Good Girls Don't Die (24 page)

Friday did not begin well. Everyone was tired after nearly two weeks of late nights and snatched meals, too much coffee and adrenaline, and they certainly didn’t need the morning papers to tell them that the investigation was no further forward. Although the majority of the tabloids had run with the upbeat story from yesterday’s press conference of Detective Sergeant Grace Fisher’s long-standing friendship with the second murder victim, the
Courier
had once again bucked the trend.
CLUELESS!
screamed the huge black type above two photographs, one of
Our Polly
, laughing, blonde-haired, and now missing for almost a fortnight, the other a snatched image of a harried-looking Keith taken, so the caption explained, as he’d left the inquiry into the botched Chalmers case two years earlier. In the column below, the
Courier
’s crime correspondent demanded to know for how much longer this murder spree could continue under the very noses of the police, who were still no nearer either to finding Polly or to charging a twisted serial killer with two murders.
Essex police have
repeatedly questioned the same two suspects
, Ivo had written,
but do they actually have a clue about the true identity of the elusive monster preying on the once-peaceful streets of Colchester?

The
Courier
’s destructive slant left the team demoralised and acutely aware that Keith was pretty much helpless in the face of the review team’s determination to cement their
de facto
command of the investigation. So everyone was relieved when Keith emerged from his office to announce that the Met’s Sapphire unit were talking to a woman who claimed she’d been sexually assaulted on their plot by Matt Beeston. Not only would Sapphire like to interview him, but they’d also be happy to pursue all the rape allegations against him. It was an answer to a prayer: this would give them the time they needed to press on with the murder enquiries knowing that their main suspect would be safely under lock and key in London.

It was while Grace was making arrangements for the Met to take Matt off their hands that she answered a call from Jessica, letting them know that she was about to leave Colchester for the long summer vacation. It was mid–afternoon by the time Grace and Lance were free to hurry over to the little house in Station Road, where they found Jessica packing up her belongings.

‘It’s horrible,’ she told them, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. ‘Packing up all my stuff, yet leaving Polly’s. I feel like I’m abandoning her, like I don’t care or something, but I can’t stay here any longer on my own.’

‘No, of course not,’ said Grace. ‘Are her parents coming to collect her things?’

‘No. They’re worried in case she comes back, finds all her stuff cleared out and goes away again.’

Grace nodded. ‘Of course. It’s tough for them.’ And not made any easier, she thought bitterly, by the morning headlines.

‘But Pawel told them it’s fine for them to leave everything here,’ said Jessica. ‘Offered to let me stay on for free, too, if I want. He’s being pretty decent about it all.’

‘That’s good,’ Grace answered. She risked a cautious glance at Lance, but Jessica spotted it and raised her chin obstinately.

‘He said he hasn’t been able to let the house for next term anyway,’ she said. ‘The university Accommodation Office has taken him off their lists, and no one’s going to rent from a murder suspect.’

‘Sounds like you’re still quite friendly?’

‘Not friendly, but it’s hard to believe Pawel would hurt anyone.’

‘You should still be careful,’ Lance warned.

Jessica’s head drooped and she was silent for a moment. When she spoke, they could hardly catch her words. ‘She’s not coming back, is she?’

Grace told the truth. ‘Two weeks is a very long time to have absolutely no sign of her.’ She waited until Jessica took a deep breath and went back to packing up her mugs and dishes. ‘I’m afraid we need to ask you some more questions about Polly. About things she might have said to you.’

Jessica stopped what she was doing and placed a half-
wrapped cereal bowl into the cardboard box at her feet. ‘Then do you mind if we get out of here?’ she asked. ‘This place just gets a bit too much.’

Lance and Grace agreed, and followed her across a playing field on the far side of the railway line to a footpath that led into Wivenhoe Woods. From a distance, the shade under the trees had looked inviting yet, once under the leafy canopy, the air quickly become close, and Grace caught an occasional fetid scent of mouldering vegetation. The dry mud pathways were well worn but the brambles and deliberately placed brushwood made the tangled heart of the ancient woodland that stretched away beyond the tree trunks appear impenetrable.

Grace was content to let Jessica walk in silence until the unhappy hunch of the young woman’s shoulders began to ease. ‘So what was it you wanted to ask me?’ Jessica said at last.

‘I know you’ve told us before, but we’d like you to go over everything that Polly said to you about the night she spent with Matt Beeston,’ said Grace. ‘Really everything.’

‘She didn’t say much.’

‘But you told us earlier that she regretted bringing him home.’

They came into a clearing, and Jessica stopped in front of a large board with captioned illustrations of local fauna and flora. ‘She said she’d been really drunk. Like more than she should’ve been.’

‘Did she think her drinks had been spiked?’ asked Lance.

‘Not really. Maybe a double when she asked for a single.
She thought it was more the release of tension because the exams were finally over.’

‘Sure,’ Lance said reassuringly.

As Grace slapped away hovering midges, feeling the stillness of the late afternoon air prickly and oppressive, Jessica reached out and stroked the bright scarlet markings on the image of a great spotted woodpecker on the board. ‘I think it was just one of those awful shags you have when you’ve drunk a bit more than you should,’ she said, cringing with embarrassment. ‘You know?’

‘Can you remember exactly what she said?’ Grace asked gently.

Jessica stared away into the trees. ‘She couldn’t get him to go the next morning. Had a really bad hangover and was too ill to argue. Said she had to put out again before he’d leave. That’s when Pawel caught them at it. She was pretty stressed.’

‘You think it was rape?’

Jessica shrugged miserably and began to walk again, striking off into a smaller side path to avoid a group of noisy kids on mountain bikes.

‘What kind of sex was it?’ Grace asked, checking over her shoulder that no one was close enough to overhear. ‘I’m sorry to ask, but it’s important.’

‘Like what was done to that journalist, you mean?’

‘Not necessarily.’ Grace feared putting words in Jessica’s mouth, but the young woman shook her head.

‘I don’t think so. Polly was fed up with herself. She shouldn’t have let it happen with Matt, but I don’t think
she was scared or particularly shocked or anything. He’s such a loser.’

Grace nodded. ‘The two of you were close, right? She’d have told you if there had been more to it?’

‘I don’t see why not.’

‘Is there anyone else she might have confided in? Anyone she’d trust with her deepest, darkest secrets?’

‘Maybe some friend from home? I don’t know. We got on pretty well. We were going to share a house again next year.’ Jessica plucked at a strand of hair, as if examining it for split ends. ‘Right now I’m not even sure I want to come back next year.’

‘People often feel like that,’ said Lance comfortingly. ‘Wait and see. Once things are resolved you may feel differently.’

Grace thought hard: had Polly really chosen to tell Danny but not her housemate such crude details about her sexual encounter with Matt Beeston? It seemed extraordinary. Was he a fantasist? Or had there been something between them, something Danny still wasn’t coming clean about? And what about the notion that both she and Lance had picked up, that Danny knew where Polly was? She had to find out. Frowning, she turned to Jessica again. ‘Do you know who Danny Tooley is?’

‘Yes.’ Jessica pointed through the trees to where it was possible to make out a line of low rooftops. ‘He lives over there. Gives us a lift sometimes.’

Grace froze with fear: what had she missed? ‘He gives you a lift?’

‘Yes. He works in the campus bookshop.’

‘Is it a regular thing, getting a lift with him?’

‘No. Just once or twice when one of us missed the bus. And home from town late once when we happened to bump into him.’

‘What sort of car does he drive?’

Jessica thought for a moment. ‘A BMW. One of those old square ones, – dark red, I think.’

‘Thanks.’ Grace’s fear lessened a little as it struck her that of course Danny was bound to lie to a police officer about driving without a licence or insurance. But the urge to dash off and begin checking out this unexpected new information was overwhelming. Lance caught her eye, clearly in the grip of exactly the same impulse. ‘Shall we turn back?’ Grace started to walk a little more briskly. ‘What did Polly make of Danny?’ she asked.

‘Thinks he’s sweet,’ Jessica answered without too much reflection. ‘Says he makes her laugh. Don’t see it myself, but I guess it doesn’t hurt that he’s, like, totally nuts about her. I’d find it annoying more than funny.’

‘In what way?’

‘Oh, you know, if he sees us in town, he’ll always come and say hello. Stands around making lame jokes. Sometimes he can be a bit hard to shake off.’

As they emerged from the woodland path back onto the open expanse of grass, Grace was glad to breathe in the freshness of a light breeze from the distant water. Jessica was happy to part company at the edge of the playing field, promising them both that she’d stay safe and get in touch
if she had any anxieties about her landlord. As soon as she’d gone, Grace turned to Lance.

‘I checked!’ she said. ‘Unless he uses a different name, he’s not on the DVLA database. Never even applied for a provisional licence.’

‘You think he’s spirited her away somewhere?’ Lance asked. ‘Her knight in shining armour?’

‘We need to find the car he’s driving. And then have a word.’

‘He obviously uses it to get to work,’ said Lance. ‘Let’s go check.’

But there were no BMWs amongst the few staff cars parked beside a row of industrial-sized wheelie bins in the service area behind the campus buildings, and when they went into the bookshop in search of Danny, the manager told them that he’d called in sick this morning and had said he wasn’t sure when he’d be well enough to return to work.

Grace was tempted to put her foot down and speed back to Wivenhoe as fast as she could. As the yellowing summer fields whisked past the windows, she kept telling herself that her alarm was only because she’d messed up and not asked the right questions early enough, not because she feared that Danny might have reason to know where Polly was.

She turned into Rosemead Avenue and drew up outside number twenty-seven, a modest little house, neatly kept but with a run-down, dilapidated look to it. Lance went to ring the doorbell. When there was no answer, he peered in through the front window, then shook his head: nothing.

‘If he’s ill, he may not come down,’ Grace pointed out, joining Lance at the window. Inside she could make out a wooden bookshelf against the back wall, well stocked with paperbacks, a shabby old couch and a worn patch of carpet. Grace thought about Danny’s brother away in the army, about an isolated young man, unable to continue his education because his mother was ill, who had chosen to work in a place where he’d never belong. Who knew what frustrations or odd desires he might harbour?

She led the way around the side of the house to a featureless little garden laid entirely to lawn. The grass had been cut, although not recently, and was covered in clover, daisies and dandelions. She looked up at the back windows. There was no sign of life. Through the kitchen window they could see everything kept neat and tidy on the beige countertops. On the windowsill, facing inwards, was a little shepherdess made out of lacquered seashells.

They rang the front doorbell a couple more times, but either Danny didn’t want to leave his bed or he wasn’t there. Grace cursed herself. However understandable Danny’s lie about driving without a licence, he had misled the police in a murder investigation. The big question now was how much else he’d lied to them about.

There was an unexpected mood of elation when Grace and Lance got back to the MIT office, and they hurried over to Duncan to find out what was going on.

‘We just got the transcripts of Roxanne Carson’s reporter’s notebooks back,’ Duncan told them. ‘The boffins have untangled her shorthand.’

‘That was quick,’ said Lance while Grace hoped they’d interpret her gasp as anticipation of a breakthrough rather than apprehension at what her friend’s notes might reveal.

‘What’s more, they confirm that Matt Beeston had motive for killing her!’ said Duncan excitedly. ‘Danny Tooley had told her that Matt and Polly went home together. So, according to her notes, she ambushed Matt’s takeaway delivery, got up to his flat and asked him about the night he and Polly had sex!’

Grace leaned against the nearest desk. ‘When was that?’

‘Lunchtime Tuesday. The day of the vigil,’ said Duncan. ‘It’d be crazy not to assume that Roxanne wouldn’t also
have asked him about the bottle. That would be more than enough to get him rattled.’

‘Is that not in Roxanne’s notes?’ queried Grace, frowning.

‘I haven’t seen the transcripts,’ said Duncan. ‘So I don’t know how detailed they are. But it makes your point, Lance, about why the killer stuffed her knickers in her mouth. Matt would have good reason to want to shut her up.’

‘What about Zawodny?’ asked Lance. ‘Does she mention him? Did she speak to him?’

Duncan shook his head. ‘Nothing in what we have here.’

Disappointed, Lance shook his head in irritation.

‘Matt’s still in London?’ asked Grace.

‘Yes,’ said Duncan. ‘We’ll get him back as soon as Sapphire have finished with him.’

‘Are they charging him?’ asked Lance.

‘With the rape? Hope so.’

‘Bastard!’ Grace couldn’t stop the wave of anger she felt towards the spoiled, selfish young man who may have robbed her friend of life. Lance and Duncan both did an embarrassed little shuffle by way of apology that, in their eagerness, they’d forgotten her private distress.

‘What does Keith think?’ asked Lance.

Duncan nodded towards the SIO’s office, where the blinds were down. ‘He’s in with the superheroes,’ he said with a snort of contempt. ‘Don’t reckon he’s enjoying himself much, either.’

Duncan turned away, and as Grace and Lance returned to their own desks, she spoke softly, not to be overheard.
‘You do realise that this all depends on whether Danny was telling the truth?’

‘How else would he know about the bottle?’

‘The first time he mentioned it to us was after Roxanne died. He could have read it in the paper like everyone else.’

Lance shook his head, unconvinced.

‘Why did Polly tell Danny about it but not Jessica?’ Grace pressed. ‘If Polly was prepared to tell anyone, she’d have told her best girl friend.’

‘Why would he lie to us?’

Grace shrugged. ‘To big himself up? Keep himself in the loop because it’s exciting? Or maybe it’s all to do with some sad little fantasy about how close he and Polly really were.’

‘In his dreams,’ said Lance.

‘Exactly!’ said Grace. ‘It makes no sense that Polly would talk to him like that. He’s too inexperienced, too dreamy-eyed and romantic about her.’

‘Maybe that’s what she liked about him?’ said Lance. ‘Still, we need to speak to him. Make him see that he might actually have to swear under oath in court exactly what he told Roxanne, and when. That might shake him down.’

‘I’ll send someone over there to turf him out of bed,’ said Grace. ‘Then we can find out what’s going on.’

The blinds covering the SIO’s glass partition opened, and Colin led the team out into the main office. It was the end of a long day, yet he looked fresh and invigorated, his white shirt pristine. Keith exited behind the others, looking drawn and angry, his hands thrust deep into his trouser
pockets and his lips pulled tight together as if he didn’t trust himself to speak.

‘We have jointly decided to refocus the investigation,’ began Colin, looking right around to room to make sure that he had captured everyone’s attention. ‘We want to explore the possibility that the disappearance of Polly Sinclair is unrelated to the murders of Rachel Moston and Roxanne Carson.’ He paused as people exchanged glances and either nodded in agreement or raised sceptical eyebrows at one another. ‘Now that we have the contents of Roxanne Carson’s reporter’s notebooks, we are moving closer towards the possibility of charging Matt Beeston with both murders.’ That did win a murmur of approval, and Colin allowed himself a small nod of acknowledgement, as if this imminent victory was due to his leadership. ‘We therefore want to look afresh at Polly’s disappearance,’ he concluded.

Everyone knew that the specialist search teams had spent the day combing the centre of Colchester and found nothing, but Lena Millington, who now took up the baton, seemed to regard this as useful new intelligence. ‘It firms up the likelihood that Polly did somehow leave Colchester that night,’ she said. ‘We know she didn’t take public transport, nor a taxi, so we can assume she travelled in someone’s car, either willingly or not.’

‘She was never picked up on CCTV as a passenger,’ said Duncan. ‘We’ve been over everything twice.’

Superintendent Millington nodded. ‘Which suggests she was abducted.’ Stationed behind her, Keith gave a tiny
shake of his head and folded his arms grimly. Grace understood why: absence of proof was not itself proof of anything. ‘We want to look again at Pawel Zawodny,’ Lena Millington concluded. Colin and John Kenny, who flanked her, both nodded in agreement.

Beside Grace, Lance made his own small clenched-fist gesture of triumph. ‘Told you!’ he whispered to her.

But Keith took a step forward. ‘We’re covering old ground,’ he said impatiently. ‘There’s no new evidence.’

‘It’s a fresh perspective,’ Colin said firmly but pleasantly. ‘The chief constable brought us in to provide strategic oversight.’

‘If that’s what you call rearranging the same pieces into a different pattern! Using one theory to plug the holes in the other, and vice versa.’

‘Keith, we’ve discussed this.’ Colin might be smiling, thought Grace, but behind the charm there was an unmistakable note of warning.

‘And I told you I disagreed,’ said Keith. ‘What if both theories are wrong? Do you want to be the one to tell the parents?’

‘There is a pretty good case for looking again at Zawodny, boss,’ said Lance as mildly as he could. ‘Polly may well have accepted a lift home from her landlord, a man she knew and trusted.’

‘Even though she’d caught him spying on her that very morning?’ demanded Keith.

‘He admits disposing of something large enough to be a body at sea,’ Lance persisted. ‘He admits having sex with
another tenant in lieu of rent. And he has contempt for women who go to bars and get drunk. It may not have been premeditated. He could have tried it on with Polly and ended up killing her.’

‘You show me solid evidence that he or his truck were in town that night, and I’ll buy it,’ said Keith.

Lance fell silent, unable to argue with Keith on this point. And Grace realised that her instinct, too, still baulked at the idea of Pawel Zawodny as a cold-blooded killer. True, the builder held old-fashioned views on how women should behave, and had become angry when Grace had challenged him in interview, but that could have been merely the natural anger of a hard-working man insulted by abhorrent and unjust accusations. Yet if Lance was right, and Pawel
had
made a pass at Polly and, when she objected, it had got out of hand, then it was striking that he had never once protested his innocence: was that from pride or guilt? If Polly’s disappearance was unconnected to the murders, then Colin was right to insist that Pawel did, at the very least, belong in the frame. She was going back around in circles again!

‘We still have Zawodny under surveillance,’ said Colin in an encouraging tone, reminding Grace of a good-looking football manager, always ready to defend his team in public however he might blast them in private. ‘Meanwhile, our recommendation is that we seek advice from the CPS on whether we have enough to bring separate charges against him and against Matt Beeston.’

‘And if we’re wrong,’ said Keith, ‘the media will flay us alive. Might as well shut up shop.’

‘We’ve just been speaking to Polly Sinclair’s housemate, Jessica,’ began Lance as diplomatically as he could. ‘Polly said nothing to her about Matt using a bottle as a sex toy.’

‘There could be any number of reasons for that,’ said Lena Millington tartly.

‘We could ask Zawodny if he noticed anything when he spied on them,’ suggested John Kenny. ‘After all, didn’t he say he went upstairs because he thought the girl was in trouble?’

‘Do we ask him before or after we charge him with Polly’s murder?’ asked Keith sarcastically.

‘What did Roxanne write in her notebook?’ asked Grace. ‘What were her actual words about what Danny Tooley told her?’

‘There’s nothing written down about a bottle,’ said Colin. ‘Just that she tried to get as much as she could from him about Matt going home with Polly.’

‘So we’ve only got Danny’s word for it,’ said Grace.

‘Which may be why he’s avoiding us,’ suggested Lance.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Colin.

‘He’s not at work. Called in sick. And he’s not answering the door at home,’ said Lance. ‘Could be that he’s understandably reluctant to admit that he’s been telling us porkies.’

‘I checked back with the two students I spoke to who’d accused Matt of rape,’ said Grace. ‘Neither described being assaulted with a bottle or any other object.’

‘Maybe the victim Sapphire are talking to will add to the picture,’ said Colin with a confidence Grace couldn’t believe
he really felt. ‘Find Danny Tooley and bring him back in. Be ready to throw the book at him if he’s misled us.’

‘We now also know that he has use of a car,’ said Grace. ‘Even though he doesn’t hold a licence. An older model dark red BMW.’

‘Registration number?’

‘Don’t know, sir. There’s no car registered to Danny’s address and there was no dark red BMW near his house, nor in the parking area where he works.’

‘So whose car is it?’ Colin demanded, finding a welcome outlet for his impatience.

‘He mentioned a brother,’ answered Grace. ‘In the paras, serving abroad. Danny could be borrowing a car belonging to him and driving it illegally.’

‘The army can be slow to respond,’ said Keith, ‘but it shouldn’t be too difficult to find that out.’

Grace gave him a grateful smile, then turned to face Colin again. ‘Sir, I’m aware that, without Danny Tooley’s testimony, the case against Matt remains circumstantial, but –’

‘You have serious doubts about Tooley’s reliability?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Grace saw Colin’s cheeks redden in frustration, but she continued anyway. ‘Until we find Danny and clarify matters, I think we should treat his statement with caution.’

‘I am aware that it is in any case only hearsay evidence.’ Colin strove to make his tone pleasant, but Grace could see how angry he was. It only served to make her more determined.

‘But don’t you see? Danny has a car.’ She spoke impetuously, barely conscious of what she was about to say. ‘He could have given Polly a lift home the night she went missing. He’s not been picked up on any CCTV driving out of Colchester only because we’ve never been looking for him.
He
could have killed her.’

To her surprise, Colin didn’t contest her assertion. Instead he looked calmly first at John Kenny and then at Lena Millington, who both appeared to give their assent to something previously discussed. Then he turned back to face Grace. ‘Roxanne Carson’s notebooks threw up another issue that we need to discuss. Perhaps best done in private, if you don’t mind, DS Fisher?’

Colin pushed open the door to Keith’s office and waited, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. Grace knew immediately what this was about. She had no choice but to walk past him, sickeningly aware as she did so that the curious eyes of everyone in the room were upon her.