Perfect Silence

by Helen Fields

  ‘Oh shite,’ Lively said, spreading the pages of a different paper out in the middle of the desk. ‘The Babydoll Killer. Fuck me. How do those bastards come up with this stuff?’

  ‘We’ve been airtight about the details of this,’ Ava said. ‘How the hell did the press get hold of that headline?’

  ‘Who’s with Lorna’s parents?’ Ava asked.

  ‘Family liaison officers are there now,’ Callanach said. ‘Although I doubt they’ll be there long. I suspect Lorna’s mother will be looking for some form of chemical escapism shortly.’

  ‘Well, they’ll have to be given all the details now,’ Ava said. ‘I was hoping to wait until Jonty had done a full autopsy so I could at least confirm that Lorna had been given pain relief. I can’t have them finding this out from the papers, though. Tripp, get in touch with the officers who are there. They’ll have to break this as gently as they can. And I want to know who leaked the doll details.’

  ‘It’ll be impossible to pin it on anyone,’ Lively said. ‘Between Zoey’s and Lorna’s crime scenes, processing and enquiries, there have been hundreds of officers and civilians involved. It was never going to stay a secret for long.’

  ‘But the Babydoll Killer?’ Ava said. ‘It makes Zoey and Lorna’s deaths sound like some sort of semi-consensual sex game gone wrong, for Christ’s sake.’

  ‘I agree, but at least it’s memorable and creepy,’ Callanach said. ‘Hopefully it’ll raise awareness among other young women. We should turn the press coverage to our advantage. Let’s make it harder for the killer to take another victim, see if the details jog someone’s memory about a bizarre online conversation or a neighbour behaving strangely.’

  ‘All right,’ Ava said. ‘But I’m not having a free-for-all. Salter, organise a press conference for later this morning. I’ll give a statement myself and issue a request for witnesses to step forward. Just keep the moron whose byline this is out of my sight, or I’ll give them more than just a few more inches for their column. Tripp, get Jonty Spurr on the phone for me right now. Lively, what’s the update on the undercover officers we sent out last night into the city centre?’

  ‘They’ve all reported in and gone off duty to rest. Nothing to report. Uniformed officer patrols were increased too and asked to speak with any homeless people they saw. The agitation from the slashings seems to have been short-lived. There’s a perception that risk is part of the lifestyle. You won’t find any of them knocking down your door demanding to know what action’s being taken to keep them safe.’

  ‘Yeah, well, speaking of knocking down my door, the superintendent’s being less than helpful about following up with the Leverhulme School. She’d rather we found someone less affluent to blame than chase actual evidence,’ Ava said.

  ‘Maybe she’s right, ma’am. Not that I want to agree with the Evil Overbitch, but we’ll never get a case into court based on the ramblings of some drunk guys who only gave statements because we bought them a hot meal,’ Lively said.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, I must be going insane. Did you actually just agree with the brass?’ Ava asked him.

  ‘Ma’am, I’ve got the pathologist on the line,’ Tripp said, moving a phone to the centre of the table. Ava pushed the speaker button and motioned for them all to quieten down.

  ‘Dr Spurr, this is DCI Turner. I have squad members from MIT listening in. Can you update us with regards to the findings from Lorna’s body?’

  ‘I can indeed,’ Jonty said. ‘The same thick string was used to tie her limbs as with Zoey, wrapped repeatedly round ankles and wrists, leaving green fibres in the grazes. The finger and thumb marks identified at the scene had some depth under the neck tissue. A considerable amount of force would have been used, although none of the neck structure was seriously damaged. It appears that the force was probably exerted for a short period of time.’

  He paused.

  ‘And?’ Ava said.

  ‘And it appears likely that the fingermarks were occasioned during a different sort of attack. Lorna was raped. The violation produced severe bruising around her genitals. I double-checked my findings with regard to Zoey and I’m absolutely sure she suffered no sexual assault. Lorna’s assailant used a condom. We’ve confirmed the presence of the relevant chemicals and lubricants internally. Externally, her body had been thoroughly washed with a detergent to get rid of DNA from skin cells as well as any fingerprints, which is strange, really, given what we found internally.’

  ‘Go on,’ Ava said.

  ‘We have a pubic hair. They’re often found internally after a rape, even when a condom has been used. Force, friction, the condom itself causes rubbing, hairs loosen. I wouldn’t be surprised by it at all, only it’s so at odds with the effort made to clean the rest of the body of any evidence.’

  There was an eruption of noise, hands banging on the desk and spontaneous outbursts from the double-edged victory. It was a breakthrough, albeit at a terrible cost to Lorna.

  ‘Okay, settle down,’ Ava said. ‘We’ve got his DNA, that’s what matters. I need results on that ASAP, Dr Spurr. I don’t care what other work gets queued to push it to the front, and I’ll authorise whatever overtime is incurred at the lab,’ Ava said.

  ‘It’s already underway. Top priority. I’m hoping to have a DNA profile for you within forty-eight hours,’ Jonty replied. ‘We’re hoping that’s the breakthrough, unless she was having sexual relations with anyone else.’

  ‘Unlikely with her living at the mother and baby unit, especially having recently given birth,’ Callanach said.

  ‘Hard to see how the psychology of a rapist fits with the Bible quote inside the first doll,’ Tripp commented.

  ‘Perhaps he lost control,’ Callanach said. ‘Still, it’s a major escalation from Zoey.’

  ‘But then he switched back into meticulous mode,’ Ava said. ‘He cleaned up, made a good job of it, packed the wound and got Lorna into his vehicle.’

  ‘You were saying Lorna’s body had been washed with a detergent. How come there are still fibres from the rope around her wrists, then?’ Callanach asked.

  ‘There was detergent found over the top of the wounds, but the remaining fibres were microscopic and had become caught in the irritated skin. The killer would have had to excise the top of the wound to ensure there were no traces left, but certainly he attempted to free the body of debris,’ Jonty explained.

  ‘Dr Spurr, how do the skin incisions compare to the ones found on Zoey?’

  ‘If anything they’re cleaner, more consistent in terms of depth. Made with a steadier hand, I’d say, but then the killer had the benefit of practising on Zoey. This time, he would have had a better understanding of how much pressure to apply, how to handle the curves, how to separate the skin from the underlying tissue. Other than that, the hospital gown, the substance applied to the skin and the anaesthetic injection sites are all identical.’

  ‘So the picture I’m getting is of a man who lost control enough to rape forcefully, leaving bruising and fingermarks and being careless about internal evidence, but who then performed the remainder of his chosen tasks with extraordinary skill, back on form,’ Ava said. ‘He has a complex, layered personality, and he’s unpredictable.’

  ‘We need to keep the rape quiet,’ Callanach said. ‘Keep the public on a need-to-know basis only. That way, if anyone admits the offences, we won’t waste time investigating the fakes.’

  ‘Lorna’s mother can do without any more details getting into the press, too,’ Ava said. ‘Thank you, Dr Spurr, we’ll be in touch. DI Callanach, you’re with me for the press conference. Everyone else, get the squad in for a briefing and make sure we have enough people to answer the phones. There’ll be no stopping the calls once we appeal for information.’

  The press room was full to capacity and noisier than Ava had ever heard it. She’d changed her shirt but not bothered with uniform. There was too much to do already without wasting time on dress code. She tapped her microphone impatiently and the room came
to order. Callanach watched her survey the room. The relationship between police and press was difficult at the best of times. Symbiotic to an extent, they needed one another. Then an incident of insensitive sensationalism would leave a sour taste, and communication would break down for a while. Just like it had right now, Callanach thought.

  ‘This morning we were called to a report of a body found in a road,’ Ava began. ‘You have all been provided with a summary sheet giving the logistics of the incident, so I won’t repeat them. Lorna Shaw had been missing for a week. Prior to that, the body of Zoey Cole had been found in similar circumstances. Both girls were wounded. Sections of skin were removed from their abdomens and lower backs. We are asking the public to consider where they were at the times either girl went missing or was dropped off. It is clear that a vehicle was involved on each occasion. We do not as yet have any details about that vehicle or vehicles. If anyone recognises either Lorna or Zoey and saw them getting into a vehicle or on the street on the day they went missing, we would like you to contact us to help fill in the details of each timeline. Zoey and Lorna’s killer must have somewhere private he kept them. After the girls were hurt, he would have had substantial amounts of blood on his clothing and would have needed to clean up.’

  Ava paused, looking up to identify the nearest television camera, looking directly into the lens before continuing. ‘If your husband, boyfriend, brother or son has been behaving strangely over the last two weeks, and you believe they might be involved, please do contact us. It will be easy for us to exclude them from our enquiries with the forensic evidence already available. If you know of anyone who has expressed a desire to hurt young women in such a way, whether you have made contact in person or on the internet, please come forward. We’re not interested in anyone except the man who killed Zoey and Lorna. You do not need to worry about your own internet searches. However, if any person is found to have withheld information that is later uncovered, you might be prosecuted for assisting the offender. There is a crime line number and full details are also available online. Thank you for your—’

  ‘What’s the Babydoll Killer doing with the actual dolls, Detective Chief Inspector?’ a man halfway back stood up and shouted.

  Ava took a deep breath. ‘All questions should be submitted in writing through the media team.’

  ‘Are the dolls being used for some sort of cult purpose?’ another reporter shouted.

  Callanach motioned for the door to be opened so that he and Ava could leave.

  ‘Has the Babydoll Killer left Lorna’s doll anywhere yet? Do you expect to find it soon? Are there photos available of the Zoey doll?’

  Ava halted and turned back round to face the crowd. ‘Who asked that question?’ she said.

  ‘Me,’ a journalist said, pointing a microphone in Ava’s direction.

  ‘You want to know if we have a photograph of Zoey’s skin available for you to broadcast or publish, is that right?’

  The journalist began to falter. Callanach was surprised the man wasn’t sprinting for the door given the ice in Ava’s voice. ‘Um, yes, it’s a relevant part of the story …’

  ‘You want to profit from the pain Zoey experienced, is that right?’ Ava asked.

  ‘These are victims of crime,’ the man responded. ‘It’s in the public interest to inform …’

  ‘Let me stop you right there,’ Ava said. ‘You’re going to tell me that the public needs to know what’s happened. Then you’re going to extend your argument to using publicity to help ensure that there are no further victims. I can assist you with all of that.’

  Part of Callanach wanted to tell the journalist to run and not look back, but he didn’t. Watching Ava in action was too mesmerising.

  ‘You want to sell copy or get viewers. I get it. You need the advertising revenue to pay your staff, which means you have to get the best story from the most intriguing angle. What you don’t have to do is turn this tragedy into some ghoulish spectacle. You don’t need to profit from the deaths of two innocent young women. Anyone with your resources and intelligence should be able to find a means of reporting this story without delighting in the horror of it. You should be more than capable of persuading the public that they need to be vigilant without resorting to showing the skin a young woman has lost. And you should know better, much better, than to use the phrase “public interest” to justify giving nicknames to evil. You should know better than to dig into every last dark corner to satisfy the sick desire for revelling in misery.’

  Callanach counted to three before the camera flashes erupted, blinding Ava, who simply stood glaring furiously into the crowd. No one else asked for pictures of the skin doll. A red line had been drawn. No member of the press would be brave enough, or foolish enough, to tread over it that day. But the damage had been done. The publicity circus had raised its curtain and the audience were in their seats.

  The killer was finally getting the attention they wanted.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The remainder of the day had passed as predicted. The phone lines in the incident room were awash with callers who had no useful information, but who sought reassurance or wanted to offer condolences. Officers were chasing a few leads, but more out of good form than because there was any realistic substance to them. Callanach had put his head round Ava’s door at 8 p.m., offering to fetch her food. She’d sent him home – ever the good boss. He, like her, hadn’t slept for too many hours. Exhausted detectives were no use to anyone. There was a skeleton crew downstairs taking the few calls that were still dribbling in. Ava was a floor up, enjoying the quiet, taking the time to do more research. Nothing she read was making her feel any better.

  Leviticus chapter twenty, from where the note in Zoey’s skin doll was taken, was a lesson from God on how to punish a variety of sins. The majority of the punishments resulted in death, some of which were specified to be by burning. A lucky few sinners were simply to be cast out from their community, but most of the guilty were going to end up in the ground. It didn’t make for happy reading.

  Ava took a sip of coffee that had gone cold half an hour ago and winced at the bitterness. The truth was that she was angry at herself. She’d lost her temper in the press conference. It wasn’t acceptable at her rank and there would be consequences, but once she saw red there was no stopping her. It had been her weakness since her teenage years. One look at Callanach’s face before she’d let rip at the journalists had told her she was past the point of no return. He had been bracing himself. To his credit, he hadn’t jumped in and tried to stop her. He knew her well enough to understand that such an attempt would have been futile. When the debacle had come to an abrupt halt, he’d simply walked by her side to her office, delivered a coffee to her desk and given her some space while he briefed the MIT squad and the uniformed units drafted in to assist.

  Her eyes began to close as she waded through a pile of paperwork. The clock told her it was one in the morning, although it felt later. She couldn’t even figure out how long it had been since she’d last slept. The one comfortable chair in her office suddenly looked overwhelmingly appealing. Kicking off her shoes, Ava moved to the armchair and curled her legs into her chest, turning her face into the cushions and hoping her phone would allow her a couple of hours of peace. All she needed was a nap.

  Jolting wake, Ava assumed she’d been dreaming. There had been a scream, scraping furniture. Something breaking. She’d seen Lorna’s face, then she’d come to, gasping as she opened her eyes, clutching the arms of the chair and lurching forward. Then there was a second scream. This time Ava knew it was real. The noise had come from the floor above. It was 3 a.m. There shouldn’t be anyone on the upper floors. Moving swiftly to her desk, Ava grabbed a can of pepper spray. Taking the stairs to the upper floor two at a time, she ran, pausing at the top fire doors to listen again. For twenty seconds there was nothing, then a woman’s voice, gasping, sounding desperate.

  ‘Please,’ the voice said, begging, strangulated.


  Ava slipped into the nearest office, picking up the phone to the station’s front desk below. ‘Violent incident, third floor, possible hostage. DCI Turner already engaged. Send backup,’ she said.

  She ran, her heart pounding, towards the door at the end of the corridor, pepper spray held out in front. It wasn’t that difficult to get into the police station. Wait until someone else was walking through a door, catch it as it was closing, flash a fake ID if needed. It had been done before, and there were plenty of people with a reason to hate police officers, even before stretching the imagination to anything like terrorism. She had one shot, though, and that was the element of surprise.

  Taking a deep breath, she kicked the door and burst in. ‘Police! Hands up, don’t move—’

  ‘Turner, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ Overbeck shouted.

  ‘Balls, ma’am, it’s three in the morning …’ Lively growled.

  Ava covered her face, turning to the door as other feet began pounding along the corridor towards them.

  ‘Situation under control,’ Ava shouted, slamming the door shut before the officers racing to assist her could see inside the office. ‘Misunderstanding. No danger. Stand down,’ she yelled through the wood.

  ‘With respect, DCI Turner, protocol is that you need to open the door so we can ensure you’re not being held hostage,’ an officer shouted from beyond Superintendent Overbeck’s office door.

  ‘Get them the hell out of here,’ Overbeck whispered, buttoning her blouse and pushing past DS Lively, who was desperately trying to pull up his trousers.

  Ava let her head fall against the door, screwing her eyes up tight and wishing she could unsee her detective sergeant furiously bashing against the semi-naked superintendent’s body, bent over the desk. She took a deep breath, quelled her nausea and shouted out again.