by Tania Carver
Phil nodded. ‘Good. Thanks, Ian.’ A thought struck him. ‘Isn’t that where this refuge is? Kings Heath?’
‘It is,’ said Cotter.
‘Well, forgive me if this has already been done, but shouldn’t we be looking into people there? See if there’s any chance one of them was involved? Or even behind it?’
‘We are looking into it,’ said Cotter. ‘We can’t rule anything – or anyone – out at this stage. We called them and asked who was on duty for pickups last night. Someone called Jan Melville. The refuge called her and spoke to a bloke who said he was her husband. Said he would give Jan the message.’
‘Let me guess,’ said Phil. ‘Jan Melville doesn’t have a husband.’
‘Exactly,’ said Cotter. ‘Claire Lingard’s been great at helping us, but I think now’s the time to look a bit harder at the rest of them.’
‘What about Lingard’s husband?’ said Phil. ‘The marriage counsellor. Would it be worth talking to him again?’
‘I’ve turned up something about him,’ said Elli, blushing as she spoke. The whole room turned towards her. ‘DS Sperring asked me to look into his background.’
Phil looked at Sperring, frowned.
‘I found out that he’d come into property a few years ago,’ said Sperring. ‘Some dispute about how he got it. Just thought on the grounds of that he might be worth another look. With everything that’s been going on, it got pushed to the back burner.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Phil. ‘What did you find, Elli?’
‘Keith Bailey’s not his real name. Well it is, but he used to be known as Michael Bailey. Keith’s his middle name. He started using it after university. That’s why it took so long to find this out. He’s originally from Manchester. There was something when he was at university in Hull. An allegation of date rape. Well, two, actually. Nothing was proved, only alleged, and no charges were ever brought. That’s it, really.’
‘Nothing else in his background?’ asked Phil. ‘Sexual assault, robbery, anything like that?’
‘Nothing,’ said Elli. ‘Well, nothing directly involving him.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Again, more digging,’ said Elli. ‘When he was a child in Manchester he was taken into care repeatedly. Abuse in the family.’
‘Father?’ asked Phil.
‘Not according to this,’ said Elli, pointing to the screen. ‘Mother. Pretty bad stuff, too.’
The atmosphere in the room changed. A crackle in the air. The team were still tired, but a mental adrenalin and caffeine shot had just been administered.
‘So how does a suspected rapist get to work as a marriage counsellor?’ said Sperring. ‘That’s like Jimmy Savile working with school kids.’
‘Which he did do,’ said Phil. ‘Bad analogy.’
‘Person of interest?’ asked Cotter.
‘I’ll go and see him today,’ said Phil.
‘I’d like to come too,’ said Marina. ‘Get a psychologist’s view.’
Phil looked at her, not knowing whether to be excited or nervous. He was aware that Cotter was watching him, waiting for his response, so he continued. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Let’s do it. But let’s not jump to conclusions. Look what happened to me when I did that recently.’
‘Can I say something before we all go?’ asked Cotter.
Phil gestured that the floor was hers.
‘Just before the briefing I heard that Detective Constable Avi Patel has died. They tried, he fought to hold on, but…’ Cotter looked close to tears. ‘I know he wasn’t with us long, but he was one of us. And he didn’t deserve that. None of us deserve that. Will you join me in a minute’s silence for our fallen colleague, please.’
They did so.
When it was over, Phil looked round the room. He noticed that plenty of eyes were glistening.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Cases like this are solved by footwork. Paperwork. Database work. But by teamwork above all. We’ve taken big losses. We’ve got one of our own down and another out there. The clock’s ticking. Let’s find that bastard.’
77
Imani opened her eyes. Everywhere hurt.
All she could see was ceiling. Dark and soft, a single bulb hanging from a cord. It hurt to move her neck, but she did so. Plastic sheeting on the floor. Stained. She looked to the side. Walls similar to the ceiling: thick padding with soft peaks. No windows. She realised what it was: soundproofing. Her heart skipped at that, panic racing through her body.
She tried to calm down, think logically as she had been trained to. She looked round once more. Took in her surroundings, herself. She was naked. That much she knew. Could feel cold air on her body, making her shiver. She felt vulnerable. Alone and afraid.
She pulled on her arms, testing her bindings. Firm. No give at all. Metal handcuffs, chains. She managed another look round. She was secured to an old metal bed frame. Solid, heavy. She tried jumping her body up from it. No movement. Secured to the floor. She felt uncomfortable. Metal chain link digging into her back. Tried to move away from it. No good. She was tied too tight.
She tried to shout, but whatever she had been gagged with, something hard and unyielding, was too tight for her. No sound would come, just little whimpers at the corners of her mouth. She hoped she wouldn’t vomit, because that would be that. She didn’t need to worry about him; she would just choke to death.
She closed her eyes, tried to focus on her breathing, concentrate.
Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic…
Think, Imani, think. How did she get here? The car. Walking towards it. A flash of recognition as she saw the driver and…
Nothing. A searing pain in her chest, her whole torso, like something simultaneously sharp and painful yet dull and probing had been forced into her body, reaching bone deep and shaking her until she passed out. She surmised what that had been. Electricity. Some kind of stun gun.
She had woken up again later, felt the same kind of impact when she tried to move. And then finally here. Wherever ‘here’ was.
But she knew who he was. She knew who he was.
And that knowledge was both satisfying and dangerous. Because she wanted to let the rest of the team know – needed to let the rest of the team know – but couldn’t. And because she knew what was coming next. She had seen the other bodies. It was only a matter of time.
Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic…
Calm. Calm. Think. Think.
She couldn’t scream, couldn’t move. What could she do? Smell. She did so, analysing the contents of the room. Not good. Human waste, only to be expected. But something else. Like old copper. A butcher’s shop smell. Dried blood. Dead flesh. No, not a butcher’s shop. An abattoir.
Oh God…
Think. Think.
He had been furious when he realised who she was and had administered a severe beating. On and on it went, like he wanted to just keep hitting her. The rage in his eyes horrific. Even worse to be on the end of. She knew it was just because he had been duped, but a beating administered out of desperation and anger was still a beating, and in her shocked state her body had taken about as much as she could bear before it collapsed, her mind shutting down again too.
And waking up once more to find herself here. Alone.
She listened. Nothing.
She pulled at her wrists again. They wouldn’t budge, the metal cuffs too tight.
She had to get out, she had to —
Avi. Oh God, Avi…
She remembered then what had happened to him. She had heard the gunshots from inside the car, sounding like a sonic boom up close. Glimpsed his body jerk, spin and fall. No time to scream, shout. Warn him. Her body closing down, pain-addled from the stun gun. She had passed out then.
She just hoped he was okay. That someone had called an ambulance, got him to the hospital in time. That someone had saved him.
She pulled harder on her metal cuffs. Got only a pain in her wrists. She lay back on the metal f
rame, sighed. She wondered how many women had died on this bed. Been tortured, hurt, had their hearts removed…
Stop it. Stop it. That wasn’t helping. Concentrate. Come on. Focus. Don’t lost it, don’t…
Think. The team. Cotter. Sperring. One of them. All of them.
She prayed that someone had worked out who had taken her, where she was. That they were coming for her now. She felt her spirits rise at the thought.
She clung on to that thought as she lay there. Desperately, as if her life depended on it.
Because she couldn’t think about the alternative.
She really, really couldn’t think about that.
78
Phil and Marina drove in silence. Not because they had nothing to say to each other but because they had too much.
Phil pulled the Audi in to the kerb in front of the Relate offices.
‘How appropriate,’ said Marina.
Phil was unsure whether she was joking.
He locked the car; they walked towards the centre. Still neither of them spoke. As soon as they entered, Phil felt something change within him. He didn’t know if Marina was feeling it but reckoned she probably was. A dropping-away of professionalism. A sense of the true function of the place. It wasn’t lost on either of them.
They walked to the desk. The woman sitting behind it smiled. Tolerantly, putting them at ease. Phil introduced himself.
‘DI Brennan to see Keith Bailey, please.’ He showed his warrant card.
The receptionist’s eyebrows raised. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I thought you were a couple. Sorry.’
Neither of them spoke.
‘D’you have an appointment?’
‘We don’t,’ said Phil. ‘But it’s important.’
Realisation began to dawn in the woman’s eyes. ‘The police have been in to see him a couple of times already this week.’ She was frowning, thinking the worst.
Phil headed off her thoughts by giving her what he thought was a disarming smile. ‘Just routine. If you could…’
‘Yes,’ she said. She checked a register in front of her. ‘I’m afraid he’s busy with a client at the moment.’ She gestured to a room behind them. ‘Would you like to wait?’
They did so, sitting down on two spectacularly uncomfortable chairs. Still they didn’t speak. Phil looked round the room. Shelves full of books, all on the subject of healing relationships. Coping with infidelity. Sexual problems. Keeping relationships together. Marina was also looking.
‘Nothing about being hounded by a homicidal woman,’ she said.
Phil didn’t reply.
At his side was a large hard-bound scrapbook. He picked it up, opened it. It was full of handwritten letters and testimonials. He flicked through them, read a few. All told variations of the same story. They stated the gratitude couples and individuals felt for the counselling they’d received. How their relationships, their lives, even, had been saved. All of them, over and over, pages and pages. Some with more detail than others. All the same outcome.
Marina looked also. ‘Like online reviews,’ she said. ‘They only put the good ones up.’
Phil looked at her. Properly, for the first time that day. She was almost smiling but it was a tight, controlled smile. ‘Cynic,’ he said.
‘Oh, come on,’ she said. ‘You’re the same as me. You don’t like counsellors either. Isn’t it always the people who are most messed up who decide to be life coaches?’
‘But this seems to work,’ he said, gesturing towards the book. ‘Counselling.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m not saying it doesn’t. But there are other ways.’
Phil didn’t answer. ‘The receptionist mistook us for a couple in trouble,’ he said eventually.
‘Not much of a mistake,’ said Marina.
Something dark shuddered through Phil at her words. ‘Is that what we are?’ he said. ‘In trouble?’
Marina looked at him. Straight in the eyes. Her gaze was completely naked, nothing hidden. ‘What d’you think?’
‘I asked first.’
She shook her head.
‘Just answer,’ he said. ‘Please.’
‘I think… we’ve got things to talk about. Things we need to talk about.’ She looked at him, waited for his answer.
He thought. ‘We’ve got a problem. But it’s not the usual kind that couples have.’
‘No. But it’s still a problem. It still stops us from being together.’
‘Does it?’ Phil turned to her. His voice more intense, urgent. ‘Because it needn’t. We’re stronger together. You know that. Why can’t you see that?’
Marina was facing him fully now, voice also hushed but intense. ‘You want to do this now? Really? Here and now?’
‘We have to do it some time. We can’t keep ignoring it. If we’ve got to work together, we should at least know where we stand with each other.’
Marina shook her head. Said nothing.
‘You think this is good?’ asked Phil. ‘A good way for us to live? To bring up our daughter?’
‘Well, it’s better than pretending nothing’s the matter, isn’t it? That we don’t have a crazed psychopath just lurking around somewhere, waiting to attack us, to… I don’t know, kill us? Kill our daughter? We don’t know who she is. Or what she wants. So I’m not taking any chances.’
Phil nodded. ‘So that’s it. Do her work for her, yeah? Split us up. Make us miserable.’ He leaned in even closer. ‘Have you ever stopped to think that this might be what she wants? The two of us at each other’s throats, separated. It would be so easy for her to move in, don’t you think? Do whatever she’s going to do.’
Marina said nothing. Phil continued.
‘You can’t live your life like this. Neither of us can. We have to —’
A throat being cleared. They both looked up.
Keith Bailey was standing there watching them. They didn’t know how long he had been there. Long enough, Phil imagined.
‘Detective Inspector Brennan?’ he asked.
‘Er, yes…’ Phil stood up.
‘You wanted to see me?’
‘Yes, I… I did.’
He looked at Marina. ‘And this is?’
‘Marina Esposito,’ said Marina, also standing.
‘You’re not police.’
‘I’m working with the police. Psychologist.’
Bailey’s eyebrows raised. He smiled. ‘Really?’
Phil looked round the waiting room. ‘Could we go somewhere…’
‘Of course,’ said Bailey. ‘Please follow me.’
They did so.
Neither looking at the other as they went.
79
Keith Bailey ushered them into a room, closed the door behind them. It had two easy chairs facing a third, a small table with a box of paper tissues. He gestured for Phil and Marina to sit in the two chairs. He took the single one. Crossed his legs. Looked at them.
‘Now,’ he said, concerned, ‘what can I do for you? Is it about Janine? Have you found her killer?’
Phil started. ‘We just have a few questions, Mr Bailey.’
Keith Bailey frowned, confused. ‘What about?’
Phil ignored the question. ‘Where were you last night, Mr Bailey?’
Bailey looked between the pair of them, mouth open in surprise. Phil’s features were impassive, Marina’s likewise. Something she had picked up from her husband as they had worked together over the years.
‘Erm… At home.’
‘All night?’ Phil.
‘Yes.’
‘And could your wife confirm this?’ Marina this time, leaning forward.
‘Yes, she could,’ said Bailey, then, in a louder voice, ‘Can you tell me what this is about, please?’
‘So,’ continued Phil, taking out his phone, ‘if we were to ring your wife right now, she would confirm that?’
Bailey, still looking between the two of them, relented. ‘I… did pop out to see a friend. Brendan. Brendan Hewson. He’s go
t a bit of trouble with his… Well, let’s just say that when you’re a marriage counsellor, your friends always seem to be asking for advice. Rather like a GP, I suppose.’
‘Your friend Brendan.’
Bailey nodded.
Phil held up his phone once more. ‘And if I were to call him now?’
Bailey looked confused, and slightly scared. ‘He’d confirm what I said.’
‘He would?’
‘Yes. Can you tell me what this is about, please?’ Angry now.
Phil replaced his phone. ‘I’ll need his full name and address,’ he said.
‘I’ll write it down for you.’ Another look between the two of them. Neither of them returned it.
Phil was finding it hard to disengage from the conversation he had been having with Marina in the waiting room. But he was trying not to bring his personal baggage into his work and hoping he had succeeded. A quick glance at Marina. She was giving nothing away.
He kept going. Ploughing on through his questions. ‘What kind of car d’you drive, Mr Bailey?’
‘A Toyota. Avensis. Why?’
Phil stiffened, sat back. Beside him Marina did the same. Bailey looked between the pair of them.
‘It’s off the road at the moment,’ he said. ‘In the garage for repairs. Been there a while now.’
‘How did you get to work, then?’ Marina asked.
‘My wife gave me a lift as far as the bus stop. Public transport the rest of the way.’
‘Can we check with the garage, Mr Bailey?’ Phil again.
Bailey looked at them both once more. Eyelids fluttering like a caged bird’s wings. ‘Can you tell me what this is about, please? I’ve asked you four times.’
‘Keeping count?’ asked Phil. ‘It concerns the murder of a police officer and the abduction of another.’
Bailey tried to answer; Marina jumped in. ‘And the abductions and murders of several vulnerable young women. Including at least one you had a connection with.’
Again he looked between the two of them. Settled on Marina, since she was the last to have spoken.
‘You’re a psychologist, is that right?’ he asked.