Текст книги "The Doll's House"

Автор книги: M. J. Arlidge

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

71

Helen stood on the lip of the trench, as the team continued their excavations. Their ground-penetrating radar had picked up two bulky forms buried deep below the beach at locations that were only a stone’s throw from each other. Helen’s whole body was rigid, hoping she was wrong, but fearing that they had found what they came for.

‘It’s a young female.’

The words were simply said, but affected everyone who heard them. Some things you never get used to and the loss of young life was always particularly upsetting. Helen lowered herself into the trench, taking care not to impede the team’s efforts or trample on potential evidence. As with Pippa, the cold sand had done a good job of preserving its charge. There was only slight decomposition and the young woman looked as if she had simply gone to sleep four feet below the beach. Strange that people who have met their ends in such awful circumstances could look so peaceful.

Using fine tools and brushes, the team had now revealed the woman’s face and the damp black hair that framed it. Helen examined it closely. There were two small holes in her right nostril, but, as with Pippa, the jewellery had been removed. Any make-up there might have been had also vanished, the moisture and movement of the sand effectively scrubbing the young girl clean. There was a stark simplicity to her face, the features proud and undisguised. It was beautiful, but also crushing. Helen had seen the photos, read the files, and looking down at the face below, she had no doubt in her mind that she was now looking at the remains of Roisin Murphy.

Helen was tempted to leave Roisin now. The rest of the team were at the other dig site, twenty odd yards away, disinterring another form, and it was important to establish as swiftly as possible whether she was their other missing girl – Isobel Lansley. Yet something made Helen pause. It’s strange the connection you can make with someone you’ve never met before, someone whose life has been snuffed out months, possibly years, ago. But Helen wasn’t alone in wanting to cleave close to the poor girl, now that she had been discovered. Her family had been searching for so long, hoping against hope that she was ok, wondering if Roisin would ever return to her baby boy. The uncertainty was over now – they would never see their bubbly, troublesome daughter, mum and friend again. She had been let down by those around her and cruelly let down by life and – though there was nothing that could be done for her – it seemed wrong to abandon her now.

It didn’t make much sense, but no one would leave the trench until they had delivered the young woman from her tomb. There was something tender about the way the team eased her shoulders and arms from the sand. It was obviously done to preserve both the evidence and the scene, but it was oddly moving, a final act of kindness in a brief, brutalized life. Helen made a mental note to thank the team later for their professionalism and care.

Already Helen’s mind was scrolling forward, drafting the words she would use to tell Roisin’s family the terrible news, but what she saw suddenly banished all such thoughts. Roisin’s left shoulder and arm had now been fully exposed and the sight of it made Helen’s blood run cold.

There, standing proud on her bare, pale shoulder was a small bluebird tattoo.

72

Ruby looked at her reflection, but saw a stranger staring back. On the back of the improvement in their relationship, Ruby had persuaded her captor to leave the main lights on during the day and had pushed her luck still further by asking for a mirror. He had refused of course – there was no way he was going to give her glass, or anything else that might be fashioned into a weapon.

But, in deference to her wishes, he had found a couple of sheets of Mylar and made a mirror of sorts. It had only taken him a few minutes to find the reflective sheets upstairs and it set Ruby wondering what kind of job he did. Mylar was used to make those shiny silver helium balloons – was he some kind of children’s entertainer? Did he work in a gift shop?

Pushing those thoughts from her mind, Ruby stared at herself in her ‘mirror’. She was already much thinner, anxiety and the denial of food shedding the pounds quickly. She could see her ribs now – all of them – and her arms looked bony too. Ruby wondered how long she could survive down here and once more visions of escape filled her thoughts. Her scrawny body and the sunken features in her face demanded action. She was beginning to look like one of those poor kids you see on charity appeals.

Her plan was in play and tonight she would see if he had gone for it. The anticipation was horrible. Had he got what she needed? And more importantly, if he had, would she have the courage to see it through?

73

She slipped her key in the lock and teased the door open. She should really have gone back to the station after the discoveries on the beach – to brief Stephen and talk to Media Liaison – but she couldn’t face it. Her mouth was dry, her head was pounding and she just wanted to shut the world out for a while.

Yet again, Helen Grace had made her look a fool. She had argued vigorously not to waste time and resources digging up the beach and though neither she, Helen nor Stephen would ever mention it again, it would be remembered by both. For Helen it would confirm her impression that her boss was a politician and desk jockey rather than a real copper, but more worryingly it would set back her relations with Stephen. He knew her well and had always liked her but lately she had come to question where his loyalties lay. Was he attracted to Helen? Many men were, despite the fact that she was totally unobtainable. Or was he just seduced by her status as the heroic face of Southampton policing? Once more, Helen had proved that she had a nose for the big, career-defining cases. And if she managed to bring in another serial killer it would burnish Stephen’s reputation still further. Leaving her as the bad guy who nearly messed the whole thing up.

Opening the fridge, Ceri Harwood took a large swig of Chardonnay straight from the bottle, then held the chilled glass against her raging head. It felt nice and suddenly all she wanted to do was to find Tim, snuggle up on the sofa and finish the rest of it. This cheering thought roused her to action and she climbed the stairs two at a time. Tim often worked at home and was constantly badgering her to get home early, so they could spend more time together. She seldom obliged – how could she in her position? – but having bunked off work she felt exhilarated by the thought of surprising him with her sudden appearance.

She was halfway up the last flight of stairs to the attic office, when she paused. The office was quiet, but there were noises coming from elsewhere. From their bedroom. She could hear Tim, but also female tones too. Laughing, talking and more besides.

Ceri willed herself to move, but her feet stayed firmly planted to the stairs. What does one do in these situations? Slink away or confront? She wanted to do the former – God she wanted to do that – but some vestige of personal pride now forced her to choose the latter course. Summoning her courage, she marched forward, turned the handle and stepped inside.

The confusion started as soon as she entered. Surprise, then shock, then panicked apologies, as the naked lovers scrambled to make themselves decent. Tim was already halfway across the room, trying to steer her from the bedroom, but she didn’t see him. She had eyes only for his lover. The woman she had been tasked with buttering up on numerous occasions, when she dined at their house. Lucy White.

Shrugging off her husband, Ceri Harwood stumbled downstairs to the kitchen. Her first thought was for the girls – she didn’t want them walking into this – so she found herself texting another school mum to see if she could pick them up. She invented a lame excuse for the sudden emergency, which brought her up short. Is this how it would be now – lying to cover up her hurt and Tim’s transgression? What are you supposed to tell your children in these situations?

Ceri sat down on the hard kitchen chair. None of this felt remotely real, but as she heard the front door shut quietly and Lucy’s gentle footsteps clip-clopping down the steps to freedom, she knew that it was. This day had started badly, got steadily worse and ended in utter horror.

All that she had to look forward to now was the fallout.

74

They were closeted away in a snug at the back of the restaurant, away from prying eyes. Helen’s first instinct had been to ask Daniel Briers to come to the station, but she’d thought better of it. Too little privacy and far too formal – she loathed the cheerless beige walls of the relatives’ room, which seemed to sap the strength and optimism of everyone who set foot in it. So though an upmarket eatery was an unusual place to brief Daniel on developments, Helen felt she had made the right choice. Their relationship had already progressed well beyond the customary formality.

Daniel listened carefully as Helen talked him through the discoveries on the beach. She had been light on the detail – alive to the further torment she could see she was inflicting – but the thrust of her message was clear.

‘He’s a serial offender? A … serial killer?’ Daniel closed his eyes as he said the words.

‘That’s our belief.’

‘Good God, what must she have gone through?’

He looked up at her with an expression that was part anguish, part need. Like all relatives in these awful situations, once the worst has been confirmed, Daniel had hoped for a swift conviction and a clear, understandable explanation. A domestic incident. A crime of passion. A hit-and-run. But to imagine your daughter as the victim – the plaything – of a serial killer … that was too much for anyone to take on board.

‘What did he do to them?’

Helen noted how he talked about ‘them’, as if in his mind the new bodies on the beach were somehow divorced from Pippa’s case. She didn’t blame him for that – she’d do exactly the same in his shoes – but to her it was clear that all three women had fallen prey to a prolific and practised killer. The circumstances of their burial, the careful way they had been stripped off all identifying features and most disturbingly the bluebird tattoo that they’d found on all three corpses – it was the same guy.

‘We’re still looking into that,’ Helen replied, avoiding all mention of mortuaries and post-mortems. ‘But there’s no sign he inflicted violence upon them and it doesn’t appear he was sexually motivated –’

‘So, what, he just starved them to death?’

‘I don’t know, Daniel, but we’ll find out.’

Daniel took this in, but said nothing, staring at his feet. Instinctively Helen tried to climb inside his head, imagining the awful situations that were playing out for Daniel – his daughter, alone and scared, facing a slow, lingering death. Hoping against hope that the only person who really loved her – her daddy – would rescue her from a living nightmare. When did she realize that no one was coming?

‘You will catch him, won’t you?’ he said finally, his voice breaking even as he did so.

‘I gave you my word. Pippa will have justice.’

He looked up at her, his eyes full of tears. Taking her hand in his, he simply said:

‘Bless you, Helen. Bless you.’

75

He laid out his haul on the bed. It was like an Aladdin’s cave of cheap cosmetics and looked exotic and glamorous in the dingy basement. He couldn’t help a feeling of quiet satisfaction. She had asked him for something and he had delivered more than she could have dreamed of.

She was grinning from ear to ear. Singing his praises, showering him with compliments. How foolish their petty disagreements and squabbling seemed now. Why had he ever been worried? She just needed a bit of breaking in. But the effort was worth the reward and he basked now in the warm glow of her approbation.

‘I wasn’t quite sure what you wanted, so I bought a job lot. Mascara, lipstick, eyelash curlers, nail stuff.’

He loved all the colours – the gold tubes, the deep red lipsticks, the shocking pink nail varnish. The femininity of it all thrilled him and aroused him.

‘Thank you.’

‘If you like these, then we could think about other things too. Some new clothes, perhaps some underwear …’

He said this last bit quickly, not wanting to appear embarrassed in front of her, before listing other luxuries and trinkets that she might like. All the while he could feel his erection growing. The thought of her as his little piece of heaven, hidden away from the world, was too much.

He excused himself and hurried out. Once the heavy door was locked and bolted behind him, he leant against the cold metal, enjoying its soothing feel. He had been through so much, suffered so horribly, but finally everything was going to be ok. She was his now.

76

What the fuck was he doing out there?

Ruby sat on the bed, her body rigid with tension. Her captor had shut and locked the door, so why wasn’t he going anywhere? Her eyes were fixed on the wicket hatch – any moment she expected it to snap open. The full claustrophobia of her situation suddenly hit home. She had no control here.

Still no sound, no movement. Had she misjudged the situation? Did he not trust her? She looked at the spread of cosmetics on the bed. Ridiculous baubles to tart up a gruesome reality. She had assumed their purchase signalled something – a willingness to trust her – but now she wasn’t so sure. She had built this up in her head too much for it to fall at the first hurdle.

Then footsteps walking softly away. Finally disappearing all together. Still, Ruby sat stock still. Not quite believing it. Not wanting to rush things, in case he suddenly returned.

But the silence remained undisturbed, so she quickly reached down and snatched up the eyelash curlers. She tested and probed them with her fingers – as she’d hoped they were the cheap high street kind, rather than anything professional. Seizing the curved shaper head, she pushed and pulled, trying to loosen it. But it wouldn’t break. Cursing, Ruby lifted the iron leg of the bedstead and pushed it down firmly on to the shaper head, pinning it to the floor, before pulling the rest of the shaper back hard. With a satisfying snap it came free. Lifting the bed once more, she took out the shaper head and pressed down on it with her heel. Gently at first, but then with greater force, stamping down on the small piece of metal. The hard, dusty floor produced only a dull thud, and oddly Ruby felt totally safe from detection. Adrenaline was making her reckless.

She paused now, wiping the sheen of sweat from her brow. Lifting her foot, she saw that the curved piece of metal was now flat.

Scooping it up, she heaved the sheets, blanket and eventually the mattress off the iron bed frame. Time was of the essence now. Crouching down, she examined the exposed bed frame. It was a heavy, metal frame – four legs, a bedstead and a headboard. The bedstead was connected to the headboard by two metal screws. They had been screwed very tight and had proved immovable thus far, but now Ruby set to work on them, jamming the flattened shaper into the slot of the screw and turning it as hard as she could.

Nothing. No give at all. Already Ruby could feel tears creeping up on her. She renewed her efforts. A few seconds later, she relented, cursing. Surely all this hadn’t been for nothing?

Summoning up her last shreds of determination, Ruby applied herself once more. Her fingers protested as she twisted for all she was worth, the thin metal sides of the shaper cutting into them. She strained harder, could feel the skin on fingers splitting now, then finally it happened. The screw began to move. Begrudgingly at first, then with alacrity and before long she held it in her hand.

One down, three to go.

77

Lloyd knew something was seriously wrong the moment she opened the door to him. Ceri Harwood was always so well presented, so terrifyingly in control of herself and her situation, that he was momentarily lost for words. He had never seen her look rattled and he had certainly never seen her drunk before. She blamed her slurred speech on pills she was taking for a head cold, but Lloyd could smell the wine on her breath.

She had obviously forgotten they were supposed to be meeting tonight, which angered him – how could she be so bloody cavalier? She looked at him blankly at first, as if trying to place him, then without saying a word turned and headed back inside. Lloyd felt a fool standing there, clutching his small Jiffy bag, like an unwanted postman. What was he supposed to do? Enter or wait here? Had he been dismissed? Or welcomed?

Lloyd stepped inside quickly. He was here to do a job and leave – no point lingering where people might see him. A black face in this part of town would excite more interest than usual and he wanted to be as anonymous as possible.

‘Hello?’ His voice seemed to echo in the spacious and well-appointed home.

‘Downstairs’ was the listless reply from within.

He walked down a precipitous spiral staircase to the large basement kitchen. He chided himself for it, but he felt deeply uncomfortable here. He had no problem with rich people, with folk enjoying the fruits of their labour, but it was so alien to him. He had never known luxury or privilege. He wouldn’t know what to do with a house this size even if he had one.

‘Drink?’

Harwood smiled grimly at him, as she filled a glass to the brim.

‘I’m ok – I need to get back.’

‘Nonsense,’ Harwood replied, pushing the glass into his hand. ‘So what’s the news from the front?’

Lloyd looked down at the glass in his hand and anger flared through him. She had no right to play games with him.

‘The bodies have both been exhumed now and are with Jim Grieves. We haven’t officially ID’d them yet, but we’re ninety-nine per cent sure they are Roisin Murphy and Isobel Lansley.’

Harwood drained her glass.

‘Press?’

‘Nothing yet, but we’ve closed off the beach again, so it won’t be long before we’re fielding questions. Have we discussed a media strategy with liaison?’

‘Just give the hacks signed copies of Helen’s mugshot. That should do the job.’

Lloyd realized she was attempting humour, which only made this whole situation more surreal. Suddenly he wanted to be out of this place. He had no idea what had occasioned this burst of uncharacteristic behaviour, but he didn’t like it. For the first time he realized that perhaps Harwood wasn’t quite as in control of the situation as she had claimed to be.

‘Here.’

He held out the Jiffy package to her.

‘Put it on the side,’ she said, gesturing towards the obscenely large marble-topped island, before wandering off to the fridge once more.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?’

Finally, Lloyd’s anger had erupted.

‘Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? For me? For us? If you’re so bloody uninterested, why did you start all this?’

Harwood paused and turned. She looked surprised, rather than offended, by his words. She shot a look at the package and her face softened. Slowly she made her way back over to him.

‘Forgive me, Lloyd,’ she said softly. ‘It’s been the worst of all days.’

She seemed uncertain whether to go on. For his part, Lloyd wasn’t sure what to say.

‘I know how this must look. But I am grateful for everything you’ve done. I know I can always rely on you.’

She looked at him warmly.

‘So let’s forget my bad behaviour, have a drink and talk about something else shall we?’

‘I don’t want to intrude. Especially if Tim’s at home and –’

‘I kicked him out.’

Lloyd was speechless once more. She didn’t seem keen to elaborate further. Harwood took a step closer to him, her nose now only a couple of inches from his.

‘So why don’t you sit down on the sofa, have a drink and relax?’

As she said it she ran her finger down his face, brushing his lips and chin before coming to rest on his chest. Her eyes sparkled fiercely at him, but he felt no desire for her, just a mixture of horror and pity.

Gently taking her hand from him, he placed his still full glass in hers and said:

‘I really must be getting home.’