Hold Your Tongue

by Deborah Masson

  Chasing Ryan had got his adrenaline going. His more powerful car teasing at the bumper ahead on the narrow, icy Highland road, Ryan’s eyes bulging with fear in the rear-view mirror. Running him off the road had been easy. The car being upturned was a bonus, making sure it looked like an accident when the time came for him to be found. Which had promised to be long enough, what with the forecasted snow. Enough expected to block the road. Far enough away for him to achieve what he needed to. And he would’ve, had the weather reports been right.

  Panic set in when he heard the local radio station reporting a thaw. He ripped the newspaper to pieces when he saw the picture of the car on its roof two days later. His advantage had been lost. He was in danger of losing control.

  But Jenkins came through again, unsettling the city with her words, giving him the glory he deserved, instilling the fear that he, someone, was still out there and would strike again. He owed a lot to Claire Jenkins and this was the perfect way to repay her.

  He watches her stand from the table and put on her thick furry-hooded coat. No assistance from her dinner date. She shakes her companion’s hand again and leaves him squatting there like a fat frog as she walks past him to the door. She digs in her jacket pocket, takes out her phone. He could reach out and touch her. She’s typing furiously, stopping only to open the door, probably already filing her story with her editor.

  It’s dark outside, but he can make out her denim-clad legs, bathed in the glow from the streetlights above, as they edge up the icy steps outside the basement window. He waits until her limbs disappear before standing and shrugging on his own coat.

  One last look over to the man who still sits at the table, a newly delivered dessert in front of him that he most definitely doesn’t need. He doesn’t doubt what they’d been talking about. It irritates him that she knows, that her attention to detail has rewarded her yet again. What irks him even more is that the guy is selling out. But it doesn’t matter. Claire Jenkins’ attention will be firmly on him by the end of tonight, and the guy will be silenced.

  Chapter 23

  Tuesday, 19 November

  Eve’s eyes stung as she sat in the back of the beat-up Mondeo. DS Jack Allen sat at the wheel, barely visible through the narrow gap in the gaudily upholstered front seats and the haze of cigarette smoke that filled the car.

  Jack was exactly as Eve had expected: skin as grooved as a prune, patchwork teeth and a head of white hair – the thinning quiff at the front tinged a fusty yellow after years of being bathed in smoke. The short, neat, black-haired man sitting in the passenger seat looked the epitome of good health in comparison. As they drove towards where Helen Black had been found murdered, Eve hoped the man, Bob Freeman, would prove to be good luck too.

  Eve looked out the window at the passing town. She toyed with her phone, wondering whether she should call Jenkins back. The reporter had left a message on her mobile phone last night. She’d sounded wired, breathless, her footsteps clacking along the pavement in the background as she spoke. ‘Eve, it’s Jenkins. I need to talk to you. Please call me. I have something you need to hear.’ But she hadn’t said what. Hung up. Probably nothing more than a ploy to get her attention.

  Jenkins would no doubt call again if she didn’t hear from Eve soon. She put the call out of her mind, taking in the sights of St Andrews but thinking of home.

  Both places had sandy beaches, golf courses, museums, cobbled streets, churches and beautiful architecture. A blend of past and present. But St Andrews just seemed to do it better. Maybe because it was a town compared to a sprawling city, or because of the warmth of the local quarried sandstone compared to the grey of Aberdeen’s granite. Or more likely because, unlike her hometown, it was one of the driest parts of Scotland.

  ‘The lane’s up ahead,’ Jack said, interrupting Eve’s thoughts with a grating rasp and the threat of a coughing fit.

  Eve glanced over at Cooper, who sat beside her, neither used to being the ones in the back seat. Cooper was staring out the window as she had been, silent in his thoughts.

  Eve’s belly rumbled. She wished she’d grabbed something from one of the service stations on the monotonous early-morning drive down the A90 from Aberdeen. The only thing sloshing about in her stomach was the cup of tea that Jack had given her when they’d arrived at his home.

  She could still taste the dishwater-coloured hotness, gulped while sitting on the burst springs of a two-seater sofa, a swirling mass of steam rising to the brown-stained Artex ceiling. The tea had tasted like liquid nicotine in her mouth. She’d forced herself to swallow it, Cooper sitting by her side cradling his own chipped mug, not once raising it to his lips. They’d still be stinking of smoke once they arrived back in Aberdeen, whenever that might be.

  Jack turned right into a dead-end narrow cobbled lane. He’d have to reverse out. The reason they’d come in one car. Eve got out and gulped at the air, grateful to be free of the fug. Ahead, she spotted the large stainless-steel industrial bin, its heavy, wide plastic lid partially hidden under a blanket of snow. Exactly the same place as it had been in the crime-file photos, the only difference being that Helen Black wasn’t lying inside it.

  Eve moved towards the bin, conscious of the slippery cobbles beneath her feet, willing her limping leg to do its job. Cooper followed, Jack and Mr Freeman giving them a moment to take in the surroundings that they’d stood in too many times to count.

  Eve closed her eyes, saw Helen. Naked. Beaten beyond recognition, with a rage not shown by their killer. Found outside, thrown out with the rubbish, her tongue intact. The only thing connecting her to Melanie and Lexie was the drug in her system and where it had been injected.

  ‘I found her right there.’

  Eve opened her eyes and turned, the pain in Bob Freeman’s voice echoed on his dark features.

  ‘I’ve read your statement, but could you go over what happened again for me? Leave nothing out, however insignificant it may seem.’

  Bob nodded and glanced over to Jack as he walked to where Eve stood. He might be feeling disloyal to the retired officer, that this case was theirs to be guarded, but he was nevertheless torn by a desperation that a year later they’d failed Helen by not finding her killer.

  Jack gave Bob a reassuring look Eve didn’t miss. The two men hadn’t known each other before the night Helen Black’s life was snuffed out, but her death had brought them together. Hours spent both before and after Jack’s retirement; two men obsessed with solving a crime that had rocked a small community and still haunted their dreams.

  Bob cleared his throat. ‘It was a Tuesday morning. Bloody freezing. Christmas time. Streets were a mess – streamers, chip wrappers, spew. The usual stuff for clean-up, a hell of a lot more of it due to the time of year. I was on duty in the one-man street cleaner; you know, brushing the kerbside. It was about six a.m.

  ‘The lane was part of my route. Some of the lads would miss it out – you know, out of sight out of mind, eager to be out of the cold, doing something else. I never missed that lane once.’

  The note of pride in Bob’s voice was evident. Cooper and Jack stood as engrossed in his words as she was.

  ‘Anyway, I turned into the lane as usual. I was watching the brush; you can get lost in thought watching that bloody thing spinning. Best time of day for thinking too. I looked to see how far I had to go and saw it. A foot – small toes sticking out of the bin.’

  Bob stared at the spot where he’d found Helen. Eve guessed he was seeing that foot again as clear as the day he’d seen it the first time.

  ‘It was raining, battering against the window of my door. It made things blurry, but I knew before I got out. I lifted the bin lid. It was the smell. Not of rubbish like you’d expect. Bleach.’

  ‘Bleach?’ Eve couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice.

  Jack spoke. ‘The pathologist reckoned she’d been scrubbed.’

  Eve stored that for later. She nodded for Bob to continue.

  ‘She was blue. From the cold.
But from the bruises too.’ His voice cracked. ‘She looked like some kind of broken doll. All painted nails and red lipstick, but maybe that was the blood, because her face was …’

  Eve gave Bob a minute before speaking. ‘It’s OK. Stick to what happened.’

  He looked grateful. ‘I leaned over, didn’t try to find a pulse or anything; it was obvious she was gone. Her hands were behind her back. I didn’t want to touch her, but the way she was lying I couldn’t see if they were tied. Didn’t know until after. When they moved her out of the bin. I shouldn’t have been there by then, but I refused to leave.’

  Eve’s heart quickened. She knew Helen’s hands had been tied after speaking to Jack, but from the limited paperwork she’d managed to get access to between their call last night and the journey here this morning, she hadn’t found out what with.

  ‘Did you see what they were tied with? Can you remember?’

  ‘I remember everything about that day. It wasn’t rope. It was thin stuff. Cord of some sort.’

  ‘Venetian-blind cord.’ It was Jack who spoke, confirming what Eve had hoped.

  Cooper’s face barely contained what she was already feeling.

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘That’s when I phoned the police, and my boss. I stayed with her until the police came. I didn’t want her to be alone.’

  Eve lay a hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘Thank you. And thanks for agreeing to come today.’

  Bob shrugged. ‘No problem. But it’s nothing that Jack and I haven’t gone over a thousand times.’

  ‘I know, and I appreciate that. But if it in any way has a connection to what’s going on at our end, then telling it one more time may help more than you know.’

  They sat in a café, condensation on the windows blurring the street outside, Eve and Cooper silently relieved they’d managed to convince Jack to go there for lunch instead of home to the corned-beef sandwich and more dirty cups of tea he’d offered them.

  ‘You think it could be the same guy?’ Jack pushed the white rind hanging out of his bacon roll back in before taking a bite.

  It was Cooper who answered. ‘Seems a hell of a coincidence with the drug and the cord. Both were used on Melanie and Lexie.’

  Jack’s eyes widened, bacon roll suspended mid-air, the grease on his chin left to dribble. ‘Why didn’t you say about the cord when I told you?’

  Eve stretched for the tomato sauce. ‘By everything you’ve said, Bob is a man to be trusted, but we’re trying to contain things. I’m sure you can appreciate that.’

  Jack put down his roll and looked like he was about to argue but said nothing, probably realizing why Eve hadn’t extended the lunch invite to Bob.

  ‘I know it’s hard for you to keep him out of the loop, but I must ask that you do. Do things by the book.’

  Jack would. Retired but still a cop.

  ‘What about the state she was found in?’

  Eve scraped some sauce to the side of her plate. ‘That’s what’s not adding up. Both our women were fully clothed, found indoors; any injury to them was intended, calculated. Staged.’

  Cooper prodded a sausage with his fork. ‘Including the tongues. Or lack of.’ He lay down his fork, pushed the plate away.

  Eve waited a beat. ‘What was the cause of Helen’s death?’

  Jack stared at her as if she’d asked a stupid question.

  ‘I mean, did they determine whether it was the drugs, the battering? Both? Any sexual assault?’

  ‘Pathologist said it was an overdose of ketamine. No sexual assault. The injuries were inflicted after death. According to the report, the bastard carried on laying into her long after she was dead.’

  ‘Was there ever any kind of lead?’

  ‘Nothing. Not from CCTV, canvassing, forensics. You name it, we did it. Nada. Not even from the footprint.’

  ‘Footprint?’ Cooper straightened. ‘As in, left at the scene?’

  Jack coughed. ‘It was left at the scene all right but not on the ground. We found it on Helen’s face.’

  They fell silent around the table, minutes ticking by.

  ‘He got it wrong.’ Eve said it in a whisper.

  Cooper sat forward. ‘Wrong how?’

  ‘She died before he was ready.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Jack screwed up his features.

  ‘She was supposed to stay alive. She was supposed to watch him take her tongue. But he gave her too high a dosage of ketamine. Instead of paralysing her, he killed her.’

  Cooper saw where Eve was going. ‘She humiliated him, took his control. He stripped her. Beat her and humiliated her. Stamped her out. Hid his mistake.’

  Jack paled, his yellow quiff more pronounced than ever.

  Eve sat back, covered her leftover food with a napkin. ‘I’m willing to bet Helen Black was his practice run.’

  Chapter 24

  Wednesday, 20 November

  Hastings whacked the rolled-up morning newspaper against the side of the desk and threw it down. ‘You get her sorted out. This sensationalism bollocks – digging for every bit of scandal she can on these dead women – is shit enough, but bad-mouthing our efforts at every turn isn’t helping anyone or anything.’

  Eve, who had already had better starts to her day, having come from Dr Shetty’s office after her weekly therapy session, unfolded the paper, revealing Jenkins’ latest front page in all its glory. ‘Fuck.’

  ‘You got that right.’

  The headline ‘Dancing on Drugs’ was emblazoned above a picture of Lexie on stage. Eve scanned the article. Jenkins’ unnamed source had given lurid details about the buckets of coke he’d been supplying Lexie with since she arrived in the UK. Her out-of-control habit, her desperation and loneliness, her hours dancing at the rented studio, and a husband who didn’t care. How the dealer had been the one to give her what she needed – a regular drug lord in shining armour. No comment from Lexie’s husband. An altogether different kind of headline from the one that had been left pinned to her body.

  A week had passed since Lexie’s death, two since Melanie’s. They’d approached each day with a sense of dread, sure that Lexie wasn’t going to be the last, feeling like they were sitting on a ticking time bomb, waiting for the next city-wide panic to explode in their faces. Today was the day they were suspecting things would go off. Wednesday.

  But nothing.

  Eve didn’t take comfort from that, didn’t believe for one minute it was over. Still the unrelenting pressure, the worry of another murder pushing down on her, the grip of desperation that was coming off her boss in waves.

  ‘Give me something positive.’ Hastings barked the words.

  Eve clutched at what they did have, giving a run-down of their visit to St Andrews the day before.

  ‘It’s good to know that your day off gallivanting threw up something, but where does that leave us?’

  ‘It lets us know he’s probably been planning this for some time. We need to look into how he might be getting his hands on the ketamine, whether we can make any link to anyone who was in St Andrews a year ago and is in Aberdeen now. Who knows, maybe he was down there for the weekend. I’ve requested details on the footprint.’

  ‘And what then? Find the shoe that matches, drive around the city looking for a warped version of Cinderella – to whomever the shoe fits?’

  Eve didn’t answer. There was no point.

  ‘Do what you need to and keep me posted.’ Hastings strode across the incident room towards the door. ‘And make sure you talk to Jenkins.’

  ‘Hastings is not a happy camper.’ Ferguson didn’t look up from his desk as he stated the obvious, his hands playing with his mobile phone.

  ‘You don’t say.’ Eve let the sarcasm drip in her tone.

  Mearns was standing over by Cooper, tapping on her mobile, the hint of a smile on her face.

  ‘Something funny, Mearns?’ Eve’s voice was sharp as she lifted the receiver of her desk phone to call Elliott.


  Mearns pocketed her mobile. ‘No, ma’am.’

  Eve tried to hide her surprise at Mearns calling her ma’am, and without attitude.

  Elliott answered on the third ring. ‘Could you come to the incident room?’ She hung up.

  Cooper grinned and cocked his head towards Mearns. ‘Someone has an admirer.’

  Eve caught the glance between Mearns and Ferguson as he came over to join them. Mearns jutted her hip against Cooper’s shoulder. ‘Shut it, Cooper.’ She looked flustered. ‘Where do you want us to start?’

  They stared at Eve.

  ‘The ketamine. We start there.’

  Mearns looked unsure. ‘Short of questioning every junkie out there, where exactly do we start?’

  Eve rolled up the newspaper again and hit it against her hand. ‘The precision with which this guy plans and carries out what he’s doing, I think it’s safe to say he’s no junkie. The only person from that circle I want to talk to is the guy that was supplying Lexie, and not because I think he has anything to do with this but to rule out that he’s not dealing in ketamine. That he can’t shed any light on things. The guy we’re after is switched on. Maybe we should start with professionals who have access to the drug?’

  ‘You rang?’ They all turned as Elliott appeared at the door, two coffee cups in his hands. Eve motioned to him to come in. ‘Take a seat, I’ll be with you in five.’

  Cooper rocked in his seat. ‘Professionals who have access to the drug. Vets?’

  Eve nodded.

  Ferguson tutted. ‘What, we interview every vet in the area?’

  Eve let the tut go. ‘Maybe, but let’s start by looking for vets who might not be as white as their coats.’

  Cooper’s expression showed that, for once, he was in agreement with Ferguson, thinking it was a waste of time. Mearns stood looking towards Elliott. Eve was surprised she hadn’t joined in.