hollow. The past few days had been hard on her as well, and he saw now that by excluding Debbie from his grief, he had wounded her deeply.
‘I’m glad you came,’ he said simply.
She offered a faint grin. ‘Me too.’
‘I was wrong. And I’m sorry.’
She tried to shrug it off. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s your way of dealing with things.’
Frank edged forward, his hands gripping her bare upper arms. ‘Yes, it does matter. My way is wrong. It always has been, and now it has to change.’
‘We’ll see. But now that I am here, I’d really like to stay.’ She looked up at him, eyes wide and open and honest.
Frank sensed the meaning of her words. ‘I could do with a hug,’ he told her, holding out his hands.
‘So could I.’
Tears spilled from her eyes as they crossed the barrier.
24
The sun was a bright yellow orb, powerful and intense as it bled through the drawn bedroom curtains. The summer quilt lay on the floor, discarded as an inconvenience. The top sheet was thrown back carelessly, while the bottom one was twisted and wrinkled.
Frank leaned up on one elbow and studied Debbie’s naked form. Her hair had recently been cut, and he found the tiny stubbles on the nape of her neck extraordinarily erotic. One arm was tucked beneath her head, while the other hugged a pillow. He traced the length of her spine with his eyes, ribs snaring his gaze momentarily. The curve of her hips was spectacular, and he wanted to kiss the triangle of whiteness on her buttocks. Short yet elegantly shaped legs were bent at the knees; firm calves, delicate ankles, and feet so clean and tiny they could have been a child’s. His eyes travelled back along the way they came. He leaned up a little further to see the swell of her left breast, delicately tipped with a nipple so pink it could never have been mistaken for one that had been suckled.
He let out a long sigh, recalling the previous night. Their lovemaking had initially been frantic. There was no steady movement, no rolling of the hips, no gathering of momentum or attending to her needs. Instead there was frenzy and longing and lust. He drove and drove until he was spent. She met him there – just.
It wasn’t perfect, he had to admit. But the first time rarely ever was. For Debbie, pleasure was a secondary consideration that first time. She had wanted to exorcise the misery within him, she’d said afterwards, all of which was reflected in his eyes. It all came spilling out in those few minutes, and when their eyes locked afterwards, she told him softly that he had changed.
Later, having moved upstairs to the bed, they took their time exploring each other’s bodies. And in the early hours of Friday morning they discovered that reality surpassed their anticipation. They were good together. Better than good. They each found a rare excitement, a spectacular new lease of life. When their eyes eventually closed and sleep staked its claim, they remained entwined, glistening and at peace.
Frank wondered now how the morning would affect her. Their passion, no matter how natural, no matter how necessary, had leaked over into their friendship. When she looked at him for the first time again, would there be an irreversible difference?
‘Hasn’t anyone ever told you that peeking at naked women is considered vulgar,’ she said suddenly. The strength of her voice told him she had been awake for some time.
He chuckled. As if by instinct his hand reached out and he trailed his nails down the curve of her spine. She quivered, rolled over, eyes searching his. There was no false modesty, no move to hide her naked form.
‘Still friends?’ sh
e asked.
‘Of course.’
‘Still lovers?’
His eyes swept her body once more. ‘Oh, I do hope so.’
She giggled. Her eyelashes flickered. ‘Me, too.’ Her fingers encircled him ‘Am I a hussy?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. A slut?’
‘Yes.’
‘Better still.’
He moved his hips and tried to enter her. She laughed and raised herself. ‘Uh-uh. Not until you tell me something.’
‘What?’ He believed he would have told her anything at that moment, such was his desire.
‘What do you really think of me?’
‘You’re a slut and a hussy.’
Her hand pulled at his velvety flesh. ‘That won’t do. I mean what do you really think of me?’
‘You mean, do I hold you in great esteem? Do I quite like you? Do I love you?’
Her face grew serious. ‘Something like that, yes.’
Frank breathed her in. Her body had always held an allure for him, and though they had indulged in several innocent flirtations while he and Janet were together, they had become more intimate these past few months. Now he had to consider just what his true feelings were. As a friend, she couldn’t be bettered. As a lover, she was wonderful. As a person, she was funny and caring and warm and open and friendly. As a …
‘I love you,’ he said. It was the simple truth. He had loved her for a very long time.
Debbie slowly lowered herself onto him, exchanging one grip for another.
‘Debbie?’ he said.
A finger pressed against his lips. ‘Shush,’ she whispered. ‘You shouldn’t have to ask. You must already know how I feel about you. How I’ve always felt about you.’
He thought about that, and decided she was right.
25
It was a little before three that Friday afternoon when Nicky phoned. Debbie had kissed Frank goodbye just after lunch, leaving him with a pleasant glow that warmed his body, soul and mind. He felt neither remorse nor guilt. Debbie had cleansed him. It was as simple and as wonderful as that. She had retrieved him from a precipice he wasn’t aware he’d been teetering on until the moment she embraced him. He was grateful. And so much more. Anything was possible now that he had her to keep him sane.
‘Frank, I’ve just come from the pathologist’s office.’ Nicky’s voice betrayed his obvious fatigue.
‘And?’
‘It’s bloody peculiar. As we thought, the bastard did much of the damage while the poor mite was still alive. Enough to have caused immense suffering. Most of the wounds were ante-mortem, though several of the most severe came after she was dead.’ He paused, the line was silent for a few moments.
Frank waited for his friend to gather himself, force away the images of the child in utmost agony, to wade through the anger. ‘Take your time,’ he said gently. ‘Leave it till later if you like.’
‘No. No, I’m okay. The peculiar thing is why her flesh looked like it did. It wasn’t water she’d been left in. Well, it was, in a way, but not just water. There were also large traces of formaldehyde.’
‘What?’ Frank’s eyes sprang open. He dragged the phone across to the kitchen dining table and sat down. A half-eaten sandwich sat on a plate, the edges of the bread beginning to curl. He stuck some gum in his mouth and began to chew. ‘I can’t believe it. Formaldehyde?’
‘I know. Crazy, sick fucker.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You’re not alone. Evidently he injected it into her.’
Frank blanched. He tried to find some saliva but the well was dry. He spat out the tasteless gum. ‘Oh, Jesus. I mean, formaldehyde is a type of acid, right. The sick fuck pumped that into her bloodstream—’
‘Ah … No. Not into her bloodstream. By the time it was injected she had no bloodstream. That was all post-mortem.’
Frank’s shoulders relaxed. At least the poor kid had been spared that. The agony it would have caused. ‘It still makes no sense. Are you sure it was after she died?’
‘Certain. Her arteries and veins weren’t scarred or burned as formaldehyde would have done had her blood been circulating. He must’ve done it quite soon after, though, because there was enough inside her to cause the reaction we saw.’
‘Did Seb offer an opinion as to why someone might inject acid into a dead body?’
‘Yes, he did. Seb said, and I quote, ‘the man must be a bloody lunatic’.’
Frank rolled his eyes. ‘Thanks. That’s very helpful.’
‘Hey, I’m only telling you what the man said.’
‘Yeah, yeah. Okay, you going back to the annexe now?’
‘Yep. Foster has a squad meeting arranged for three-thirty.’
‘Okay. Let me know when you have anything more on the girl.’
‘Like what?’
Frank teased the phone’s curly lead around his wrist. It beat doodling. ‘Like her name, for instance.’
‘Oh, didn’t I say? We know who she is.’
‘Jesus, Nicky!’
‘Sorry, pal. The name’s Jeanette … ah … Jeanette Morris. Seb located a small birthmark on her left ankle, from which we were able to identify her. Next of kin have been informed.’
Frank peered out at the garden while he ran over the list of abductions in his mind. The grass was getting long again. Neglected. The last time it had been mown, Gary had helped out. Laura’s flowers were desperately in need of water. He would attend to them. There were enough ill-omens as it was, without the flowers dying off.
‘She was the first to be abducted. Right?’ He switched back.
‘That’s her.’
‘But that was almost seven months ago. She wasn’t all that decomposed. Surely he can’t have kept her alive all this time.’
‘No. The wounds that killed her are, according to Seb’s estimation, at least five or six months’ old. Maybe more.’
‘Then how …?’
‘Well, this is why the estimation could be off by some way. Seb believes the body must have been kept in a container of the same stuff that was injected into her. Formaldehyde is a pretty effective preservative. That’s its primary use, in fact.’
There was a pause. The pause soon became a silence. Then Frank said, ‘You mean Jeanette Morris was … pickled?’
‘Bingo. Buy yourself a hotel in Belgravia.’
Frank was aware that Nicky’s apparent levity was a facade, a defensive wall erected as a barrier against all that he had seen and heard and could imagine. Such a barrier was compulsory if you were going to handle a case like this and emerge intact. Truth was that even some battle-hardened detectives came unglued during murder investigations, particularly when the killings were brutal, the victims children. Levity was often mistaken for callous disregard, but was a necessary evil.
A couple of hours later, impatient and at a loose end, Frank decided to join Nicky at the annexe. There were files he wanted to scour, information he needed to assemble in his mind. He also just wanted to be there, to be amongst it all again. Plus, he was desperate for Oscar to call again.
The unit was quiet that late in the afternoon, Nicky and Warren Capel the only detectives there. A couple of uniformed PCs sat skimming through a huge stack of blue files, and a few civilian administrators sat at computer terminals.
‘How did the meeting go?’ Frank asked, easing into a chair at the desk he had used before.
Nicky shook his head. ‘Pretty grim. Foster was his usual self. He’s trying to disassociate himself from the investigation. He can see it going down the chute, and doesn’t want to go with it.’
‘Down the chute? The going might be slow, but there is some progress.’
‘Exactly what I said. I think he wants to jump ship. It was the body that did it. I think he sees the other six as a career buster.’ Nicky winced and clamped down too late on his errant mouth. He shook his head. ‘Oh … Oh, Jesus Christ, Frank. I’m so sorry.’
Frank caught the dismay in his
friend’s face and dismissed it with a shake of the head. ‘No need. Laura is a victim, and there’s little we can do about that right now. Don’t walk around on eggshells, Nicky. Tell it as you see it.’
He meant every word, yet they had the power to wound him deeply. There was a pressure building behind his eyes that was becoming increasingly more difficult to deny. He was clinging on desperately, Debbie’s love and Nicky’s friendship somehow keeping him afloat. Even so, he didn’t think they would be enough if it went on much longer. There had to be a way through. And he had to find it.
He looked across at Warren and asked, ‘Anything on the social services check?’
‘Nothing so far,’ Capel replied. He wore no jacket, and rough circles of perspiration stained his shirt beneath each arm. One thing the annexe unit lacked was air-conditioning. ‘It seems unlikely that he would still be on record. But what we are doing, with the help of local areas, is putting out the rough description to welfare people in case anything rings a bell. We’re even digging into past employees to see if any of them come up trumps.’
‘Good idea.’ Frank nodded approvingly. He couldn’t see what else they could do at present.
‘Also,’ Capel went on, ‘you wanted info on the murder weapons in each case.’
‘Yes. We know he had tools, used them to gain entry. I wondered if he ever used his own weapon to kill his victims.’
‘The answer is no. Victims’ own knives used in every case.’
‘Okay. It was just an idea. Now, I’d like to go through the information we have on the other girls. Is it all on computer?’
Nicky, who was sitting at a terminal, confirmed that it was. He hit a few keys and drew the investigation’s database onto screen. He stood and offered Frank his chair. ‘All yours. Warren and I have some calls to make. Any problems, just yell out.’
Frank, who had never taken to the silicon invasion, yet was proficient enough for his own purposes, began skimming through the information. He used a number of searches to cross-check, trying to come up with one item linking all the girls that may have been overlooked. He found nothing new. The only thing that surprised him was the timing of each incident. Four came in the first two months, only three in the last five. This was most unusual. The reverse, in fact, of the majority of other serial killings he had known. The perpetrator usually got a taste for it, got better at it, and shortened the period between each victim in order to satisfy his desire for more. Either that or they were cyclic, based on the phases of the moon. This peculiarity intrigued him, though he couldn’t imagine how it could possibly move the investigation forward.
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