Cold Sacrifice (30 page)

She prattled on about her friend’s hen night until they arrived at their destination.

The post mortem revealed nothing they didn’t already know. Candy, born Caroline Clare, was thirty-one when she was killed. Brought up in care, she was on the street at fifteen, working in South London. When her pimp died, she moved to Central London where she found work as a pole dancer. She had three abortions before giving birth to a son when she was in a relationship with a man who subsequently died from an overdose. That much they knew before they heard the medical details confirmed by Dr Millard.

‘Perforations here,’ he pointed up her nostrils, ‘and the nasal septum is about to collapse. Cocaine’s probably also the cause of a developing stomach ulcer. Her liver is in a bad state from alcohol, probably binge drinking, and she certainly didn’t eat a healthy diet. Far from it. Fatty fast foods and not much else, I’d say.’

He sounded fleetingly outraged, as though the victim’s poor diet was the most repulsive finding of his entire examination.

Having described the victim’s generally poor state of health while she was alive, he moved on to the cause of her death. It was clear from the outset that she had been suffocated. All he could do was confirm what they already knew.

‘The killer must have taken her by surprise,’ he concluded. ‘There are no defence wounds.’

Ian swore. All they needed was one speck of DNA that would link the victim to Henry, one cell of his skin under her fingernails, or on her face, and they would have him. They didn’t stay long at the morgue as Millard was clearly in a hurry to leave. There was nothing more he could tell them until the toxicology results came back.

Polly dropped Ian back at the police station and went straight off without stopping.

‘I would come in, but I’ve got this hen party,’ she explained. ‘You ought to go home and get some sleep too. You look terrible.’

Ian nodded. She didn’t have to apologise for having a life. He remembered when he had been a constable, keen on his job, enjoying his social life, in love with his girl. Life had been good back then. But he was only in his thirties now, too young to have lost the joy of living. At any time he might end up like Martha, Jade and Candy, denied any further opportunity to enjoy life.

‘I’m going to take my wife out this weekend,’ he called out after Polly’s car, as it disappeared through the gate. She couldn’t hear him, but he wasn’t saying it for her benefit anyway.

Pushing the thought of Candy’s son to the back of his mind, he went to his car without going back to his desk. He was already halfway home when he remembered Bev’s arrangement to go out with friends that evening. Cursing, he slowed down, hoping she would go without him. He was too tired to put on a decent pretence of having a good time. If Bev had seen what he had seen that day, she might agree that her social engagements weren’t really all that important.

O
N
S
UNDAY EVENING
I
AN
offered to take Bev out, but in the end they decided to stay in and watch a film instead. Bev had been so bad-tempered lately, he had forgotten how lovely she was. Her smile still took his breath away. Although they weren’t going out, she had changed and put on make-up. Wearing skintight jeans and a sparkly jumper, she looked stunning. Pleased that she had gone to so much trouble just for him, he felt a stab of guilt at seeing how happy his appreciation made her. After dinner, they took their wine glasses into the living room and settled down together on the sofa. They had saved an old film on the planner, and sat comfortably watching together. Bev’s hand felt warm in his. Ian hadn’t felt so relaxed for months. When his work phone rang, he groaned but didn’t stir.

‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’ Bev asked.

‘Not tonight.’

To demonstrate his point, he pulled the phone out of his pocket and tossed it onto a chair the other side of Bev. Laughing, she leaned forward and picked it up. As she held it on the palm of her hand, it beeped.

‘You’ve got a text,’ she said.

Ian reached for the phone.

‘Don’t look at it,’ he said sternly.

She laughed again, with a determined look in her eyes and in the set of her chin.

‘I’ll look if I want to. Child found.’ She looked up. ‘What child?’

Ian couldn’t control his excitement. ‘Did you say the child has turned up? Are you sure? Let me see.’ He held out his hand. ‘Come on, give me the phone.’

‘What child?’ she wanted to know.

‘It’s a little boy who was missing.’

‘I thought you were investigating a murder.’

‘We are. This is the son of one of the victims. He’s been missing since his mother was killed. He’s only about seven.’

‘Oh my God.’

He was taken aback to see that she was almost crying.

‘Seven? And his mother’s been murdered? How awful. What about the father?’

‘We don’t know who the father is. I don’t suppose anyone will ever know now. His mother’s dead, and she’s the only person who could have told us, if she even knew.’

Bev turned to face him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘I was just thinking about that poor child. It’s terrible, Ian. I had no idea.’

‘There’s nothing for you to get upset about. We’ve got it all under control,’ he lied.

More than anything, he wanted her to have confidence in him as a detective. If his own wife didn’t believe he would sort out this mess, how could he feel positive about himself?

‘A little boy of seven, and he’s got no father, and his mother’s been murdered. That’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard.’ She reached out and clutched at his arm, staring earnestly at him. ‘How do you cope with stuff like that?’

‘All in a day’s work,’ he said quietly and saw her mouth tighten.

It was so hard to share his work with Bev. While he had to remain doggedly detached from the brutality he encountered, she was bound to react differently to it. She probably found him monstrous, shocked that he could be so unfeeling. But he couldn’t allow his emotions to muddy his thinking.

‘I didn’t realise – that is, I had no idea how terrible it was for you. How awful for you.’

Relieved that she wasn’t appalled by his objectivity, Ian felt a rush of gratitude for her compassion.

‘I’m fine,’ he assured her gruffly. ‘It’s what I’m trained to do.’

He nearly added that he wouldn’t manage without the support of his colleagues. Just in time he thought better of it.

‘And I’ve got you, and that makes it all bearable,’ he said instead, and was rewarded with a lingering kiss.

After a minute, Bev pulled away from his embrace.

‘Don’t you want to go into work?’

‘I’m not going in now. It’s Sunday evening and I’m spending time with my wife.’

‘But –’

‘Do you really want me to go into work on a Sunday evening?’

‘Ian, there’s a child involved.’

‘Does that make a difference?’

‘Yes, of course it does.’

Bev was right. He remembered huge black eyes peering up at him, Candy’s tenderness as she stroked the mop of tight curls, and tiny feet padding across the carpet. Until now, he had tried not to think too much about the front door closing on the small figure, or to worry about where he had gone. Now the memory flooded back.

‘I’d better go then,’ he muttered, and bent to kiss her again.

As he drove to the police station, he felt elated. He was happy the child was safe, but it was more than that. Bev wanted him to pursue his all-important investigation. For the first time, she seemed to grasp why his work had to take priority over their time together. He was whistling by the time he arrived in Margate. Finding the child was just the start. He had reached a turning point in his life. They would soon find the killer and wrap up the case, and Bev would never resent him working long hours again now she understood. Once his promotion was confirmed, they would relocate, moving away from Bev’s parents who had never thought Ian was good enough for her. He had already applied for a vacancy up north, although he hadn’t told Bev yet. Together they would make a fresh start. He never should have agreed to go and live in Tunbridge Wells, so close to his in-laws. His imminent promotion offered their marriage a chance to start again somewhere new. Everything was going to be all right. He had always known it would be.

A large woman was sitting in the waiting room accompanied by Joey and another little boy who was grizzling, rubbing his eyes with his fists.

‘I want him to stay with us. Why can’t he stay with us?’ he was nagging the woman.

‘Because I said so.’

Leaving the two children with a constable, Ian took the woman into an interview room. She introduced herself as Shelley, and explained she had collected Joey from school on Friday for her neighbour.

‘We do that for each other, collect each other’s kids from school. They’re in the same class, and we’re neighbours. Candy’s supposed to pick him up from me at six on Friday. Only she never came for him, did she? And she still hasn’t turned up. So I’ve brought him here. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with him. When I see her, I’m going to give her a piece of my mind. I’m guessing she had one too many and she’s sleeping it off somewhere, or she’s off with some geezer. But her kid isn’t my responsibility. I’ve had him since I picked him up after school on Friday. It’s time someone else took a turn.’

‘I’m sorry to tell you Joey’s mother is dead.’

Shelley stared blankly at Ian for a few seconds. Then she dropped her head in her hands. Ian waited. After a moment she raised her head again. She looked pale and was clearly shocked.

‘I wondered if there was something up,’ she said. ‘To be honest with you, I was afraid she’d just buggered off.’

Ian leaned forward. ‘You said you thought she’d probably had one too many. What exactly did you mean by that?’

‘Just what I said,’ she replied cagily. ‘I meant just what I said. She used to drink, nothing wrong with that. That’s all I meant. It’s not a crime to have a drink now and again, is it? Was it the drink that did for her, then?’ She shrugged. ‘She’s better off out of it, if you ask me. Only her boy’s not for me to look after. She wasn’t family, nothing like that.’

Ian sat back in his chair and said he hoped she might be able to help the police in their investigation into Candy’s murder. Shelley looked startled, then frightened.

‘Murder?’ she repeated. ‘Who said anything about murder? You never said she was murdered.’

Ian took advantage of her momentary confusion to prompt her with another question.

‘Why did you leave it so long before coming here to report her missing? Didn’t you think something was wrong when she didn’t collect Joey from you?’

She shook her head.

‘She was –’ she hesitated, ‘she was forgetful.’

‘You mean because she took drugs?’

‘No. I mean because she forgot things.’

‘Had she ever forgotten to collect her son before?’

When he was assured Shelley knew no more than she had already told him, Ian let her go. Given the circumstances, she agreed to take Joey home with her again while social services were contacted.

‘I had no idea,’ she kept repeating. ‘I feel awful now. I was annoyed with her for not picking him up. I had no idea she was dead.’

W
HILE THEY CONTINUED CASTING
around for leads, Rob brought in a profiler on Monday morning. Gerard Greer was a short small-boned man with delicate features and a pale clean-shaven face. Apart from his square chin he looked quite effeminate, with dainty hands, and light brown hair that reached down just below his ears. He peered around the team through rimless glasses, blinking nervously, although his voice was calm.

‘I wonder,’ he said, ‘and I’m only raising it as a question, if you haven’t been barking up the wrong tree? We don’t know it’s the same man who killed all three women, do we?’

‘It’s a bit of a coincidence otherwise,’ Rob murmured.

Ian grunted in agreement.

‘Jade and Candy, granted,’ Gerard went on in his measured tones. ‘They were both likely to be victims of violent attacks.’

A muttered protest passed around the assembled officers.

‘They’re prostitutes, so they’re fair game,’ a female officer called out angrily. The profiler looked at her, his eyebrows raised.

‘You know perfectly well that’s not what I meant at all,’ he responded evenly, ‘but given the line of work they followed, they were putting themselves at risk from violent men acting out fantasies and frustrations, often the worse for drink, things getting out of hand, that sort of scenario. A man looking for someone to punish is likely to seek out sex workers. That’s what I meant.’ His bland tone had an edge of cold anger as he added, ‘only a fool would think otherwise.’

No one answered.

Rob prompted the profiler to share his conclusions.

‘No conclusions, only questions. Let’s deal with Martha first because that case appears to be straightforward. It seems highly likely the husband killed her. Assuming that to be the case for now, as he had both motive and opportunity, there are two possible hypotheses. One, Henry killed his wife and this released some suppressed lust for killing so he went out looking for other women to kill.’

‘One of whom just happened to be his alibi,’ Ian pointed out.

The profiler ignored the interruption.

‘The second option to consider is whether Henry killed his wife in a one-off fit of rage after thirty years of a marriage in which he felt trapped. Getting rid of Martha was his only escape and he snapped one day. The opportunity offered itself and that was it. He wouldn’t be the first to lose it like that. If that’s the case, then it looks like the other two women might have been killed in the fall-out from the first murder. Perhaps the woman who gave him his alibi changed her mind and told her friend. As a sad consequence, he killed them both to protect his identity.’

‘What can we deduce about the killer, or killers, from the three victims and the way they were killed?’ Rob asked.

‘If we are looking for one killer, then we’re dealing with an interesting character.’ Gerard beamed, warming to his analysis. ‘Is he sending us a clumsy sort of message with his different methods of despatching his victims?’