by Mari Hannah
‘Why would I?’
‘She made a film about you.’
‘And I’ve not seen her since. We knew each other. We weren’t that close.’
‘I understand the two of you met while on holiday?’
‘Yes, she was kind to me. Very understanding.’ She looked out of the window and then back at the detectives. ‘That was before I realized that she had an ulterior motive for keeping in touch.’
‘You didn’t have to agree to her demands,’ O’Neil said.
Rebecca pouted. ‘You don’t know Laura. She has a way about her.’
‘You felt you couldn’t refuse?’
‘She didn’t coerce me, Superintendent.’
‘That’s good to know. Did you meet here, in this flat?’
‘Initially, yes. Is this about the documentary?’
‘We think so. You two seemed to have quite a rapport on screen. We watched it last night and found it moving and very brave.’ Ryan was nodding his agreement with O’Neil. ‘We have no idea how, but we believe her disappearance is connected in some way to the making of this film. We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t feel pretty sure about that. We’re hoping you might be able to help us with our enquiries.’
Rebecca had drifted off.
‘Rebecca? Are you OK to carry on?’
‘Yes.’ She rubbed at her forehead as if the action would generate more energy from within. ‘Sorry, I sleep a lot. I get exhausted if I don’t get my rest. It’s very frustrating.’
‘I’m sorry,’ O’Neil said. ‘We won’t keep you long.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘I’ll be honest with you, neither of us had heard of your condition before we viewed the documentary last night. Am I right in thinking that you agreed to go public to raise the profile of the disease?’
‘To make people aware, yes. That was the objective.’
‘Then you achieved it. Did you know the other sufferers who took part: Jo Nichol, Martin Schofield and Sandie Knox?’
‘Not beforehand.’ Rebecca lifted her chin, her face set in a scowl. ‘Sandie’s the lucky one. She died already.’
‘Yes, we know.’
Ryan was fighting the urge to give the woman a hug. He couldn’t imagine what it must feel like to wish your life away or, in her case, wish you’d never been born. He still couldn’t see how this documentary could have led to the death of Laura Stone. He wanted to ask a question but O’Neil was on a roll . . . Then Rebecca cut in:
‘Why would you think I’d know the others?’ she asked. ‘There are less than a thousand cases of Sauer’s worldwide. Fewer than a hundred in the UK. Laura had a lot of trouble finding people, I know that much. It’s not like the PNC.’ Reference to the Police National Computer system threw O’Neil, but Rebecca didn’t stop for breath. ‘You can’t trawl a medical database and come up with a list of names. And before you ask, when I was fit to work, I was a civilian indexer in a murder investigation room just like the one you’re running. Laura is dead, isn’t she?’
‘We don’t know the answer to that question,’ O’Neil said. ‘Did you help Laura with her research?’
‘I did much of it for her. I wasn’t so ill then but registered disabled, so not working. I’m not surprised you hadn’t heard of it. Not many people know about the disease. Laura put an advert in a national newspaper to attract others with the same diagnosis. She only had four hits.’
‘Four?’
‘That’s what she said.’
‘And yet she only used three.’
Rebecca shrugged. ‘Maybe the fourth was too ill.’
Or maybe there was another reason, Ryan thought, but didn’t say. Surely Laura hadn’t been murdered for leaving someone out of her documentary? There must be another explanation that linked her to the murders of Dean, Trevathan and Tierney, something that hadn’t yet clicked into place.
O’Neil passed Rebecca a list of names. ‘According to the executive producer, this is a full list of cast and crew. Can you identify which ones you personally came into contact with?’ She handed over a pen.
‘Or any that might be missing?’ Ryan added.
O’Neil nodded her thanks.
‘Most of these were on set at one time or another.’ Rebecca ticked off names and gave the list back to O’Neil. Barring Gillespie, Laura’s music composer, every crew member’s name had a tick against it. It had been immensely useful talking to her. On day twelve of the enquiry, they were finally making headway.
O’Neil wrote something on a sheet of paper and then lifted her pen. ‘I’ll be straight with you, Rebecca. We’re very much in the dark. What I’m about to share with you is highly confidential. I’d like you to keep it that way. Can you do that? Laura’s life might depend on it.’
‘Of course.’
‘We’re convinced that other people have died as a result of that documentary, at home and abroad.’ O’Neil handed her a second list. ‘I’d like you to examine the names I’ve written here and tell me if you recognize any of them. Take your time, there’s no rush.’
Rebecca stared at the sheet of paper, making no comment before passing it back. ‘Is Dean the guy who’s been in the news lately? I watch a lot of telly these days. His murder has been on a news loop for days. I’ve never heard of the rest.’
‘They’re all dead.’ O’Neil said. ‘Except, in their case, they’re not happy about it and neither are their families.’
Rebecca flushed slightly.
Ryan was shocked. That was quite a dig.
O’Neil received his non-verbal warning shot. ‘I’m sorry if that sounded harsh.’
‘No need to apologize,’ Rebecca said. ‘You make a fair point.’
‘You care, Rebecca. The documentary is evidence of that. DS Ryan and I now know how these people died. If we don’t find out why they died, their relatives will spend the rest of their lives trying to make sense of it.’
‘I understand, but please don’t judge me, Superintendent. It’s a nightmare living with this disease. I had no children of my own because I wouldn’t wish the condition on my worst enemy. Before Laura approached me, I didn’t know anyone else affected, only those I met online.’
‘Online?’ It was out of Ryan’s mouth in a flash.
‘A support group, if you could call that. I don’t go on it much now. It depresses me.’
‘Can you write down the name of it?’
‘I can do better than that.’ Rebecca got up.
Ryan followed as she moved towards a laptop lying on her bed. Pulling it towards her, she staggered slightly, losing her footing. He caught her before she landed on the floor. She didn’t say anything – falling was obviously a frequent occurrence – and neither did he. She sat down, logged on and tapped a few keys.
‘Sorry, my hands don’t always obey my thoughts.’
‘Want me to do it?’ Ryan said.
‘No, I’m fine.’
The website in question arrived on screen. Ryan read over her shoulder, taking down the URL, noting that there were 354 members listed on the right-hand side of the home screen, as well as links to similar sites and medical blogs. He met O’Neil’s gaze from across the room. Flicking his head towards the door was enough of a prompt for her to thank their host and go. Their interviewee was tired now.
‘Thanks.’ Ryan stood up. ‘We’ll let you know if we find Laura. Are you going to be OK?’
‘No, I’m not.’ Rebecca stared at him with an intensity that made him realize how inappropriate the question was, however well intentioned. ‘Laura was an amazing woman,’ she said. ‘Very sensitive and caring. I liked her a lot. I hope you find her safe and well.’
As Ryan shook hands with her at the door, Pedersen’s voice entered his head: I’m not a doctor but my sister is painfully thin. She has a disease . . . the man with the phone looked like her. Pedersen had been talking about the suspect she’d seen loitering in Kastelsvej, near the British Embassy in Denmark. Rebecca also had that appearance and, sudde
nly, Ryan understood. It was a light-bulb moment. Spielberg’s accomplice – whoever he was – was a sufferer too.
54
At twelve o’clock on the dot, O’Neil FaceTimed Grace and Frank from St Albans police station, having made considerable progress. They had viewed the documentary and were up to speed on its focus.
It was time for a remote briefing.
O’Neil kicked the meeting off. ‘Rebecca Swift was very helpful to us. She told us that Laura Stone had no knowledge of Sauer’s Syndrome before the two met. It was only after Rebecca agreed to take part in the documentary that Laura began her research, advertising in a national newspaper for sufferers willing to talk about their experience.’
‘How many takers were there?’ Grace asked.
‘That’s where it gets interesting. Rebecca is adamant that four, not three, people got in touch. Grace, you need to talk to every member of her film crew again to see if any of them know who was left out and why. Now we have their contact details, that shouldn’t be too difficult. Ryan thinks that Spielberg’s sidekick may have been that person. There’s a fifty per cent chance of inheriting the disease. If her accomplice is her brother, the likelihood is that Spielberg has that same devastating DNA marker. If it turns out one of them was that reject, it would not only link them to Laura but provide a motive for killing her.’
‘A weak motive is still a motive,’ Grace said.
Even though they weren’t in the same room, Ryan could see and feel how excited Grace was. Unconsciously she’d taken hold of Newman’s hand and given it a squeeze.
‘Although she doesn’t use it now,’ Ryan said, ‘Rebecca used to frequent an online chat room, a support group for sufferers. It was the only connection she had with other Sauer’s patients prior to meeting up with Laura. It’s a hard ask, given your workload, but we need more on that—’
‘If you require IT help,’ O’Neil cut in, ‘just ask.’
‘I’ll start combing the site for mentions of Dean, Trevathan and Tierney,’ Grace said.
‘Good. What’s the state of play up there? How’s the surveillance of Clark and Mitchell going?’
‘Fine. They’re bunkered down for Christmas.’
‘Wish I was,’ Ryan said under his breath. ‘Any news on Sandie Knox?’
Grace nodded. ‘She died on January seventh of this year. I have a copy of her death certificate on file.’
‘Cause of death?’ O’Neil again.
‘Carcinomatosis. The certifying doctor cited Sauer’s as the primary cause of death. Before Frank and I viewed the documentary, we’d never heard of it. Leaving Clark and Mitchell aside for one minute, we’re after suspects who loosely fit Pedersen’s description, yes?’
‘Correct,’ O’Neil said. ‘Except now we know that Rebecca Swift isn’t our target.’
‘I’ve also ruled out all the in-house technicians,’ Grace said. ‘Two of them are Asian, one weighs sixteen stone, the other is fifty-two years old. Clark’s description of Jang and Malik was correct, so by my calculation that leaves only two females who are around the age and physical characteristics we’re interested in: one of the film’s subjects, Jo Nichol, and Sophia Montgomery, film crew. I’m still checking on them.’
‘And males?’
‘There are three in the mix: Martin Schofield – another sufferer who appeared in the documentary; Laura’s music man, Tony Gillespie; and the cinematographer, Dan (Frank) Spencer.’
‘Some are alibied?’
‘Right.’ Grace gave their names. ‘Of the three men, Schofield is unwell, currently under psychiatric assessment in a secure hospital having twice attempted suicide. By all accounts, he’s a wreck, incapable of carrying out the kind of frenzied attack our victims suffered.’
‘What about Gillespie?’
‘He has a short-term visa to work on a co-production in South Africa. He’s been out of the country for the last six months and has stamps on his passport to prove it. He was abroad for all four deaths.’
‘Spencer?’ Ryan asked.
‘Like the women, he’s proving difficult to pin down. You’ll have to leave it with me.’
‘How did you get on with the background check on Sophia Montgomery?’ O’Neil asked.
‘Grab a brew,’ Grace said. ‘It’s a long story, but I’m sure Frank will make it brief.’
‘I’ll try,’ Newman said. ‘Montgomery’s mutism arrived suddenly, brought on by the death of her mother in an accident when Sophia was ten years old. No one has heard her utter a word since. Met police asked every member of the documentary crew about this, apart from Spencer, who they haven’t yet been able to locate. In every case, they were given the same answer: she doesn’t speak. I was told the same thing when I spoke to her former employer, her schoolteachers, social workers and speech therapists this morning. She stopped communicating through language, scraped through school and never went to university. She gets work where she can and lives alone. Lack of speech would suggest she’s not our girl—’
‘And the band played “Believe It If You Like”,’ Grace said.
‘It’s well documented,’ Newman added.
‘So is the bible – and we all know that’s a fabrication.’ Grace wasn’t smiling. ‘No speech equals no voice comparison. Very convenient.’
‘That was my initial reaction too,’ O’Neil said. ‘Frank, you’re not happy with her, are you?’ For once Newman’s facial expression had given him away. There was more coming . . .
‘A coroner ruled her mother’s death as accidental. She fell over a cliff – two hundred feet. Sophia was with her at the time, as was her younger brother, Mark. He was eight when it happened. They were staying in a holiday rental nearby.’ The implication was clear to everyone.
Silence reigned.
‘Where was the cliff?’ O’Neil asked finally.
‘Filey.’
Newman’s answer was like a bombshell going off in their heads, the Yorkshire link they had been waiting so patiently for. Before Ryan had the chance to say anything, there was a sudden kerfuffle at the other end of the line. A dog barked. He assumed it was Bob. A worrying thought. The Labrador only ever did that to attract attention.
He had Ryan’s.
‘Frank? What’s going on?’
Newman turned his head away from the screen. A wince. ‘You OK?’
Ryan didn’t hear a reply. ‘Grace?’
Grace grimaced. ‘Caroline fell over a chair.’
‘My fault,’ Newman admitted. ‘I moved it. I’m so sorry, I never thought.’ He disappeared off screen.
Caroline called out to Ryan. ‘Matt, don’t fret, I’m fine!’ Quieter now: ‘Frank, I’m fine. Please don’t fuss. I got excited when I heard you say Filey. Should’ve had more sense than to break into a sprint when I’m not at home.’
She was laughing.
So was Newman as he sat down again – a sign that all was well.
Ryan relaxed.
His twin was used to order. Sighted people didn’t always think to keep it that way. Fortunately, she’d learned to bounce over the years. Bob’s complaint was for Newman, not because his handler was badly hurt. If Ryan knew the spook, he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Frank adored Caroline almost as much as he did.
‘There were no witnesses,’ Newman continued. ‘No one to say whether Montgomery’s mother fell or was pushed.’ His words sent a chill through everyone. ‘Mark ran off to get help. Sophia was found on the coastal path, close to the edge, weeping. An orphan in shock who, from that point on, had nothing to say to investigators or anyone she came into contact with.’
‘Except to her brother, perhaps.’ Grace’s tone was hard. ‘Anyone else think her muteness was a result of her own bloody actions?’
O’Neil almost shuddered at the thought.
‘Thought so,’ Grace said. ‘We should lock her up now and put the thumbscrews on. This has her name all over it.’
‘No,’ O’Neil said. ‘When we go for her, if it’s her, it has
to count. Let’s give Sophia Montgomery the benefit of the doubt.’
‘Again?’ Grace huffed. ‘How lucky can one suspect get?’
Ryan gave her a look that said: Thanks very much. I texted O’Neil’s reluctance to see her in confidence. Eloise was at the wrong angle to see the power of the eye contact passing from St Albans to their Newcastle base. Newman not so. The spook was seething, trying not to show it.
‘What height is she?’ Ryan asked.
Grace checked her computer. ‘Five eight. Why?’
‘Then she fits the profile.’
‘We have a profile?’ Newman and O’Neil said together.
Only Grace knew what Ryan was on about. ‘Technicians were able to nail the height of the person we’re looking for from DVD footage,’ she said. ‘It’s fascinating what they can do nowadays. I bloody love technology.’
O’Neil turned towards him. ‘Why didn’t I know about this?’
‘You were tied up, guv. Grace and I had it covered.’
She let it go.
‘I agree with Eloise,’ Ryan said. ‘We will interview Montgomery, but unless we can get her to talk, we need to incriminate her. There’s no point charging in there with nothing on which to base our claims. We show patience, pick away at her story, assuming she has one. Of itself, her height isn’t enough. If it turns out that she’s our girl, we may fare better tackling her brother. He’s the weak link. Pedersen said he looked ill, not that they both did. She also said the woman was in charge, or words to that effect. That gives us leverage.
‘Makes perfect sense to me,’ O’Neil said. ‘Grace, you can start by contacting the coroner’s officer. I’d like the report on her mother’s death on my desk when I get back.’ Her mobile rang, an unwelcome intrusion. ‘Damn it! It’s Control, I’d better take this.’
Her voice faded from Ryan’s head, his thoughts still on a ten-year-old peering over the edge of a precipice where her mother had been standing moments before. He imagined the scene from Sophia’s point of view, her mother seeming to float, almost in slow motion, down and down, until she hit the ground with a sudden thud, organs rupturing, bones splintering, dead eyes staring back at her.