Boller told his friends he was just going to go to the bathroom to shower but they could continue to play in his absence. They had teased him about spending the next six hours in the bathroom to prepare himself for the big date. Rather than heading straight for the bathroom, Boller took a detour via the safe in his bedroom and then headed to the kitchen. He selected a bottle of white wine and a bottle of red, which he planned to take around with him. He placed the two bottles, which were sealed with a cork and plastic wrapping, on the kitchen table and removed from his pocket, what he had collected from the safe. It was a small syringe filled with a colourless liquid. He pushed the syringe through the top of the bottle of white wine and squeezed half the contents into the bottle. He then pushed the syringe through the top of the red bottle and emptied the rest of the colourless liquid into it. He then removed the syringe and put it back in his pocket, ready to return to the safe, after his shower. He shook the two bottles up and then placed them back on the table.
The colourless liquid in the syringe was flunitrazepam, a drug that specialised in relaxing muscles, lowering blood pressure and causing bouts of memory loss. Its street name was rohypnol but he had it in its purest form. Boller had used it several times in the past, and it had worked perfectly in the toffees he had offered Natalie Barrett on Friday night. He was determined that he would have Sarah Jenson, willing participant or not. One glass of wine would probably be enough and then it would all be a distant memory when she woke up. But he would remember. He always remembered.
38
It hadn’t taken Jack Vincent’s team long to locate the journalist, Claude Rêmet. Rather than phoning the various hotels near the West Quay retail park, he had arranged for a couple of uniformed officers to visit each hotel with a crude image of Rêmet provided by their Belgian colleagues. They found him at the first hotel they had gone to. The stern-looking woman behind the reception desk, had explained that she hadn’t been on duty the evening before, so had not seen Rêmet. However, there was a guest of the same name, registered in one of their rooms. She confirmed there had been no contact from the room that day, but she had only started her shift at eleven o’clock, so there was every chance he had already left for the day. Regardless, she gave the officers directions to the room and they went on their way.
The smell, as they reached the door, hit them first. When one of the officers banged on the door and called out Rêmet’s name, they had not been surprised to receive no answer. The ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign clung to the door handle, suggesting the hotel’s maid had not been in the room this morning. The second officer jogged back to the reception desk and asked for a skeleton key.
The odour grew stronger still, as the first officer turned the door handle and prised the door open. At first, it was difficult to make out any shapes in the room, as the curtains were drawn tight, so they turned the room’s lights on. Even though both officers were experienced and had seen dead bodies before, neither was prepared for what they saw, and for one, it was too much, as he dashed for the bathroom to vomit up his breakfast.
*
By the time Vincent was allowed to enter the crime scene, the corridor had been cordoned off with blue and white tape, and officers had been posted at all entry points. Vincent had ordered the entire hotel to be vacated and closed, while the forensics team did their job, but the hotel’s manager had protested and eventually they had compromised on just shutting off the corridor in question.
Vincent climbed into the white polythene suit, provided by the forensics team, and stretched the blue latex gloves over his hairy fingers. He hated this part of the job, but he wasn’t one to go against the protocols of the SOCO team. The room’s windows had been opened, to try and disperse some of the rotten stench, but it still caused Vincent’s nostril hairs to twitch and he fought the urge to retch. He was not prepared for the scene before him.
The body of Claude Rêmet hung from tight black ropes that were attached to each of the bed’s four posts. Each piece of rope was carefully tied tightly around either a wrist or ankle, leaving him hovering about ten inches above the mattress. The body was naked, save for a black, studded dog collar around the victim’s throat and a cheap-looking black, latex thong that had been pulled down. A used condom could be seen poking out of Rêmet’s anus. A small vial was open on the bedside table, which Vincent went over to view. The label on the bottle indicated that it had contained amyl nitrite, more commonly known as ‘poppers’ amongst the gay community.
‘Sexual endeavour gone wrong?’ said a voice over Vincent’s shoulder. He turned to see Dr Neil Spinks observing the suspended cadaver.
‘Looks like it,’ Vincent concurred. ‘I take it a suicide note hasn’t been found?’
‘Apparently not,’ replied Spinks, fascinated by what he was looking at.
‘And no forced entry, is that right?’
‘So I’m told,’ mused Spinks.
‘So what are we thinking, Doc?’ continued Vincent. ‘Our visitor here decided to get some local action last night and brought his guest back to this room? They decided to get better acquainted, and then what?’
‘By the surprised look on the victim’s face,’ replied Spinks, moving to the head-end of the bed, ‘I’d say heart attack, I suppose. He’s clearly not in good shape; maybe the mixture of alcohol and amyl nitrite was too much for his system, and he just passed away.’
Vincent considered the theory. It was all guess work, but it sounded plausible.
‘It’s a bit crude, though,’ said Vincent pointing to Rêmet’s backside. ‘Leaving the condom still in.’
‘My guess is, the guest panicked and scarpered, without thinking twice. Most minds don’t think straight where sudden death is involved.’
‘Well whoever his friend was, hopefully we’ll be able to find a DNA profile from inside the condom. In the meantime, I’ll send a couple of uniforms to the local gay-friendly bars and clubs to wave Rêmet’s picture around.’
‘Good idea: see if anybody remembers seeing him hanging around last night,’ concluded Spinks, before smiling and adding, ‘Forgive the pun.’
Vincent surveyed the room for a second time, but there was nothing obvious to indicate the identity of who had been in the room with Rêmet last night. He would speak to the hotel manager, to obtain a copy of any CCTV that may have captured Rêmet and his acquaintance returning to the room. That might at least give some indication of the time of death, until Spinks was able to give a conclusive answer. He would also send a couple of officers to the local taxi companies, to see if any of the drivers had escorted Rêmet last night. Most of the gay-friendly haunts in the town were some distance from the hotel, and Vincent doubted the tubby Rêmet would have walked there and back.
It was unfortunate timing for Rêmet to pass away. Sarah Jenson had mentioned that the journalist knew who had taken and killed Natalie Barrett, and if that was true, then Vincent had just lost another potential lead. He decided he would personally review Rêmet’s career, to see if there were any hints as to whom he had suspected. Was it possible that Rêmet had been killed by whoever he suspected? Vincent doubted it. After all, the person they were looking for was interested in innocent, young girls; not overweight French journalists.
Vincent decided he would give Sarah Jenson a call, to let her know that Rêmet was dead, so at least she wouldn’t continue to sit and wait for him to phone her. He would ask her again whether Rêmet had revealed the identity of the likely culprit, in case she had been covering earlier on. If they had spoken, as she had indicated, then maybe she had heard something that she didn’t realise was significant, but that a canny detective’s mind like his would thrive on.
As Vincent walked back to his squad car he pulled out his mobile phone and dialled Sarah’s flat. The line rang and rang before the answer-phone eventually cut in. He decided not to leave a message, as he didn’t want to freak her out. Besides it would be better to speak with her face to face so that he could tell if she were lying, when he asked if R�
�met had identified the killer to her. That could wait until tomorrow morning. It was more important for him to try and identify the owner of the used condom first.
39
Sarah still had butterflies in her stomach, as she sat waiting for her guest to arrive.
Her trip to town earlier that afternoon had proved successful. She had headed to the electrical store, and thankfully Erin’s former colleague, Dudley, had recognised her when she had entered the shop, and had been happy to explain what she would require to bug her own house. He had looked quizzically at her, as he tried to understand why she was looking to carry out such a devious mission, but she had just shrugged her shoulders and asked him not to worry about her motives. Out of respect for Erin, he had agreed to it. He told her that he had heard about Erin’s passing, through the grapevine, and enquired when the funeral was planned for. The question should not have surprised her, but it had caused her to nearly faint.
The truth was, although she had told herself that she had come to terms with Erin’s passing, she hadn’t really, and hadn’t even considered the requirement of organising a funeral, which inevitably would be necessary in the coming days. Dudley had made her a hot cup of tea, for the shock and then they had sat together and worked out what she would need in the property. She had handed over her credit card and the transaction was complete. As a favour, Dudley even agreed to come round and help set up the equipment.
Dudley had finished the job half an hour ago, which had given her just enough time to change into something more akin to a dinner date and to apply some make up, to hide her tired eyes. The equipment Dudley had installed was voice-activated, so she wouldn’t need to worry about pressing any concealed buttons to start it recording. Dudley had also said that the system could cope with twenty-four hours’ worth of recording, and she had said that would be more than enough. As he had completed the job, he had again enquired what she needed the equipment for, and she had lied, saying there had been several break-ins in the area, and this just seemed a good way of catching the culprits, should they strike her flat. He had frowned, but seemed to accept the reasoning.
Johan was late. It was nearly eight o’clock and there was no sign of him. Sarah started to wonder whether he had changed his mind, or worse, that he might be on to the real reason she had invited him around. This thought, was of course crazy, as there was no reason for him to suspect her true motives; it didn’t stop the thought going through her mind, however.
In concentrating on setting up all the recording equipment, she had totally forgotten that they were supposed to be discussing the school Sports Day. She had no paperwork with her that she could produce, and so had phoned Peggy McGregor and asked her to email the plans over. Peggy had been unhappy that Sarah was even considering the Sports Day, but Sarah had told her what she needed right now was a project to focus her mind. Peggy had forwarded the minutes from the preliminary planning meeting, but had reiterated that Sarah should be grieving and not working. Sarah had told her that she was coping and wouldn’t allow the project to stop her grieving.
As soon as she had received Peggy’s minutes, she had printed them out and headed to the kitchen to start preparing something edible for Johan to eat. She was not a natural cook and had been relieved to find a packet of chicken kievs in the freezer, along with a portion of roast potatoes and a small container of cauliflower cheese. It was hardly sophisticated, but then she wasn’t trying to sweep him off his feet, so the food would have to do. She threw the items in the oven, aiming for them to be ready by eight o’clock. Ironically, if he didn’t arrive soon, dinner would be ruined!
Sarah looked down at her phone. He hadn’t called to say he was running late. She had received three missed calls, while she had been out in town. The first had been from Jack Vincent’s mobile number, but he hadn’t left a message, and she had not had time to return his call. The other two had been from her dad’s mobile. On the second call he had left a message, asking her to give him a call and let him know that she was okay. It was a nice feeling, knowing that he wanted to be part of her life again, and she chastised herself for not returning his call straight away, particularly as she had blamed him for not keeping in touch.
Sarah was weighing up whether to call her dad back, when she heard a car pull up in the street, followed by the sound of a car door closing. She moved to the window, looked out, and saw Johan moving towards the communal front door. He buzzed at the intercom and she pressed the button and told him where to find her flat. Two minutes later, she was letting him in.
He was dressed in a pair of tight-fitting dark trousers and a slim-fit shirt that seemed to cling to his muscular torso. She wondered whether he had deliberately chosen the outfit, to show off his assets. He had leaned in and pecked her cheek, sending a shudder down her spine. It wasn’t a shudder of excitement; it was one of anxiety.
Johan passed her two bottles, wrapped in brown paper, suggesting he had picked them up on his way over. He explained that he didn’t know what her preference was and so had brought a red and a white.
‘Can I pour you a glass?’ she asked.
‘I cannot drink tonight,’ he replied. ‘I have training tomorrow, and so I have to have water only.’
Sarah felt sorry for him in that instance, having his diet carefully monitored and not being able to splurge out whenever the urge took him. She was glad that there was nothing to stop her from drinking and she led him into the kitchen. She fished around in the cutlery drawer until she located the cork-screw and then proceeded to work on extracting the cork from the bottle. Clearly, Johan had gone to some expense to purchase this wine, as it was rare to find a bottle plugged by a cork these days; was this really the thinking of a killer? She thought not. She poured herself a large glass of white; she needed something for her nerves!
She filled him a glass of water from the tap and they headed through to the living room. They chatted casually for a couple of minutes about his career. He came across as quite humble, explaining that he liked living in Southampton, and would be happy to play on at the club for as long as they wanted him. It was not what she expected, and deep-down she got the impression he was lying; not that it mattered.
Sarah started to feel a little light-headed and put it down to the lack of lunch. She had been so busy with Dudley that the thought of grabbing an afternoon snack had slipped from her mind. She excused herself whilst she went to check on the food. The kievs were bubbling in their bath of garlic butter, the potatoes looked brown and crisp, and the cauliflower cheese was golden brown at its outer edge. The smell of the garlic was overpowering, and she quickly served up the various items on plates and placed them down on the table in the kitchen. As she did, she had to grab at the corner of the table to stop herself from falling over. It was the second time that day she had nearly fainted. Johan entered the kitchen at this point and coiled his long fingers around her wrist to steady her.
‘Are you okay?’ he enquired.
‘I think my blood sugar must be a bit low,’ she said before adding, ‘I missed lunch.’
‘Sit down, sit down,’ he ushered and she did as she was told. ‘Let’s eat,’ he added, once he had taken his seat across from her.
Sarah didn’t need telling twice and she happily cut into her kiev and potatoes, and began to shovel the food into her mouth eagerly. It tasted so good, but in fairness, anything would have tasted amazing at that point, such was her hunger.
‘I’m sorry it’s not more extravagant,’ she said after a time.
‘It’s delicious,’ lied Johan. He had never been a fan of garlic and it made him glad he had stopped, en route, for a burger.
‘Are you sure I can’t get you something else to drink?’ Sarah asked taking a large gulp from her glass. ‘I have other soft drinks, besides water.’
Johan smiled and said he was fine.
‘My girlfriend doesn’t…sorry…didn’t drink alcohol, so there are various flavoured waters and tonics about the place.’ It was her attempt to em
pathise with his situation, but in the end, it just made her feel sad for her loss.
‘Are you not together anymore?’ Johan asked.
‘No,’ said Sarah, taking a larger gulp of wine. ‘She passed away earlier in the week.’
‘Oh God,’ said Johan, with a concerned look on his face. ‘I’m so sorry. What happened?’
‘I’d rather not talk about it,’ she said.
‘I understand,’ replied Johan, taking a sip from his water, to try and deflect the awkwardness of the situation. ‘Were you together long?’
‘Seven years,’ said Sarah, draining the rest of her glass.
Johan leaned over and poured her another glass from the open bottle on the table.
‘Would you like me to go?’ he offered. ‘You should be grieving, not meeting with me.’
‘It’s okay,’ she said, reaching out and touching his hand. ‘I wanted to meet tonight, remember?’
She pulled her hand back quickly. What was she doing? That was so unlike her. Maybe this wine was going to her head, she thought.
‘Let’s go through to the other room,’ suggested Johan, hopeful he could leave the plate of food behind him.
Sarah nodded and moved to the living room. Johan, noticing she had left her wine behind, picked up the glass and followed her through. He found her on one of the sofas. He passed her the glass and sat down beside her. They remained in silence for several minutes, before Sarah became aware of the silence and snapped her attention back to reality. What was wrong with her?
‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I was off in my own little world, there, for a minute.’
‘That is okay,’ said Johan. ‘I was looking at the photographs on the mantelpiece. Is that your girlfriend?’ he asked indicating to a small framed image.
Sarah moved across the room, to look closer at the photos. She felt a little uneasy on her feet, but told herself that her blood sugar was bound to rise shortly, following the meal. She picked up the framed photograph of her and Erin, taken on a trip to Euro Disney. They had only gone for a weekend, but it had been a great trip. The photograph had been taken outside the castle in the Magic Kingdom. She moved back to the sofa and handed the frame to Johan.
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