by Helen Fields
The Georgian house was symmetrically fronted with long rectangular windows and an impressive door. The grounds were gravelled, with manicured hedges, and three sports cars adorned the driveway. The doorbell issued a soft, welcoming tone and a swish of footsteps approached from within. Ava and Pax Graham had their ID badges out and ready for inspection.
‘It’s quite late,’ Mrs Prestwick said quietly, but with a smile. ‘Are you absolutely sure it can’t wait?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ Ava said. ‘It’s a serious investigation, and while we’re certain Elizabeth wasn’t involved, she may inadvertently have been made party to some important information. I appreciate your concern as a parent. You can remain with your daughter at all times and we’ll record the interview so that a record is kept.’
‘All right. My husband will need to sit in as well. Do take a seat in the lounge while I fetch Lizzie.’
Ava and Graham looked around. The interior of the house was all reds and golds, with silk curtains and huge vases, the floors warmed with enormous, richly coloured rugs.
‘Bit of a change from the places I normally do my policing,’ Graham smiled.
‘Which do you prefer?’ Ava asked.
‘Honestly, I’m not sure,’ he said, as a teenage girl arrived, tears already in her eyes.
‘Elizabeth, what’s wrong? I’ve told you there’s nothing to worry about, darling. The officers just thought you might be able to help. You’re not in any trouble,’ Mrs Prestwick cooed, rubbing her daughter’s arm.
Her father appeared in the doorway behind, scowling. ‘Liz, you’ve been acting strangely for days, now we’ve police officers at the door. What on earth is going on with you?’ he demanded.
Ava saw the opportunity and stepped in. ‘Mr Prestwick, forgive the late-night invasion. I’m sorry to disturb your family. Elizabeth,’ she said, sitting down in the chair closest to the girl and looking her straight in the eyes with a smile, ‘I promise, you’re not in any trouble. In fact, quite the opposite. We’re here because I think you might be able to help a little boy whose mother has been taken from him. He’s too young to feel anything but grief at the moment, but he’s going to have to grow up not knowing his mum. I can see from how much your own mum loves you, that it would be an awful thought to have a parent taken away from you, especially in such violent circumstances.’
‘Violence? For God’s sake, Elizabeth, what is all this about?’ her father said, raising his voice.
Ava took hold of Elizabeth’s hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘I think you may know something about it. Friends often talk to one another about the things in their life that scare them. It’s not fair, though. They can’t keep a secret themselves, and yet they expect you to be able to. Especially a secret this big and this dangerous. The best thing you can do is share it with me, like one of your friends might have done with you. Perhaps someone needed to talk and get it out of their system. If that’s the case, then you’ve done nothing wrong except keep a confidence that you should never have been burdened with. It’s not fair. I guarantee, if you’ve had no part in it, that you will be in no trouble at all. You might save further victims from being assaulted – even killed.’
Elizabeth looked at her mother, then her father, her eyes full of tears, hands shaking. She nodded.
‘Do I have to?’ Elizabeth asked, very quietly.
Ava looked at Pax, his phone in hand, recording the conversation. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘You don’t have to tell us anything at all. We’re asking for a voluntary witness statement to assess if you know some details that might help us. We’re only here because we believe you’re friends with Oliver Davenport. The truth is that you can ask us to leave, right now, and we will. You don’t have to do or say anything at all.’
‘How old is the boy?’ Mr Prestwick asked.
‘Davenport?’ Pax Graham queried.
‘Not him. I know all about Oliver and his Leverhulme cronies. I meant the boy who lost his mother,’ Mr Prestwick growled.
‘Still a toddler,’ Graham replied. ‘Young enough to miss her. Not old enough to get his head round the fact that he won’t ever see her again.’
‘Answer the questions, Elizabeth,’ her father said. ‘All of them, as fully as you can. The police might be too polite to push, but I’m not.’
Elizabeth addressed the rug beneath her feet as she picked at nail varnish that was just starting to chip. ‘I don’t think Oliver wanted to be involved. He only told me about it after the third time. I saw the other attacks on the news, but I didn’t realise then that Oli was there.’
‘Can you explain what you’re talking about more precisely?’ Ava prompted.
‘Those drug users who were …’ She paused, more tears dampening her cheeks. ‘Cut,’ she finished.
‘Do you know the names of anyone else involved?’ Ava asked.
‘Leo and Noah. They’ve all been best friends for years, only lately they started doing stupid dares. It just got out of hand. Oliver didn’t want to get bullied by the other two and excluded from the other stuff they did together, so he went along with it. Then afterwards, Oli said he needed someone to talk to. He was really upset, you know? Couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stop thinking about it. After he explained what had happened, I said I didn’t want to know. It scared me. Oliver’s terrified, too, I know he is, but he just does whatever Noah tells him.’
‘Did you know we’d already spoken to the boys?’ Ava asked.
Elizabeth nodded. ‘Oliver left a note to warn me. He said I had to delete any texts from him. I said I’d already done that. Then Noah came round …’
‘Round here? To see you?’ Graham asked.
‘Yes. Once you found the key, they got worried. Oliver admitted to Noah that he’d spoken to me. Noah was really mad. He said … he said that if I spoke to anyone about what I knew, he’d tell everyone that we’d done things.’ She turned to her mother, grabbing her hand and pushing her face into her shoulder. ‘I didn’t. I never let him touch me. I just didn’t know how to tell you what was happening.’
‘Oh, Lizzie, you poor thing. You should have spoken to me straight away. I know Oliver’s your friend, but you shouldn’t have had to deal with this.’
They clung together on the sofa, with Elizabeth’s father fuming behind them. ‘I’m sorry,’ Ava told him gently.
‘You’re sorry? What the hell for? You just saved my daughter from spending the next several years with this on her conscience. Thank God you found out she knew something. I’m going to kill the little bastard who involved her in this,’ Mr Prestwick said.
‘Actually, if you’d just give a formal statement, and agree to Elizabeth doing the same, we’ll make sure the boys are dealt with properly,’ Graham said. ‘You can trust that we’ll do our jobs, sir.’
‘Do your jobs? Do you know who Noah Alby-Croft’s father is? This case’ll never see a courtroom. That man will have no scruples at all about using his influence to protect his son.’
‘That’s what started it all off in the first place,’ Elizabeth said quietly.
‘I’m sorry, Elizabeth. Started what off?’ Ava asked.
‘What they did. Hurting people. Noah Alby-Croft’s dad is desperate for him to go to Oxford. Noah went down and spent a weekend there, looked around one of the colleges, met some of the older students. There’s this club, apparently, but you only get to join it if you can show you’re exceptional. You know, if you can operate beyond society’s normal rules, or that they don’t apply to you. Oli said Noah was determined to impress them. They’re supposed to be some elite class. It all sounds awful. Anyway, Noah had to have witnesses. He roped Oli and Leo in.’
‘This is about joining a club?’ Graham asked. ‘What exactly did Noah think he was going to get out of it that made slashing someone’s face worthwhile?’
‘Everything money can’t buy,’ Elizabeth’s father said. ‘Invitations to the right parties, weekends on yachts, the inner circles of the people who can make or break careers. Oxf
ord’s notorious for it. Just when you think that sort of stupidity’s had its day, it rears its ugly head one more time.’
‘I think Noah just wanted his dad to be proud of him. Get into the right university, have the right friends. His dad’s a bit …’
‘Pushy?’ Ava offered.
‘Yes. Pushy,’ Elizabeth said.
‘The third incident,’ Ava said, ‘the one Oliver told you about. Which of the three boys used the knife on that occasion?’
‘Oliver said it was Leo,’ she replied, finally breaking down with the weight of it all, sobbing on her mother’s shoulder.
‘Okay, so that’s where we’ll start,’ Ava said to Graham. ‘With Elizabeth’s statement, we can arrest Leo Plunkett, then we’ll be entitled to follow up with a house search and to access his mobile communications. Once Leo Plunkett is in interview, we can pursue Oliver, and it sounds as if he’ll tell us what happened, given his need to talk it through with Elizabeth. Bring Noah in last. Before we go, Elizabeth, can you give us a list of other boys at Leverhulme School who know you’re good friends with Oliver? That will help tie up any loose ends.’
‘Sure,’ the girl said, pulling herself together as her mother fussed over her. It was amazing, the difference confession could make. A changed young woman emerged as the fear and guilt slipped off her shoulders. Ava doubted the same would be true for Noah Alby-Croft and Leo Plunkett. Oliver Davenport, apparently, had rather more of a conscience. Elizabeth’s mother handed the girl a pen and paper to draft the list.
‘Walk me to the door?’ Ava asked DS Graham. ‘Find any of the names on the list. You don’t need to visit. Just make a phone call and get confirmation from one of Oliver’s friends that Oli is close with Elizabeth. This can look like a simple following up of known associates, kind of a lucky strike. No need to justify how we found Elizabeth after that.’
‘Got it,’ Graham said. ‘You’re sure Elizabeth wasn’t involved?’
‘The timing of the texts, and her reaction, makes it pretty clear she just got dragged into it unwillingly at the end. Keep her name low profile for as long as possible. You know what teenagers are like. She’ll be on the receiving end of some nasty bullying when it gets out that she talked to us.’
‘I’ll look after her. Why don’t you take my car? I’ll get a squad vehicle out to pick me up and have Leo Plunkett in custody tonight.’ Ava nodded and stepped out of the front door. ‘You were amazing, by the way. It was the right thing to do, to tell the girl she was under no obligation to talk. Most people would have pushed her at that point.’
Ava smiled. ‘Maybe I was just past caring,’ she said.
‘That’s a lie, ma’am, and we both know it.’
‘Doesn’t really matter. I was never here, unless for any reason we have to produce that tape, and I don’t think that’ll be an issue once Elizabeth makes a formal statement.’ Ava began to walk away, the gravel beneath her feet crunching softly in the pitch dark.
‘I’m not prepared to take the credit for this,’ he said, following her into the driveway and reaching for her arm in the dark. ‘And I’m not prepared to see another officer bullied by bureaucrats, not even one of my superiors.’
‘That’s kind of you, DS Graham, but you can leave this to me. I don’t need a protector,’ Ava said.
‘I know you don’t,’ Graham said softly. ‘But a thing can be given without it being asked for, can’t it, ma’am?’
Chapter Forty-One
Caroline
Her swollen eyes stung. Caroline had begun crying as soon as she’d woken up and realised she was trapped, and had barely stopped since then. He’d been parked in a red estate car next to her usual spot and she’d seen him grabbing at his chest and gasping for air as soon as she’d pulled up. Even with the pressure she was under, there was no chance she would leave someone ill in his car without helping, and so, like the good Samaritan she had been brought up to be, she had tried every door in the car until she’d found one that was unlocked. The front passenger seat, thankfully – or so she had thought at the time – allowed her access, and she talked gently to the hyperventilating male as she felt his pulse. It was only when she tried to get out again to retrieve her mobile from her handbag, which was still in her own car, that she realised there was a locking mechanism preventing the door from being opened from the inside. When she’d attempted to lean over the man to open the driver’s door, he’d hit her in the temple so hard that she’d been rendered unconscious immediately. Her wake-up call had been a bottle of smelling salts waved beneath her nose, then she was marched, still staggering from the blow, to an outbuilding where she had fought uselessly as he tied her to a table.
Caroline had kept her eyes shut tight each time the man had come in to see to her needs or to rub thick, cold cream on her stomach and back. If she didn’t look at him, if she didn’t make eye contact with him or annoy him, if she couldn’t identify him to the police, then perhaps he would let her live. Her terror was overwhelming. It brought waves of nausea every time she thought about what was going to happen to her. Her back ached from the lack of movement. Her wrists and ankles were sore and chafed. It was too cold. She’d been dressed in some sort of white gown with a couple of tatty, old blankets thrown over her, but she was still freezing. The roof above her had leaked during a rainstorm and her legs were wet where the drips had seeped through the blanket.
Making herself focus on the world outside, she wondered what had happened in the pitch meeting at work. Had they panicked when she didn’t arrive? Had they realised she was missing quickly enough to trace her mobile phone? Not that she had any idea where it was now. Presumably the man had left it in her car. Or perhaps he had used her keys to take her handbag but had destroyed the SIM card. Jadyn would be in pieces by now, she thought, the tears beginning again. They’d had a celebration planned for the evening, so certain was she of making junior partner. A stack of wedding magazines was waiting on her bedside table. She hadn’t allowed herself to look through them while she was still working to get the pitch perfect, but that evening she’d intended to light candles around a hot bubble bath and indulge herself with ideas for dresses, guest favours, locations and caterers. Her bridesmaids, she’d already decided, would wear the palest shade of green silk, with simple sleeveless dresses and tiny delicate rosebud tiaras, a minimalistic replica of the one she had already found for herself.
It wasn’t fair to work so hard and to lose so much, to be left so scared and alone. It wasn’t fair when she’d never hurt anyone in her life. Nor that she was going to die so young. She knew she was going to die. It was ridiculous to carry on pretending that the man holding her captive wasn’t the same man who had killed the other girls, not least because there was still hair trapped in splinters on the table, and blood drips where her right wrist was now bound up. To start with, she had refused to be so defeatist as to admit where she was and whose company she was in, but now defeat seemed a more comfortable companion than hope. Hope was the boyfriend who didn’t turn up to take you on the date you’d been waiting for all week, when you’d bought a new dress and had your hair done especially. Hope hurt.
Then there was a sense of just deserts, born of guilt. Those stories in the papers about the other girls had taken only seconds from her day. Front-page news, not that she’d bothered reading it. It hadn’t applied to her – that was what she’d thought. The media had implied that a certain type of young woman was being taken – troubled, off the rails, the sort Caroline definitely wasn’t. They had taken risks, she’d assumed, been careless with their lives. Reaching the fingers of her right hand down to the table leg, she could feel the old blood crumble away. They hadn’t died here, she’d followed enough of the story to know that, but perhaps they’d wanted to. In her ivory tower of self-righteousness she’d assumed she didn’t fit any victim profile. How wrong she’d been. And how very, very stupid. She’d climbed into a car with a strange man. At the time it had seemed heroic. Now she could see so much more clearly tha
t it had simply been dumb.
Dumb, dumb, dumb. And she would pay for it with her own blood.
Perhaps the cold would finish her off instead. That was the preferable outcome: to fall into a deep sleep, never to wake up, without knowing torture, pain or mutilation.
It was the middle of the night or thereabouts. Certainly there was no light in the sky, and the man hadn’t troubled her for several hours now. Her breath made white clouds in the air and her tears left freezing trails on her cheeks. The toenails she had carefully painted a shade of teal had long since lost all sensation. Perhaps that was best. The numbness of her stomach and back were a match for her extremities. She sang to herself as she tried not to think about what the Babydoll Killer, as the papers had dubbed him, was going to do to her.
Caroline closed her eyes and began to sing the opening lines to her mother’s favourite song, ‘Daydream Believer’ by The Monkees. Strange how at the worst of times it was childhood melodies that stuck in your mind. She forced the words out through unwilling lips, blue from the cold and clumsy with fear.
He made dolls from his victims’ skin. The thought sliced through her pathetic attempt to distract herself. Caroline had heard a secretary at work whisper the details to a colleague. She’d ignored it, focused on her work.
She struggled to recall the next line of the song. Something about sleep in your eyes? But the next line was on the tip of her tongue before she could stop it. Suddenly the only image in her mind was a razor blade. Not the right song at all. Perhaps that was why it had sprung to mind. There really was no such thing as free choice after all.
He cut the skin from their bodies and drew their faces on the dolls. The press had been ruthless in their descriptions, colouring the reporting with saddened tones, but really, this was the stuff of editorial room fantasies. Caroline had refused to engage in conversation about it. The gruesomeness didn’t bear discussion, and she had too much else on her mind. Besides, it wasn’t relevant to her. She had a building to design and a wedding dress to pick out. Once they were married, she and Jadyn would oversee the building of their own home on the most perfect plot of land. It was on a hillside. She had studied Austrian mechanisms for stabilising buildings on steep land, and knew exactly how she wanted it built. The frontage would largely be glass. It would be expensive, and she would need to be clever about insulation, but using largely reclaimed materials meant that she could offset their carbon footprint.