Cut to the Bone (27 page)

‘I might be naive, not part of your corporate world, but it seems to me that Ruby was crucial to all of it. Without her, you would have nothing?’

Jed’s face was reddening; mixing with his tan, it looked like a type of wood she had once seen. ‘We can replace her.’

‘Is that what you plan on doing? Replacing Ruby? Is she that disposable to you?’

‘I’m not sure why you are here, detective. Why aren’t you out there finding Ruby, and finding whoever killed her?’

‘I am,’ said Kate, casually.

Jed’s brows lifted, his jaw began to pulse. ‘You think MINDNET are involved?’

‘I’m curious . . . If Ruby refused to sign your new contract, what would you do? It seems to me that she is essential for your brand. And if your star isn’t playing ball?’

‘You think we would kill her off? It doesn’t make sense.’

‘Like you said, Ruby is replaceable.’

‘You’re being ridiculous.’

‘I bet you already have a hundred potential girls lined up to fill her space. A targeted campaign at Ruby’s subscribers. That on top of rebranding Daniel Grant as a broken-hearted, misused-by-the-system hero. It seems to me MINDNET are the only winners in this sad situation. And I can’t help wondering, who else in the MINDNET stable is rebelling? Who else might need to be kept quiet?’

‘I think we’re done,’ said Jed.

Kate wasn’t. There was more here, she could see it in his face. She had broken through his confident veneer, his shield of privilege, and she had made him tremble. The nerves, the sweating, the ticks.

‘Not yet,’ said Kate. ‘Where were you on the day of Ruby’s disappearance?’

Jed’s mouth opened, ready to attack her, then closed quickly.

Chapter Seventy-six

Zain was locked away with Bill Anderson, going over the data MINDNET had collected. Riley had painted Anderson as a Neanderthal. Zain took offence on two grounds.

‘You know that Neanderthal image is a load of crap,’ he’d told her back at the office, when she’d updated him about her latest encounter with the MINDNET staff. ‘They found skeletons that were old with arthritis when they died; one had a damaged leg. And from that they concluded they were all bent over and dumb and aggressive. They could speak, looked nearly the same as us. Had culture and religion, and it was probably us who butchered them. So, I get what you’re saying. Anderson is a man’s man, probably a misogynist and difficult, but don’t insult our cousin species.’

The look on her face.

Anderson was his sort of man, similar to his own father. Zain understood him, his mentality. He saw it in the groomed cleanliness that wasn’t obvious but was military grade. Short, hair, clipped nails, smart clothes. Shoes the colour of liquorice, they were polished so well. A man who took orders, followed orders.

Zain got that. He took orders. Didn’t always follow them, though. Probably where he and Anderson would diverge.

‘Training recruits. It’s what they make men like me do. Once they have no use for us. It’s our version of horses for glue,’ Anderson said.

‘Inspiring the next generation?’ said Zain.

‘Hardly. They make you into a highly specific engineered machine. A trained killer. Then they expect you to sit in a classroom and teach?’

‘They probably expected you to die early,’ said Zain.

‘Yes. Surviving sometimes isn’t the best option.’

‘You turned to the dark side?’ said Zain – jokingly, he hoped.

Anderson narrowed his eyes, pulled his head up, nostrils enlarged. Not in a joking mood, thought Zain.

‘I make use of my skills, that’s all.’

‘You married?’

‘No. Men like me don’t really get married. Even when we do, it’s only a half truth.’

Zain nodded. Another similarity. ‘How did you find out about Ruby?’

‘I got a call from Mr Byrne, about 5 a.m.’

‘How did he find out?’

‘No idea. Ask him.’

‘DCI Riley is probably on it. You alone when you got the call?’

‘Yes. I work long hours. And I’ll save you the trouble. I have no one that can verify my whereabouts. If I am of interest. Between 8 p.m. and 8 a.m. when I started work again, I was alone. Didn’t speak to anyone.’

Window of opportunity, thought Zain. Here was a man admitting he had one. What was the motive? There had to be one before that time frame became important.

‘Not of specific interest, Mr Anderson. Just asking everyone Ruby might have come into contact with. Expanding our investigation.’

Riley’s words.

‘Now your prime suspect is no longer viable, you mean?’

‘You’ve met him, haven’t you? He’s not right.’

‘You shouldn’t judge him so harshly,’ said Anderson.

‘I judge as I find,’ said Zain. ‘I would’ve thought Dan rubbed you the wrong way. He’s ideal material to get into the army for a year and get the wrongness trained out of him.’

‘I understand Dan. His leg was damaged in a fall. It left him with a limp, from aged five or six. He went through years of torment at school, never allowed to take part in games, the usual stuff boys get up to.’

‘Some boys,’ said Zain. ‘My cousin liked dolls.’

‘Gay?’

‘No, has had two wives and seven children.’

‘Dan was always on the margins. That sort of outsider status builds up an anger inside, a rage. He turned to the net for his sanity. Although I think it was already too late; he was damaged.’

‘How do you know all this?’

‘He invited all his school pals to his birthday party.’

‘The party? The one at chrome?’

‘Yes. He invited his pals, who weren’t really his pals. He had no friends; these were his classmates, year mates. He rubbed their faces in it. How they had come crawling to his party, were drinking his champagne and getting off with the women he’d hired.’

‘You make him sound like a character out of
Carrie
.’

‘When you’re so hated for so long, I don’t know if you can ever be right again.’

Anderson tapped on his keyboard, brought up the files Zain wanted to see.

‘We checked the trolls, the threatening comments. The majority are from young girls, aged twelve to seventeen. Some older. The pervs, the old men pretending to be teenage girls, they don’t really troll. They send arse-kissing messages, usually, and they were targeting other young girls, fans of Ruby’s, not Ruby herself.’

‘Yeah, let’s all get online, so perverts can get access to our kids,’ said Zain. ‘Makes me sick.’

‘We gave details to the police, when we found them. It’s difficult. Anyone can open a YouTube account; you don’t need a credit card. Unless you want age verification, but none of Ruby’s videos were adult.’

‘How did you find out, then?’

‘Guesswork, instinct. Checking the email addresses used, checking IP addresses. If there are no kids in the house, then we know. Like I said, very few were found.’

‘And the ones threatening Ruby? There must be something?’

‘I sent a list to your colleague, Michelle Cable. Mainly trolls, jealousy reeking from every typed letter. No stalkers sending her messages saying they want to lunch on her kidneys.’

Except for Dan, thought Zain.

‘I think your investigation is probably going to stall, detective. I can sense it. I’m also guessing, right now, a second victim might be just what you need.’

Zain needed a leak on his way out of the MINDNET offices, although Anderson seemed reluctant to let him loose in the building.

Zain was washing his hands. Even the Gents had bottles of Molton Brown soap and moisturisers. That’s when you knew a place had money.

The bathroom door opened, and a man came in. Zain watched him check the cubicles, the urinals.

‘I need to speak to you,’ he said. His voice was shaky, as though stuck in his gullet. ‘Not here, though. You know the British Museum? The Montague Place entrance. Where the stone lions are.’

‘What’s this about?’

‘It’s about Ruby Day. You need to know something; it might help.’

‘When?’

‘Today. Nine p.m.’

They heard the outer door being pushed open as someone else came in, and the man ran into one of the cubicles. Zain swore he could hear the first man’s heart beating, although it was probably his own.

Chapter Seventy-seven

Kate watched the video in the conference room back at Regus House. Michelle circled the figure on her tablet in digital red paint, the image transferring to the plasma screen.

‘It’s the back entrance to Windsor Court,’ she said.

Kate watched the figure, at first shaded by night and then bathed in the fluorescent security light, until he was out of range. The lights went off, and there was darkness again. She checked the timestamp at the foot of the screen: 00:34.

The images spooled forward and, thirty minutes later, he left. In his right hand he was carrying a folder full of paper.

‘I think he must have dumped the contents – the stuff we later found in the rubbish bins – out of camera shot.’

The figure was recorded by the immobile camera as he walked through the back gate of Windsor Court. The screen flipped to another shot, this time taken from a traffic cam by the overpass on Edgware Road.

‘That’s his car. I checked against the DVLA database.’

‘Excellent work, Michelle.’

Kate turned to Zain, who was slouching forward in his chair, tapping his fingers on the table.

‘I knew it,’ he said. ‘Ruby’s bedroom was just too clean, too ordered. Too paperless. The bastard must have cleared it out.’

Kate pictured the scene Harris was painting, imagined Karl Rourke rummaging around Ruby’s bedroom. Hours after she had disappeared, just before her parents made the call to the police.

‘This makes his alibi a load of bullshit. His wife said he was home from about seven, until he went back to work around eight-thirty the next day,’ said Zain.

‘He was also the signatory on Dan’s place out in Hampshire,’ said Kate. ‘Michelle, I need you to trace Rourke’s car. See if you get a hit of it leaving London, heading out towards Winchester. And contact Pelt, he’s still with Hampshire police. See if he can get them to do a trace at their end.’

‘The parents must have lied as well,’ said Zain. ‘The whole lot of them have been messing with us.’

‘The Days must have known he was there at their flat. They must have invited him,’ she said. ‘The question is why?’

‘Let’s haul his arse in, and find out,’ said Zain.

‘Bring Mrs Rourke in as well. I want to know why she lied about his alibi.’

Susan Rourke was leaking information. Her wedding ring was being pulled off her finger, twisted around the knuckle, then pushed back in place. She did it repeatedly as Kate spoke to her.

Susan was dressed in a cream jumper, striped collar poking over the top, and tight coffee-coloured slacks. She looked like the sort of woman who lived in a commercial for a ready-made suburban housewife.

Apart from the eyes. They were leaking information, too, her pupils contracting and expanding as Kate spoke of her husband.

‘I have to remind you how serious this is, and that I recommend the presence of a legal representative,’ said Kate.

Susan shook her head.

‘You are waiving the right to counsel?’

‘Yes,’ she said. Her voice was quiet.

‘When we questioned you about your husband’s whereabouts, you said he was with you from 7 p.m. the night Ruby disappeared. That he was at home throughout the evening and night, not leaving the house until eight-thirty the following morning. You were certain he hadn’t left.’

‘Yes,’ said Susan.

‘Mrs Rourke . . .’

‘Call me Susan,’ she said, snapping. A sliver of anger across her face, in her eyes, the ring on her finger tugged.

‘Susan, we now have evidence to show that Karl Rourke was not at home during the hours you claim. We have him on CCTV, at Windsor Court, arriving at approximately twelve thirty-four. This would suggest he left the house you share somewhere around eleven-thirty at night. Is that correct?’

Susan stared into Kate’s eyes, deliberating. Balancing.

‘Lying to the police is perjury, Susan. We can already prosecute you. I don’t think that would be to our advantage, though. Honesty would help us clarify our next steps.’

‘Karl wasn’t home. He didn’t come home after work. He came back at about 2 a.m. I’m sorry. He asked me to lie; he said he couldn’t explain. He asked me to do it for the sake of the children.’

‘You have no idea where he was between the times he claims he was with you?’

‘No.’

‘Does he do this a lot? Not come home, not tell you where he’s been?’

Susan laughed. ‘I sound pathetic, don’t I? I bet if your husband did that, you would ask him, wouldn’t you?’

‘Have you never questioned him?’

‘No. It’s work. He always gives me that generic excuse. And, like a fool, I accept it.’

‘Where do you think he might be when he doesn’t come home?’

Susan chewed the inside of her cheek, her eyes wandering around the interview room, resting on Kate when she was done taking it all in.

‘I try not to. I cram my days with so much that I don’t have a place for paranoia. What would take over my thoughts otherwise? Karl with another woman? Gambling? Or is he genuinely so busy he needs to work odd hours? I don’t fully understand his business, and I don’t pay attention to it.’

‘Do you think there might have been another woman?’

‘Sometimes. When I let myself dwell on it. Most of the time, like I said, I’m kept busy. With the house, the children. His children, his perfect house, our perfect life.’

‘Do you have any idea who the other woman might be?’

‘It’s obvious, really. There was only ever one woman he was obsessed with. I thought when he sold out, when he gave up his list to MINDNET . . . I was a fool. I thought he would give her up, that she would be out of our lives. It didn’t happen though. His obsession just grew.’

‘Who are you referring to, Mrs Rourke?’

Susan turned eyes of steel to Kate, and the wedding band was pulled right to the nail, where it could fall off.

‘Ruby Day,’ she said, letting the ring clatter on the table, and roll off the edge.