If It Bleeds

by Bernie Crosthwaite

  Naylor looked none the wiser.

  “Why don’t you draw it?” I suggested.

  “OK.”

  I helped Daniel sit up. I tore a sheet from my notebook and gave him a pen. His hand trembled at first then became steadier as he shaded each stone, labelling them as he went — dove grey, heather mauve, soft grey-green. Finally he drew the clasp in loving detail.

  “There.”

  Naylor took the piece of paper from him. “Thanks.” She tucked it in her shoulder bag. “By the way, have you ever dabbled in black magic, the occult, that sort of thing?”

  Daniel frowned. “I think we messed about with a ouija board once, in Year 10. It was rubbish. All in the mind. I don’t believe in that shit.”

  “Why do you want to know?” I asked, remembering what the weirdo in the park had said about the devil. Just a lucky guess. It had to be.

  “We haven’t been able to do the official post-mortem yet, but it looks like Lara was strangled, that’s what killed her, not a stab wound as we thought at first. But after she died something was carved on her, here.” She tapped the top of her chest.

  An image of Lara’s blood-stained T-shirt flashed into my mind.

  “And there were marks around her mouth.”

  “Stop it!”

  I looked at Daniel. Now his eyes were rimmed with purple shadows. He was sinking inside himself. With so much horror in the world, where else was there to go?

  “Shall we step outside?”

  DC Naylor and I stood nearly nose to nose in the corridor as nurses and auxiliaries hurried up and down.

  “What was cut into Lara’s chest?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Black magic, you said. So what was it? Devil’s horns? An evil eye? What?”

  She turned her head to watch a man in a wheelchair being trundled past.

  “And what about these marks around her mouth?”

  “Mrs Baxendale —”

  “Ms. I’m not married.”

  “Whatever. I’m the detective. You’ve no right to interrogate me.”

  “We both want to find this bastard, don’t we?”

  “Of course.”

  “Have you got any leads at all? Or are you just floundering in the dark?”

  I could tell I’d hit a nerve.

  “Leave it to us,” she said curtly. “We know what we’re doing.”

  She strode down the corridor on her sturdy legs. I wanted to believe her. I wanted more than anything to take my son home, to shut and lock the doors. I longed to huddle safe inside and forget about murder and blood and mutilation.

  But what if the police were too slow? What if this monster struck again? I didn’t pretend to myself that I could solve this case single-handedly, but surely I could do something to speed things up?

  I had to do something.

  Eight

  “Matt. I know you’re busy…”

  “Actually, I’ve just finished.”

  I tipped my mobile away from my ear to look at my watch. Nearly seven o’clock. I’d lost track of time. There was no way I was going back to Photographic now. I had other plans. “Swot. You should have gone home a couple of hours ago.”

  “Tony kept me working late on the Adam Keele story. I hear you saw it all. Are you OK?”

  “Do you know how I feel?”

  “Tell me.”

  “Angry. Bloody furious in fact. It’s like those rows of dominoes — one terrible thing happens, then another and another. The damage this killer’s done, it just seems to go on. What if we can’t stop it?” My voice grew louder and less steady. I imagined Matt holding the phone away from his ear.

  “Cool it, Jude,” he said quietly.

  “Sorry. But I can’t help the way I feel.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m going to see the woman who lives in the flat upstairs on Stonebeck Avenue, see if she can tell me anything. I’ll never understand what happened to Lara until I find out more about her. My impression of her was obviously quite wrong.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I thought she was the quiet, sensitive type, but her mother was suggesting she was downright promiscuous. And then there’s the modelling. When you think about it, not many people can strip their clothes off in front of strangers for the first time and take to it like a duck to water. I’m no prude but I don’t think I could do it.”

  “She actually stripped off in front of them?”

  “No! You know what I mean — posing naked for a bunch of sixth-formers. That takes guts, or an amazing ability to overcome inhibition. She was brought up a strict Catholic, remember.”

  “You think this woman can tell you more about Lara?”

  “She knew her. It’s not much to go on, but I’m going to talk to anyone who might help. What else can I do? And I was just wondering if you…”

  “Give me fifteen minutes. I’ll be there.”

  *

  The alleyway that ran along the back of the houses on Stonebeck Avenue was pitch dark. We had to pick our way carefully to avoid the unseen ruts and frozen puddles.

  “Here, hang on to me,” Matt said when I slipped and nearly went flying. Clinging to each other, bent over like an elderly couple, we navigated the pitted ground until we reached the rear of number 15. The other houses had garages, high fences and strong wooden gates, but as usual number 15 chose to do its own thing. There had been a fence but it now consisted of a couple of upright posts and a few broken slats. The gate had disappeared completely.

  Matt fingered the blue and white tape that blocked our way. “I don’t know who manufactures this stuff but they must be making a fortune.”

  We looked at the tape, looked at each other and nodded. Then with co-ordination as polished as synchronised swimmers we ducked under it.

  “Just remind me why we’ve come round the back and nearly broken our necks in the process?” asked Matt.

  I peered around the yard. A stone sink full of pebbles, bits of driftwood, an old rusty bicycle.

  “Lara parked her car here, but there’s no sign of it,” I said.

  “The police have probably taken it away. Perhaps whoever did this used Lara’s car to take her body to the park.”

  “That’s just what I was thinking. Is there any way we can find out? What about Fred?”

  “Tony’s famous police contact? He seems to have dried up as a source. I guess this case is just too sensitive.”

  “Shame.”

  The downstairs flat was in darkness. I pointed at a lighted window on the upper floor.

  “She’s in.”

  “Good.”

  We stumbled round to the front. Our footing wasn’t much better here. The cold night had made the pavement like a skating rink. I led the way under the tape and up the path of Number 15. The light from the street lamp allowed me to see the names handwritten on slips of paper. Flat 1 Ramsey. Flat 2 Molloy.

  I pressed the buzzer for Flat 2 and waited. The ledge at the bottom of the door was fretted with rot as if a small animal had been nibbling it. I touched it with the toe of my boot and several fragments fell away.

  As I reached for the buzzer again the door creaked open. In the gloom I could see a small chubby woman with a lot of crinkly grey hair framing her round face.

  “Annie Molloy?”

  “Yes. What do you want?”

  Matt edged forward. “Ravenbridge Evening Post. Can we have a brief word?”

  I glared at him. Had he forgotten this was nothing to do with the paper?

  He winked back.

  “Is it about Lara?”

  “That’s right. Can we come in?”

  “I’m not sure I should…”

  “We’ve already spoken to the police. There’s no problem.”

  The woman pressed her fingers to her temples. “If it’s all right with them… I suppose…” She stepped aside to let us in.

  We stood in the dark narrow hallway while she closed the door. I stared at the
entrance to Flat 1. It was roped off with more blue and white tape.

  “Sorry if I seem a bit… to be honest, I’m still in a state of shock,” said Annie. Her eyelids were red and swollen.

  “We understand,” said Matt.

  She waved her hand. “Go on up.”

  We clattered up the steep stairs. The door to Annie’s flat was open and led straight into the living room. The walls were covered in pictures. Nudes mostly. There was clutter everywhere. Dirty coffee mugs were balanced precariously on piles of books and magazines. A cat with ears pricked pretended to be asleep on the ragged Persian carpet. I caught the rank odour of cat pee overlaid with the reek of tobacco smoke and joss sticks.

  Annie curled up on a cracked leather sofa. She reached shakily for her cigarettes and lighter.

  “I don’t know what I can tell you.” She lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.

  “We’d just like to know a little bit more about Lara, as a person,” I said. “She did some modelling, I believe. How did that start?”

  Annie nodded. “It was me who got her into it. She used to come up here sometimes for a drink and a chat, and she saw all these drawings.” She waved her arm expansively. Matt stared around him, mesmerised by the sea of naked flesh. “I’ve been an artists’ model for years. I told her, not everyone can do it, but Lara said she’d like to try. So when I got a booking I couldn’t do, last spring it was, I sent her off to the high school instead of me.” She sighed deeply.

  Had she heard about Adam Keele’s death? Before I could broach the subject she was off again.

  “She took to it straight away. After that first session she worked at the school regularly, and other places too — she was always in demand, but she couldn’t do everything, what with working full-time. So I got some of her leftovers.” She laughed shrilly. “Not that I minded. I could see why Lara was so popular. She had a lovely body and she was very natural. Some people look stiff and awkward but Lara could fall into a pose like a cat. There wasn’t much of her — like a wisp of smoke she was — but she had lovely breasts, a beautiful complexion, and as for that hair…” Annie’s face crumpled. “How could anyone…?” She dabbed her eyes with a tissue.

  “Are you OK? If you’d rather not talk…”

  Now it was Matt’s turn to glare at me.

  “I’m all right. In fact it helps to talk about her. As far as anything helps.”

  “She was a good model, then?” Matt pressed on.

  “One of the best I’ve seen. She had that gift of stillness, like she was soaking up the attention and loving it. But she quickly learnt how to go into a kind of detached trance at the same time. It isn’t just a matter of sitting there, you know. It’s a kind of relaxed concentration, an alert stillness.”

  I nodded. Daniel had often talked about the qualities of the best models. But Matt looked mystified.

  “I don’t really get it. Taking off your clothes in front of strangers — isn’t that downright dangerous, especially if you’re as good-looking as Lara?”

  “You don’t draw, do you?”

  Matt shook his head.

  “Artists aren’t perverts. It’s a sensual experience for them but not an erotic one. It’s bloody hard work.”

  “But there must be the occasional misfit, the pervy type, someone who could get obsessed?”

  Annie looked horrified. “Are you saying she was murdered by someone who drew her?” Her hand shook so badly a slug of ash fluttered on to her baggy grey T-shirt. “Oh my god! It was me that introduced her to modelling. Is it my fault she’s dead?”

  “Of course not,” I said. “No one’s blaming you.”

  But tears flowed freely down her cheeks, making her fleshy face look old and ravaged.

  “Shall I make you a coffee?”

  Annie looked at me through streaming eyes, pointing mutely to the kitchen door.

  “Sugar?”

  She held up two fingers.

  The chilly kitchen was painted bright orange in an attempt to cheer it up, but the colour failed to hide the patches of damp. I found an open jar of coffee among the debris, rinsed out a stained mug, and when the water had boiled, made an oily-looking brew. When I picked up a bowl of lumpy sugar a large spider scuttled across the worktop, making me flinch. It reminded me of what Lee had said, about Lara not being afraid of spiders. I dug out a couple of spoonfuls of sugar and stirred them in. In the fridge there was an inch of milk in a carton.

  Stuck to the fridge door was a planner-type diary. Last year’s, of course. I didn’t see Annie buying this year’s diary till around April. One word kept catching my eye: Lara for tea, Lara on holiday, Lara back home. Then from around late October, no mention of Lara except for one — Lara’s birthday in December.

  Annie was stretched out on the sofa. Her eyes were closed and some of the tension had drained from her tear-blotched face. Matt was talking to her in a low voice. He stopped when I came in, took the cup from me and handed it to Annie.

  “You’ll feel better for that,” he said.

  “Thanks, love, you’re a godsend.” She rested the cup on her ample chest. “I was just telling this young man what a great kid Lara was. I’m twice her age but that didn’t matter at all. I’ve lost a really good friend.” She sniffed hard. “We looked out for each other. We had keys for each other’s flats. I watered her plants when she went on holiday, and she fed Macavity when I was away.” Annie reached down to fondle the cat’s ears and was rewarded immediately with a thrumming purr.

  “Did she get rid of spiders for you?”

  “How did you know that? I’m terrified of them but they didn’t bother her a bit. I remember once, there was a massive one in my bed. I was so terrified I started screaming. Lara came running upstairs, calmly picked it up and went down to the front garden with it. The paper boy was walking past, and she showed it to him. I was watching them from the bedroom window. Even he looked a bit taken aback by the size of it. She put it down gently on the ground, and do you know what he did? He stamped on it. She gave him a bit of a lecture about not killing things and he ran off. We had a laugh about it afterwards.” She sipped her coffee noisily. “We were always laughing. We used to open a bottle of wine every Sunday night and smoke a bit of weed. We had this toast, three cheers for freedom and excess and the naked body!”

  “You’d have missed her when she left?”

  “Left?”

  “She was thinking of giving up her job and leaving Ravenbridge. Sorry… didn’t she tell you?”

  “No.” Annie stared into space for a while then put the mug on the floor and lit another cigarette. “That’s the one thing about Lara I couldn’t get on with.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She was secretive. Me, I’d tell anyone anything. But she held back. Work was taboo — too boring. Parents ditto — too miserable, and as for men…”

  “She didn’t tell you about her boyfriend?”

  “The latest one, you mean? No way. Lara didn’t tell me about any of them. She never brought them home. She said her flat was her sanctuary, her private space. I was allowed in there, but only to water her plants when she was away. And she always kept her bedroom door locked.”

  “She had a lot of boyfriends?”

  “Tons, but none of them lasted long. Sometimes it was boys of her own age, often it was older men, even married ones. You couldn’t call them relationships. It was just sex. It was as if she was looking for something.” Annie shook her head sadly.

  “How do you know, if she didn’t talk about them?” Matt asked.

  “Ah.” She tapped the side of her nose. “A mutual friend. Someone she works with.”

  I was wondering about something else. “If she didn’t bring them here, where did they actually do it? Their place? But what about the married ones? A hotel? Her car?”

  “Maybe. But I reckon she took them somewhere. I asked her once, but guess what? She refused to say.” She brushed ash from her stomach. “I got the impression this latest
one was different. Lara changed when she started going out with him. When was it? Round about last November, I think. She didn’t come upstairs so often. I didn’t even see her on her birthday. But by then she’d gone soft, less angry — not so much fun, to be quite honest.”

  “Her new boyfriend was my son.”

  “Oh shit. I didn’t mean…” She gagged on her cigarette and began to cough violently.

  “It’s all right.” Matt patted her hand.

  “That’s terrible. He must be going through hell,” she croaked.

  “He is.”

  Matt leaned forward. “You’ve been really helpful, Annie. There’s just one more thing we need to ask you about. The police believe Lara was murdered in the flat downstairs.”

  Her eyes widened. “But I thought it happened in Jubilee Park?”

  “Now they think she was killed here, then her body was taken to the park and dumped.”

  “That explains all the police activity downstairs.” She waved her cigarette around. “Oh my god,” she groaned. “I can’t bear it. The thought of it. I must have been here all the time when Lara was… what if he comes back?”

  “I’m sure you’re not in any danger. But try and remember — it was two nights ago, the evening of New Year’s Day. Did you hear anything going on downstairs?”

  “Yes.”

  “What?” Matt was unable to mask his eagerness. I held my breath.

  “Music. It was really loud.”

  “Just music? Nothing else? What time did the music stop?”

  “No idea. I turned up my TV in retaliation. I must have drunk a bit too much because I fell asleep, right here on the sofa. I woke up in the middle of the night.”

  “And everything was quiet downstairs?”

  “Yes! How was I to know? The last thing you expect…” Her voice tailed off. She dragged nervously on her fag, reactivating her coughing fit. Her face grew red, her eyes streaming. “No, wait…” She thumped her own chest till the hawking calmed down. “That night it wasn’t just her usual music, the kind that makes your head feel like it’s being drilled by a Black and Decker — that’s one thing that made me realise Lara was definitely not my generation —”

  “What kind of music was it?” asked Matt with as much patience as he could muster.