by J. E. Mayhew
Chris rolled his eyes. “God, it’s like a Carry-On film.”
“No, listen, we’re looking for a bloke called Ralph in the Ellen Kevney case. Or rather a guy not called Ralph. He stole some poor man’s ID.” Kinnear clicked on the link in Ralph 69’s comment and revealed a tangle of naked bodies. He watched two woman and two men on the screen as they grunted and twisted into ridiculous, impossible positions. “Tina and Paul White at number four. She’s the cam girl. I bet that’s…”
Andrew’s voice faded. In his career as a policeman, he’d seen plenty of porn, some of it hideous but what stunned him now was the backdrop; an ordinary living room, with a pale sofa and armchairs, a fluffy rug in front of a gas fire. And a garish oil painting of a mountain stream on the wall. Even though he’d only stood there once, Kinnear recognised it almost instantly.
“Oh my God. Chris, that’s the Taylors’ living room and that’s Ellen Kevney.”
Tuesday 11th February
Chapter 18
If he was feeling intimidated by the clinical coldness of the interview room at Birkenhead Custody Suite, Paul White wasn’t showing it. He sat back in his chair, arms folded as if he was waiting for a meal to be served. DCI Blake sat opposite him with Kath Cryer alongside him. “So, Mr White, would you care to explain how there appears to be a video of you two having sex with another man and Ellen Kevney in the Taylors’ living room?”
Paul shrugged. “We didn’t mean anything by it,” he said. “It was just a bit of fun…”
“Fun?” Blake snapped. “A dead woman was found in that room only a few days ago and Ellen is missing. I’m presuming you didn’t have the Taylors’ permission, so it must have been filmed whilst they were away.”
As soon as Kinnear had made Blake aware of the video on the website, Paul and Tina had been brought in for questioning. It was first thing in the morning and Blake hadn’t even had chance to grab a coffee. Fleeing from the frosty atmosphere at home, and Laura’s silent treatment, he’d imagined himself grabbing a drink or a bite to eat on the way in. It never happened.
“So you have a cheeky foursome in someone else’s house, film it, and a couple of days later, someone winds up dead there,” Kath Cryer said. “Are there any more surprises in your video collection, Mr White?”
Paul White licked his lips. “What? What d’you mean?”
“I mean, will we find a video of that poor woman being mutilated? Did you film her death? What about Ellen Kevney? Is her body lying somewhere?”
“No!” Paul almost shouted. “That’s sick…”
“We see a lot of sick things in this line of work, Mr White,” Blake said. “You wouldn’t believe the perversions some people have…”
“Or maybe he would, sir,” Cryer said, still staring intently at Paul White. “Maybe he knows exactly what some people want to see. Right Paul?”
“No. We aren’t like that…”
“So talk me through it, Paul,” Blake said, leaning forward. “Help me understand how breaking into the Taylors’, having sex in their lounge and then killing someone is entertainment…”
“We didn’t kill anyone!” Paul said, putting his head in his hands. “It was Ralph’s idea. He said he knew where the Taylors kept a key. He wanted to make a porn film.” He looked pleadingly at them. “He thought it would be funny because, even if the Taylors did recognise their own house, they couldn’t do anything about it without admitting to watching porn.”
“This Ralph character,” Blake said. “Where did you meet him?”
“Aphrodites,” Paul sighed. “We played with him and Ellen a few times…”
Blake frowned. “Played?”
“Had sex,” Paul said. “There’s no law against it. All consensual…”
“We got on really well. There was a chemistry between us,” Paul said. “We invited him to the house a few times and he’d get us involved in the role play.”
“Doctors and nurses?” Kath Cryer snorted. She drummed her painted fingernails on the desktop.
Paul looked bashful. “It was a home invasion thing. Burglars…masks, a bit of bondage, that kind of thing…”
“Sounds classy,” Kath said.
“Then Ralph suggested making a film for the web channel,” Paul said. “Tina was grumbling one day about doing the Cam Girl stuff. She liked it to start with but it got wearisome after a while and some days we hardly earned anything.”
Blake frowned. “So people pay to…”
“To watch Tina, yeah. Sometimes I join in. The punters call the shots really. But we only do what we’re comfortable with.”
“So Ralph suggested making the film,” Kath cut in.
“Yeah,” Paul sighed. “He said we could show it some nights when we wanted a break or we could use it to draw traffic to our site.”
“But you could have made that film in your own home,” Blake said. “At your own leisure. Why break into the Taylors’?”
Paul groaned. “Ralph suggested it because he thought it would make it seem more real. He had a point. Sometimes you get more of a buzz when something seems like it’s really happening. If it looked authentic to the punters, then it’s a bit more of a thrill… a bit more transgressive…”
“Transgressive,” Kath repeated, curling her lip.
“I know what it looks like,” Paul said. “But we really didn’t have anything to do with what happened to that poor woman. We went in, made the film and came out again. We had no idea about anything…” Paul White stopped as something finally dawned on him. “Oh my God. Do you think Ralph was involved in the killings?”
“We’re certainly interested in Ralph,” Kath said. “He sounds like a charmer. Would you be able to describe him?”
Paul frowned. “I can, but haven’t you got a film of him standing billy bollocks naked?”
“When did you make the film?” Blake said, ignoring the comment.
Paul thought for a moment. “About three weeks ago,” he said. “Yeah. The Sunday after the Taylors left for their holiday.”
“And shortly after that Ellen Kevney goes missing and you didn’t even think to contact us?”
Paul went pale. “We didn’t think it was relevant…”
Blake stood up and leaned on the desk. “It’s relevant all right. A young mum is possibly dead by now. And you’re looking at being arrested for burglary, conspiracy to murder, kidnapping. I don’t know where the public decency laws stand on you having it away with your friends in someone else’s house but I’d say that’s the least of your worries.”
“How well do you know this Ralph?” Kath said.
Paul had lost all of his cockiness now. He sat slumped in his seat, staring at the desk. “Like I said, we knew him from Aphrodites but he didn’t say much about himself. He told us he worked in the media and lived over in Liverpool.”
“Where in Liverpool?”
Paul shrugged. “He never really said. He just seemed like a fun guy, you know? Full of energy, witty. Tina fancied him something rotten. Ellen would do anything for him. But we never saw either of them after that day. Ralph took Ellen home and that was it. He posted some comments up on the website but other than that, nothing.”
*****
Tina White sat on her own opposite DS Vikki Chinn and DC Manikas. She scrubbed the remains of a disintegrating tissue under her nose and squished it onto the desktop. Like her husband, she had told them everything she knew. She seemed relieved to unload her knowledge. Like a burden had been lifted from her.
“Ralph was a good-looking fella. He seemed nice and charming,” she said, sniffing loudly. “Ellen really liked him. She’d said something about wanting to get to know him more. But we never saw either of them after the session at the Taylors’. I told Paul we should go to the police but he said not to.”
Vikki Chinn turned a biro over in her fingers. “How did you avoid getting spotted by Donald Pleavin when you broke in?”
Tina blinked at them. “Ralph had convinced me to send him an invitatio
n to a free show but it was prerecorded. Pleavin wouldn’t know that, though.”
Manikas pulled a face. “Why not? Surely the moment he spoke to you, he’d know.”
“He wouldn’t,” Tina said. “He’s into watching women gagged and bound. I couldn’t have replied even if he had said something.”
“What you just lie there?” Vikki said.
“Yeah. Bound up like a carpet roll. I wriggle around and groan a bit but that’s about it. It’s the easiest way to make a few quid I know.”
“So while Pleavin was watching a video of you on the bed, you were sneaking round the back of the Taylors’,” Manikas said, slowly, trying to process the information.
“We went through the back gardens. Jean Quinn was away too,” Tina frowned. “We had to carry the cameras and lights, so it was a bit awkward. It all sounds a bit too good to be true, doesn’t it? The two houses empty. I’m starting to think Ralph planned it all.”
After the interviews, DS Chinn joined Blake and Cryer outside the interview room. Blake heaved a huge sigh and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “It looks like our friend Ralph or whoever he is, has targeted Hilbre Grove and planned this all quite carefully.”
“But what does he get out of it, sir?” Kath said.
“What?”
“Well, why go to all the trouble of grooming the Whites, setting up Pleavin and recording the video, then coming back a few days later and murdering someone on the same spot? There must be some kind of payoff.”
“Maybe it’s just the thrill,” Blake said. “being ‘transgressive,’” He shook his head as he said the word.
“Let’s not forget this Chimeree Van,” Kath said. “A quick Google search should give us a name and address for whoever owns that.”
“Yeah,” Blake said. “Could be important.”
“Wasn’t the picture left at Jean Quinn’s house something to do with a chimney sweep?” Vikki Chinn asked. “The van could belong to victim number two. There was the slavery connection with the last picture...”
Blake grimaced. “God, I sincerely hope not.”
“Unless it’s Ralph we found lying there dead in number three,” Kath said, simply.
“What?” Blake said, horrified.
“It’s just a thought, sir. Suppose Ralph had been carrying on at the Taylors’ and went back to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind. He meets the killer who does him in and dumps the body in Jean Quinn’s.”
“Jeez,” Blake said. “Get Mr Pleavin in, Kath. Tell Kinnear to go and see Mrs Pleavin, too. Let’s see how much he actually knows.”
Chapter 19
When he was a small boy, Andrew Kinnear’s parents had taken him on holiday to Greece. In a taverna there, he’d met a small dog, mistreated by its owner. The poor creature was torn between an eagerness for young Andrew’s kind stroking hands and its master’s harsh words and hard boots. Looking at Mrs Pleavin’s face as she opened the door reminded Kinnear of that poor creature all those years ago.
“I’m sorry, Mr Kinnear, but my husband isn’t in,” she said and frowned. “He’s been called to the police station. I thought you’d know that.”
Kinnear smiled. “It’s not your husband I’ve come to talk to Mrs Pleavin. Can I come in?”
Helen Pleavin stepped back from the door, glancing around the Grove as she shut it, and led Andrew into the living room. The pristine cleanliness gave it a lifeless air and Kinnear wondered how anyone could tolerate such a tidy house. Chris was quite house proud and did the lion’s share of the hoovering and cleaning; left to Kinnear, he was pretty sure the place would be a pig sty in a matter of days. Even Chris allowed a little bit of clutter. “Clean enough to be healthy, dirty enough to be happy,” Chris always said.
“Do sit down,” Helen Pleavin said, gesturing to the armchair. “Can I make you a cup of tea or coffee?”
That would be lovely, Helen,” Kinnear said. “I can call you Helen, can’t I?”
Helen Pleavin reddened. “Of course,” she said and gave a nervous giggle. “I’ll make the tea.”
Not wanting to waste any time, Kinnear followed her out to the kitchen and leaned on the door frame. “The house is lovely,” he said. “You must work every hour to keep it clean and tidy.”
Helen didn’t look at him but nodded her head as she filled the kettle. “It’s a body’s work,” she said. “Donald likes things just so.”
“I imagine he’s out in the garden all day,” Kinnear said, casually.
“No,” Helen muttered, clinking the mugs and spoons. “Was it tea or coffee you wanted, Mr Kinnear?”
“Please, call me Andrew,” Kinnear said. “People get so confused about how to address a policeman. Is it constable or detective? Oh, coffee would be great, thanks.”
“Donald doesn’t do a lot around the house at all, really,” Helen said, opening the fridge. “Milk?”
“Just a spot,” Kinnear said, patting his stomach. “Trying to slim down a little.”
She passed him the mug of coffee. “It’s all going to come out, isn’t it?”
“I’m sorry, Helen?” Kinnear said. She looked frightened.
“What’s going to come out?”
“Donald’s…” she started to say, floundering for the words. “Donald’s behaviour!”
“I’m not sure what you mean, Helen. Can you explain?”
She looked down into her drink and clasped the mug with both hands. “He’s not a nice man, Andrew. He’s bullied me for decades. I know what he does. He goes on the internet and looks at that Tina White and I know he goes to that club in Birkenhead. The sex club. He comes back smelling of perfume. He even told me once. Just to upset me. Told me he goes and watches them all…” She pulled a disgusted face, “… doing it. And I’m stuck here making sure his books are straight on his bookshelf, his magazines are in the rack by his chair, the TV remote control is placed at the correct angle on the coffee table. I don’t think I can bear it any longer.”
Andrew wanted to put his mug down and hug the poor woman. “Do you think your husband could be involved in the murder over the road, Helen?” he said, gently.
Helen Pleavin shook her head fiercely. “No. He’s a too much of a coward to actually hurt anyone. He’s a watcher, Andrew. He watches the people in Hilbre Grove and sneers at what they do, he watches sluts on the internet but he’d never act on any of that.”
“What keeps you here, Helen?”
“Where would I go? I’ve never worked. I can’t drive. I’ve got no friends. Donald made sure of that.”
This time, Andrew Kinnear put his mug down and wrapped his arms around Helen Pleavin’s shoulders. “Sometimes you have to be a little bit brave, Helen. A leap in the dark can be terrifying but sometimes the landing is softer than you think.” He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “That’s what Chris, my husband always says,” he gave a soft smile. “Mind you he’s full of crap half the time.”
*****
Kinnear stood outside Pleavin’s house and pulled out his mobile. He hadn’t really got much out of Helen but the link to the club was interesting. Maybe he’d helped her in some way. A quick call to Kath might be useful in case they still had Donald in the interview room. There was a chance Pleavin knew Ellen or possibly Ralph. Kinnear didn’t buy Kath’s hunch. He didn’t think Pleavin was a likely candidate for the Scissor Man, but it was the kind of detail that Blake would pounce on and beat him with if he hadn’t mentioned it. He respected Blake but some days, he wished the DCI would cut him some slack.
Kath Cryer answered the phone and, as Kinnear spoke, he watched an old lady striding up the Grove towards him. A wheeled suitcase rumbled behind her and marched with a sense of purpose. “I’ve got to go, there’s a member of the public coming.”
The woman stopped in front of Kinnear “Are you the man in charge?” she said. Her voice sounded clipped and a little too loud. Her tanned complexion spoke of years of outdoor life, sport and bellowing across fields to friends or teammates. She wa
s a sturdy-looking woman. Her white hair was tied back in a tight ponytail and she surveyed the world with a permanent frown.
“I’m DC Kinnear. Can I help you?”
“Jean Quinn. I live at number three. Now what’s going on? I got a phone call at my hotel saying there had been an incident. Jumped on the first flight home. Has there been a burglary?”
“Worse than that, I’m afraid,” Andrew Kinnear said. “A body was discovered at the Taylors’…”
“Golly. That’s horrible!” Jean Quinn said.
“I’m afraid we discovered someone dead in your house too. Crime Scene Investigators are busy working there now.”
Jean Quinn’s frown deepened. “In my house? Gracious me. That’s not good. Do you know who the poor victims are, detective?”
“We’re still working on that, I’m afraid. Would you be able to talk in more detail? I know you’ve only just arrived home and must be very tired but…”
“No!” Jean snapped. “Come on in. Let’s find the buggers who did this.”
Kinnear gave an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid your house is a crime scene, Ms Quinn and, putting it as delicately as possible, the air in there isn’t as fresh as it might be…”
Jean Quinn pursed her lips and frowned even more. “Really? Why’s that?” Then her eyes widened and her face creased into a disgusted grimace. “Ah, right. Decay and all that. Foul. Where can we go then?”
Kinnear scanned the Grove and looked back at her apologetically. “Would you mind sitting in the back of a car?”
“Ooh! Not at all! Let’s go!” She linked arms with Kinnear and led him across the Grove to the nearest police car. Kinnear pulled a face as they processed across the Grove, miming a cry of ‘help’ at the smirking constables at the gates of number four.
“So, Ms Quinn…” Kinnear began once they were in the back of the car.
“Miss… Miss Quinn…” Jean Quinn’s voice was bombastic. It filled the vehicle.
“I’m sorry…”
“Oh, don’t be. I’m happy being a ‘Miss.’ I can change a tap washer or a fuse and I’m quite capable of wielding hedge clippers. What use would I have of a man? Besides have you seen what’s on offer to women of my advanced years? A sorry bunch. Carry on.”