Daisy in Chains (10 page)

‘What discrepancies?’

Rowland, in some discomfort, looks around the group.

Shiven jumps to his feet. ‘Why don’t I do this bit?’ He turns to Maggie. ‘Of course we’ve formed a collective view in the time we’ve been meeting. Shall we share that?’

‘By all means.’

‘You might want to take notes.’

When Maggie makes no move to take either pad or pen from her
bag, Shiven steps into the centre of the group. ‘The first problem we have with the Crown case against Hamish is that the prosecution never explained how he supposedly got his victims into the caves? Am I right?’

Nods all around the group.

‘The feat Hamish supposedly pulled off is considered practically impossible, even for a fit and strong caver who knew the underground system.’ He spins on his heels to point a finger at Maggie. ‘The prosecution argued that Hamish knew the caves well. That as a doctor he had access to sedative drugs, and that he was familiar with ropes and pulleys. If anyone could do it, they claimed, Hamish Wolfe could. The question remains, could anyone have done it?’

The question hangs in the air. Shiven closes his eyes, raises his head, as if listening to an inner voice.

‘The next thing that makes no sense to us,’ Shiven’s eyes snap open again, ‘and we’re grateful to Rowland for pointing this out, is the inconsistency in the placing of the bodies. He concealed Zoe’s body very effectively, but Jessie, Chloe and Myrtle were found relatively quickly, because all three had been left in locations regularly visited by caving groups. This argues against Hamish. If he’d wanted those bodies never to be found, he could have weighted them down and dropped them into a sump. He could have thrown them into cavities that are never explored. Am I right?’

Everyone seems to think he is.

‘I’ve had the same thought,’ says Maggie. ‘It’s possible there was a deliberate placing of the latter three victims to ensure their early discovery and to disguise a possible personal connection between the killer and the first victim. If so, wouldn’t this rather point to Hamish? Zoe was the only victim he knew personally.’

‘He was with me when she disappeared.’ All heads turn to Sandra. ‘Why does no one believe me?’

Shiven clears his throat. ‘OK, next point. From where, exactly, did the killer supposedly cyber-stalk Jessie, Chloe and Myrtle? This killer, who I will not call Hamish, thank you very much.’ His hands open wide in front of his body. ‘Does anyone here want me to call him Hamish? No? Thank you. This killer managed to create three entirely fake
identities: Harry the doctor, Isabelle the jewellery tycoon and Anita the Disney-loving grandmother.’

As Shiven calls out each alias he counts them off on his fingers. ‘The computer he used to do this has never been found. In the last five years, there is no record of Hamish Wolfe having bought a computer that the police were unable to trace. Hamish didn’t cyber-stalk these women.’

‘And yet one posting on Jessie Tout’s Facebook page was definitely sent by Hamish,’ says Maggie. ‘It was traced to his home computer. One posting is enough to establish a connection.’

Another argument breaks out and Maggie hears the words
fake, set-up.
If they are going down the path of conspiracy theories, she’ll be home earlier than she’s planned.

‘Rowland has also pointed out the next problem with the case,’ says Shiven. ‘Rowland, would you like to step in at this point?’

Rowland suppresses a belch and shakes his head.

‘OK.’ Shiven is only too happy to carry on speaking. ‘We know that during February and March of 2013, the killer was “grooming” his next three victims. Thanks to Rowland and his in-depth knowledge of serial killer pattern behaviour, we know that this simultaneous victim selection is entirely untypical. Stalking three at once has a ‘kid in the candy store’ feel about it which is out of character with everything we know about this sort of killer.’

Actually, that is a good point.

‘So what do you think, Maggie? Have we convinced you?’

The faces around her have an unquestioning belief in the rightness of their cause.

‘Far from it,’ Maggie says. ‘You haven’t come up with a single good reason for doubting Wolfe’s conviction. The jury heard all about Sandra’s alibi for the night of Zoe’s disappearance. They heard the speculation about the difficulties of getting women into the caves but concluded, quite rightly, that Hamish was as likely a candidate as any other. And, whilst I can understand that these might seem like discrepancies to you, they are balanced against some iron-clad evidence, namely the hair and carpet fibres found on Jessie’s body, the Facebook posting from Hamish’s computer and the sighting of his car at the petrol station on the night Myrtle Reid disappeared. I’ve heard nothing new
here and before I can even think of taking on this case, I will need something new.’

‘We have something new.’

Broon is speaking so quietly that only Maggie can have heard him.

‘What?’

There seems to be some sort of unspoken conversation taking place between Broon and Odi. She is shaking her head firmly and Maggie catches a glimpse of a puffy, pale face, framed by short grey hair.

Around the circle, others look mystified.

‘What is it, Broon?’ asks Shiven. ‘Do you and Odi know something you haven’t shared with us? Because absolute honesty was a founding principle of our group.’

‘Broon?’ Sandra looks about to get out of her seat. ‘Odi, what is it?’

Broon seems to make up his mind. ‘Hamish was arrested on 4 December 2013. Before the bodies of Chloe Wood and Myrtle Reid were found.’

‘Broon, no!’

Maggie ignores Odi’s outburst. ‘That’s right. They were found some months later. They’d decomposed quite considerably.’

‘We saw someone going into Rill Cavern the following April. Odi and me. We saw somebody going in carrying something heavy.’

‘Only me, Broon. You were asleep.’

Maggie’s heart is beating faster, she simply can’t help it. She leans forward to get a good look at the woman. Odi is older than she’d first thought. Her short, straight hair is completely grey. Just the plumpness of her face smooths out the wrinkles, giving her a younger look. ‘You saw someone carrying the body of Myrtle Reid into Rill Cavern?’

‘No, no, it wasn’t a body.’ Odi can’t look up from the floor. ‘It was dark, we were a long way away. I just saw someone, with a small light. You know, like one of those miner’s lamps? On their heads? Nothing really, just a dark figure, with a light.’

‘I know,’ Maggie says. ‘People buy them for camping. Sometimes for running.’

‘Well, Odi saw someone wearing one of those,’ says Broon, ‘and carrying something, going into the cave.’

‘What time?’ Maggie ignores Broon, keeping her eyes fixed on Odi.

‘After dark.’ The other woman shrugs. ‘Maybe around eleven o’clock. Possibly midnight.’

‘Male or female? Young? Old?’

‘I couldn’t tell. They were too far away.’

‘Did you tell the police this?’

Silence. Odi is still looking at her feet. Broon is watching his girlfriend.

‘Odi!’ Sandra can’t keep quiet. ‘I can’t believe you haven’t told us this before. I can’t believe you didn’t tell the police. Hamish has been in prison for nearly two years.’

‘Now don’t you be having a go at my lady. We joined this group. We did what we could for Hamish.’

Sandra is furious. ‘You did nothing! You had evidence that could have helped him and you didn’t even tell us.’

Odi risks glancing up at Sandra. She has tears in her eyes. ‘We have enough hassle from the police as it is. They’d have said we were too far away, that it could have been anyone exploring the cave, of course they’d be carrying equipment. It wasn’t necessarily anything to do with Myrtle.’

‘And another thing – when Odi saw what she did, we had no idea it would mean anything.’ Broon has raised his voice. ‘I’m not sure we even knew about the missing women. Or Hamish’s arrest. We don’t take
The Times
every day. This was weeks before Myrtle’s body was found.’

‘And by the time you knew it could be significant, more time had passed, your memory wasn’t that clear anyway.’ Maggie looks across at Sandra. ‘You mustn’t blame Odi. The chances are a good prosecution barrister would have made mincemeat of her on the witness stand. If the defence even thought she was credible enough to put up in the first place.’

‘But—’

Maggie turns away from Sandra, cutting her off. ‘Where were you, Odi? When you saw this person?’

‘We were higher up the gorge. In Gossam Cave. We often sleep in it if the weather isn’t too bad. Lots of travellers use the caves in summer. I just thought it was someone spending the night.’

Maggie gives the other woman what she hopes is a reassuring smile. ‘Most likely it was.’

‘But—’ Sandra is barely able to keep her seat.

‘On the other hand, if it was Myrtle whom you saw, then the person carrying her couldn’t have been Hamish, because he’d already been remanded in custody.’

‘Exactly.’ Sandra is standing, Daisy whimpering at her side. ‘Odi, we’re going to the police. We’re going now. I’ll drive you.’

‘No.’ Odi jumps to her feet, Broon copying her a second later. He follows his girlfriend from the room.

‘So what do you think?’ Shiven asks again. ‘Will you take the case on?’

Maggie looks round at the group. At the people who are here out of a sense of drama, at those who are looking for a cause – any cause. At those who come because it is something to do once a month, because it lets them kid themselves they have friends.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I can’t help you. There is nothing here for me to work with. I’ll let you get on with your meeting.’

Maggie reverses away from the building, slowly, because the area is dark and she can’t quite remember what is behind her. As she switches gear, the passenger door opens, letting cold, wet air fly into the car. The wild-haired, dark-eyed woman, Sirocco, climbs in and pulls the door shut.

Close up, there is an intensity to her face that is unnerving, and yet in spite of the coarse skin, the heavy make-up, she has a beauty that Maggie hadn’t noticed in the clubhouse. Her dark eyes are wide and clear, her cheekbones high, her jawline clean. She stares straight at Maggie. ‘I’m sorry about having a go at you. I know you’re only trying to help.’

Maggie pulls on the handbrake. ‘Actually, I’m not. I would only ever have got involved if I thought it was worth my while. You have no need to apologize to me.’

‘People say if anyone can get him out, you can. You have to try. He can’t stay in there. He needs people on his side.’

Maggie glances back over her shoulder. ‘He seems to have quite a few people on his side.’

Sirocco makes a dismissive gesture. ‘You think that lot know, or care, whether he did it or not? Sandra doesn’t care how many women he’s killed, she just wants her baby out of prison. The rest don’t give a monkey’s, they go along with it all because it gives some meaning to their sad little lives. If Hamish walked through the door at one of these stupid meetings, they’d probably all run screaming like kids frightened of a bogeyman.’

In spite of her annoyance, there is something about the image that tickles Maggie. ‘If the rest of them are here for the glamour, what’s motivating you?’

‘I told you, I love him. He loves me. Hamish and I are soulmates, born to be together.’

‘Even though you’ve never met?’ The woman is a fruitcake. Hopefully, given that they are alone, a harmless one.

‘You don’t know that. You only know what Sandra told you.’

‘Sirocco, this is all very well, but it’s getting late, and I have another appointment to get to. So, unless you have something of substance to tell me, I’m going to have to ask you to get out of my car.’

‘Give me a lift to Minehead town centre, we can talk on the way.’

‘Certainly not. Please get out of my car.’

Sirocco sits back in the passenger seat, arms folded, her body language saying she is going nowhere. Maggie can see the other woman’s face in the dark mirror of the windscreen. Their eyes meet in the reflection. Oh, what the hell? Maggie starts the engine.

‘Actually, I live a few miles the other side of Minehead, where are you heading for?’

‘Minehead town centre, and you get out without argument or I call the police.’ The barrier is up and Maggie drives out of the park, narrowly avoiding two people who are walking, hand in hand, down the road. Both are carrying large backpacks. She takes her foot off the accelerator.

‘Those two weirdos will stink your car out.’ Sirocco has seen them too, is looking back through the rear window.

The two travellers draw closer and Maggie opens the passenger window.

‘Can I give you a lift into Minehead?’ she asks.

‘That’s very dece—’ Broon is interrupted by a tugging on his arm. He turns his back, there is a mumble of conversation, and then he bends down.

‘Thank you, but we prefer to walk. Have a good evening.’

The main road into Minehead is quiet, the weather keeping most people indoors. ‘Sirocco, you seem like an intelligent woman,’ Maggie says. ‘Why are you spending time with these people? Why are you fixating on a man who is likely to spend the rest of his life in prison? And, please, don’t give me any soulmate nonsense. Did you even know Hamish before he was arrested?’

‘We don’t choose who we love, Maggie. Have you ever been in love?’

‘You can’t love a man you’ve never met, a man you never will meet, because he’s never getting out of Parkhurst.’

‘Hamish won’t be in prison much longer. He has a plan.’

‘A plan? What is he doing, digging a tunnel?’

‘He hasn’t told me the whole plan. It’s not that he doesn’t trust me, it’s just that he can’t be too careful. One thing I do know, though. You’re part of it.’

Sunday Telegraph
, Sunday, 9 November 2014

WOMEN WHO LOVE MONSTERS

Fiona Vermeer asks why women fall in love with the worst possible men.

Every other Saturday, Helen Rayner gets up at four thirty in the morning to catch an early train from her home in the north-east. Her destination is Wandsworth prison, her purpose to visit her husband of two years, Stephen Rayner, known to most of us as the Stevenage Strangler.