The things most people would classify as the bad stuff.
The same paper had pointed out that acting ‘disreputably’ raises the heart rate and the amount of perspiration the body produces. But taking beta blockers effectively overcomes those issues. It hadn’t been hard to persuade his GP to prescribe beta blockers. Especially since he’d knocked back two double espressos immediately before the appointment. And now he felt even more in control.
He’d stopped at Waitrose in Otley to stock up with luxurious food and drink on his way to the pub where he’d told Eileen to meet him. It was a big roadhouse on the edge of the Dales, inside the ring of CCTV surveillance. The only cameras in the car park were trained on the entrance and exit to the pub itself. There really was almost no possibility of being spotted here. And besides, he wouldn’t be getting out of the borrowed Merc, just in case.
That had been a stroke of genius too. He hadn’t wanted to take any cars connected to him or the business anywhere near the Dales. At first, he’d decided to hire cars, a different one each time. But he’d have had to use his own driving licence and if the cops ever suspected him and started looking, he wouldn’t be hard to find.
He’d racked his brains for an answer and it had been there under his nose all the time. Robbie Dawson. They’d been at school together and Robbie had advertised with Local Words since the beginning. He had a car dealership specialising in nearly new executive models with branches in Bradfield and Manchester. He’d borrowed a high-end Merc a couple of times to impress clients. Robbie wouldn’t think twice if he bowled up and asked to borrow a car now and again. And so it had been. Robbie assumed he wanted to impress some bird, now Tricia was off the scene. A nod and a wink and it was done. No repeat sightings once he was in ANPR range. Every time he went to the Dales it was in a car that was forensically clean.
He parked under a spreading oak tree on the edge of the car park and waited, listening to the Bill Frisell playlist he’d put together from his Spotify account. And then, five minutes before the agreed time, her car nosed slowly into the car park. She drove a slow circuit and as she approached, he flashed his lights and drew out of his spot, coming to rest alongside her. He wound down his window and gave her his best smile. ‘It’s great to see you,’ he said, meaning it.
Her smile was more tentative. As if she wasn’t quite sure of herself. ‘You too. Will I follow you, then?’
‘That’s right. We’re going to have a great time.’ Well, one of them was, he thought as he pulled round in front of her and set off into the night.
She couldn’t fault him, Eileen thought as she lay sprawled by Richard’s side in the king-sized bed that all but filled the tiny bedroom of the cottage. It was a setting made for romance. The cottage nestled at the end of a steep and narrow twisting lane. It was surrounded on two sides by dense woods that her headlights had barely penetrated as she drove round the back to park. The view on the other two sides, he assured her, was bleak but beautiful.
Inside, it was charming. She’d expected chintz and twee, based on her own experience of holiday cottages. But this was understated to the point of Spartan, yet it was both comfortable and comforting. He told her it belonged to a friend of his who owned a number of magazines. They’d known each other since they were kids, he said. Tom lent him the cottage half a dozen times a year. ‘I wish I had a friend like Tom,’ she said.
He’d raised his eyebrows and given her a cheeky smile. ‘Maybe you will one day.’
Richard had taken time and trouble with everything. Dinner had been an exquisite spread of deli food – lobster and cooked meats and delicious French cheeses with grapes and dried fruits – and seriously good wine to go with it. He’d been attentive throughout the leisurely meal, asking her about herself and her work and apparently finding her answers fascinating.
The seduction had been nicely done too. No sudden lunges across the sofa or clumsy gropes as they cleared the table. Instead, he’d paused in the kitchen, meeting her eye and telling her she was the first woman he’d felt comfortable with since his Tricia died. That he’d been convinced he’d never find another woman to compare to her, but that Eileen had made it possible for him to close a door on his past and imagine a future. And then he’d taken her in his arms and kissed her with a fierce desire that was hard to resist. God, but it had been convincing.
Getting from the kitchen to the bedroom, never an easy transition, was a pretty smooth operation too, she reckoned. Subdued lighting, no unseemly fumbling with buttons or bra. Somehow it had been seamless, and then he’d shown as much attention to her body as he had previously to her conversation. He was considerate, imaginative and, frankly, successful, in spite of his protestations that he was out of practice. She’d laughed heartily at that point. ‘If that’s you out of practice, I can’t wait for you to get back up to speed.’
His response had been to dive under the covers again and reduce her to a gibbering fool one more time.
And yet. Eileen was a natural sceptic. She lay there, sated and exhausted, having definitely had the seeing-to of her life, and still something in her held back. It all felt too good to be true. He was out of her league, that’s what it was.
It wasn’t that she was putting herself down or thinking she didn’t deserve something so special. But Eileen had a pretty good idea of where she came in the girlfriend pecking order. She’d spent years on the wards, clocking what went on between patients and their visitors, watching the dynamic between couples and among families. It was important for the care of your patient to know where their supports and their stresses came from. And if there was one thing she knew, it was that water would find its own level.
And she was not on Richard’s level.
Once the novelty of dating someone who reminded him so powerfully of his late wife had worn off, he’d see her for herself. Then, if she was lucky, it would be a gentle disengagement. But she was going into this with her eyes open. She knew this wasn’t going to last for life. So she wasn’t going to kid herself and fall in love with him, no matter how much he spoiled her. Because he was really trying to spoil the woman he’d genuinely loved, the one he couldn’t have any more.
Eileen Walsh knew a good thing when she saw it. But she also knew a finite thing. So she resolved that she would enjoy the ride. Make the most of it while it lasted and walk away with a light heart because she’d been allowed to feel special for a while.
She had no idea how short a while that would be.
Getting through Saturday had been less difficult than he’d expected. They’d spent the morning in bed, drinking coffee and having sex. She definitely wasn’t his type – he missed Tricia’s toned body and hard muscles – but he supposed that years of nursing had taught her how bodies worked and he had to admit she knew some pretty nifty moves. No hardship there, then.
The afternoon had been less straightforward. What was it about these women and their obsession with walking in the Dales? He’d ended up taking her on a hike through the woods and up the tump beyond. It was a boring walk so he knew they’d be unlikely to run into anyone else. But the view from the top was dramatic enough for him to pretend that was the reason for the climb. She’d struggled for breath for much of the walk, and when they got back, she was desperate for a long soak in a hot bath. That suited him perfectly.
They cooked dinner together. Roast leg of lamb, dauphinoise potatoes, tender-stem broccoli. She made a surprisingly tasteless gravy with the remains of the first bottle of wine and some herbs from the kitchen window box. So no regrets about missing out on more of her home cooking.
Lots of wine – the lion’s share for her – and then early to bed. He might as well make the most of a good fuck while it was there on tap.
Later, as she lay curled with her back to him, snoring softly, he began to feel anxious about what lay ahead. Not the killing itself; that had indeed become less difficult the more he did it. But in spite of himself, he liked this woman. She wasn’t desperate and needy like Kathryn, or man-h
ungry like Amie. She seemed to be comfortable with herself and comfortable with him. If he spent much more time with her, he feared he might start to feel guilty about killing her. And that wouldn’t do. Maybe he should bring things forward. Drug her at breakfast and then finish the job when she passed out. He knew now he could get through the day with a body in the cottage.
And then it occurred to him that killing her after breakfast would give him a chance at an alibi. If the police made the connection between his crimes, they’d soon figure out the victims were spending the whole weekend with their killer. But he could easily drive back to Bradfield and spend the afternoon in plain sight with people who knew him. ‘Officer, I couldn’t have been with Eileen Walsh that afternoon, I was in the Sportsman’s Arms watching the football with five of my friends.’ That had a certain beauty to it. He didn’t have to set the fire till later in the evening so he could hang around after the game, narrowing the window of opportunity still further.
The other thing that struck him as he struggled to drop off was that he might not have to wait too long before he could deal with Tricia once and for all. He’d established a pattern of a killer who lured women away from their lives then left their lifeless bodies to burn in their own cars. If she died in the same way, it would look like she was part of a serial killer’s sequence. All he had to do was place her at a wedding. That wouldn’t be impossible. They were at an age where people were getting married every few months or so. Whatever stone she was hiding under, she’d emerge from it to see one of her friends walk down the aisle. Now he had found a back door into the lives of her friends, he’d have a heads-up on such an occasion. All he had to do was wait for a wedding, then he would be able to deal with the bitch. OK, he wouldn’t be able to make the approach in public. But he’d find the right moment. It was what she deserved. She’d taken everything that mattered from him.
It would be a pleasure to do the same to her.
45
H
arrison Braithwaite looked surprised to see Kevin on his doorstep next morning. ‘I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again,’ he said, heading back down the hall to his birds. Kevin followed, lugging a heavy carrier bag with him.
‘I wasn’t sure whether you had a preferred brand of seed for your birds, but the man in the pet store said this was the best,’ Kevin said, taking a large sack of mixed seed from the carrier bag.
Braithwaite frowned and looked at the sack. ‘You bought birdseed for me?’
Kevin grinned, self-deprecating. ‘Well, I was thinking the birds, rather than you. You said Amie shopped for stuff for you, and I thought this would tide you over till you sorted out other arrangements.’
Braithwaite sank down into his chair, his mouth working. He recovered himself and said, ‘That’s very kind. How much do I owe you?’
Kevin shook his head and sat down opposite the old man. ‘Forget it. I was in the pet shop anyway, buying cat food, and I thought it might be helpful, that’s all. It’s not a bribe, you know.’ He smiled.
‘Well, that’s very helpful. I don’t know what to say.’ He roughly rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘Thank you, lad.’
‘There was something I should have asked you when I was here before but it didn’t cross my mind.’
Braithwaite leaned forward, all attention. ‘I doubt I have anything more to tell you, but ask away.’
‘Could you tell what coat Amie was wearing that night when she came back with Mark in the taxi?’
Braithwaite tugged at his earlobe. ‘It was her best coat. The one she always wore when she was going out on the town. It’s a black-and-white houndstooth double-breasted coat with a high neck. Like a polo neck?’
Kevin couldn’t believe his luck. It sounded distinctive. ‘That’s great,’ he said. ‘Can I ask you a favour? Can you come upstairs with me to Amie’s flat and see if it’s still there?’
‘It should be,’ he said. ‘She was wearing her anorak when she went off on the Friday. So she could go walking up in the Dales.’ He struggled out of the armchair. ‘But I’ll come up all the same and make sure.’
He followed Kevin upstairs, pausing on every step. On the doorstep, Kevin snapped on a pair of blue nitrile gloves. ‘Please don’t touch anything, Mr Braithwaite.’
The old man nodded. ‘I watch those true crime programmes on the telly, I know all about not contaminating the evidence.’
They stepped inside. Amie McDonald’s coat rack extended along the wall behind the door. There was a black wool coat, a dark green raincoat and a grey-and-white tartan wrap. And at the end, the black-and-white houndstooth coat with the funnel neck that Harrison Braithwaite had described. Kevin wanted to do a little victory dance but he restrained himself. ‘Is that it? The coat she was wearing when Mark embraced her at the door?’
Braithwaite nodded. ‘Aye,’ he said, his voice heavy. ‘It brings it home, seeing her things hanging there. I’ll never see her wearing them again. She were that full of life, I just can’t get used to the idea that she’s gone.’
‘I’m sorry to put you through this,’ Kevin said. He took a large evidence bag from his pocket, unfolded it and placed the coat inside, careful not to contaminate it with fibres from his own jacket.
‘Happen he got his DNA all over her coat? Is that what you think?’
‘It’s a long shot, but it’s possible.’
Braithwaite shook his head in wonder. ‘Amazing what they can do nowadays. When I was your age, we thought fingerprints were as good as it could get. Now, they say fingerprints are a matter of opinion, not fact. It’s all DNA now. How long will it be before that goes the way of fingerprints?’
It was a good question, Kevin thought. The further the technology went, the more confused the answers sometimes became. ‘It’s beyond me,’ he said. ‘But maybe those clever buggers in the lab will find an answer for us this time.’
‘I see why that’s got you all excited.’ Braithwaite turned away, a catch in his voice. ‘But that’s all come too late for Amie. That lass didn’t deserve what happened to her. You might catch who did it, but you can’t turn back time.’
46
E
ven though it was Sunday, Stacey was already in her stronghold of screens when Paula arrived at work bearing a box of six doughnuts. ‘Cop cliché,’ Stacey said when the box was proffered, but it didn’t stop her going for the fudge custard one. ‘What are you doing in on a Sunday when we’ve got no leads taking us anywhere?’
‘I could ask you the same thing.’
‘Well, unlike you, I have no life and no family outside work. It was either stay at home and wrestle with a bit of intractable code that I need to make work for a new app, or come in here and wrestle with the avalanche of pointless data this case is generating.’ Stacey highlighted a section on one screen and moved it diagonally on to another. ‘No, that didn’t help.’ She stopped fiddling with her trackpad and concentrated on her doughnut.
‘Actually, it’s family that brings me here. I swung by your flat first and when you weren’t there, I reckoned you must be here.’
‘On account of me having no life.’ There was an unfamiliar bitterness in Stacey’s tone. Before Sam, her single-track life had always seemed sufficient. She had friends – Paula, and a few geeks who shared her fascination with data and programming – and she didn’t seem to need more. If anyone had asked, Paula would have said Stacey was one of the few people she knew who was content with her life. Then Sam had infiltrated her heart and changed everything. Stacey wasn’t given to sharing confidences, but what little she had told Paula indicated how stupid he’d made her feel. Whenever Paula thought of him, she felt the urge to slap him till his ears bled. She’d never do it, of course. She wasn’t inclined towards violence. But any chance that came along to humiliate or damage him professionally? She’d take it in a heartbeat for the hurt he’d done to her friend.
‘On account of everybody in this squad is obsessed by our cases,’ Paula said. ‘Only, like I sai
d, this is family.’ She dropped an iPhone on the desk and pushed it towards Stacey.
‘It’s an iPhone 6,’ Stacey said.
‘What it is, it’s a ballistic missile that’s blown a hole in Torin’s life.’
Stacey’s eyebrows flicked up and down. ‘That sounds… extreme?’
‘It is.’ Paula outlined the nightmare that had unfolded in their lives. Stacey showed no sign of shock or surprise.
When Paula reached the end of her narrative, Stacey nodded. ‘This is nothing new, Paula.’
‘I know that. I’ve read the stories. Teenagers committing suicide because all they can see ahead of them is shame and disgrace. Kids running away from home into who knows what because they feel like they’ve lost their future. Well, I’m not having that happening to Torin. Not on my watch.’ Paula’s face flushed with angry determination.
‘I get that,’ Stacey said. ‘But you may not be able to stop the first part of that disaster. The making public of what he’s done. But there are practical steps you can take that might make it harder for the attackers. There’s a chance they might not have already raided all his contact lists. So what he has to do – and he has to do this today – is to delete all his contacts, one by one, from his phone. Then the same from all his social media accounts. One by one, manually, not some “delete all” command. Then he has to close down his social media accounts. Down the line, once all of this is over, he can set up new ones. But for now, he has to make himself invisible and stay invisible.’