by Alison Bruce
‘We’ve started searches in the entire area this side of Sheringham. In all other cases the victims were abandoned outdoors, but within forty miles of wherever they went missing on the way back towards Cambridge …’
‘Except one,’ Gully interrupted.
Marlowe ran through the list of victims in her head. Goodhew had said earlier that they’d all been found within a forty-mile radius. She shook her head, slightly puzzled.
Gully unfolded the flap of the file and slid out a sheaf of papers. ‘We think we may have found another victim, but the circumstances don’t quite fit the pattern …’
‘And we’d like your help,’ added Goodhew.
Marlowe couldn’t imagine anything that she’d be able to help them with, in connection with a new murder. ‘OK,’ she said, anyway.
Goodhew pulled a biro from his top pocket. ‘Each of the other disappearances occurred while Walsh had rented a hire car. And each time a body has been discovered, he then finished with his current girlfriend immediately afterwards. Well, that’s the gist of it, but there is one exception. We didn’t have a case which coincided with him dating Julie Wilson, but then we discovered that he had also hired a car at the time, so DC Gully here searched for any cases of abduction that might coincide with that. And what she found is this.’ Goodhew twiddled the pen round his fingers. ‘It’s news to you, isn’t it?’
Marlowe nodded.
Goodhew tapped Gully’s folder with his fingertips. ‘Can you run through it, please?’ he asked her.
Gully turned over the top sheet to reveal some of her own handwritten notes on the back. ‘Firstly, we know from your own diary and from Julie’s family that Pete Walsh dumped her at least a month before the body was discovered – which is one of the reasons this case may not be connected, so just keep that thought at the back of your mind.’ She noticed that Marlowe’s gaze had drifted towards the window. ‘If this isn’t a match, we mustn’t let it cloud our thinking,’ she added reassuringly.
Marlowe looked miserable. ‘What about that new girl, Lisa?’
‘Everybody on this case and in Sheringham is working flat-out on it. But it’s only the three of us here doing it this way. Every angle is being looked at, Marlowe, and no one’s given up on her.’
Gully dropped a photo in front of Marlowe. ‘This is Jeanette Freidheim, who was a German student taking time out to see the country. As she was away travelling, she wasn’t reported missing. It was only after her body was identified that anyone realized she had encountered trouble. The last trace of her was a cash withdrawal and her spending a night at a B&B in Wells on the twenty-seventh of May 2010.
‘Walsh then hired a car on the twenty-sixth of May, so that fits, too,’ Gully continued. ‘Her body was discovered on the twenty-fifth of August 2010, by a certain Brendan Turner, on his farm.’
She flicked through several photocopied pages, then pushed two of them also in front of Marlowe. ‘This is the farmer’s statement, and I’ll let you read it for yourself.’
Marlowe pulled the pages closer, and began picking out the words of a poorly copied statement.
I spotted three youngsters aged about twelve or thirteen. They were hanging around a disused tractor shed at the far end of the farm. Up to the usual summer-holiday mischief, I assumed. There was nothing they could take or damage, really, but I thought I should check, just in case.
They cleared off as soon as they saw me.
First I poked my head into the shed and that was fine. I then walked round the back, and there’s an old touring caravan about fifty yards beyond. It’s been left down there for years, since the floor started rotting. I could see something black at the windows.
At first I thought it was just mould on the net curtains. But it seemed too dark, so I headed towards it. And, as I got closer, I could see it sort of shimmering, then I realized it was moving.
Every window was the same. Well, I knew straight away, it was flies trapped inside there, and that meant there was most likely something dead. I assumed it would be an animal which had got in through the floor, so I looked through the window. All I could see were the flies.
I thought the door would be locked, but when I tried it, it swung open. Dead flies fell on to the ground and live ones streamed out all around me, and the smell poured out with them. I didn’t go in. I just stood on the step, held on to the door frame, and leant forward a few inches.
I could clearly see the remains of a woman. Her face had completely gone so I think she’d been there for quite some time. Now, I’ve seen plenty of maggots on the farm in the past, but this lot was stomach-churning.
I only knew it was a woman because of her ankle boots, nothing else. They were closest to me and I stared at them after I looked away from her face. They looked weird, still intact but covered in flies.
Marlowe shuddered and tried to concentrate on the rest, but she couldn’t help picturing bones sticking out of boots, with only flies on them for flesh. ‘All the other bodies were found out in the open, though, weren’t they?’
‘That’s right,’ Goodhew replied, ‘but there are plenty of other reasons to assume this is a related incident.’
Gully passed another page across to Marlowe. ‘These are some notes made by the investigating officer, which sum up the crime scene pretty well. Then these ones here were made by the Scene of Crime Officer. Take a close look at the highlighted section.’
Marlowe placed the new sheet in front of her and rested her elbows on the table. She read it, staring straight down at it, with her head resting in her hands.
Evidence that the victim had been alive at the scene for some time.
Excrement samples have been removed from her clothing and there was extensive staining on the floor consistent with repeated urination. A dried substance, possibly consistent with vomit was also present.
The victim was bound hand and foot. A knotted cloth hung around her neck, which appeared to be a gag which she had worked off sometime before death.
‘Is this similar to the other cases?’ Marlowe muttered, without looking up.
‘Pretty much, apart from the gag coming loose,’ Gully replied.
Marlowe rubbed one eye and looked up at Goodhew. ‘Why did you want me to see all this?’
‘Because I have a gut feeling that there’s something vital you can tell us,’ he replied gently. ‘And I need you to see everything because I don’t know which particular clue is the one that might solve this.’
‘Well, I hope you’re right,’ Marlowe answered.
Gully sighed. ‘So do I,’ she said wearily. ‘Now, there’s one big difference between this case and all the others. It appears that Walsh had finished with Julie before this body was found, but we only know the date when he split up with her from your diary. Are you sure, therefore, it’s accurate?’
Marlowe looked offended. ‘Of course.’
‘I mean, could you have written down the entry in the wrong week by mistake? Or misinterpreted what you saw?’ Gully pressed her. ‘If he didn’t end his relationship with her until later, it would make a big difference.’
‘The date would definitely be correct.’ Marlowe frowned. ‘But what did I write?’
Goodhew picked up the diary, flicked it open to the relevant entry, and read out: ‘Pete was on his own, then Julie turned up. He pushed her away and stormed off. Think they’ve had a fight.’
‘No, I remember that. I’m sure they split up then. If they hadn’t. then I would have seen them together later on, I’m sure, but I never did.’
Goodhew thought Marlowe sounded pretty definite.
Gully thought so too. ‘Can you think of anything that was different between Walsh’s relationship with Julie and his relationship with you or any of the others?’ she asked.
Marlowe suddenly looked obstinate. ‘Tell me why he’s been arrested.’
‘No, I’m afraid—’ Gully began.
But Goodhew interrupted her. ‘One of his other exes is now claiming that he subjec
ted her to a series of sexual assaults.’ Gully scowled but he ignored her. ‘These appear to have occurred between one victim’s abduction and the discovery of the next body.’
He saw her sifting her thoughts, separating the grain from the chaff. ‘Well, I doubt he treated Julie any different from the rest of us,’ she said at last. ‘And if that’s the case, then he didn’t wait for the next body to be discovered, did he? He finished with her first.’
Goodhew’s eyes widened, and he snatched up Jeanette’s file and the rest of the papers strewn across the desk. What if Walsh knew that she’d died because he himself had gone to look? Goodhew flicked through the notes again. Her body had been there for weeks, but what if Walsh was in the caravan a second time before she was eventually found? Where was that SOCO’s report? He pulled it out from between the other pages.
Goodhew leapt to his feet and dashed towards the door. ‘I’ll be ten minutes.’
CHAPTER 81
WEDNESDAY, 6 JULY 2011
Gully and Marlowe watched Goodhew leave. Gully wanted to talk to Marlowe, but the young woman rested her elbows back on the table, bent her head and clasped her hands behind her neck. As she studied the table top, she effectively closed herself off from Gully.
‘Marlowe, d’you want something to drink?’ Gully asked.
‘Tea, please,’ she replied, without looking up. ‘White no sugar, thanks.’
She’ll have to look up to drink it, Sue reasoned, and I’ll have a chat with her then.
Marlowe barely noticed her leave. She was replaying the last hour over in her head. She thought of Jeanette Freidheim all alone in the caravan, with the gag hanging loose around her neck. All the while, shouting for help. Was it worse to be gagged, or worse to continue screaming out and not be heard?
She thought of Gary’s words, ‘There’s something you can tell us.’ What if there really was? And what if she remembered too late? Then what?
If and then, that’s what it is all about.
If we know enough, then we catch Pete.
If we know enough, then we save Lisa.
If and then … if and then.
A bolt of realization struck Marlowe. If and then was exactly it.
As Marlowe pulled the door wide, Gully arrived, carrying one plastic cup in each hand, and trying to push the door with her shoulder. Scalding tea slopped on to the policewoman’s hand, and she swore.
Marlowe grabbed her arm. ‘I think I know why.’ She started towards the exit. ‘I’m allowed to leave, aren’t I?’
‘Yes, of course, but…’ Gully began.
‘I’m going to fetch The Cross and the Switchblade. It’s a book.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Well, I think that contains the answer.’ Marlowe started towards the main entrance. ‘I’ll be straight back, but if you see Gary first, tell him it’s near the front. It’s the bit about “the fleece”.’
CHAPTER 82
WEDNESDAY, 6 JULY 2011
Fiona paced into the kitchen, set the kettle to re-boil, then headed back towards the front door. It wasn’t his lateness that bothered her yet; it was the wave of expectation she was finding tough to ride. She’d gone on like this for so long that she wondered why just a few more minutes now felt so intolerable.
She checked her mobile phone again, just in case she’d missed a text, then left it on the table so she would more easily hear it ring. He hadn’t been at home when she’d called there, but the house lights were on, suggesting he was somewhere nearby.
She could have waited there, but he was equally capable of making his way to her house. She was sure there’d be an explanation; he just needed to turn up and be apologetic. As she headed towards the kitchen again, the doorbell rang.
Fiona swept the door open, ready to welcome Pete. Instead she found a woman waiting outside, huddled in a thin jacket, and damp and shivering from the rain.
‘Oh,’ she looked uncertain, ‘I was expecting someone else.’
‘Peter Walsh?’ queried the stranger.
‘That’s right.’ Fiona nodded. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘I’m sorry, no it isn’t.’ The woman paused and the silence hung frozen in the air between them. Fiona saw fear or shock or something else in the woman’s drawn face. ‘Can I come in?’
An icy shudder rippled its way down Fiona’s spine. ‘Of course.’
The woman stepped inside and Fiona followed her through to the lounge, a thousand scenarios already racing through her mind. Not dead. Not dead?
The woman stopped in front of the mantelpiece. She made a point of letting Fiona see her staring at Peter’s photo. What if this was his long-term girlfriend or, worse, his wife. She’d wish he was dead, then, Fiona thought, then immediately crushed the sentiment.
The woman turned to face Fiona. ‘My name is Marlowe Gates, and I used to go out with Peter Walsh.’
Fiona shifted uneasily. ‘What do you want?’
‘I want to help you, but you must listen.’ Marlowe watched the colour drain from Fiona’s already pale face. ‘He’s under arrest, and the police are gathering evidence to charge him with rape and murder.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘I need your help.’ Marlowe stepped closer.
Fiona stood her ground. ‘Just a minute ago you said you wanted to help me, but you’ve marched into my home with some tale about Pete being arrested. I really don’t understand. I suppose you’re about to tell me that you’re helping him, too?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Marlowe snapped. ‘If they can’t press charges tonight they might have to release him. Then you’ll be in real danger.’
‘How?’
‘From him. He’ll meet you and rape you, and for all I know he’ll kill you too.’ Marlowe ran her fingers through her hair.
‘Now you’re being stupid.’ Fiona caught sight of Marlowe’s scars and lowered her voice. ‘He’s not a rapist,’ she whispered. ‘And he’s certainly not a killer.’
‘So far, Fiona, he has killed or raped at least eight women.’ As Marlowe spoke her voice became harder and louder. ‘Currently there’s one missing girl, dead or half-dead… and you’re next. As I said before, I need your help.’
Fiona scratched the back of her head and tilted it so she could see clearly towards the door. She had started to shake violently, and she wondered whether she should make a dash for it.
Marlowe was shaking too, and Fiona looked into her face and realized that its whiteness was not due to fear or shock. It was caused by absolute determination, a cold clear single-mindedness fuelled with adrenalin. Fiona knew now that she couldn’t run. Instead she’d have to wait it out. ‘OK, what do you think I can do?’
‘I will dictate a letter to Peter. Then I want you to post it through his door, so that he will find it if ever he is released. Then I want you to leave Cambridge, just go somewhere else until you read the news that he’s been arrested. Will you do that for me?’
Fiona nodded slowly. ‘That’s all?’
‘Yes, that’s it.’ Marlowe pointed towards the dining table. ‘Now sit over there.’ Marlowe stood over her and placed a pad of cream writing paper on the table, she handed Fiona a blue biro. ‘Make it neat.’
Marlowe seemed to know exactly what she wanted written, and she spoke without hesitation.
Dear Pete,
Fiona began to write.
I was thinking about you while I was away.
Marlowe tapped the paper. ‘New line.’ Fiona’s hand moved down.
Thinking how much I missed you.
Again Marlowe tapped the page. ‘Another new line.’ And thus she continued to give Fiona instructions, as she dictated.
Thinking how much I loved you. Fiona’s pen wobbled.
‘You’ve written “love”. Put the “d” on it, Fiona. It’s meant to be in the past.’
And thinking about how you feel about me.
Marlowe leant close to Fiona and hissed into her ear.
Then I real
ized, you think I’m not good enough, don’t you? You have standards and I don’t meet them. And I’ve been making excuses, feeling like I don’t deserve better. But I now know that it’s you who is not good enough for me.
Fiona’s hand began to ache. You make me feel dirty. Marlowe tapped the page. ‘Write it.’
You make my skin crawl with your dirty games.
Fiona continued more slowly. ‘What dirty games?’ she asked quietly and tried not to look at Marlowe’s wrists.
‘He knows what I mean. Just write.’
But I’m better than you, and I’m not giving you the chance to mess with my life any more. I’m not even prepared to discuss this with you.
What would you do anyway? Finish with me first? I don’t think so, because you wouldn’t be capable of making a decision like that, would you?
So I’m making it for you.
You like me saying ‘Fuck me’, don’t you? Fiona heard herself gasp, but said nothing. Well, fuck you, then. How does that sound? Don’t try to find me either, because I’ve moved up in the world.
Marlowe straightened and stared down at Fiona.
Fiona stared down at the page.
‘Well, sign it, then,’ Marlowe snapped. ‘Obviously “with love and kisses” isn’t required.’
Fiona wrote her name at the bottom. She tried to make it less like her own handwriting but doubted Pete would know the difference, anyway. Marlowe moved around further and watched over Fiona’s shoulder. ‘Fine. But how do I know you’ll deliver it?’
‘I promise I will.’ Fiona felt the fingernails of fear scraping across her scalp.
She turned in her seat, wanting to see Marlowe’s face. She needed to judge how much danger she was in. ‘Honestly, Marlowe …’
Marlowe grabbed hold of Fiona’s hair. Fiona’s hands shot up and, as they did so, she felt something tighten around her waist. She braced herself to resist, but knew in that instant that she was already secured to her chair.
Marlowe’s warm breath brushed close to Fiona’s ear. ‘Do exactly as I say and I won’t hurt you,’ she whispered. She tied a second length of rope to the arm of the chair. ‘Give me your hand,’ Marlowe said softly.