Fatal Act (20 page)

‘We are.’

But Geraldine knew she would be taking the image of a blue-faced young woman with her in her mind, knew too that the memory would haunt her until they found her killer. Bethany had clearly taken so much trouble over her appearance while she was alive, it was almost unbearably sad to remember her with distorted features and discoloured complexion.

S
AM
CLAIMED
THE
SIGHT
of one carved up young woman was enough for her in one week. She made a joke of it, but Geraldine couldn’t help worrying about her young sergeant. Sam would have to toughen up if she wanted to stick with a career in homicide. It might even be better for her to work in fraud, but Geraldine was reluctant to suggest a move that would mean losing her. In the meantime, there was no reason why Sam should have to view every post mortem. It meant Geraldine couldn’t discuss the medical findings in the car with her colleague on the way back to the station, but it could be useful to mull over what she had seen by herself. It was an uncomfortable thought that her own leniency might not actually be helpful to Sam in the long run. Nevertheless, she had assured Sam it was fine for her to stay behind while Geraldine went to the mortuary alone.

M
iles reported his conclusions rapidly.

‘It’s pretty straightforward this time. My guess is that someone came up behind her, grabbed hold of a leather strap she was wearing round her neck, and –’

He drew his hand swiftly across his own throat to indicate the victim had been strangled, rolling his eyes as he did so. Geraldine suppressed a smile at his comical expression.

‘Did you say she was wearing a leather strap round her neck?’

The pathologist held up a bag containing a black leather cord.

‘This was inside her shirt.’

Geraldine had seen such necklaces before.

‘Do you think she was wearing it before she was attacked?’

‘Probably, because it wouldn’t have been easy for someone to come up behind her and throw the cord round her neck without her noticing what was going on. If that happened, I would expect to find some evidence of defence wounds from where she tried to stop her attacker getting the cord in place round her neck. On the other hand, if she was already wearing the necklace, it would have been relatively easy for someone to sneak up behind her, seize hold of it and tighten it quickly enough for his victim to lose consciousness before she had a chance to react. There are no defence injuries on her arms or hands, and little sign of a struggle, which suggests she was taken by surprise and it was all over very quickly.’

H
e looked down at the body. Once again Geraldine was struck by how young the dead girl looked. With her beautiful blue face, she resembled a cartoon character, a fantasy princess from a different world.

‘She doesn’t appear to have put up much resistance, if any. There’s no sign of a struggle. My guess is she was taken completely by surprise, by a very efficient killer.’

‘You seem to be doing a lot of guesswork,’ Geraldine grumbled.

‘Well, I’m sorry. I’ll try to be there to film it next time.’

R
iled, he ran quickly through the injuries.

‘The cause of death is exactly how it looks. Asphyxiation by strangulation with a cord round her neck.’

‘Why is she so blue?’

‘The blue tinge is caused by cyanosis. Severe hypoxia – lack of oxygen – induces this blue discolouration of the skin. It happens with asphyxiation. There is some evidence that she tried to prevent the cord being tightened, but it was already too late. There are scratch marks on her neck, and I found flakes of skin under her finger nails. We’ll need to run DNA tests, but I’m guessing – that is, the likelihood is – that it’s her own skin under her nails, scraped away when she tried to prevent the cord from tightening round her neck.’

M
iles confirmed that the dead girl had not been subjected to a sexual assault. Geraldine felt relieved, although it made no difference to Bethany now.

‘Let’s hope that some of the traces of skin cells under her nails belonged to someone else,’ he said.

Geraldine left, instructing him to contact her if he had any further information for her. He could call her at any time.

B
ack at the station Reg was talking to Sam and the team of constables who had been watching CCTV footage.

‘Well, look again.’ Reg sounded annoyed. ‘People don’t just disappear into thin air. Whoever killed her must be there on the film somewhere. Find him.’

‘Still banging on about Anna’s missing killer?’ Geraldine muttered.

‘No,’ Sam answered in an undertone so no one else could hear, least of all Reg. ‘He’s not talking about Anna. This is Bethany’s killer he’s on about.’

‘Don’t tell me her killer vanished without trace as well,’ Geraldine said. ‘This isn’t
Star Trek
. Beam me up, Scotty.’

She was joking, but Sam looked serious.

R
eg scowled at Geraldine who dropped her eyes. He must have heard her quip. It wasn’t even funny. Sam explained to Geraldine that a couple of constables had been studying CCTV film along the Holborn Viaduct in both directions. More officers had been studying film of the stairs leading from Holborn Viaduct to the street below, trying to gain sight of the killer leaving the scene. So far none of them had seen anyone leaving the bridge on foot, and no car had stopped on or near the bridge. Bethany’s killer seemed to have vanished from the bridge as mysteriously as Anna’s had from the car crash.

‘The method of killing is completely different,’ the detective chief inspector pointed out in his clipped voice. ‘So presumably we’re looking at different killers, but –’ he paused, frowning. ‘We can’t ignore the fact that both victims were involved with one man, Piers Trevelyan.’

‘And in both cases the killer vanished impossibly,’ Geraldine added. ‘Who the hell are we dealing with?’

No one answered.

R
eg glared at her as though she was somehow responsible for the cases proving so tricky. He was never comfortable unless he felt in control of a situation. Confusion made him angry, and he hated anything that threatened to undermine morale and consequently his authority over the team. But the facts remained.

‘It makes no sense,’ Geraldine said.

‘Then we just have to work harder, and sort out this mess,’ Reg growled.

He stomped from the room and the business of the day resumed in an atmosphere of quiet industry.

I
T
WAS
EASY
TO
see Bethany had inherited her good looks from her mother. Now middle-aged and running to fat, she must have been stunning when she was young. Her present appearance wasn’t improved by her eyes, which were puffy and swollen from crying. She stared blankly as Geraldine introduced herself.

‘We’ve done it,’ she replied, without moving to close the door. ‘It’s done.’

‘I’m sorry? What’s done?’

‘We’ve been to identify her – we’ve seen it –’

She faltered, unable to complete the sentence, while her expression remained wooden. Geraldine guessed she must be sedated.

‘Mrs Marsden, I’m here to ask you a few questions about Bethany.’

‘What for? She’s not coming back.’

‘We don’t believe your daughter’s death was an accident.’

‘I know that. I saw her.’

A
fter a momentary flash of anguish the grieving woman’s eyes glazed over once more. Geraldine pressed on.

‘We need to find out who’s responsible for Bethany’s death.’

Mrs Marsden shrugged.

‘What’s the point now? She’s dead. Nothing’s going to bring her back.’

Geraldine sighed. This was so difficult.

‘Is your husband in?’

‘Gary? Huh. You’ll be wasting your time talking to him.’

Despite her dismissal, she opened the door and gestured for Geraldine to enter.

T
he living room was crammed: three armchairs, a two-seater settee, several footstools, every spare inch of the carpet hidden beneath occasional tables covered with china dogs, small bunches of silk flowers, glass ornaments, paper weights, and framed photographs, mostly of the dead girl. Among the assortment of colourful chintz furniture, flowery curtains and gaudy ornaments, at first Geraldine didn’t notice an elderly man hunched in an armchair. He didn’t stir when they walked in. Only when his wife called his name loudly did he raise his head. Seeing his face, Geraldine realised he was not as old as his bowed posture and white hair had led her to suppose, no more than sixty.

‘M
r Marsden?’

His eyes slid past her to gaze helplessly at his wife.

‘Gary,’ she called him again, in a very loud voice. Geraldine wondered if he was deaf. ‘Gary, there’s someone here to see you.’

‘Both of you,’ Geraldine added. ‘I’m here to speak to you both.’

Mrs Marsden dropped on to the sofa as though the effort of inviting Geraldine in had sapped her energy. Geraldine perched on an armchair and cleared her throat.

‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’

Neither of them answered.

‘I’m sure you are as keen as we are to discover who carried out this terrible attack on your daughter.’

Bethany’s mother dropped her head in her hands and wept silently. Her father didn’t respond.

G
eraldine decided she would have to be blunter. She turned to the woman.

‘Mrs Marsden, I’m sure you want to help us find Bethany’s killer, and bring him to justice.’

‘I told you, didn’t I?’

‘What?’

‘I said there’s no point in talking to Gary. You can’t get much sense out of him at the best of times and now – since we lost Bethany – it’s like he’s –’

She broke off with a helpless gesture, raising her eyebrows.

‘Of course the doctor’s put him on something. Both of us. It’s supposed to help, but look at him.’ She sighed. ‘It’s no life.’

G
eraldine muttered some sympathetic platitude about time, before guiding the conversation back to the investigation. At least Mrs Marsden seemed to know what was going on.

‘What can you tell me about Bethany’s friends, the company she kept?’

‘Friends?’

‘Did she have any particular friends?’

‘A boyfriend, you mean?’

‘That would be a good place to start.’

Geraldine was surprised to see Mrs Marsden break into a smile.

‘Bethany always had a few admirers in tow.’

‘Not always youngsters,’ her husband chipped in unexpectedly.

‘That’s true enough,’ his wife agreed. ‘I was just the same when I was a girl. Lots of boys.’

She sighed again, briefly transported away from the painful present. Geraldine waited.

‘Not like Bethany though,’ she resumed, sombre again. ‘She went for older men.’

She paused again, a distant look in her eyes.

‘Older men?’ Geraldine prompted her quietly.

M
rs Marsden glanced over at her husband who had sunk back into his lethargy and was no longer paying attention.

‘Yes. There was that Piers bloke. Do you remember him, Gary?’

Mr Marsden grunted.

‘We only met him once, after one of her shows at the drama school. He’d been directing her. He was a smooth talker. But you wouldn’t trust him as far as you could throw him. Bethany seemed really smitten with him but the next minute it was someone else, that dark-haired chap. Do you remember him, Gary?’ She clearly wasn’t expecting a reply because she continued without pausing. ‘At least he wasn’t as old as Piers, but still too old for her.’

‘What was his name?’

She shook her head.

‘I don’t know. Was it David? No, it’s gone. There were so many. He wasn’t anyone special. But nice enough.’

‘Can you describe him?’

She screwed up her face with the effort of remembering.

‘I saw him once, although we never met as such. He was outside, in his car, waiting for her. He had dark hair, and looked very handsome, Italian or Spanish, I’d say. And he must have been fit, because Bethany said he was a –’

Mr Marsden sat upright quite suddenly and looked around as though he was waking up.

‘That’s enough, Margery,’ he said firmly. ‘Enough.’

‘He doesn’t like talking about her,’ Mrs Marsden mumbled. ‘You’d better go. I don’t want to upset him.’

O
n the doorstep, Geraldine tried one more time.

‘You were about to say something about Bethany’s last boyfriend?’

‘Who?’

‘The man she was seeing after Piers Trevelyan?’

Mrs Marsden looked confused.

‘Piers? Yes, there was a man called Piers. He was much older than her.’

‘And after that?’

‘I never met anyone else after that, no more boyfriends.’ She sighed and her expression grew distant again. ‘I used to have so many young men after me. You wouldn’t think it to look at me now.’

S
he started to close the door. Geraldine spoke quickly.

‘Can you tell me anything else about Bethany? Did she seem worried?’

‘Worried? Bethany? No, Bethany wasn’t a worrier.’

‘Well, if you think of anything else, please let me know.’

She thrust a card at Mrs Marsden before the door closed. It was unlikely she would keep it, if she even remembered Geraldine’s visit. There was no point in returning for at least a week. By then the bereaved parents might have recovered from their initial shock. Geraldine understood doctors might consider it necessary to prescribe sedatives in such cases, but she wished they wouldn’t issue drugs that dulled the thoughts and memories of people who might hold vital information. It didn’t help the investigation.

N
ICK
WAS
OUT
ON
Monday morning. Sam sat down in Geraldine’s office while they went over possible links between the two victims. Both were in their early twenties, female and blonde. They were both involved with Piers, who was still under suspicion. He had probably been in relationships with them at the same time. Apart from that, they had studied together at drama school where they would have had many friends and acquaintances in common.