by J. E. Mayhew
Vaughan blinked again and gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “Me? What? No. God you’re serious, aren’t you?” he spluttered and glanced at the door. “Look, what’s all this about? I’ve never been near a swingers’ club. I wouldn’t know the first thing about…”
“Ralph? What is it?” A woman appeared at the living room door with two identical toddlers clinging to her dress. Her brown hair was cut in a pageboy style which seemed to have come straight from the seventies. The rings around her eyes betrayed her tiredness. One of the toddlers broke from the cover of her mother’s dress and rushed onto her father’s knee. “Who are these people?”
Ralph reddened and frowned as if trying to solve a difficult puzzle. “They’re police officers, love. They’re investigating someone going missing.” He looked distantly at her. “They want to know if I’ve ever been to a swingers’ club…”
Blake stood up. “Forgive me…” he fished for a name.
“Andrea,” she said. “Andrea Vaughan. I’m Ralph’s wife…”
“I’m sorry, Mrs Vaughan but during our investigations, your husband’s name has come up in connection with Aphrodites Club in Birkenhead. I don’t know if you are familiar with it but…”
“No. I’m not. And he’s not, either,” Andrea Vaughan said. “Whatever you’re accusing him of, I can tell you now that when he’s not at work, Ralph has been here looking after the twins with me. Honestly, just look at us. Do we look like we have the time, the energy or the inclination to go to a… a… swingers’ club?”
“Swengers cleyub!” One of the toddlers said.
“Shwinger Club!” The other one giggled, picking up on her brother.
“Oh god! They’ll be shouting that all over Sainsbury’s now!” Andrea Vaughan said.
Trying to wrestle the conversation back, Blake turned to Ralph Vaughan. “So, what is it that you do for a living?
Vaughan settled the child on his knee. “I work for the council. I’m a clerical assistant. Housing…”
“And you work Monday to Friday?”
“Yes,” Vaughan said, his cheeks reddening. “Nine to five. Then I get in my car and drive here and give Andrea a couple of hours respite.”
“Can you think of any reason why your name would appear on the register of Aphrodites, then, sir?” Kath said. “The club is quite strict. They require photo ID and an address.”
Ralph Vaughan went pale. “Oh no,” he said. “My driving licence. I lost it a few months ago.”
“Yes,” Andrea said. “At the Sizzling Platter pub in Greasby, we think. We went there for my birthday.”
“I had my coat on the back of my chair while we were eating and when I looked down, my wallet was on the floor. The licence was missing. I thought it had fallen out but…”
“I presume you reported this and replaced the licence,” Blake said. “So that’ll be a matter of public record.”
“Yes,” Vaughan said. “Maybe someone used it to become a member of this swingers’ club.”
“I’m afraid we may have wasted your time, Mr and Mrs Vaughan,” Blake said, rising to his feet. “My apologies. We will have to check your hours at work, but we can do that discreetly with your manager.”
Mrs Vaughan showed them out and, once in the car, Blake rubbed his face with both hands. “If ever there was someone who had never committed a crime in their lives, it’s that man. Damn!”
“One thing is for sure, sir. Ellen Kevney’s disappearance seems certain to be an abduction now, and a premeditated one at that.”
Blake sighed. “Could be. Looks like it’s back to Aphrodites.”
We’re all slaves to something, aren’t we? I mean, some of us submit to tyranny quite willingly. We sell our souls for drink or drugs, the latest phone or even a bit of recognition from our friends. How many people are addicted to social media now? Craving ‘likes,’ tweets or ‘mentions.’ We give away our privacy just to get that momentary dopamine hit and then we’re back to square one, seeking more. Yes, we’re all slaves to something. I’m as bad as anyone else, in that regard. But some of us are taken deeper into slavery by others; those who are trafficked, kidnapped, held against their will. Some are duped into slavery; they marry the perfect charmer only to find a whip and drumbeat replaces the wedding march. The worst thing is to be a slave and never even realise. The people of Hilbre Grove taught me that.
In a way, I feel like I have liberated them all. Their petty little lives will be smashed to pieces after this. Broken. But sometimes, you have to break things to make them stronger.
Monday 10th February
Chapter 9
The clang of the huge bolt that locked the door to the container made Ellen Kevney flinch. Her backside and legs felt numb from the hard surface. In the darkness, she’d lost all track of time but her growling stomach told her that she hadn’t eaten for a good while. Once more the blinding light filled the room and she heard footsteps as her captor came in. The door clanged shut, plunging them into darkness and she heard someone settle in the corner.
“Why are you doing this?” Ellen said. She could hear the strain in her own voice, the fear, too. “Just let me go. I promise I won’t tell. I don’t know where I am anyway. Please. I’ll do anything. Just let me go home and see my kids…”
“Did you ever watch Searchlight, Ellen?” A voice whispered in the darkness. It sounded male but smooth and soft. Not a gruff voice. “You’d have been old enough I think when it was on.”
“Searchlight?” Ellen struggled to follow.
“It was a crime programme. With Ross Armitage and Emerald Fisher. They used to pick crimes that had happened all over the country and show re-enactment videos. The aim was to get the public to help them.”
“No,” Ellen said, hoping it was the right answer. “No. I don’t remember that one.”
“I used to love it. Shame it finished. If it was on now, there’d probably be a reconstruction of you on it. Imagine that. An actress playing you leaving Aphrodites with a tall, dark stranger called Ralph…”
Ellen bit her lip as fragments of memory came back to her. The club. Ralph’s bare chest. Then in the car but not driving. Had her drink been spiked at the club? “Where’s Ralph?”
“Ralph’s not here anymore, Ellen,” the voice said again. “You won’t see him again.”
Ellen’s heart thumped. “What have you done?”
“I was telling you about Searchlight,” the voice said, firmly. Ellen swallowed down her fear. She found it hard to focus on the words; more images of Ralph swirled around each other in her mind. More questions. She didn’t really know him that well as a person. The sex was great and whenever he was at the club, she would seek him out. She thought maybe it could go further. It seemed to be heading that way. They’d met for coffee a couple of times but there had always been this barrier between them. When did she last see him? Was he there when she was taken? Oh my God! Had he tried to defend her and ended up hurt? Or worse? She snapped her attention back to her captor. “There was always a feature on the programme where a real policeman would show CCTV footage of shop robberies or street muggings,” the whisperer said, “and it was always introduced by a PC Will Blake.”
Ellen frowned. The name seemed familiar. She half-remembered her mum saying something a bit saucy about wanting to be arrested by PC Will Blake. Ellen had been a teenager. They’d been watching telly and Ellen had been mortified, as any teen would when their parent makes even a remotely suggestive reference. Maybe that’s why it had stuck in her head.
“The same Will Blake’s looking for you now, Ellen. He’s still on the force. Got promotion, too,” The voice said. Ellen frowned, did her captor sound excited by the idea? “He’ll find you. Mark my words.”
“But you could just let me go,” Ellen said. “He doesn’t have to find me. And you could get away.”
There was a moment’s silence as though her captor was considering the options. “No. That wouldn’t work. Wheels are in motion. Don’t worry. You won’t
be lost forever. I’ll make sure of it.”
She heard him rise to his feet, the door squeaked on its hinges and she crushed her eyes shut at the glare. And the full impact of what he said hit her. He’ll find you. You won’t be lost for ever. Ellen Kevney wept at the finality of those words.
*****
To say that Bob Courtney didn’t look pleased to see Blake and Cryer would be an understatement. The man looked like Blake’s presence caused him physical pain. “Really?” he groaned. “Back so soon?”
Blake stepped past him into the club. “I’m sorry Mr Courtney but it turns out that your Ralph Vaughan wasn’t the real Ralph Vaughan. Did he verify his ID with a driving licence by any chance?”
Courtney’s shoulders slumped. “Probably. Look, how am I to know it’s fake or been tampered with? We do a lot to keep our members happy and safe here. It’s a responsible community.”
“If it was that responsible someone would have come forward days ago,” Blake said, stony-faced.
Bob Courtney drew a breath. “Look, Inspector Blake, we got off on the wrong foot earlier today. I’ve got nothing to hide. People come to this club for all kinds of reasons and on different days of the week. They’re lovely, ordinary folk. A lot of them won’t even know that Ellen came to the club too. Others might but didn’t think it was relevant or haven’t seen her for a while anyway.”
Blake grunted. The man had a point. “Fair enough. But I’ll need to see a full membership list.”
“Let me put the word out about Ralph, first. Someone will come forward, mark my words,” Bob Courtney said, looking pained again.
“You do that, and in the meantime, I’ll apply for a warrant,” Blake said. “But I really don’t have the luxury of time, Mr Courtney.”
“Look,” Courtney said, wincing. “I’ll send an email out today and make a few calls. You can look at the register just let me warn people first, okay?
*****
It was late again, by the time Blake finally arrived home. The house lay in darkness; Laura must have gone home. It troubled Blake that she had never really offered to return the spare key for the Lodge after he had been in hospital. He’d nearly been burned alive whilst trying to rescue a suspect from a blazing charity shop. Laura had volunteered to feed Serafina while he recovered and so needed a key. It was true that Blake had never asked for it back. But she’d hung onto it and turned up when he least expected her. Blake never objected; somehow Laura was an expert at moving things in the direction she wanted. She wasn’t an animal behaviourist for nothing and often, Blake felt she was working her magic on him. But the house seemed cold and dark without her there.
Serafina’s plaintive meow greeted him. “Are you starving to death?” he said to the cat. As he closed the front door, he noticed a white van roll past at the end of the drive. He frowned. It was late for any kind of commercial vehicle to be around here. In this neck of the woods, the properties were quite far apart, set in large gardens and secluded. Few people came down here. Occasionally, a strange car would cruise through the unmade roads, the driver peering at each property and Blake just knew they were criminals searching for their next target. These were big houses, and the people who lived in them were well-off.
The van had rumbled past the gateway in an instant. There had been a logo on the side but Blake didn’t have time to register it; his eyes had been focused on the dark figure in the driver’s seat. Despite the fleeting glimpse, he could tell the driver was looking at him.
Opening the door again, he looked out onto the garden. He could picture his mother standing there in her nightdress like a ghost, calling out his dad’s name or Jeff’s, his little brother. And when he’d brought her into the warm house, she’d insist that someone was there. So much so that, spooked, Blake would search the garden, even the house sometimes.
Shaking his head, Blake slammed the door shut and bolted it. Ghosts were one thing he didn’t need.
Chapter 10
Superintendent Martin sat back in his chair and listened to DCI Blake as he laid out the main lines of investigation for him. He was an older man with a whipcord frame and hawk-like features. Blake imagined him to be a formidable copper in his youth. The man had risen through the ranks and Blake respected that. What Blake always found frustrating was the strategic view that senior officers had to take. How things might affect the force’s relationships with the community, how the force might look in the media; things that Blake didn’t like to concern himself with, too much. He knew they were important; he just didn’t want to hear about them.
“So we’re no nearer to finding Ellen Kevney… Unless of course the body we’ve just found turns out to be her?” Martin said, a glimmer of hope in his pale blue eye.
“Possibly, sir. But we can’t be certain and the level of decomposition was such that…”
Martin silenced Blake with a wave of his hand. “That’s fine, Will, no need for the gory details. We need to get somewhere with this case and fast. Reporters are beginning to get impatient and that’s never good for the force.”
“No sir… not good for Ellen Kevney either…”
Martin gave Will a tight smile. “Yes, I know, Will. Don’t think I’ve lost sight of that. But we need the public on our side here. We’ve got nothing otherwise.”
“To be fair, sir, we have Aphrodites. We know where Ellen was before she went missing.”
“And that is just what the press will pounce on. It’s a juicy story, Will. A good-looking woman goes missing from a swingers’ club? Someone being left with scissors in their eyes. We’ll have the nationals down here like a shot. Let’s keep that under wraps, for now, shall we? The last thing we need is a media circus down here, with you at the head of the parade…”
“With respect, sir, I don’t go courting publicity…”
“No. It just seems to find you, doesn’t it, Will? Rescuing people from burning buildings, psychopaths running around with shotguns; it’s all in a day’s work for you. Just keep this all calm and discreet, can you?”
Stinging from the comments, Blake walked out of his meeting with the Super and straight into a phone call from Jack Kenning, the Pathologist. Much as he disliked the man, the call had never been so welcome.
“I’ve been working overtime on the body,” Kenning said. “On first examination, it looks like the victim was killed by a straight stab wound to the neck. Probably with the scissors. It cut the artery. She’d have bled out quite rapidly. We’re still combing through the crime scene but it’s a mess and it’ll take a while. I’ll keep drip-feeding you details as they become available.”
“Right,” Blake replied, trying to hide the impatience in his voice and ignoring the feeble hairdressing pun.
“We’ve managed to extract a couple of objects which had been hard to remove from the corpse because of its advanced state of decomposition.”
“Go on.”
“One was a St Christopher medal with an inscription on the back in a language we’ve identified as Romanian. There was also a card from Happy Homes Cleaning Services. It’s an identity card for staff members and it has a name on it…”
Blake’s heart sank. “Don’t tell me. Katerina Dragavei.”
“That’s impressive, Blake. I take it you’ve already been searching for this young lady?”
“No. Her passport turned up in Ellen Kevney’s car,” Blake said, already wishing the two cases hadn’t just become one and the same.
“Well, we need a formal identification somehow. Medical or dental records maybe. God knows how otherwise. I don’t think her own mother would recognise her…”
Blake winced “What about the scissors that were used to kill her?”
“Professional grade. Salontech brand. Very sharp. Left-handed, too. Your friend Ellen’s DNA was all over the handles along with some that’s as yet unidentified. She’s a left-hander, too, right?”
“Yes, so they’re her scissors,” Blake sighed. “Is there anything else?”
“I’ve s
ent all I have so far in an email, Blake. Do you not turn your computer on first thing?”
“You know I don’t, Jack,” Blake said. “That’s why you rang me. That’s why you always ring me. Anyway, I’ve been walking the Super through the finer points of the case and haven’t had chance to.”
Blake leafed through the notes he had made and read Kenning’s email which gave a more technical and detailed account of what they had found so far. One woman missing, one dead. It didn’t look good for Ellen Kevney; she could be dead, or kidnapped. A pair of her scissors were in the dead woman’s eye and Katerina’s passport was in Kevney’s car but Blake didn’t think she was the killer. Blake called the team together and briefed them on the latest development.
“So anything we can dig up at Hilbre Grove might lead us to Ellen Kevney, sir,” Kinnear said.
“Possibly,” Blake said. “Have a look through the door-to-door notes that uniform have made and I think we’ll need to go and talk to the neighbours again. One of them might have some link to Kevney. Vikki, could you arrange a visit to Happy Homes Cleaning? See if we can find more about the victim. Manikas, you come with me. We’re going to have a look at the crime scene again.”
“Sir?”
“Looking at it with the knowledge we have now might give us a different view. Come on.”
*****
Although the heating had been turned off and the body removed, a stench lingered it coated everything and rose up to greet Blake as he stepped through the front door. A few Scene of Crime Investigators, dressed in white protective suits, still buzzed around the other rooms, taking photographs and searching cupboards. Blake led Manikas into the room where the armchair sat, soaked in blood.
“So the killer brought the victim here? Met her here? What?” Blake muttered.
“I’d say met her here, there, sir. Otherwise our killer would have to persuade her to come to the house. Not impossible but trickier. It’s easier if it’s a business transaction.”