by M A Comley
Roberts eventually joined them in the cell, again, and took in his surroundings. “Jesus, what the hell…”
To the rear, out of the tied woman’s reach, was a dog bowl containing the smallest amount of thick porridge.
Inches away from the bowl were human faeces and a pile of women’s clothes, including bras and panties, which Lorne assumed belonged to the previous victims. The beam from Lorne’s flashlight highlighted the vast amounts of blood on every surface of the hellhole.
“They were kept like animals. Obviously stripped and, by the looks of things, beaten regularly,” Jacques told the three detectives as he rigged up better lighting and took photos of the crime scene.
When Lorne spotted the way her boss was eyeing the Frenchman, she said, “Sorry you two haven’t met. Jacques Arnaud, Home Office pathologist, this is Chief Inspector Sean Roberts.”
“I believe we spoke on the phone earlier,” Jacques said, offering his hand.
Sean gave Jacques’ hand the briefest of shakes before he said, “We did indeed, Doctor. Can I ask how you managed to get here so quickly?”
“I have contacts who keep me abreast of certain situations, shall we say?” Jacques replied, holding Sean’s stare.
“I see. Well, don’t let me hold you up any longer. Inspector, a word upstairs, if you don’t mind.”
Sean shunted up the ladder ahead of her. Jacques chuckled, made a fist with his right hand, and mouthed, ‘Give him hell.’ She struggled to suppress a smile as she climbed the ladder.
Instead of reprimanding her for contacting Jacques, as expected, Sean surprised her. “I’ve notified the station. All cars are on the lookout for Scott’s vehicle. Is there anywhere else he’s likely to hide?”
“I haven’t got a clue, as yet. First we need to find out where his sister lives. Did you instruct the team to notify Jane’s husband?”
“Yes, I told them to send a car to take him to the hospital to be with her. I’ll start the search around here. Contact your team, see what they’ve uncovered with regard to the sister.”
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Mitch interrupted. “There’s something you should see next door.”
They both followed Mitch into the bedroom off the hallway. The room was a throwback to the Sixties, dominated by large dark veneered furniture. The mattress was dipped in the middle and dressed in a quilted, old-fashioned, lime green eiderdown. Cork memo boards dominated the far wall. In hushed disbelief, Lorne said, “Oh my God!” Her eyes scanned the board, darting from one to the other. Pinned to them was an array of newspaper articles referring to the cases, meticulously lined up in date and crime order. If only I’d had access to this room this afternoon…
Sean stood alongside Lorne and pointed to a section of the newspaper cutting. “Jesus, the bastard’s been laughing at us. See? The print is highlighted here, and he’s written ha ha beside it.”
Weary after the day’s events, Lorne turned to him. “Mind if I make a suggestion?”
“Go ahead.”
“We’ve recovered the woman, which was our main priority, and SOCO will be here soon to rip this place apart. We might as well call it a day. There’s not a lot we can do until they’ve finished, anyway.”
“Sounds like a good idea. It’s approaching ten thirty, and we’ve got everyone searching for the bastard. Let’s call it a day.” Roberts headed towards the front door.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, sir. I’m just going to check on the doc before I leave.”
Pete and Jacques were just coming up the ladder when she returned to the living room.
Lorne walked over to the mantelpiece and studied the photograph that had caught her attention earlier. Jacques crept up behind her. “What can you do with this?” she asked, thrusting the picture at him.
“In what respect?” He took it from her.
“I need to know who the sister is. Any possibility your team could enhance the image by about twenty years?”
“Leave it with me. I’m sure my guys can come up with something.”
“We’ve decided to call it a day. Have you finished down there?” she said, her eyes on the trap door behind him.
“Yes. Before I leave, I’d like to examine his clothes. See if there’s a possible match to the fibres found at Doreen’s house, if that’s okay?”
“Sure, I’ll help you. Pete, hitch a ride back with Tracy and Mitch, will you? I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”
Pete shrugged and appeared to be bothered by his dismissal, but Lorne could tell he was also dead on his feet.
Not long after, she found a grey tank top and handed it to Jacques.
“This could be just what we need.” He tucked the garment into an evidence bag. “I’ll get it examined first thing, make it top priority along with the photo. The results should be back around lunchtime tomorrow. Talking of food.”
“Indian or Chinese?” Lorne asked, her stomach groaning on cue.
“You go home. I’ll stop off at Mr. Wong’s for a Chinese banquet and join you in about half an hour.”
The answerphone was blinking impatiently when she arrived home. “Lorne, it’s Tom. Could you pick Charlie up after school tomorrow from netball? Mum’s got a doctor’s appointment at four thirty and doesn’t know how long she’ll be. I’ve got a job interview on the other side of town at four. Ring me only if you can’t make it. Netball finishes at five thirty, in case you’ve forgotten. Thanks.”
Lorne was subdued when she opened the door to let Jacques in a little while later.
Jacques looked concerned. “Tough day, huh?” He took a few steps towards her, and Lorne backed away. He froze, but rather than look disappointed, he collected the plates and dished up their meal.
She let out a deep sigh and confided, “Tom rang. He left a message on the machine.”
“Oh.” Jacques waited for her to continue.
Lorne spoke, sadly, “Hearing his voice made me realise what a mess our marriage is in. He’s asked me to pick up Charlie after school tomorrow. On one hand, I’m grateful he thought to ask me, as it gives me the chance of seeing her, but on the other, it’s annoying how he regards me as a last resort. Neither Tom nor my lovely mother-in-law can be there when she finishes netball, so good old Lorne will fill in as a poor substitute.” She poured them both a whisky.
“I’m sure you’re wrong. You’ve had a tough day. The slightest problem will almost certainly magnify when you’re tired. Think positively, chérie—at least he’s asked for your help. To back down and call you like that must’ve been difficult for him, if he’s still angry with you. Cut him some slack, is that what you English say?”
“Yes, that’s right.” A smile softened her worried features. “How come you’re always so damn objective?”
“It comes with the job, chérie. Come on. Let’s eat before that nasty MSG starts to solidify.”
“You doctors certainly know how to put a girl off her food, I’ll give you that.” She picked up her fork and messed about with the sauce he’d dribbled over her prawn balls.
“Sis, it’s me.”
“John, thank God. Where are you?”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll make this quick. I’ve arranged for you to stay at the Swallow Hotel for tonight. Don’t go back to the flat. Do you hear me? The cops’ll be swarming all over it by now.”
“What about the woman?” she asked, voice hushed, aware that her colleague was within earshot.
“My guess is they’ve already found her. They’ll have no idea she’s not the final one. I’ll prove ’em wrong soon enough, you’ll see. Stay safe, Sis. We’ll be together again soon.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
When Lorne arrived at work the next morning, it was still dark. Some of the team were missing, and she presumed they were already at Scott’s house going through the evidence.
“Nice of you to join us, Inspector,” Sean Roberts said as she burst through the door.
Glancing at her watch, she saw it was only seven thirty. T
he clock on the wall above Pete’s head corroborated the time. Pete shrugged when she glanced at him.
“As I was saying,” Roberts carried on, addressing her team. “Yes, we found Miss Sedark relatively unharmed. That doesn’t mean we can start congratulating ourselves on a job well done. Until we have John Scott sitting in a cell, our job is far from over.”
“Molly, step forwards and tell the team what you dug up on J.S. and his sister.”
Molly stood in front of the group. Nerves got the better of her, and she dropped her notes on the floor. Motherly pride swept through Lorne as Molly prepared to speak. Despite their recent differences, Molly had shone the past week, and Lorne regarded her as a key member of the team.
“First of all, I checked into John Scott’s background using the information Pete and the inspector obtained from the school. When J.S. was eleven, a games teacher—that would be Jane Sedark—noticed bruises on his arms during a PE lesson. She queried him about the marks. At first, he was reluctant to tell her, but finally broke down and admitted his parents had been abusing him and his sister. She took the complaint to the headmistress, Doreen Nicholls, who passed the complaint on to a social worker, Sandy Crayford.”
“Yeah, me and the inspector figured all this out, Mol. Tell us something we don’t know, will ya?”
“Well,” Molly continued, embarrassed. “J.S. and his sister were removed from the family home and placed with separate foster families. He begged the authorities to keep them together, but they ignored him. Back then, it was almost impossible to place siblings together. Before the disruption, he was classed as a mediocre student, with middle-of-the-road marks.
“However, after he was placed in foster care and separated from his sibling, his grades went downhill fast—he went into a shell. He was sent to a counsellor. After a few months, his grades picked up. About this time, a fire broke out at the Scott’s family home. His mother and father were both killed in the fire. I managed to trace the post-mortem reports. His parents were inebriated and incapable of escaping the fire.
“The fire was deemed to be an accident, but again, J.S.’s school work appeared to improve just enough to deflect the school’s concerns. Then I researched the foster families. The kids were never adopted. Both families said they were good kids and spent every weekend together. They were quiet and withdrawn during the week, but when the weekend arrived, they’d come alive.”
“Is it possible for an eleven-year-old boy to commit arson like that?” Lorne asked, perplexed.
“Take the Jamie Bulger case—eleven-year-olds are capable of a lot worse than arson,” the chief replied, referring to the gruesome murder of a toddler by two pre-pubescent boys a few years earlier. Roberts urged Molly to carry on.
“That’s about it, apart from one more thing. I rang Social Services and asked if they knew what happened to the kids after they left school. At eighteen, J.S. fought for months to get custody of his sister. Katherine was fifteen at the time. He became her legal guardian, and that’s as far as their file goes.”
After Molly finished, the chief said, “I’ve asked a friend of mine to pop by this morning. She’s due about eleven. I’d like everyone to hear what she has to say.”
“What exactly do you mean by friend?” asked Lorne, puzzled.
“She’s a criminologist. She’s coming in as a favour to me. I’ve given her the case facts, and she’s come up with a profile of the killer.”
Lorne folded her arms across her chest. “With respect, sir, isn’t that like locking the stable door after the horse has bolted? We already know who the killer is. We’ve just got to track the bastard down.”
“Maybe, maybe not, Inspector. Just remain open-minded when she arrives. Using the services of a criminologist is more plausible than using a psychic in a murder investigation, don’t you think?”
Condescending bastard. Lorne narrowed her eyes, as he turned and headed out of the room. She pushed back her chair and went to follow him to his office.
Pete blocked her path with his large frame. “Leave it, boss. Come on. I’ll buy you a coffee.”
Lorne’s frustration mounted as the morning dragged by. She thumped her hand on the desk, I should be out there, going through the bastard’s flat. Instead she’d been ordered to stick around and wait for some shrink to tell her facts she already knew about a killer on the loose. A pointless exercise to accommodate one of Roberts’ friends.
Eleven o’clock arrived, and along with it, a smartly dressed Susan Bywater. The woman, slim with high cheekbones that emphasised her good breeding, oozed confidence as she strode across to the chief. Lorne rolled her eyes as he welcomed her with a sickly show of affection. Lorne wondered if the over-the-top way he welcomed Ms. Bywater was for her benefit.
“This is Susan Bywater. You have everyone’s attention, Susan, so when you’re ready.”
“Thanks, Sean.” She gave him a smile that had an unspoken message attached to it. “After studying the notes, my profile for the killer is this. The man has a great deal of anger. He absorbs hostility until he can take no more. Then he kills the women in the midst of a violent rage.” Ms. Bywater looked down at her notes and then continued.
“To look at him, he gives the impression he’s a loner. Dresses in clothes that relate back to his childhood, shying away from today’s fashionable trends. Sexually abused by a female member of his family, probably his mother. He’s punishing his victims for their gender and for letting him down in the past. It’s possible his anger killed his mother, and this served a purpose for a number of years. Recently an incident has brought the anger to the surface again. Something has triggered memories from his childhood, unwanted memories. They’re causing pain that he’s determined to prevent from destroying him again.” She cleared her throat.
Roberts handed her a glass of water and she went on.
“He’s anti-social. Gets all the companionship he needs from a sibling, maybe a sister. She’s the key. Bring the sister in, and you reel him in. He’s a protector, her protector. His home is meticulous—he’s probably OCD. He has little or no sexual interest in women. Possibly impotent, unable to perform…”
The phone on Tracy’s desk interrupted the woman’s evaluation.
“Just a minute. Ma’am, it’s Doctor Arnaud for you.”
“Hello, Doctor? You’re kidding…That’s fantastic. We’ll be right over.” When she replaced the phone, she ran into her office and emerged seconds later, shrugging her coat on.
“Inspector, where do you think you’re going?” Roberts frowned and walked towards her.
“It’s urgent, sir. Doctor Arnaud has the results of a test I asked him to carry out. His team have enhanced the photograph of J.S.’s sister for me. Ms. Bywater just told us if we pull the sister in, we hook Scott. So I’m going to the path lab to see who the woman is. Then I’m going to bring her in for questioning. If that’s all right with you?”
Blowing out a breath, Roberts relented. “Very well.”
Yes, result! “Let’s go, Pete.”
When they were settled in the car, Pete said, “What a load of bollocks that was.”
“I thought it might be. Give me Carol Lang any day. Hey, at least she led us to a murder scene.”
“Did the doc give you any clues about the woman?”
Lorne shook her head as she changed down a gear. “He just said the results were back, and the picture was excellent. Let’s hope we can identify the woman.”
Jacques was waiting in the hall outside his office when they arrived. Lorne’s heart pounded, and she couldn’t tell if it was because of the sight of Jacques or because of the possibility of closing in on Scott’s sister.
“The image is in my office,” Jacques said, nodding at Pete and smiling at Lorne.
Lorne’s hand shook when Jacques handed her the photograph. “Jesus, I knew it. I had a feeling about her. Thanks, Jacques, you’ve done it again.” She pecked him on the cheek and sprinted up the hallway, with Pete close behind her.
>
“Good luck, Inspector,” Jacques called after her, in amusement.
“Hey, hold up, boss. Are you gonna tell me who this woman is?” Pete called after her, breathlessly trying to keep up.
“You’ll find out soon enough. Come on, chunky.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The rain lashed quicker than the windscreen wipers could cope with, and in her haste to reach their destination, Lorne manoeuvred the car through deep puddles on side streets and back lanes.
When she pulled up on the double yellow lines a few yards from the building, Pete quipped, “Hey, you begging for a parking ticket?”
“Ha bloody ha. You want to park a mile down the road and battle this bloody weather without a brolly?” She poked his upper arm. “As if you’ve never pulled a yellow double-liner.”
“Okay, okay, point taken,” he mumbled, head moving side to side like a metronome. When she turned off the engine, he said, “So when are you going to tell me who you think J.S.’s sister is? The suspense, as they say, is killing me.”
“You’ll find out soon enough. First, I need to ask a few questions, find out who took the call when Jane Sedark ordered the taxi for her and the two children.” Lorne unzipped her bag and plonked her keys into it. “C’mon. Let’s make a run for it.” She stepped out of the car.
Holding her bag above her head, she ran to the front door of Toni’s Taxis.
Pete stayed by the door, while Lorne ventured farther in to the office.
The two women seemed surprised to see them, but Toni managed to smile, while Mary peered at Lorne and her partner. She sure doesn’t like officers of the law, that one.
“Hello, Inspector. What can we do for you this time?” Toni asked, pouring herself a coffee.
“We thought you might be able to help us locate one of your drivers?”
“Oh. Which one?”
“John Scott,” Lorne said, in a calm voice, despite the adrenaline pumping round her system.
“He rang in yesterday, said he wanted to take a few days off. Has he done something wrong?” Toni’s eyes drifted between Lorne and her employee, who was fidgeting at her desk.