Frozen

by Lindsay Jayne Ashford

  ‘We have the name of the man who owns the car,’ Megan went on. ‘But at the moment we have no clear evidence that the body the police found is that man.’ From the corner of her eye Megan saw Leverton frown.

  ‘Course it was Franco!’ the girl retorted. ‘I had the shock of my life when they opened that boot.’

  Megan paused for a moment. ‘You say you had a shock. Did you feel anything else?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Did you feel upset that he was dead?’

  ‘You must be bloody joking!’ The girl checked herself, realising how the words would sound. ‘I don’t mean that really.’ She twisted a stringy lock of hair around her finger. ‘I didn’t like the bloke, but I wouldn’t have wished that on him.’

  ‘Why didn’t you like him?’

  The girl stared at the ceiling, sucking on the hair between her fingers. Eventually she spoke. ‘He used me, didn’t he?’

  ‘Used you?’

  ‘Yeah. When I was in care he used to wait for me outside the children’s home. He was great at first – took me out clubbing and stuff and bought me clothes.’ She paused, looking Megan in the eye for the first time since the interview had begun. Her expression was desolate. ‘He told me he loved me and I fell for it, stupid cow. I moved in with him the day before my sixteenth birthday and a week later he put me on the streets. I hated him for that.’

  Megan could see tears in the corners of the girl’s eyes. She was staring past Megan now at some spot on the wall. ‘It’s like someone giving you a great big birthday cake,’ she said in a whisper, ‘and then they smash it in your face.’

  ‘Did he ever hurt you, Samantha?’ Megan said gently. ‘I mean, did he hit you or did any of his friends threaten you in any way?’

  The girl’s eyes snapped back into focus. ‘Friends? Franco didn’t have no friends. People only came round if they wanted to score. I never even saw them ’cos I was either asleep or working when they came.’

  ‘What about Franco, then?’ Megan went on. ‘Did he ever hit you?’

  ‘He didn’t need to, did he?’ The girl loosed her grip on the sodden strand of hair, letting it hang limply across her face.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He had this great big knife. When I told him I wasn’t going on the streets no more, he held it against my throat and said he’d kill me if I didn’t do what he wanted.’

  ‘But you got away from him?’

  ‘Yeah. This woman who used to come round the beat dishing out free condoms said she could get me into a refuge.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘Oh, ages ago.’

  ‘Can you remember what month?’

  ‘Yeah. October.’ Her mouth twisted into a half-smile. ‘Halloween night; you know, trick or treat.’

  ‘How long had you been with Franco when you left?’

  ‘Not long; only about a month, I think.’ She shivered and started rocking slightly in her chair.

  ‘What happened when you went to the refuge? Did he try to get you back?’

  ‘He came round a couple of times, yeah. Banged on the door and shouted his mouth off. But he soon found someone else. Didn’t need me no more, so he stopped making a fuss. Trouble was I needed him.’ She sniffed loudly and shivered again.

  Megan wondered what she meant. ‘Were you still in love with him, Samantha?’

  ‘Christ, no! It was the rocks, man! I needed the rocks, like I need one now!’ The girl jumped from her seat and started to pace up and down. Her eyes were frantic. The police surgeon was called and the interview was suspended. As she walked back along the corridor Megan could hear Samantha wailing like a child.

  ‘Well?’ Leverton leaned back against one of the desks in the incident room. He and Costello were both staring at Megan. They reminded her of children watching a magician. And yes, she did have a rabbit to pull out of the hat, but it would not be done with a desire to please them.

  ‘Franco,’ she said simply. ‘She called him Franco.’

  ‘Ring any bells?’ Leverton frowned.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, frustrated and angry. If they’d given her the two lists together, maybe she’d have seen it sooner. ‘I think it does. I don’t suppose you’ve got a copy of that list of BTV employees to hand, have you?’

  ‘Has it come yet?’ Leverton barked at Costello.

  ‘No sir. I did ask them to fax it urgently.’

  ‘I’ve got one.’ She pulled the list of names from her bag, scanning the pages. ‘That’s him.’ She pointed to a name near the bottom of one of the sheets. ‘I’d put money on it. Frank Ross: Gianfranco Rossi!’

  She held out the list and Leverton peered at it, nodding wordlessly as she took it back.

  ‘Why has the name got an ‘L’ next to it?’ Megan asked.

  ‘He was on leave when Maria Fellowes’ body was dumped.’ Costello chimed in. ‘We couldn’t get hold of him on the phone so we assumed he’d gone away for Christmas.’

  ‘Obviously he was killed before he got the chance.’ Leverton added, ‘I wonder how long he’d been in that boot? More than twenty-four hours, the pathologist said; so he could have been killed straight after he dumped Maria’s body. The last thing he should have done was to draw attention to the place where he worked by dumping a body in the car park. Donalsen must have panicked when he found out and decided Frank was too much of a liability. The fact that his wife works there too would have made him panic even more.’ He looked at Megan. ‘You were there when we told him about Maria Fellowes, weren’t you?’

  Megan nodded, irritation pursing her lips.

  ‘After that he went home. He could easily have gone round to Franco’s and killed him. I suppose he stuffed the body in the boot of the car meaning to go back later and get rid of it, but Samantha beat him to it.’

  He waited for Megan to comment, but she stayed silent.

  ‘You still don’t buy Donalsen as the killer,’ he said, exasperated. ‘But you heard what Samantha said about him being a dope-head. It all fits in. Donalsen saw Franco working at BTV when he went to pick his wife up. He had him over a barrel because he knew he’d been inside. Maybe Franco offered him drugs to stop him squealing to the security boss about his criminal record. Then, when Donalsen’s wife left him, Franco offered him girls and they ended up killing one of them. That Samantha had a lucky escape. Natalie Bailey must have been the girl he replaced her with when she went to the refuge.’

  ‘But why would Donalsen bother going to someone like Franco for girls?’ Megan demanded. ‘In his job he could have had any prostitute he wanted.’

  ‘I know that.’ Leverton was going slightly red in the face. ‘Maybe Donalsen wanted something kinky and Franco offered to arrange it.’

  Megan frowned. ‘There’s still something that doesn’t fit in with all this.’ Leverton looked at her. ‘It’s that list of pimps. If Donalsen was involved with Franco, why on earth would he include his name on that list he gave you? I mean, he could so easily have left it out.’

  ‘Not really,’ Leverton said. ‘I might have checked on the computer and noticed he’d missed it out. I mean, if he’s got form for living off immoral earnings, he’s going to be on file anyway.’

  ‘But he hasn’t, sir,’ Costello ventured.

  ‘What?’

  ‘He hasn’t got form for pimping. If you look at the list, his name’s below the line. It’s the ones above the line that have got previous. The ones below are only suspected of it.’

  ‘Are you telling me that this guy’s got no criminal record?’

  ‘No, he has got form, but it’s for drug dealing, not pimping. You know when I got that printout from Drug Squad when we were after Tyrone Campbell? Well, Gianfranco Rossi’s on that list, too.’

  Leverton stared at Costello. The warble of his mobile phone saved him from an embarrassing silence.

  Megan watched him as he listened. She saw his eyes widen and noticed the characteristic rub of the chin. When he put his hand over the
mouthpiece, she noticed he was looking at Costello, not her.

  ‘The fibres from Franco’s carpet match the ones they found on the backs of Donna and Natalie’s legs.’

  Before Costello could say anything Leverton put up his free hand. ‘Hang on! There’s something else. They’ve just found something in the shed. A pair of human feet. They’ve found Maria Fellowes’ feet!’

  Megan shuddered.

  He spoke into the mouthpiece again, ‘What about Donalsen? Is he saying anything yet? Right, we’re coming straight back.’

  Leverton shoved the phone in his pocket. This time his words were addressed to Megan. ‘Donalsen has admitted having sex with Maria Fellowes in his car on the night she disappeared. He’s also admitted buying cannabis from a number of known drug-dealers in Birmingham.’

  The look on his face seemed to dare Megan to say anything that would shake his conviction of Donalsen’s guilt.

  ‘Did he mention Franco?’ She returned his unwavering gaze.

  ‘He denies ever having met him, but he would, wouldn’t he?’ He pulled his coat from the back of the chair. ‘If he thinks he’s going to get off the hook that way he’s very much mistaken. Thanks for all your help, Megan – that profile of Franco really was spot on. I’ll keep you posted, okay?’ He paused as he reached the door. ‘Hey, have a good Christmas, you hear? And make sure you have a good rest. You’ve certainly earned it!’

  That was it – dismissed. Donalsen would be banged up over Christmas until a DNA test cleared him. God alone knew how long that would take, and in the meantime …

  ‘Just do me one favour, will you?’ Megan hated having to ask. She steeled herself as Leverton turned, frowning. ‘Humour me for as long as it takes for those DNA results to come through. Put a news blackout on the discovery of Franco’s body. I know you think I’m barking up the wrong tree, but just to cover yourselves, don’t let this out yet. If the killer is still out there he’ll go underground if he knows you know about Franco.’

  Leverton gave a curt nod. ‘Okay. We’ll embargo it until Wednesday, all right?’ He pulled his car keys from his pocket.

  ‘And one more thing.’ Megan could see that he was impatient to leave but she didn’t care. ‘I’d like to call in at Franco’s house on my way back. For research purposes,’ she added in a defiant voice.

  ‘Why not?’ Leverton scribbled down the address and handed it to her. ‘I’ll call the SOCOs and tell them to expect you.’

  Megan took the proffered scrap of paper, her lips set in a tight smile. Yes, she thought, go away like a good girl.

  She watched the two men as they walked across the car park. Leverton’s whole mood had lightened again. He was talking animatedly to Costello, no doubt planning what he was going to say to Donalsen in a bid to trip him up.

  She thought about the Christmas card in her bag. She had been on the brink of handing it over to Leverton to ask him to check it for fingerprints. But she had held back, not wanting to expose herself to the pitying look Leverton would undoubtedly give her when he read it.

  What if it’s AB? That voice inside her head again. What if Leverton had not been the only one to notice her resemblance to Tina Jackson? How many times had that trailer about the documentary been shown over the past few days?

  As she walked across the car park her heart was thumping. She’d be okay at Ceri’s. He couldn’t possibly know Ceri’s address. And on Boxing Day she would be off to Borth.

  But knowing that she was safe did little to dispel her fears about him striking someone else while Leverton wasted his time with Donalsen.

  Reaching into the glove compartment, she pulled out a street map of Birmingham. She gasped when she realised where Franco Rossi’s house was. Right in the heart of the red light district. She must have driven past it at least twice last night. And it was only round the block from Inkerman Place. How convenient for dumping poor Donna Fieldhouse’s body.

  As she pulled out of the car park the faces of Donna, Natalie, Tina and Maria filled her mind. There had to be something at Franco’s house. Some clue, however small or obscure, to the identity of the other killer.

  She pictured that faceless man sitting somewhere cosy, wrapping presents. Alongside, someone who had not the slightest idea what kind of monster he really was.

  Chapter 15

  When Megan arrived at the house she was unnerved to see that architecturally, it was very much like her own. But this once-graceful Victorian terrace had been boxed in by ugly factories. Paint was flaking from the window frames and filthy net curtains obscured the interior from prying eyes.

  The houses on either side were boarded up. How easy it must have been to commit murder in such a god-forsaken dump, Megan thought. At night you could scream yourself hoarse and no one was likely to hear. Neither was anyone likely to be watching if someone emerged from the narrow alley at the side of the house with a large, bulky parcel to load into the boot of a car.

  There was a twisted kind of justice in the fact that Franco Rossi had ended up in the same car boot that he had stuffed Donna, Natalie and Maria into. Megan shuddered when she thought about Maria Fellowes’ feet lying in a garden shed at the other end of that dingy alley. Maria wasn’t all that tall, so it must have been the stiffness of her body, from a combination of rigor mortis and the freezing weather, that made Franco mutilate her legs.

  Whoever killed Franco must have put his body in the boot almost immediately after death, bending the legs and spine into a foetal position. The killer would have to have done it under cover of darkness. So, Megan estimated, the earliest Franco could have been murdered was about four o’clock on Friday afternoon.

  She fished in her bag for her mobile. Had anyone bothered telling Delva that her tormentor was dead? She was certain it wouldn’t have crossed Leverton’s mind.

  ‘Delva – it’s Megan.’ She could hear music in the background and the sound of people talking and laughing.

  ‘Hello?’ She sounded as if she was struggling to hear.

  ‘We’ve found him, Delva. The guy who was sending you the letters.’

  ‘What? Oh my God, that’s fantastic! Who is he?’

  ‘He’s – was – one of the security guards at BTV. He was called Frank. Frank Ross.’

  ‘Bloody hell! He was on duty the night I got that photo! He was one of the pair I caught slobbering over that newspaper. Have they arrested him?’

  ‘Didn’t have to. He’s dead.’

  ‘Dead?’ Delva repeated the word as if she didn’t think she’d heard right.

  ‘We think he was killed by the man who murdered the woman they found in the skip.’

  ‘But – why?’ Delva stammered, ‘What for?’

  ‘We think he was linked to the killer in some way. He was a local pimp.’

  ‘A pimp?’ Delva snapped. ‘What the hell was a pimp doing working as a security guard?’

  ‘Good question. The police have arrested one of their own people – a sergeant in the Vice Squad. But I think they’ve got the wrong man.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s complicated. Anyway, I just wanted you to know the good news. I’ll catch up with you when you get back, okay? Have a good Christmas.’

  ‘I will,’ Delva said with feeling. ‘You too. Thanks, Megan.’

  Megan got out of the car and rang the bell.

  Franco’s killer had obviously gone to a lot of trouble to erase any physical traces of what had gone on in the house. As she picked her way across the duckboards to the kitchen she noticed that the floor and the yellow formica table looked newly-scrubbed. The cutlery, too, was gleaming, probably leaving little clue as to whether any of the selection of sharp knifes in the drawer had been used on Franco.

  Most of Franco’s scant possessions had already been bagged up by the SOCOs. Megan sifted through the bags with gloved hands, pausing to inspect Maria Fellowes’ moneybelt and the BTV publicity shot of Delva Lobelo.

  She wondered if Franco Rossi had developed his obsession with De
lva before or after getting the job at BTV. Possibly before, she reasoned, because there didn’t seem to be any other good reason for him working there. It didn’t make sense in financial terms; the money he made from pimping and drug-dealing would have far outstripped the wages of a security guard.

  Megan thought about the letters and cuttings Delva had shown her. Teenage girls like Donna, Natalie and Samantha had been nothing more than commodities to Franco, picked up to provide the ready cash to finance his drug deals. In sexual terms they were almost the exact opposite of what he was into.

  Megan studied Delva’s face. The high cheekbones, the strong jaw, the overwhelming sense of confidence exuded by her eyes.

  Franco had wanted domination. Domination by a strong, sexually experienced woman. But it was unlikely that any woman of that type would want someone like him. Hence his fixation with Delva, the authoritative voice of BTV news, who smiled at him every night from his TV screen.

  Megan replaced Delva’s photograph and picked up a plastic bag containing a plain gold chain and a pair of gold hoop earrings. She asked one of the SOCOs if the shamrock pendant belonging to Tina Jackson had come to light.

  ‘Not yet, no,’ the woman replied, ‘but we’ve got a couple of cupboards to go through yet.’

  ‘What about the security video that went missing from BTV?’

  The woman shook her head.

  Megan moved to a low coffee table to inspect another collection of bags. It was curious, she thought. Franco’s killer seemed to have obliterated bloodstains and fingerprints but he had left several really obvious pieces of evidence lying around. Megan had the distinct impression that he was playing games again.

  She glanced at the covers of the various pornographic magazines arrayed in plastic bags on the coffee table. Some of the more hard-core publications looked like foreign language imports. She peered at the lettering. Dutch, she thought, and some German too.

  At the bottom of the pile was something slightly different. Italian, she guessed, looking at the name of the magazine. There was no picture on the cover, just chunks of text.