Текст книги "Scent of a Killer"

Автор книги: Kevin Lewis

Соавторы: Kevin Lewis
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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

But, at the same time, the environment she was in just felt so right. The video and now the sights and sounds around her seemed to fit so well with what Matthews had been up to. There had to be some kind of a link, there had to be.

She turned to Hale. ‘If not here, where else? Where else can you similar facilities?’

Hale shrugged. ‘Nowhere. Not within a hundred miles of here anyway. Not any more.’

‘What do you mean not any more?’

‘Well, you’re saying these killings go back at least ten years, right?’

‘Yes, that’s what we believe.’

‘Ten, twenty years ago, there were a hell of a lot more abattoirs operating in the UK than there are today. The whole foot and mouth crisis and Mad Cow scare put paid to all that. There used to be loads of little premises all over the place, but they didn’t have the money or the space for all the upgrades necessary to stay in business. They had to shut down.’

‘How many places are we talking about?’

‘Don’t know off the top of my head, but I remember reading an article about it the other day that said there had been 2,500 slaughterhouses in operation at the start of the eighties and today there are fewer than 300 still around, with most of the big ones consolidations of the smaller ones.

‘In fact, half the staff I’ve got here came from smaller places in the area that shut down in the past couple of decades. It’s a skilled job, you see, but not one that many people want to train up for. It means if you’re involved, you’ve pretty much got a job for life.’

Collins felt a rush of excitement, of hope, rushing through her. ‘And do you think some of these places, the ones that have shut down, might still have their equipment in place?’

‘I guess so,’ said Hale. ‘I don’t think any of them will still be operating, but it’s possible that all the stuff is still there. If you ask me, it would be a lot easier to commit a murder in a place like that than it would be in a place like this.’

Suddenly Collins realized something that had been staring her in the face all along. She headed for the door dialling a number on her phone at the same time.

‘Mr Robertson? It’s Detective Inspector Stacey Collins; I came to see you with my colleague yesterday.’

‘Of course. Do you have any news of Jessica? Have you found her?’

‘Not yet I’m afraid. But you may be able to help. You said something about a small holding you used to own. Can you tell me more about it?’

‘That was years ago. We had to shut it all down. It’s just a set of abandoned buildings now.’

‘What kind of holding was it?’

‘It was a small dairy farm. With an abattoir on the side.’

27

It was just starting to get dark as Woods and Collins pulled up on the outskirts of the farm complex, the buildings that the Robertsons had abandoned years ago and that, it now seemed, Jessica Matthews had bought and refurbished with the money she had inherited at the age of twenty-one.

The rest of the team were scattered around the country but Anderson had promised to get them to the location as quickly as possible, along with an armed team. He warned Collins in no uncertain terms not to make a move until he got there.

Woods switched off his lights the moment he turned up the main path and drove carefully and gingerly, navigating cautiously, until he parked the car close to a clump of trees. Keeping to the shadows, the two officers then made their way towards the main set of buildings on foot.

‘You sure she’s in here?’

‘I’m certain of it. We need to get an idea of the lie of the land.’

‘We’re gonna need that,’ said Woods. ‘CO19 won’t go into a building at this sort of time unless they know exactly what they’re letting themselves in for. They’ll do a raid at dawn if they have the element of surprise but something like this, they’d want to wait a couple of hours at least to scope out the lay of the land. They don’t want to find themselves walking into a UK version of Waco.’

Collins nodded furiously. ‘Then there’s no time to wait for them. We can’t leave it that long. Sophie might be dead way before that. We might have to go in ourselves and get this sorted.’

Woods grabbed Collins around the arm and gripped her tightly. ‘Guv, you know I can’t let you do that. We’ve got to wait. I’m every bit as concerned about Sophie as you are, but we have to do this right.’

At that same moment the ground around them was suddenly lit up. Another car was approaching, its headlights seemingly on full beam. They ducked behind a tree and watched in horror as the vehicle drew to a halt alongside their own.

‘Shit,’ breathed Collins. ‘That could be her.’

‘If it is, she’s going to come out guns blazing. We’d better stay out of sight.’

The headlights died and the car’s engine spluttered to a stop. Collins and Woods skulked back into the shadows of a small barn and tried to make themselves as small as possible. They heard the door of the car open and the crunch of boots on the path. The footsteps started to come towards them.

Then came the sound of a voice, whispering her name. A voice that was far too familiar.

‘Stacey? Stacey, where are you?’

‘Jack?’

Stacey stood up and saw Jack Stanley walking cautiously towards the complex of buildings. She motioned for him to move quickly towards her and stay out of sight. He reached her in a few moments.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’

‘I followed you. I’ve been following you for the last hour.’

‘Why the fuck have you been doing that?’

‘Why do you think? Because of Sophie of course. I really let her down earlier today. I need to make it up to her.’

Woods was shaking his head. He was about to say something when Collins put her finger to her lip and sent him out of earshot. Once he was gone, she let rip into Jack.

‘You fucking idiot. That stunt just now, pulling up with your lights on and engine roaring – you’ve probably woken up ever fucker in a ten-mile radius, all because you want to play Rambo. You’re a fucking idiot.

‘This is what I do, Jack. This is my job. For once in your life you need to take a back seat and let me get on with things.’

‘What, you and him?’ He jerked a thumb in the general direction of Woods. ‘Neither of you would last more than ten minutes in my firm and you know it. You’ve got the law on your side and all that bollocks, but I’m staying put because Sophie needs me and this is where I have to be.’

Collins shook her head again. ‘Are you going to make me arrest you?’

‘With what army? You don’t have any cuffs on you. You never do. And I’m sure pretty boy doesn’t have any either. Besides, I could flatten him with one hand behind my back. I know you haven’t got any back-up coming. I know there isn’t time. So just make the most of it – let’s go and rescue our daughter as soon as we can. Which building do you think she’s in?’

Collins sighed deeply, then lifted a finger and pointed towards a solid brick building at the far end of the complex.

Jessica Matthews was almost breathless with excitement as she moved out of the cold-storage area into the main room of the disused abattoir.

She had killed so many times, but this was going to be completely different. Completely new. Here was someone who had committed no sin, who had no evil inside them. This was the very definition of innocence. This death would be the most exquisite of all. The thrill would last a lifetime.

She moved towards the stainless-steel table where the body of the girl lay, her heels click-clacking against the tiles. Sophie Collins’s eyes were wide open and her face was frozen in a grimace of terror. Matthews knew she could see her; she knew by now exactly where to stand in order to ensure her victims could see her perfectly, and she moved to that position now.

‘Hello, Sophie. I must say, it’s very nice to meet you at last. Your mum has told me so much about you. You’re not quite what I expected. I thought you’d be a little taller, and for some reason in my mind’s eye you were a bit chunky, you know, puppy fat. I don’t know why. I was a little bit like that when I was your age so maybe I imagine all other girls are.’

Matthews walked slowly around the table, taking in every inch of Sophie’s form, almost the way she did when she was carrying out an autopsy. ‘It might not seem important, but it is to me. I want to be able to picture you in my mind in the future, so I need to see you as you really are.’

She moved to a side table, where the shiny silver instruments she would be using were waiting on a tray lined with dark green paper. There was an enterotome, a skull chisel, rib cutters and a set of toothed forceps. She picked up a scalpel, then moved back to the table. She held it up level with her head, and, for a brief moment, thought she saw Sophie shudder. She moved back to the table and checked the flow of the paralysing agent. It was fine. Occasional muscle tremors were a known side effect. There was nothing to worry about.

She moved back to where Sophie lay and stood over her, desperately trying to control her breathing. ‘My God,’ she gasped. ‘I’m so excited. I’d better calm down. This next part is a bit delicate and, believe me, you really don’t want me to mess it up. Not at all.’

She lowered the scalpel and, starting just below the base of Sophie’s neck, began to cut away the material of her t-shirt, exposing her naked flesh.

‘You’ve got lovely skin, Sophie,’ she said admiringly. ‘It’s so frustrating, no matter what you do to try to look after it, it wrinkles up like a prune. All the elasticity goes. It’s tragic really. Of course, that’s not something you’re going to have to worry about. You lucky thing. You lucky, lucky thing.’

Deep inside her head, Sophie Collins was screaming as loudly as she could. It was almost deafening. She knew that no sound was coming out but she was convinced that if she could just scream loud enough that perhaps something would give.

It was all she could do; it was her only option. Every other chance of escape had gone. It was as if she were trapped underwater or frozen in a block of ice. She was completely immobilized and this crazy woman was going to do whatever she wanted to her.

When the woman had lowered the scalpel, Sophie had felt the pressure on her chest and was convinced that she was about to be cut open. It was only when she felt the cold air on her tummy that she knew it was her clothes that had been cut. Her relief was short lived. What was about to happen was inevitable.

All she could think about was … not her mother, not her grandparents, but her father. Seeing him collapse on the grass, hand clutched to his chest in agony … all she could think about was that he was somehow being taken away from her. She had felt as though her whole world was collapsing around her. Now, more than anything, she wanted him to be here. She wanted to know that he was all right. She wanted to see him one last time.

Jessica Matthews finished lining up the last of the instruments she planned to use for the living autopsy, an antique bone saw that held real sentimental value. It was the saw she had used on James Gilbert and on every killing she had committed since.

Almost no one used hand saws any more. They were considered slow and cumbersome. A vibrating saw was much faster and far more efficient, but Jessica liked the tactile sensation of knowing whether she was cutting through bone or flesh or sinew. The vibrating saw made them all feel the same. The hand saw let her experience each different texture in a way that was simply without comparison.

She turned back to Sophie, who was still immobilized. She was ready to begin but something was nagging at the back of her neck. Something was missing. Then it suddenly came to her. This was such a special occasion, such a once in a lifetime event, that the others really should be allowed to share it.

She moved back to Sophie, leaning low over her body and smiling down into her frozen face. ‘I have a special treat for you. One that nobody else in here has ever had. I really hope you like it. I have some people here that I want you to meet. Don’t go away. Wait right there.’

Sophie had nowhere to look but up, right into the lights in the ceiling. She had seen Jessica Matthews smile at her own joke – don’t go away – before vanishing from view. She could only wait and wonder who else was there, who else was about to witness her demise.

She heard footsteps approaching, but this time they were accompanied by the sound of scraping and squeaking, as if some kind of metal pole was being dragged along the ground. The sound got closer and closer and was accompanied by a gurgling, bubbling noise that Sophie could not place.

The sound got so close that Sophie was certain that, if she had been able to move, she would have been able to reach out with her right hand and touch whatever it was that had been dragged into the room.

Jessica’s face reappeared above her own. It was still smiling but this time was sweaty with exertion. She was breathing hard. A tiny bead of sweat dripped into Sophie’s open right eye. It stung like crazy but there was nothing she could do about it.

Matthews was taking deep breaths, clearly excited about something. Eventually she calmed down. ‘Are you ready?’ she said at last. Matthews put one hand on either side of Sophie’s face and gently tilted her head to one side, so she was looking across the room rather than directly up at the ceiling. ‘Here you are, Sophie: these are my friends.’

If Sophie could have screamed she would have. A metal shelving unit had been dragged within a couple of feet of the edge of the bed. She was looking directly at it. On each of the three shelves were several large glass jars. Each contained a human head that gently bounced and twisted in clear fluid.

‘This is James; he’s been a bit down lately, I think he’s been feeling left out. Haven’t you, James? Well, don’t worry, I’ll be spending some more time with you soon. I promise. This one is Raymond. He really wasn’t very nice. He has been apologizing ever since, but he knows I’m still angry with him.’ Matthews was standing by the shelf, lovingly stroking each jar in turn as she spoke about the remains inside.

‘Now this one, this is Ed. He’s got a really black heart.’ She giggled. ‘Somewhere!’

It took ten minutes for Matthews to finish her conversation with James and Raymond and Ed. When she was done she had a very satisfied look on her face. She moved the shelf back a little to give herself room to manoeuvre and then moved the table with the instruments closer so that she could have them within reaching distance.

‘It’s show time,’ she said to no one in particular. Then, turning back to where the heads were: ‘Now, I want everyone to pay attention. I may be asking questions afterwards.’

She checked the flow of rocuronium one last time and then picked up the scalpel once again. She pushed her hand flat on top of Sophie’s chest, her thumb moving back and forth in the space between the girl’s nipples, pushing down hard so that the little shoulder blades were flat against the table beneath. Eyes wide open, she pushed the point of the scalpel into the little indentation at the base of Sophie’s neck. A tiny pool of red fluid began to gather.

A noise. The sound of rubber on wood, followed by a grunt. Someone had tried to kick open the door to the room but had found it far more sturdy than they had imagined.

They would try again but in the meantime Matthews had all the time she needed to prepare. She filled a spare syringe with a dose of rocuronium and decided to stick with the scalpel as her other weapon. She moved to the middle of the room, ready to face her enemy.

Now it sounded as though at least two people were trying to kick the door in together. It took three attempts before the hinges finally buckled. Stanley and Woods tumbled into the room, closely followed by Collins.

All three looked down at Sophie, blood from the wound in her neck spilling over the sides of her tiny body. Stanley stepped forward.

‘You fucking bitch, what have you done to my little girl? I’ll kill you.’

It happened so fast that Collins didn’t even have time to speak. Stanley’s right hand moved across his body and swung up into the air, no longer empty, holding something dark and shiny. A gun. He levelled the weapon at Matthews, who stood staring at him impassively just two feet away. There was no way he was going to miss. There was no way she was going to survive.

‘No, Jack,’ gasped Collins. ‘You can’t shoot her. For God’s sake. Do you want us all to go to prison?’

Stanley hesitated. He turned to face Collins, his face pleading to be allowed to go ahead, to get justice in his own way. He had only just opened his mouth to speak when a scream emerged from his lips instead. The gun fell to the floor and Stanley grasped his forearm, which now had a six-inch blood-filled gash down one side.

Matthews was moving forward, advancing on Collins and Woods, the syringe pointing forward like a dagger. She broke into a run. She slashed at Woods with the scalpel and he barely managed to get out of the way, holding up a hand to defend himself and receiving a deep laceration on his left palm for his trouble.

Collins saw her chance and dashed forward, but Matthews was too quick. She raised the syringe high and brought it down with all her might. Collins saw the point of the needle moving towards her at high speed, but she was moving too fast, her momentum would not let her stop, she could not get out of the way.

Yet, at the last second, Collins stepped to one side. As Matthews brought the syringe down, Collins reached out with both hands and pushed down on the crazed woman’s arm. The syringe continued its arc, moving down and down, until it finally came to rest in the flesh of Matthews’s own thigh.

She looked down at what she had done and then up at Collins. Matthews began to speak but her words were lost as her mouth seized up, her body froze and she collapsed to the ground. Paralysed.

Collins rushed over to Sophie. There seemed to be so much blood, and she couldn’t stop it. She pressed down on the wound with her bare hands, desperately trying to staunch the flow.

‘Tony, call an ambulance,’ she gasped, fighting back tears. ‘Hold on, Sophie. Please hold on. Please hold on. I’m here, Mummy’s here. You just need to hold on.’

Jack Stanley staggered up to the table and leaned forward over Sophie ‘She’s not moving. What’s wrong with her?’

‘She’s been paralysed. It’s a special drug Matthews has been using. I don’t know how long it will take to wear off.’

Stanley reached across and held one of Sophie’s hands. Collins did the same.

A clatter of heavy boots on the tiled floor made them both look up. DCI Anderson and a dozen officers in full riot gear had burst into the room. Two men immediately set about securing Jessica Matthews with plastic cuffs while Anderson took charge.

‘Jesus Christ,’ he said as his eyes reached the shelves containing the jars of heads. ‘It’s like something out of a fucking nightmare.’ His eyes continued moving around the room until they reached something dark and shiny on the floor.

‘Whose gun is that?’

There was silence in the room for a moment. Then Stanley looked up. ‘She had it.’ He nodded towards Matthews. ‘I managed to get it off her and then she cut me with the scalpel and I dropped it.’

Anderson looked at Woods, who nodded, and then at Collins. ‘That’s what happened, sir,’ she said.

Anderson stared at Stanley hard, seeing him properly for the first time. ‘And who the hell are you?’

‘I’m Sophie’s father.’

Seemingly at the sound of her name, Sophie’s eyes began to flicker. As the drug wore off, she turned her head from one side to the other, smiling at her mother, smiling at her father, and then passing out.

28

Three Months Later

Two massive lines of protestors lined the street outside the Old Bailey on the day Jessica Matthews was due to arrive for her first directions hearing. The crowd was split neatly into two opposing camps. The first hailed Matthews as a hero for taking direct action against the scourge of paedophiles and included the parents of children who had been raped and murdered by sex offenders. The second group was composed of those who believed Matthews was a dangerous, insane psychopath who would have killed anyone who got in her way and needed to be stopped at all costs.

As the van with its blacked-out windows and escort of five motorcycle officers arrived, cheers and boos erupted from the gathered masses.

‘Bit of a circus, isn’t it?’ sniffed Woods, as he and Collins made their way towards the court building. ‘Can’t believe some people see her as a hero. Murder is murder. There’s no justifying it.’

Collins nodded towards one group of protestors. ‘There are banners down there demanding that the government bring back the death penalty. I guess those people think it’s okay to kill people just so long as it’s official.’

‘Yeah, well, that’s the kind of moral dilemma that helps to make the world go around,’ said Woods with a smile.

The two officers went through the revolving doors of the court and flashed their warrant cards to the security officer on the desk before taking the stairs to the entrance of Court Number 1.

It was by far the most secure court in the building and necessarily so. It wasn’t that anyone thought Matthews had any chance of escaping. Rather that one of her supporters would attempt to free her. Or someone else might kill her.

It had been three months since Matthews had been captured and this would be the first time Collins had set eyes on her since then. She had heard rumours about the kind of state that she was in but nothing had prepared her for the sight of Matthews, flanked by a dozen court security officers, in the perspex box that served as the holding pen for the accused.

At first Collins thought that Matthews had been shackled at the legs; it would have explained her shuffling, shambolic gate. The truth was it was simply how she was walking. Matthews seemed to have aged about fifty years in the past few months. Her hair had become grey and matted; the flesh around her face had become sallow and languid. She was stooped forward and appeared to be having trouble keeping her balance.

Collins gasped and she and Woods exchanged glances.

‘She’s putting it on, she’s got to be,’ said Collins.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Woods. ‘Maybe it’s the guilt; the bad karma has finally got to her.’

‘You and your bloody psychology, you think that’s the answer to everything, don’t you?’

Woods cocked his head to one side. ‘Well, yes, that’s what it’s supposed to be: the answer to all the things that go down in the mind of a human. This is completely classic. It’s an amazing transformation.’

‘Well, I don’t believe it for a second.’

‘Come on, Stacey. Her actions were never exactly sane, were they? Cutting people open when they were alive, keeping the heads in jars and talking to them? None of it is the kind of stuff that normal people do. She was clearly pretty deranged to start off with. The strain of going on the run and being caught, not to mention three months in prison, were probably just enough to finish her off. It makes perfect sense to me.’

As the judge called out her name and asked her to stand, Matthews began sobbing softly, covering her face with her hands.

The judge spoke solemnly. ‘I have this morning received this submission from the Crown Prosecution Service. Can I ask if the defence has been consulted about this?’

A tall thin man in a grey wig sitting on the bench opposite the judge stood up to speak. ‘We have, Your Honour, but, like yourself, only this morning. However, we have no objections. I find myself in full agreement with my learned friend about Ms Matthews’s state of mind. She is clearly not competent to understand the charges against her or assist in her defence. This is very clear from the doctor’s psychiatric evaluation.’

Collins’s brow furrowed deeply. ‘What the hell are they talking about?’ she whispered. ‘One minute the woman is a top forensic pathologist, holding down an important job, dealing with people day in and day out, getting involved in complex scientific and medical studies, and then they want to say that the next day she’s a gibbering idiot? It’s doesn’t make any sense at all. What the fuck is the CPS playing at?’

The hearing lasted only a few more minutes before a shuffling, shaking Matthews was led back down to the cells. The decision had been made. There would be no trial, there would be no further charges. The case against her would proceed no further.

The two dozen journalists who had crammed themselves into the press bench shot up at the earliest opportunity and made their way out into the corridor in order to begin filing their stories. The case had been covered by tens of thousands of column inches ever since it had first been made public, and it seemed that neither the press nor the public could get enough of it. This latest development had provided a fantastic new twist that would ensure the story remained in the public eye for weeks to come.

‘I don’t believe this, Tony, they’re going to fall for it. She’s faking and they’re going to fall for it.’

Woods shrugged. ‘It’s not like they’re going to let her back out on the streets or anything like that. She’s going to end up in Rampton or Broadmoor, somewhere like that, and she’ll be there for the rest of her life. You’ve got to admit, it was always a possibility that they’d find her insane and end up sticking her in an institution. It’s probably the best place for her.’

‘You don’t understand, Tony. It’s not the best place if she’s faking it. She knows what she’s doing. You have to remember, I got to know this woman. She made a deliberate effort to befriend me in order to keep tabs on what was happening with the case. If she’s made this much effort to get herself into a mental institution, it’s because she’s up to something. And I mean to find out exactly what.’

The two of them waited in the court until the barristers, solicitors and clerks had all left before making their own way out into the cavernous hallway. From there they walked along the corridor towards the staircase. They were one flight from the ground floor when Collins suddenly broke off.

‘Where are you going, guv?’

‘I need to talk to her.’

‘But the precedent –’

‘Fuck the precedent. I can’t leave it like this, I just can’t.

‘It’s out of our hands; you have to.’

‘No, not this time.’

‘Well, I don’t want any part of it. You’re on your own.’

‘Fine. I’ll meet you back at the car.’

‘I need to speak to Jessica Matthews. I was the officer in charge of her case. I need to see if there is any further information she wants to divulge to us before they take her away.’

‘I’m not sure I can do that, ma’am, especially with a verdict of unfit to stand trial.’

Collins sighed. ‘You have to understand, sane or not, there are several other unsolved murders, some of which have involved very young children.’ Woods headed towards the exit of the Old Bailey, but Collins moved into the back office and showed her identification to the guard, who blocked the way to the tunnel that led to the cells beneath the court house. ‘She may be the only chance of catching the people responsible. I’ve got kids myself. I don’t know if you have but there is no way I could rest until I knew I had done my best. I know it means bending the rules a bit, but rules are meant to be broken, especially if they help us to track down those who are guilty.’

The man bit his lip, deep in thought. ‘Okay, but you’ve only got a few minutes. She’s in Number 17.’

Collins hurried down the narrow staircase in case the officer changed his mind. She made her way along the line of cells, examining the numbers outside each door, until she reached the third from the end.

Collins pulled up the flap on the front of the door and peered inside. Matthews, her face seemingly still wet with tears, sat on the edge of the bed in the far corner. The cell had been especially stripped to ensure she would not be able to take her own life. The bed was a low concrete shelf covered in a thick rubber mattress. Aside from the narrow toilet – designed to prevent inmates from fitting their heads inside – and a tiny sink area, it was empty.

Matthews started to rock back and forth, as if dancing to the beat of an imaginary drum. Collins scrutinized her carefully. Up close she looked even more ragged, more wasted. And Collins didn’t believe a single word of it.

‘I know you’re faking it,’ Collins said softly.

Matthews did not appear to react; she simply kept up her steady rocking, back and forth, back and forth.

‘I don’t know what you think you’re going to get out of it. Okay, so you won’t be in prison but there’s not much difference between that and a secure unit. And at least in prison you’d have had a whole load more privileges than you’re going to have in a secure hospital.’

Matthews continued to rock back and forth. Collins stared at her intently.

‘There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re just playing the system. The way you always have done. It’s what you do best and you think it’s going to get you somewhere, but let me tell you something. You’re wrong. This case may be over but I’ll be keeping my eye on you.

‘You think you can get away with almost killing my daughter? You’ve scared her for life. And let me tell you something, you picked the wrong target. You made a big mistake when you took me on and I won’t ever let you forget it.

‘Mark my words: I’ll be watching, and if I get one more shred of evidence, if we find one more body, if I get one hint that you’re faking all this, I’ll come down on you like a ton of bricks.’

Sophie had spent more than two weeks in hospital after the attack. The doctors told her mother that, although the physical scars to her chest and torso would eventually heal, the psychological scars that she suffered might never go away. Ever since she had beome quiet and withdrawn. More than ever she craved the company of her father. Having been there, having been injected with the same drug as her, she believed that he understood the way she felt and the ordeal she had been through better than anybody else in the whole world. All of Stacey’s attempts to keep the two of them apart, to improve her relationship with her daughter, seemed to have backfired on her. Now they were further apart than ever.