Текст книги "Dead Silent"

Автор книги: Helen H. Durrant

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

Chapter 11

“Imogen, see what you can do with this.” Calladine handed her the laptop. “It belonged to the first dead girl—Vida 5, or to give her her proper name, Madison Benneti. Her friend tells me it’s password protected so she can’t get into it. I’m particularly interested in the social networking sites she used—emails, any photos you find—that sort of thing.”

“Piece of cake.”

If anyone could get anything from the laptop, then it was Imogen. It was a skill she excelled at, and it had made her invaluable to the team. Calladine disappeared into his office and sat down at his desk. He needed to think. He needed to sift the information they had so far. But he particularly needed to know the meaning behind that name—Vida.

He logged onto the system and did an internet search.

Apparently Vida was a female name and more common in the USA.

Now why didn’t that surprise him? And where did it lead him? A nutter so obsessed with a woman called Vida that he’d taken to murdering other women and tagging them with her name. But why?

Why call them all by her name, and what had happened to the original Vida? He sifted through the file and took out a photograph of Madison Benneti. She’d been young, slim, with long fair hair and, of course, American. Was he seeking out women who looked like Vida?

“Sir! I’ve just had a call from Julian. He’s got a name for the second one—Vida 3.”

“How come?”

“Her DNA was on record,” Ruth told him. “She was arrested in a drugs bust two years ago at a student house in Manchester.”

“Who is she?”

“Serena Hall—and guess what?”

Calladine’s mouth pulled into a grim smile. “Don’t tell me—she was a student in Manchester, and American.”

“Got it in one. From New York actually—somewhere called Queens.”

“So now we’ve got a little more than just Alice’s theories to work with.” He picked up the phone. “I want to speak to Joanna Johnson.

This is Inspector Calladine from Leesworth Police.”

He gestured for Ruth to sit while he waited to be put through.

“You’re still looking peaky. Not coming down with something, are you?”

“No, just tired.”

“Mrs Johnson, It’s looking highly likely that someone is targeting students from the USA. I could do with you going through that list and letting me have the information today. I’d also like you to check if you had a student called Serena Hall, and if so, would you email me a photo of her as soon as you can? You might want to have a few words with the other American students and warn them to be careful. Particularly about social networking sites, and taking up with men they don’t know.”

“So this is real—something more than just Alice Bolshaw’s ramblings?”

“It is. If anything, we should all be grateful to that young woman. She’s done us a great favour by noticing what was going on.”

“I’ll get onto it straight away. I’ll commandeer some more staff to help.” She paused. “This is awful. Alice has been badgering me for weeks, and I’ve taken no notice. I’ll get back to you quickly.

Don’t worry, Inspector.”

“Seems to have shaken her up a bit. So what have we got, Ruth?”

“A serial murderer—and on our patch too by the look of things.

The body in the pile-up was one thing, but leaving the second one at the Leesworth undertakers was too much of a coincidence.”

“I think you’re right. He’s local but he’s hunting in student land.”

“I think that’s because he’s after a particular type. He wants young women from the USA who look a certain way—young women he calls Vida. And we know, because of the numbers, that there are bound to be more. But what’s he done with the rest of them, sir? Where are they being kept? Serena Hall’s been dead a while, so where’s she been? And we have to ask ourselves what’s prompted him to get rid of her now?’

“It has to be something major—something that’s forced him to change his usual method of operation.”

He rubbed his eyes. He was tired; too much to think about. His mind wouldn’t let go, so he could get no rest. It’d been a pig of a week, starting with his mother’s funeral. And now this little lot.

“You look as bad as I feel, Tom. You need a break.”

“I’ve got a lot of things rumbling around in my head. Sometimes I think I’m my own worst enemy. I really could do with being able to relax more, but the questions and theories are relentless.”

“Perhaps you need a night out—a few beers. Why don’t you ask the lads or even better, speak to Monika?”

“I’m a bloody fool, Ruth. I should never have messed things up with her. Do you think it’s too late?”

“Well, I don’t think the little fling you had with the blonde has helped. But if you’re feeling brave then why not try? Swallow your pride; mend a few fences.”

“But I was such an ass. What was I doing? That woman wasn’t much older than Zoe. What do you think—honestly?”

“I think you should try. Give it your best shot. She can only tell you to piss off. Why not do it now?”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes, I really think you do. It might make you feel better to know you’ve tried, if nothing else.”

“I’ll ring her tonight.”

“I don’t think this is something you should do over the phone either, and what’s wrong with now?”

“Too much to do, that’s what.” An email appeared in his inbox.

“This is from Mrs Johnson.”

He sent the attached photo straight to the printer. “Get the team together next door, Ruth. Let’s look at what we’ve got.” He pushed the printout over to Ruth. “Remind you of anyone?”

“Is that Serena? Because if it is, then she’s scarily like Madison.”

Ruth shuddered and took the photo from him. “I’ll pin it on the board and tell the guys.”

“Julian says he’ll have something on the latest body within twenty-four hours, sir,” Rocco told Calladine as he walked into the main office. “He says she was in soil for a while, so he’s doing an analysis. He’ll try to pinpoint where she was buried if he can.”

Good idea—if the science could be that precise.

“Right, folks.” The inspector took up his position in front of the incident board. “It looks highly likely that we’re dealing with a serial killer. The victims so far are young women who bear a striking resemblance to each other, and are from the USA. We have two victims: Madison Benneti and Serena Hall. Madison Benneti’s friend, Alice Bolshaw, drew up a list of other American students who have disappeared from the university leaving no forwarding address and giving no explanations. Serena Hall is on that list. So I’m having their addresses and phone numbers dug out as we speak, and once I get them they’ll all need checking out. I want to know the whereabouts of every person on that list. Is that clear?”

“Do we know if there have been any enquiries from the police in the States?” Imogen asked.

“No. The university isn’t aware of any.”

“Why do you reckon that is, sir? Surely if a youngster goes missing in a foreign country, there’s all sorts of investigations.”

“I think it’s down to how he chooses them. With any luck, Madison’s laptop will prove helpful. Alice told Ruth that our man found Madison on a social networking site and then started a relationship with her. I think he goes not only for a physical type, but also for women who are alone—with no nosey family in the background.”

“I’ve cracked the login password already, sir.” Imogen spoke up.

“So with a bit of luck I’ll get into her inbox quite soon.”

“Then with a little more luck we’ll have something.” Calladine paused and shook his head. “The bastard doesn’t make it clean. He keeps the girls somewhere and tortures them over time. He removes some of their teeth and stitches the mouth shut, and with Madison there was evidence of persistent rape. In fact the girl was in the early stages of pregnancy and someone had attempted an abortion.”

“Looks like he blamed someone else for her condition, then,”

Rocco suggested. “Perhaps he did those things and killed her because he believed she’d been unfaithful.”

“Nice theory, Rocco, but the dates don’t match. Given the length of time she’d been missing from college, the pregnancy must have been down to our man. We’ve got DNA, so when we get him we’ll know for sure.”

“In that case he’s got a real screw loose.”

“I think we’d all agree with that, Rocco. A gold-plated screw loose, in fact.”

DCI George Jones came into the office and stood in the doorway while Calladine spoke.

“We need to know how many more we could be looking at. We think at least another three, but we can’t be sure. I’m going to divvy up a list of phone numbers—they’re all in the States but I’m afraid they will need checking—every last one. Me and Ruth will visit the college again and get a formal statement from Alice Bolshaw. Ask her if she recalls anything else—particularly if she knew Serena Hall. Imogen—the minute you get anything from that laptop get it up on the board—photos, copies of emails—anything and everything that might help us find our man.”

He paused. They were scribbling away in their notebooks. They all realised the urgency of this. This bastard needed catching before more bodies turned up.

“Tom, a word if you’ve finished.” Jones barked the order, without so much as a glance at the others.

“Definite charisma bypass if you ask me,” Rocco whispered to Imogen. “I don’t know how the guv stands it. It should be him in that job, not DCI Charming over there.”

“Central haven’t received your statement yet, Tom. You should really get that one wrapped up quickly.”

Tom Calladine shot the DCI a disapproving look. The fact that he was Ray Fallon’s cousin was not common knowledge in the nick.

Only the DCI and Ruth knew. So he didn’t want the DCI shouting his mouth off. The others on his team would ask those awkward questions he didn’t want to answer.

“Yes, sir, I’ll get onto it. We do have a lot on. In fact I could do with a minute or two to fill you in.”

He followed Jones back to his office.

* * *

“Why does the boss have to give a statement to Central?” Rocco asked Ruth. “Has he been up to something we should know about?”

“Nothing that concerns you, Rocco, so just get on with what you’re supposed to be doing.” She passed him a card with Alice Bolshaw’s number on it. “Give her a ring and tell her we’ll be in to see her later today.”

“Not sure what’s going on, or what it has to do with the boss.

But what I do know is that Central has its hands full at the moment.

There was a gangland shooting earlier in the week. The only witness in a major case was shot and killed. Nasty business and it’s got them all edgy and looking for someone to blame. But someone tipped the bad guys off, so the push is on to find out who that was.

The whisper has it that it might even have been a cop. So why they’d want to see the boss is lost on me. Surely they can’t think that he’s involved somehow—do you?”

“Don’t be daft, Rocco. What would Calladine know about the likes of Ray Fallon and his crew?” Ruth tried to close the discussion down.

Chapter 12

She was such an innocent. An innocent unsuspecting fool. Just what he needed. He’d told her to take the train from Victoria to a quiet little station two stops from Huddersfield. He’d arranged to meet her at the bus stop outside. She hadn’t even questioned the plans when he’d phoned her. She’d simply laughed that light tinkle of a laugh she had, and enthused about their weekend together.

He was beginning to wonder whether she was such a good idea after all. Vida was never that gullible. She was mature, sensible, and would’ve seen through his subterfuge in a second. So if Patsy Lumis wasn’t right for him, then how to deal with her? Not nicely—that was for sure. He’d take what he wanted and have some fun.

His kind of fun—and she wouldn’t enjoy it, not one little bit. But what did he care?

He’d checked out the bus stop and the road for a hundred yards either way. There were no cameras. He’d park up, get her in and bring her back to his place as quickly as possible.

It was a good plan. He couldn’t see any problems. In the night, the street was particularly dark because the nearby street light was blinking off and on—even better. He sat in his van and waited anxiously for the train. He hadn’t bothered to change, and was still wearing his work clothes. She’d turn her cute little nose up, but that didn’t matter now. He could sweet-talk her round.

Once he got her back he’d treat her like a proper lady—for a short while. He’d prepared food—of sorts. Some small savoury pastries from the bakers in Leesdon, and a bottle of wine. They’d eat and she’d drink—then he’d have her. He’d laced the wine with GHB. It was his favourite because of the effect it had. He’d also added some diazepam for good measure—he wanted it to work quickly. He wanted her sleepy and sexually uninhibited. He could feel his loins stirring already at the thought of what he’d do to her.

He’d have her straight away—rough and hard, in the isolation of his special place. She could scream all she liked and no one would hear. Serve her right—stupid cow!

He heard the train pull in and a couple of people ran up the steps and into the station. He waited, clicking his fingers with impatience. Where was she? Then he saw her. The bitch was talking to someone—an older woman. What was she doing? He didn’t want anyone to remember seeing her—so what now? He thumped his fist on the steering wheel, making the horn blast, and her head shot round. She’d seen him.

He watched her smile at the woman and wave goodbye, and then teeter towards him in those stupid heels she wore, dragging her suitcase behind her.

“Friend of yours?”

Patsy Lumis shook her head and attempted to lift her case into the van.

“Aren’t you going to help me, Jack? Do you want me to put it in the back?”

He nodded, jumped out, hastily opened the back doors and threw it in. She wasn’t playing the game—but she would, very soon, he tried to reassure himself.

“Do you know that woman?”

“No, we just started talking. She was in America last year and we were swapping sightseeing stories, that’s all. It’s no biggie, Jack.

She was just, like, some random woman.”

He shot her an angry look and pulled away. He had to calm down or this wouldn’t work. Even she might twig what he was really up to, and he couldn’t have that.

“Sorry, babe. For one awful moment back there, I thought you might have brought someone with you.”

“Silly Jack.” She rubbed his arm. “That would spoil our fun, and I wouldn’t want to do that. I want to spend this whole weekend getting to know you—just us two together. We don’t need anyone else.”

How true that was. He smiled at her and turned the radio on low. The music was relaxing and he needed to be calm for the next bit.

They drove for a few miles, leaving the town and train station behind them. They wound their way through the pitch dark, along the narrow roads that led through the Pennines and down into Leesworth. Jack knew these roads well, every last inch of them, and he knew exactly which route to take so he wouldn’t be seen.

“Thought we could do something romantic. I’ve got some food and wine for us back at mine. We can relax and celebrate our first night together.”

Patsy Lumis was delighted. “I can’t wait to be with you, Jack.

You know what I mean. You’re such a hot guy.”

“Here, help yourself.” He handed her a wine bottle and a glass.

“Fill your boots. Get yourself in the mood.”

Patsy giggled and poured a large helping of wine, filling the beaker nearly to the top.

“Good stuff that.” He smiled. “It’s not your bog-standard supermarket plonk.”

She sipped delicately, her eyes sparkling in the half-light of the van.

“You’re spoiling me,” she trilled. “I love things like this, so spontaneous and romantic.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“Don’t be shy. Drink up, there’s plenty more.”

He saw her reach for the bottle again, out of the corner of his eye. It wouldn’t be long; he’d planned it well. She wouldn’t be able to finish this one—she’d be out cold.

“You’re not having any wine?”

“Better not—I’m driving. But you have what you want.”

“When we get to yours I can cook, if you like. I’m quite good, I really am. I’ll make you one of my signature dishes. You’ll love it.”

“We’ll see.” He stroked her hair as she began to yawn. The cocktail of drugs was working—so they should, he’d used enough of them.

“Whoa…I feel kind of weird, sort of sleepy and numb.”

“You’re probably tired. Look, it’s a good few miles yet. Just lean back in the seat and snooze for a while.”

She nodded, her eyes closed and her head sagged forward.

This was far too easy. He picked up her arm and watched it flop back as he released it. She didn’t even groan—she was completely out of it.

Half an hour or so later he pulled up outside his special place. It was dark and secluded and there was no chance of being seen. He hauled her out and laid her on the ground while he unlocked the door. Then he hauled her from the car and dragged her in. She was inert and heavy, and he was hot and panting by the time he got her to his room. But she was worth it. He was excited beyond measure.

He tore wildly at the clothing on her lower body. Her skirt, tights and finally her knickers were all thrown aside and he bent her legs, spreading them wide. She was slim with shapely thighs and smooth creamy skin. A tidy mound of dark fluff between her legs—perfect.

She didn’t stir.

He was frantic. His fingers flew to his jeans and he fumbled for a moment with the belt and then pulled them off. Kneeling down, he growled like a beast and grasped his penis, thrusting it deep into her. No foreplay, no gentleness. He pounded into her relentlessly, again and again, filled with pure hate.

* * *

Calladine had fallen asleep on his sofa again and woke with a start when he heard the front door open.

“Zoe?” Is that you?”

“Yep, Tom. Sorry I’m late. I know I said I’d be home to eat, but something came up.”

He looked at the clock on the mantle—nearly ten. He’d had no tea. He’d got back from the nick, sat down with a drop of scotch, and that was that.

“Working late?”

“No. I’ve been eating out with Jo. We went to that Italian place in Hopecross. The food’s great and reasonable too. You should try it sometime.”

“You and Jo are spending a lot of time together—you practically work with each other, too.”

“Not a problem. I like Jo.”

Calladine saw that look on her face, the one she had when there was something on her mind. “Want to say something?” he asked.

She paused and looked at her father. “I suppose I should say something. You’ll have to know sooner or later.”

“Know what?

“About Jo—well, about me and Jo.”

“Why, what have you two been up to?” There was something about the way she’d said that, something about the look on her face.

“Jo and I are fond of each other. Tom—we sort of clicked right away. You know how it is.”

Did he? He wasn’t sure what she was getting at. Did she mean

‘click’ in the sort of way he was familiar with—the ‘fancying someone’ sort of way?

“You’re struggling, aren’t you?” She shook her head. “Jo and I are happy to be together. You know…together?” She stood watching him, her hands on her hips. “I was hoping you’d guess, Tom. I’ve tried to give you enough clues. And you call yourself a detective!”

Was she saying what he thought she was saying?

“‘You and your estate agent friend, you’re…?”

“Yes, Tom—gay. I’m gay, we’re gay—a gay couple in fact.

And I’m not going to apologise or explain myself, so don’t make an issue of it. But it doesn’t bother you, does it?”

Did it? Truthfully, Tom Calladine wasn’t sure. He’d have to give it some thought, mull it over for a while. In the meantime he shrugged as casually as he could, rose up off the sofa and kissed her cheek.

“Be happy, love, that’s all I want for you. I’m envious in a way.

Your love life seems pretty simple in comparison to mine. I’m still debating what to do about Monika. Ruth says I should go and see her, apologise for being such an ass, but I don’t think she’ll go for it. Too much water under the bridge.” He sighed.

“Is that what’s been bothering you?” Zoe seemed relieved that he hadn’t reacted negatively to finding out she was gay.

“Not only that. There’s work as well. We’ve got a particularly nasty case on our hands at present, and I suspect it’s only going to get worse.”

“You have to let go sometimes, Tom. Taking up with Monika again sounds like a good idea. It’d get you out and take your mind off things. Is anything else bothering you?”

“My bloody cousin’s giving me grief at work. He’s responsible for killing a witness who was due to testify against him, and he’s had the damn nerve to use me as his alibi.”

“Is he telling the truth? Was he where he says he was? Can you vouch for him?”

“Yes, I can, and that’s the bloody problem.”

“Then he can’t have done it. Or can he?”

“Oh, yes he can; he’s a sneaky bastard. I just have to work out how, that’s all.”

“Perhaps I can help.”

“Are you sure you want to? I thought you liked him. You gave me the impression that you couldn’t wait to get to know him better.”

“I’m not that stupid. I’m a solicitor, Tom. Okay, so I might deal with house conveyancing, but I do know one or two criminal lawyers. After what you said I asked around, and you’re right: he’s a complete and utter bastard, and not someone to meddle with.”

Calladine laughed and handed her a glass. “I’ll drink to that.” He reached for the scotch. “But how could he be at the church and shooting a man at the same time?” He poured her a measure of whiskey.

“Well he couldn’t, could he? He must have done the deed either before the funeral or after,” she replied.

“But he didn’t. A fairly accurate time of death has been established, and that puts him in church—along with his goons.

Even allowing for a short window either way, I still can’t make it work.”

“You’re not thinking hard enough, Tom.”

“I’m thinking so damn hard it put me to sleep.”

“They are sure it was Fallon’s doing?”

“Yep. He was seen dumping the body from a bridge over the M62. Him, his goons and that posh motor he drives.”

“Well isn’t that enough?”

“No. He’ll wriggle out of it. What with my alibi, and somehow managing to prove that whoever saw them on the bridge was short-sighted or something, he’ll walk. He’s recently walked away from one sure bet—the drugs bust central thought they’d got him on.

Not even worth the effort.”

“So we’re back to the original question; how did he do it?”

Zoe disappeared into the kitchen and Calladine heard her putting the kettle on. “Scotch isn’t for me. Do you fancy a cup of tea?”

He shook his head. He’d stick with the scotch.

Zoe put her head around the kitchen door. “Of course there is a way he could have done it. He could have shot the guy and shoved him in the boot of that huge car he drives. The body could have been there all through the service. Have you thought of that?”

No, he hadn’t—and it wasn’t a bad idea. But how to prove it?