‘We’ve got a body in here,’ a gruff voice shouted in a voice that suggested it was too late for an ambulance. But was it too late for Sharon?
Dozens of questions flooded Ruby’s mind as she caught sight of the blood-saturated duvet. But the matted black hair did not belong to Sharon, and she did not recognise the face of the portly man on the bed. So who was he, and how did he die? Naked, and drenched in blood, he lay splayed across the mattress, the sheets tightly gripped in his chubby fingers. Was this Sharon’s client? More to the point, where was Sharon?
She raised the radio to her mouth, pressed the side button and updated control. As with all such operations, they had their own channel tagged under the operation name devoted solely to the raid. The words had barely left her lips when she became aware of a voice requesting an ambulance to the scene. Gripping her radio tightly, she rushed across the foot-worn flooring to the bedroom across the way.
‘Let me see,’ Ruby said, aware she was contaminating the scene by traipsing from one room to another.
She paused at the doorway, craning her neck as wide-shouldered officers moved to one side. The image of a woman on a single bed came into view. Feeling like she was stepping into a nightmare, Ruby gazed at the pink satin costume. Long satin gloves reached her elbows, and a delicate tiara adorned her newly dyed blonde hair. ‘Sleeping Beauty,’ she breathed, the words touching her lips in a whisper as she recognised the costume from one of the images on their briefing room wall. Bent over Sharon’s body, the attending officer swivelled his head, giving Ruby a nod.
‘She’s alive.’
Eyelids flickering, a sudden breathy rattle emanated from Sharon’s throat. Swearing under her breath, Ruby tugged at the ropes binding her flesh to the metal bedposts. The long white satin gloves were spotless, except for a single pinprick of blood that seeped through from the index finger of her right hand. It was heartbreaking to see Sharon trussed up in this way. With her pale skin and impossibly pink lips, the doctor had perfected her to the last detail. They had found her just in time – or had they?
As the paramedics poured in, Ruby stepped aside. Plucking her mobile phone from her pocket, she dialled her office number. After three rings, DC Eve Tanner’s voice spoke on the other end of the line. She and the doctor may have shared the same surname, but that was where the similarity ended. Eve was one of the most caring and conscientious workers in her team, and it took her just seconds to find the original version of ‘The Sleeping Beauty’ fairy tale in her notes.
Eve’s voice was steady as she read from the text. This was not a story she would be reading to her baby when it was born. ‘As the prince tried to wake her, the princess seemed so incredibly lovely that he began to grow hot with lust…’
Ruby listened as Eve filled her in. The modern day fairy-tale, based on a later version of the story, saw the princess put to sleep after she pricked her finger on a spindle, only to be awoken by her true love’s kiss. But the original version relayed a harsher reality. Taken by the king for his pleasure, the princess was continuously raped, bearing two children while still asleep.
Ruby ended the call, clearing her throat as she spoke. ‘Guys, when you seize the bedding, can you bear it in mind that we may be dealing with a rape scene here too.’
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Dr Tanner’s fingers gripped the edges of the brick wall as he watched from a safe distance. Disbelieving of the scene before him, his shopping bags had fallen to the ground as officers raided the building. How was this possible? And so quickly? He had only broken in there in the early hours of the morning. Since his encounter with the police in the derelict building, he knew time was in short supply. That’s why he had to be clever, using one of Sharon’s clients as a way of getting her all to himself. He was familiar with her old haunts; such places were listed in the records he had kept after he left the Crosbys’ employment. And he had been watching her home for some time, knowing her addiction would eventually force her outside. He did not miss the freezing cold hospital building, the unforgiving cement floors or the way the wind howled through the corridors in the dead of night. More and more rats were flooding the rooms, nipping him as he slept, insistent in their demands for food.
He had treated his last victim differently and gained little satisfaction from his presence. But then again, he did not have the same affinity for men: there were no long, flowing locks to caress, no silky body to feel the tip of his barber’s brush. After his initial hysterics, Nicky had calmed down enough to plead for his life. With the Peter Pan costume draped over his arm, the doctor stood, unspeaking, as the young man recounted his abusive childhood. His sobs echoed through the building, punctuating his words. ‘Please don’t hurt me. Please, I’ll do whatever you want. Please, just let me go. . .’ Nicky had misjudged the doctor, presuming he was abducted due to his choice of profession, but that meant very little to him: it was the beauty of the transformation that made his artwork complete.
He had disposed of him quickly, but not before he had infiltrated the contents of the young man’s phone. He had heard of DC Ash Baker but his liaison with Nicky brought an interesting twist to the tale. The intimate texts left him in no doubt that Baker swung both ways. But the hypocrisy infuriated him. According to the papers, DC Baker was one of the officers working on his case. The gall of it! He had used Nicky to gratify his needs, just as the doctor had done. The temptation to teach him a lesson was strong.
Texting from Nicky’s phone could have backfired. By the time Ash responded to it, Nicky was dead. So why did he come thundering in with no regard for his safety? He was a big man, twice the width of him, yet he’d dropped his hands to his sides, refusing to put up a fight. Death had come quickly and without fanfare. Only then, with his blood staining his coat, did he realise that Ash Baker was not alone. He had made his escape with haste, the rats diverting attention as his colleague came racing up the stairs.
But the death of one of their own had made the police all the more determined to find him. Doctor Tanner had been warned. His beneficiary had instructed him from the start: have your fun but frame Nathan Crosby. Don’t leave evidence, stick to the plan and don’t get caught. But with each murder he had grown more self-indulgent, enjoyed it a little too much. The keepsakes… why had he held on to their clothing? He would receive no protection now.
The best he could hope for was to finish what he had set out to do. It was why the doctor had wasted no time in locating the last person on the list: ‘Randy Mandy’, as she was known. The one working girl who had refused to sleep with him. He couldn’t think of a more suitable candidate for his plans. She called herself Amanda now. She was fleshed out – a far cry from the skinny waif with protruding cheekbones that he had known. Mandy wasn’t like the others, not anymore, but that didn’t necessarily make her clean. And he was looking forward to reminding her that she could never truly shake off her roots.
He would deal with her just like the others. He had watched Sharon in the darkness as she earned her keep. On her hands and knees, eyes tightly closed, she groaned as the pot-bellied man rutted her from behind. Too engrossed in the moment, he had not noticed him standing in the darkness; his head craned to one side. Death had come quickly as he’d slit his throat, enjoying the sound of blood slapping against Sharon’s naked flesh. It wasn’t until the dead man slumped to one side that she became aware of the doctor’s presence. It was a constant source of fascination to watch how people reacted in extreme situations. Fight or flight, it was called, and he had observed it many times during his employment with the Crosby family business.
Sharon was a fighter. Her teeth flashing, she had kicked and lashed out at him as he cornered her in the dimly lit bedroom. Holding his scalpel in his right hand, he showed her what was waiting if she didn’t comply. The last thing he wanted was to kill her – nowhere in the story did Sleeping Beauty have her throat slit. She had dug her nails into the woodchip wallpaper, leaving bloodied hand trails in her wake. As if that would save her.
In the end, he laid the scalpel to one side, calmly telling her that she had nothing to fear. He was her protector – killing the man to save her, because the police had got it all wrong. It had all been a misunderstanding, he said, and his efforts at helping the girls had set him up as a suspect in their murders. As he approached, her eyes flicked to the door, planning her escape. Tearing into the chloroform bag, he whipped it from his coat pocket and without hesitation slammed it on her face.
Such a shame he had been unable to finish his work. He had known that one of his plans might fail. It was the nature of the game, he would accept it and move on. Like a metronome his thoughts flicked back and forth, finally halting on Mandy: it was time. He would enjoy getting reacquainted with her again.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
It was a rare and wondrous occasion to have time for a lunch break, but Ruby found herself with minutes to kill. The matron at the hospital where Sharon Connors was currently admitted had advised her to call back in half an hour. Having cleared it with DI Downes, Ruby decided to eat a sandwich on the go, while conducting a long overdue visit to her mother in Oakwood Care Home. She tried to squeeze in a visit every day, pushing back the guilt when the time would not allow. She liked Oakwood. It had been worth selling their family home to keep up the fees, subsidised by a monthly payment out of Ruby’s wage. Even so, the fees seemed remarkably low. Was Nathan assisting towards the payments without her knowledge? Did she need to know? The fact her mother was living in comfort was all that mattered. As she entered the bright, airy building, she took in the clear vases of freshly cut flowers from the beautiful landscape at the back of the home. Expansive French doors afforded a wonderful view, and patients were encouraged to step outside and enjoy the garden when they could. As she took a seat beside her mother, Ruby knew that she would not be judged. Due to her dementia, Joy had lost all sense of time. Giving her a hug, she inhaled the scent of lily of the valley, taking comfort in the perfume lacing her mother’s skin.
Ruby was pleased when she noted the red hairclip in her bun. Joy always wore something red. It was a throwback to the days when her father joked she was his little robin redbreast, always sporting a flash of red – a spark of her individuality. For Ruby, the dash of red lipstick she wore was in tribute to happier days: Mac Ruby Woo. It seemed kismet when she found the brand name, and she had worn it ever since.
‘How are you today, Mum?’ she asked, as her mother stared into space.
‘Killing the minutes and watching them die.’
It was her mother’s usual response, followed by a soft sigh. Ruby tried to ignore the fact that Joy had got a little thinner and paler since her last visit, her attention always that bit further from her reach. She knew it was inevitable that her mother would age and deteriorate, but she wasn’t ready to face it, not today.
Their small talk exhausted, they sat in silence, listening to the finches chirping as they bobbed from branch to branch in the garden outside. Ruby liked that the care home kept the windows open – forfeiting savings on heating bills to allow the residents the wistful pleasure of enjoying the birdsong.
‘Hey, girl, where you been? You look bushed,’ Harmony said, pushing a silver trolley laden with pots of tea, coffee and white china cups. Ruby had a particular fondness for the Jamaican woman whose personality was as broad as her waistline.
‘Oh, hi,’ Ruby said, so deep in her thoughts it took seconds to resurface. ‘Heavy workload. Is that tea you’re making?’
‘You know it,’ Harmony said, emitting a soft chuckle as she passed her a cup. ‘I’ve given these teabags an extra squeeze for you.’ She turned to Joy, handing her a cup of tea. ‘Here you go, precious.’
As Harmony walked away, filling the corridors with a song, Ruby felt a pang of envy for the woman who appeared happy with her lot. Ruby’s job as a sergeant made her feel fulfilled, but when was the last time she was truly happy at work? She thought of her last moments of pleasure, her snatched hours with Nathan as they curled up in bed.
‘You know what?’ she said. ‘I’ve been working really hard this week. It’s not easy being a woman in the police, but I lead a good team.’
‘Are you in the police?’ Joy said, her eyes offering recognition. ‘When did you do that?’
‘Years ago,’ Ruby said, happy that, at least today, her mother appeared to know who she was.
Joy frowned. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’ve joined the police?’
Ruby shrugged. She had, many times. Even now she couldn’t help but bring it up in the hope her mother would say she was proud of her. She’d received a lukewarm reception when she first broke the news all those years ago. Ruby had grown up in a world where the police were best avoided, and liked as much as the debt collectors that called to her neighbours’ doors. Joy had her reasons. Back then it wasn’t the nicest establishment to be a part of, and people had their own perspectives on things. Joy wanted Ruby to work in retail, not part of a vocation where you put people in prison. But Ruby had told herself she was destined for greater things.
‘Ooh no, the police isn’t for you.’ Joy wrinkled her nose. ‘Why don’t you get a job on the shop floor? I hear that Debenhams is taking on. Mrs Delaney’s daughter works there, and she’s just been promoted.’
‘You know, Mum, I might just do that.’ Ruby stifled a smile. Some things would never change. She checked her watch: a visit to the hospital was due. The heavy weight she had walked in with seemed to have lightened, and being in her mother’s company had made her breathe easy again. She parked any concerns to the furthest recesses of her mind. Kissing Joy lightly on the forehead, she promised to visit again soon. Ruby was so close to finding the doctor she could almost taste it. Their enquiries had been intense, making her wonder how he had managed to elude them so far.
She stopped halfway across the car park as her mobile phone buzzed insistently from the back pocket of her trousers. It was Downes, and Ruby frowned as she answered the call. ‘I’m just on my way to the hospital now,’ she said, wishing he would not keep such close tabs on her.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘There’s something you need to be asking young Sharon when you see her.’
‘Go on,’ Ruby said, pulling the car keys from her bag.
‘We’ve had a look at Ash’s phone, which was seized at the murder scene. You were right to doubt his explanation of what took him to the Queen Elizabeth hospital.’
Ruby had explained it all in her police statement – how Ash had said he found the name of the hospital on a message spelt out with frozen chips on the freezer floor. She sighed with relief, glad that she had been truthful and explained her reservations of such an implausible excuse. ‘I had a feeling he was lying,’ she said, opening her car door and taking shelter from the biting winds.
‘Ash received a text from Nicky’s phone asking to meet him at the hospital,’ Downes said. ‘But it was sent while you were in the Robin Hood pub, where Nicky was found dead. Ash must have suspected his killer sent the request to meet.’
‘But why?’ Ruby said, answers already forming in her mind. ‘And why was his number on Nicky’s phone?’
‘That’s what I was about to tell you. It wasn’t just the girls Ash was seeing. Judging by the texts that passed between them, he was visiting Nicky too.’
‘Bloody hell!’ Ruby exhaled, almost dropping the phone from her grasp.
‘Exactly. Who knows what was going on there? He could have been blackmailing him,’ Downes said with a shrug. ‘We’ll never know for sure.’
‘All the more reason to end it all,’ Ruby said. ‘Ash would have been mortified at the thought of you finding this out.’
‘Hmm, well, we don’t want to be spreading that around. I was talking to his sister. He’s taken out some serious life insurance policies. Those daughters of his deserve the payout after everything they’ve lost.’
Chapter Sixty
‘You tried to warn me,’ Sharon said, speaking through lips stained pink from whatever concoction the doct
or had used to dye them. Her low mood was in contrast to the eyebrows he had drawn: arched in an expression of permanent surprise. Everything about her ‘makeover’ appeared rushed; it told Ruby that Tanner knew the police were closing in. It ignited a glimmer of hope. People who hurried made mistakes.
Sharon squirmed in her hospital bed, pulling the blankets tighter to her chest. Her abnormally white skin could not hide the dark circles under her eyes. There were no ‘Get Well Soon’ cards on her bedside locker. No flowers or chocolates from family or friends.
‘I had to go out, didn’t I? After everything you did to warn me.’
‘It’s over,’ Ruby said, her voice low and comforting. ‘You’re safe now.’
Tears trickled down Sharon’s cheeks as the enormity of the situation hit home. ‘If you hadn’t found me. . . If. . .’ she gulped as a sob hit the back of her throat.
Ruby leant forward, her hand resting on Sharon’s wrist. It was cold to the touch and painfully thin. ‘I know this is difficult, but I need to know. Who did this to you?’ Unable to lead the witness, Ruby waited for answers. She caught the flicker of fear in Sharon’s eyes and squeezed her wrist. ‘We’ve got a police officer on the door and nobody will get in without your say so.’ Taking a small recorder from her jacket, she laid it on top of the blue waffle blanket and pressed ‘record’. She went through the usual introductions, citing the time, date and people in the room. A full account would be taken when Sharon was up to it but, for now, she needed something to go on.
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ Sharon said, as Ruby posed the question for a second time. ‘And besides, you know who. . .’ her sobs showed no sign of abating. She raised her hand to her face to block out the memory, but Ruby did not have the luxury of time; she could not let it go.
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