Body Heat

by Candy Denman

  Chapter 13

  “Not a Sunday this time,” Callie commented as a suited-up Miller and Jeffries joined her in the brightly lit crime scene tent. Miller grunted acknowledgement of her remark, but said nothing else. The rain, gently drumming on the roof, was one of the reasons for the tent. Colin Brewer, crime scene manager as before, was anxious to protect any evidence from being damaged or washed away, and Miller wanted to keep the increasingly intrusive press at a distance from the more open area that the killer had used for this, his third murder. Callie half expected to hear the sound of a helicopter hovering overhead, filming the activity for the early morning news.

  The car was parked as before, with the passenger door against the perimeter fencepost of the car park, and the driver’s door open but this time with the body lying beside the car instead of inside. The tent was only just big enough to cover both car and corpse.

  “She got out.” Jeffries indicated the victim, who was lying in the foetal position on the ground by the blackened, skeletal remains of the car, and he crouched down to get a closer look. “It looks like she just curled up and died,” he added thoughtfully.

  “That’s the effects of the heat causing her tissues to contract,” Callie explained quickly.

  Chris Butterworth strode over to the open door of the tent and leaned in to speak to them. Despite the protective suit and mask, it was clear that he was angry, very angry indeed.

  “Looks to be the same method once again. Have you picked up that little shit yet?”

  Miller straightened up and looked Butterworth in the eye.

  “Yes. Hence our problem. He was safely tucked up in a cell all night.”

  That stopped Butterworth dead, as he tried to assimilate this information. He seemed shocked by the news.

  “But” – he shook his head as if to clear it – “Caxton must be the one doing this. It’s his MO.” He looked from Miller to Jeffries, who shook his head sympathetically.

  Callie was less supportive.

  “I take it you will be letting him go now, or will you be checking the CCTV in the custody suite to see if he managed to sneak out of his cell?” She just couldn’t help herself and was pleased to see a look of irritation flash across Miller’s face.

  “Been on any good websites recently, Dr Hughes?” Jeffries retaliated. “Found yourself a boyfriend yet?”

  Callie was livid but not quick enough to come up with a response. It would probably be well into next week before she thought of a decent one.

  “Have you finished here, Doctor?” Miller asked, pointedly bringing the conversation to a close.

  “Yes. I’ve pronounced life extinct. Not that you really needed me to tell you she was dead,” Callie responded and left the tent, pulling off her gloves as she hurried through the light rain towards the officer manning the exit from the taped-off crime scene. She signed out with a worse than usual scrawl, too agitated to write legibly as she thought about what she had heard and started piecing it all together. She quickly undressed and ditched her protective clothing in the bag provided, doing her best to keep dry as she did so, and was relieved to reach her car only slightly dampened, by the weather, at least.

  She switched the engine on and put the heater on full blast to warm up and dry herself out. She sat in the driver’s seat, looking out at the drizzle and thinking about what she had heard, all the while wishing that she had had the foresight to make a flask of tea before leaving the warmth of her home. If Mark was in custody, there was absolutely no way he could have committed this crime, and therefore, perhaps he hadn’t committed the last one either, or even the first. So how did a drink can with his fingerprints on it turn up at the second locus? And who knew his method of starting fires well enough to have copied it?

  It could have been a coincidence, she reasoned, even if Mark said he hadn’t been to Fairlight, perhaps he had left an empty can in a mate’s car and it had fallen out up there. It was also possible that he had been there and was lying about it, frightened to admit he had visited the site, even innocently, on that night or some other. It really wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that the manager of the visitor centre had missed the can when collecting the rubbish.

  The second piece of evidence was that the killer used the same method of fire starting as Mark had in the past, but that might just be down to having read about his previous convictions, or Mark himself might have talked about the way he did it and been overheard. In which case, it was likely that Mark knew the killer.

  On their own, neither fact meant that Mark was being framed, but together they were suspicious, if not conclusive.

  Callie looked through the fine rain at the lights on the far side of the car park. The forensic tent glowed eerily in the half-light but the blue-clad figures seemed slightly faded as they searched the immediate area around the tent now that dawn was beginning to break. She wondered if they would find any further evidence linking Mark to this scene, because if they did, they would know for sure that it wasn’t a coincidence, they would know that someone was deliberately trying to set him up. Someone who knew his history and with access to his fingerprints, on used cans at least, but who didn’t know he was in custody last night.

  A blue-suited man came out of the tent and looked across to where she was parked. She recognised the build and posture as Miller, and she wondered if the same thoughts were going through his head.

  * * *

  Unable to either go back to sleep or face breakfast after her horrific start to the day, Callie decided on a walk to work. She ambled through the streets of Hastings, making her way to the surgery by a very circuitous route in the hope that it would clear her head, and possibly even enable her to eat something before morning surgery. The rain had stopped, leaving a dampness in the air that Callie knew would make her hair frizzy, but, for once, she didn’t care. In the greater scheme of things, she had to admit that bad hair was hardly a major problem, besides she had put some portable hair straighteners in her bag so she could repair the damage once she was at work.

  Despite walking for more than forty minutes, she still arrived before eight and let herself into the surgery, armed with a packet of biscuits she had bought on the way to replace those that she had previously taken from Linda’s secret store. Tea and chocolate biscuits would have to do for breakfast.

  As she let herself in through the back door, she saw that Gerry Brown’s car was once more in the car park. Wednesday and Saturday nights he left it there. That’s what Gauri had told her. She stopped in the hallway as she thought about that. Gerry Brown used internet dating sites. Gerry Brown was a known stalker. Gerry Brown had access to her files on Mark. Gerry Brown left his car at work on Wednesday and Saturday nights. The murders were committed on Wednesday and Saturday nights, well, one on a Wednesday and two on a Saturday.

  There was a sudden noise of the alarm going off and Callie realised that she had been too busy thinking about Gerry as a suspect to key in the code in time. She did it quickly and hurried upstairs to call the alarm company and let them know it wasn’t burglars, and to give more thought to her theory that Gerry was a killer. Did it really hold water or was it just that she didn’t like the man? And if he was the killer, how could he have got hold of Mark’s fingerprints, or rather, a drink can with his fingerprints on it?

  She hadn’t been in the office long before Linda arrived and informed her that Gerry Brown had called in sick. The news added weight to Callie’s earlier thoughts about whether he was linked to the killings and it occurred to her that he might even be off sick because he had accidentally got burnt. Once the thought was there, it wouldn’t go away until Linda thrust a list under her nose.

  “So, which of his patients are you going to see?”

  * * *

  “Are you sure about this, Callie?” Kate asked as she logged into the SusSEXtra website in her office later.

  “I know it sounds a bit silly, but I just want to be sure it isn’t him and he’s off sick because he got burnt or s
omething.”

  “Look, I have no reason to defend the man, but from stalker to serial killer is a bit of a leap.”

  “But not impossible?”

  “No.” Kate hesitated. “Do you think you should tell the police about this?”

  “After what happened last time? No.” Callie shook her head vehemently. “I don’t want them to think I am even more loopy than they already do.”

  “Hmm, are you more concerned about the handsome inspector thinking you are mad than whatever his sidekick thinks, by any chance?”

  “Of course not.” Callie knew that she didn’t sound completely convincing and she also knew that Kate would have spotted it. “It’s a good thing Gerry was off sick because I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself from staring at him, wondering if it could be him.”

  Kate snorted with amusement at her deliberate change of direction.

  “Watch it, he’d probably think you fancy him. You might end up with him stalking you.”

  “I certainly hope not. He is so not my type.”

  “You surprise me,” Kate responded as she navigated to the web page. “Is it the beard?”

  “No, I’m happy with beards, but strangely, I just don’t find serial killers attractive.”

  Kate laughed as she put in the password and went to Callie’s page.

  “Right. You have had twenty-three responses. Not bad, not bad at all.”

  They looked at the messages.

  “No one called Gerry Brown and none of the pictures could be him unless he’s changed a lot.”

  “No, but he could have used a false name and picture, I have heard that people sometimes do that,” Callie countered, with a knowing look at Kate.

  “Point taken.”

  They began to read the details the responders had entered for themselves.

  “Why, oh why, would anyone seriously call themselves The Stud?” Callie asked.

  “Maybe it’s ironic?” Kate replied as she opened the first response and they read the message.

  “Why would he want to know if I can burp on demand?”

  “That’s clearly his thing. Look here.” Kate pointed. “Girls who belch get him going, he even asks what fizzy drinks you like best.”

  “He doesn’t want time wasters, just the real thing. Dear Lord, what is the world coming to?”

  “You don’t share his eructation fetish then?” Kate couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Eeuw!” Callie said a moment later. “Fancy actually writing something like that down!”

  “Actually, writing down your fantasies can be incredibly erotic,” Kate responded. “You should try it some time.”

  “Writing them down is one thing, letting someone else read them is another matter entirely.”

  Slowly they worked their way through all the messages, with Callie making notes, and found two responders that could possibly match Gerry Brown if the photo was discounted, one of which did actually mention that he was bearded, although the photo attached was clean shaven, and could, at a stretch have been a younger version of Gerry Brown.

  “He actually sounds quite nice,” Callie said.

  “You are only saying that because he’s one of the few not talking dirty.”

  “That’s very true.” Callie looked at the list she had written down and thought for a moment, then sighed.

  “Do you think I’m a prude, Kate?”

  “Erm, why do you ask?”

  “You do! Admit it, you do think I’m a prude.”

  “Well, it’s more that you have limits, and perhaps your limits are set at a lower level than mine.”

  “I prefer to think of them as standards.”

  “Okay, well then your standards are higher than most, Callie. Or, at least, higher than mine,” Kate continued, anxiously trying not to offend her friend.

  “And certainly higher than these people.”

  “I think most of us have higher, or rather different, standards to these people.”

  “But do you think I should, I don’t know, loosen up a little?” Callie asked.

  Kate was reluctant to say yes, although it was something she had often wanted to say to Callie.

  “Everyone has different ways of living their lives and behaviours that they feel comfortable with and no one should ever make fun of them for that, or try and push them to do something that makes them feel uncomfortable. You know me, I’m a live and let live sort of person. I don’t feel I am in a position to either criticise or advise,” she said.

  Callie thought about that for a while.

  “I just worry that I might be missing out on the fun sometimes.”

  “Maybe, but if you don’t actually find whatever it is fun to do, you’re not missing out on it, if you get my meaning.”

  “I do,” Callie readily agreed. “It’s like, you know I hate roller coasters, but everyone tells me how exciting they are so sometimes I force myself onto them just to see if I’ve made a mistake, and then I find out, all over again, that all I am missing is terror and sickness and I promise myself that I will never do it again under any circumstances.”

  “Until the next time you doubt yourself.”

  Callie nodded her agreement.

  “That’s right. But there is a difference between not going on a roller coaster and being over-cautious with other aspects of your life; being too frightened to live a full life.”

  Kate couldn’t disagree. Callie sighed and looked at the two possibles on her list.

  “So, what do I do next?”

  “Are you sure about this, Callie?” Kate asked anxiously.

  “I’m not going to meet them, just try and get to know them a bit better and see if I can spot if one of them is Gerry, or giving out other serial killer vibes. Have you got an unregistered pay-as-you-go phone I could use?”

  Kate rummaged in her desk drawer and pulled one out.

  “The number is on it.”

  Callie turned the phone over and saw that Kate had stuck a bit of paper with the number onto the back of the phone.

  “You are going to have to pay to contact them. That’s how these websites work. It’s free up to the point where you want to exchange contact details.”

  Callie looked anxious.

  “I don’t really want my credit card details logged here, or SusSEXtra appearing on my statements. It’s not exactly subtle, is it?”

  “In my experience, there are two ways you can do this,” Kate told her. “We can set up a PayPal account for Vicky S and use your credit card to put money into the account, as if you had bought something from her over the internet, making it slightly more than you need for the website so it isn’t too obvious. Vicky can pay you back later. Or if you are still concerned about that we can put in an extra layer of anonymity, by setting up an intermediate false account that you pay money into which then pays Vicky and she then pays SusSEXtra, if we use different amounts each time and put other bits of money in and out of the accounts to make them seem real, it will look Kosher, superficially at least.”

  Callie looked at Kate in astonishment.

  “You’ve done this before.”

  “Yes,” Kate acknowledged. “Like I say, I learnt after that incident with Gerry. Of course, the police or whatever would be able to track it all down, but no one else is likely to be able to connect you financially with Vicky S.”

  “Right, let’s do it. Just the first level of anonymity will do. I don’t plan to make a habit of it.” Callie handed the laptop to Kate.

  “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” Kate said and started setting up the accounts for Callie and Vicky.

  Once she had done that and Callie had transferred some money into her account and then across to Vicky, she paused to reflect on what she was about to do.

  “Sure?” Kate questioned her.

  Callie nodded, suddenly decisive, and quickly, before she had a chance to change her mind, she paid SusSEXtra. Response boxes appeared for her to contact the men who had responded to her original
post. She typed in a suitably oblique response to the first man, saying that she liked the look of him and giving him the number of Kate’s special purpose mobile, suggesting they text each other, signed off as Vicky S and hit enter.

  “In for a penny…” she said as she did exactly the same to the second man on her list, and then a few others for good measure.

  “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid?” Kate said.

  “I think it’s probably too late to tell me that,” Callie said and managed a weak smile.

  “I meant when they contact you, just don’t agree to meet up or tell them anything that could identify you.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m the over-cautious one, remember?”

  “I do, but you have to remember it too.”

  Neither of them was smiling.

  Chapter 14

  Later that night, as Callie waited to see if she would get a response to her expressions of interest on the website, she passed the time by searching for information about the use of fire to kill people, and specifically, to kill women. Once again she was stunned simply by the amount of information available on what she had considered to be an unusual way of killing.

  According to her research, by far the most common use of arson was to destroy buildings for insurance purposes. Sadly, people sometimes died in these fires because they were there at the wrong time, or because they were firefighters.

  More interestingly, fire could also be used to cover up a murder − to destroy DNA or other evidence − which was plausible as a reason in the current killings, it had certainly caused problems for the police. Continuing her search, there was a considerable amount of immensely sad information about bride burning and honour killings that were a form of domestic violence practised in Pakistan, India and Bangladesh, and which had certainly occurred amongst those communities in England as well, but none of the victims was of Asian ethnicity, so this seemed an unlikely explanation of the current murders.