Good Girls Don't Die (8 page)

Half an hour later, Grace dried her hands under the feeble stream of warm air, then approved her appearance in the mirror: neat and tidy; she’d do. She was still partly submerged in how the interview had gone, the way it had reshaped the kind of things she felt they needed to consider. Though she hadn’t yet quite nailed what she thought about Matt Beeston, she had recovered from her brief revulsion and felt charged and optimistic again. This was when she always knew without question, despite everything, that she was in the right job. Maybe, she told her reflection in the mirror, she might yet find a way to dance on thin ice after all.

Checking her mobile she saw a missed call from a number she didn’t immediately recognise. Aware that it might be from one of the many people to whom she’d handed her card, she returned the call. It took her a moment to place the voice: Min, still technically her mother-in-law. Grace’s sunny mood was instantly punctured and replaced by a slush of nausea and regret. She caught her own gaze
again in the mirror and recognised the old anxiety in her eyes, the misery of being caught wrong-footed and out in the open.

‘Min,’ she breathed.

‘Thank you for calling back,’ Min’s voice said crisply. ‘I didn’t think you would. But I need to talk to you about selling the house.’

‘The lawyers are dealing with that.’

‘Isn’t it enough for you that my son has lost the career he loved? Do you really have to take his home away from him as well?’

‘Our home,’ said Grace, knowing she shouldn’t say anything, shouldn’t engage. ‘I paid most of the deposit, and I need my share of the money.’

‘You know he’s had to sell his racing bikes?’

‘Min, I have to go.’

‘He can’t even train with the team any more.’

‘No, well, that’s down to him.’

‘At least leave him his home, some dignity. Do you have to take everything from him?’

‘Please, Min. This isn’t your fight. And I have to go.’

‘You let him down when he needed you. My son would never have done what you said he did.’ Min’s voice became shrill. ‘Are you honestly accusing me of raising a son who could behave like that?’

Grace took a deep breath. Remember your training, she told herself. Treat her as you would a suspect. ‘Yes, Min, unfortunately I guess that is what I’d have to say to you. Goodbye.’

She touched the mirror – had her skin really gone so pale? – and watched her fingers tremble against the reflection of her cheek. How could she have said that to Min, a woman she had liked and always got on well with? It was hardly Min’s fault that Trev had acted the way he had. The woman must be upset enough without Grace adding insult to injury.

The old panic rose and she fought to beat it down. Had she been wrong? Had she ruined everything for – what? Some uptight, jobsworth morality? Sheer vanity that she knew better than everyone else? She’d learned the hard way that trying to do right didn’t get you loved: even her own husband had seen fit to punish her for being a grass.

She took some deep breaths, swung her arms, tried to raise her heart rate to match the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She must go. Everyone would be waiting to get started. She’d left Kent, hadn’t she? She was here now. A fresh start. She’d acted in good faith, and she mustn’t let her own dark thoughts drag her back to what had happened before. She was a good cop. All she had to do was concentrate on the present, pull her weight and earn her place in the team. Surely she could do that? Surely no one would attempt to stop her doing that?

As she climbed the stairs, trying to refocus her thoughts on Matt’s interview, her mind was flooded by the image of Rachel Moston, her skin pale and grey against the rubble. She wondered if there had been a final moment when Rachel had understood what was happening to her. Forensics had now confirmed there was no one else’s DNA under
her fingernails, no bruises on her wrists or arms to show she’d struggled to free herself. Had she been taken completely by surprise? Or had she known and perhaps trusted her killer and so been paralysed at that moment of terrifying comprehension when she realised what he was about to do? For the young woman’s sake, Grace hoped not.

Keith, waiting in his office with obvious impatience, began to speak the moment Grace closed the door behind her. ‘So what do we think? Do we believe him?’

‘We’ve established he’s a liar,’ said Lance.

‘Not a very clever one,’ Duncan observed. ‘Just assumes he’s entitled to evade responsibility for his actions.’

‘So busy saving his own skin that he could scarcely express even the most conventional regrets for the death of a young woman he’s taught once a week for the past year,’ said Keith.

‘He’s narcissistic, sociopathic,’ Lance agreed. ‘No concern for anyone but himself.’

‘Which doesn’t fit with the way Rachel was displayed,’ said Grace.

‘The bottle?’ asked Keith, confused.

‘No, I was thinking of the jacket under her head,’ she replied. ‘That shows someone capable of tenderness, someone with a conscience. Not a sociopath.’

‘Maybe,’ said Keith, leaning back in his black leather desk chair. ‘But we’re not judging a beauty contest. We need to work out what significance the crime scene had for him, something that we can actually use.’

‘Control,’ said Lance decisively. ‘That’s why Matt sleeps
with his students, women who are subordinate to him, who make him feel powerful.’

‘And Polly?’ asked Grace. ‘Are we saying she ran into Matt again the night after they slept together? And what, she belittled him or something, so he killed her?’ She heard the doubt in her own voice. ‘So where is she? Why didn’t he leave her body like Rachel’s?’

‘And why kill again five nights later?’ asked Duncan.

‘Polly might’ve been an accident,’ said Lance. ‘But he enjoyed it, got a kick out of it, a taste for it. So the next time was controlled, planned, highly organised.’

‘So he’ll do it again?’ asked Grace.

‘Slow down!’ warned Keith. ‘Let’s stick to what we know, which is that Dr Beeston is a bit of a party animal, was at the Blue Bar at the relevant times but tried to lie about it, and lives nearby. What’s our next step? Do we take his flat apart?’

‘It had been recently cleaned,’ Grace observed. ‘But he didn’t seem particularly nervous about letting us in when we picked him up. Or about us bagging up his clothes.’

‘He doesn’t drive,’ Duncan pointed out. ‘If his flat is a murder scene, how did he get Rachel’s body back into town, and what did he do with Polly?’

‘We still don’t know that Rachel and Polly
are
connected,’ said Grace.

‘In which case,’ Keith said bitterly, ‘we’re tying ourselves up in pointless knots. The main reason we’ve put Dr Beeston in the frame is his connection to both women.’

‘There’s nothing so far in Rachel’s background to point
us in any other direction,’ said Duncan neutrally. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary on her phone or laptop.’

‘Right.’ Keith snapped forward in his chair. ‘What about this man Matt claims Polly asked for a lift? Do we believe Matt on that?’

‘Polly’s friends said that on the night she disappeared she was about to get a cab home,’ said Duncan. ‘We can be fairly certain now that she didn’t. Trains had stopped and she wasn’t on the night bus. Gone, just like that!’ He snapped his fingers like a magician. ‘Matey’s the only one who knows where she is.’

‘Hilary thinks it looks bad that we haven’t got teams out searching,’ said Keith. ‘But without some indication of where to start, the search advisor’s advice remains that a helicopter, underwater or ground search of such a wide area would be pointless. The budget simply won’t stretch.’

‘But if Polly did ask someone for a lift that Thursday with Matt, maybe she bumped into that same person again the next night?’ Grace was about to suggest the young man in the bookshop who obviously liked Polly, but Lance cut in before she could continue.

‘Could’ve been Pawel Zawodny,’ he said. ‘Plus Rachel would’ve felt comfortable accepting a ride with him. Matt can’t possibly have got a good enough look at him at Polly’s house the next morning to rule him out as the guy Polly had spoken to the night before.’

‘Have you managed to put Pawel or his truck in town on either night?’ asked Keith.

‘Not yet. But he could have use of another car.’

Keith’s sceptical look at Lance made Grace decide not to mention Danny Tooley after all, at least not until she’d checked whether he even had a car.

‘Any joy from sales of Fire’n’Ice?’

‘The analysts have run the name of every purchaser through the police database. No matches.’

Keith sighed. ‘Well, we’ve got Matt for a few hours yet. Duncan, can you chase Wendy again on whether we can match anything from the demolition site or any of the fibres lifted from Rachel’s body to Matt’s clothes?’ He looked at his watch. ‘If there’s nothing else, Hilary’s waiting to draft a press release. And before that I need to update Rachel’s parents.’

They all filed silently out and, back in the main office, immediately encountered a host of upturned, hopeful faces eager for some indication of positive developments. It was clear to Grace that Duncan, if not Lance, shared her sense of deflation. Despite the buzz in the station when they’d brought Matt in, the clock was ticking and they had nothing solid with which to hold him. Once their twenty-four hours was up, they’d have to let him go.

While Duncan made the call to Wendy, Grace carried out a basic check on Danny Tooley and was disappointed to discover from the Police National Computer system that there was no car registered to his name and that he did not hold any kind of driver’s licence. He had no criminal convictions, either. Nevertheless, she’d still have to write up her justification for the check in the case policy file. She was considering her words carefully when Lance came to lean against the edge of her desk.

‘I don’t back him as being the one, do you?’ he asked quietly.

‘Who, Matt?’ She shook her head. ‘I honestly don’t know. If he did it, he’s putting up one hell of a front. But then whoever the killer is, he’s shown a pretty cool head so far, hasn’t he?’

‘You saw Matt’s office, and how disorganised his flat is. Not exactly efficient and precise, is he?’

‘No.’ She smiled at him. ‘So you still have the hots for the landlord?’

He laughed. ‘I do. His yard, his rental properties, they all show he’s methodical, pays attention to detail, is good at planning. And he’s a voyeur.’

‘If we believe Matt.’

‘The psychology fits,’ he said stubbornly. ‘I need something nothing new to convince the super.’

‘What about the university Accommodation Office?’ Grace asked. ‘You said they’d had complaints about Pawel from past tenants.’

‘Yeah, I already followed up. They said it’s not uncommon for tenants to make these kinds of complaints after landlords retain their deposits to cover disputed damage or breakages, which is why the Accommodation Office didn’t remove Pawel’s properties from their list. They think there’s a fair chance it was just sour grapes.’

Grace fell silent for a moment, letting something rise to the surface of her mind. ‘Rachel’s housemate Amber went a bit quiet when we asked if Pawel was a good landlord,’ she told him. ‘I suspect she could have said more than she did.’

‘So why didn’t you ask her?’

‘Because she would’ve clammed up even more.’

‘Or because you don’t buy my theory about Pawel?’

‘Of course not!’ Her sharp tone attracted attention, and she became aware of curious faces turning to them from surrounding desks. Their bland scrutiny alarmed her, and she softened her voice, assuring herself that he hadn’t meant it as an accusation, that it was she who’d spoken hotly, not him. ‘Whatever it was, I don’t think she wanted Caitlin to hear it,’ she ended lamely.

‘Caitlin’s gone home to her parents. Maybe we should take another pop at Amber while the coast is clear,’ said Lance.

Grace saw that his eyes were not unfriendly, but nevertheless she felt shaken: Min’s call had agitated her more than she’d allowed, so that a single glimpse of impassive faces idly watching her with Lance had triggered searing memories of exclusion and hostility, a rejection that had been out of all proportion to her alleged offence. For a while in Kent her sky had fallen in, but that was no reason to assume it would happen again here.

Lance, oblivious, was already lifting his jacket from his chair. ‘Coming?’

He waited impatiently for her to grab her bag. She took a deep breath and managed a genuinely grateful smile. ‘Sure.’

It didn’t take them long to reach Wivenhoe. On the pavement beside Amber’s front door in Alma Street was a small pile of wilting flowers, the kind of mixed pink and yellow bunches sold at petrol stations. They had handwritten notelets stapled to the patterned cellophane. Duncan had reported similar tributes left near where Rachel’s body had been found, and had routinely dispatched someone to photograph all the notes: some killers had been known to send flowers or even turn up at their victim’s funeral, as if they couldn’t stay away. Grace doubted their current suspect was that type.

Amber opened the door a mere crack and peered at them apprehensively before letting them in. Inside, the slatted
blinds were closed, making the living space feel dim and subdued despite the bright sunlight streaming through the open conservatory doors beyond the kitchen.

‘There’ve been so many journalists banging on the door,’ Amber explained. ‘Hassling me whenever I step outside.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Grace.

‘One offered money for a photograph of Rachel. I saw the horrible things they wrote about Dr Beeston. Is there nothing you can do to make them go away? Caitlin’s gone home, and I’m here on my own.’

Hearing the plaintive tone in Amber’s voice, Grace wondered how she would’ve coped at that age if a close friend had been murdered. She stepped closer and reached out to touch the young woman’s arm. ‘I’m afraid there’s very little we can do to move them on unless they trespass, but do please give us a call if it gets too much and we’ll send someone along to have a word with them.’

‘They’ve been in all the local shops and pubs, too, asking about Rachel.’

‘Freedom of the press, I’m afraid. Maybe you should think about going home? At least for the weekend.’

Amber shook her head. ‘It’s difficult,’ she said. ‘Mum’s moved in with her boyfriend, and Dad has no room for me. Besides, our lease here runs ’til the end of the month, so I might as well make the best of it.’

‘Pawel wouldn’t make it difficult for you, though, would he, if you wanted to go early?’ asked Grace. It was a silly question, but she wanted to get to the point of their visit. ‘Not given the circumstances.’

The wariness Grace had noticed before was instantly back in Amber’s eyes, confirming that there was indeed some kind of story here. ‘No, I guess not.’ Amber turned away, hiding her face and pretending to straighten a cushion on the settee. ‘Why did you arrest Dr Beeston? Do you really think he did it?’

‘He’s helping us with our enquiries. I can’t really say more at this time.’ Grace sensed Lance growing impatient at her side and, while Amber had her back to them, gave him a warning hand gesture: slow down. ‘But Matt has said something about Pawel that we’d like to run by you, if you don’t mind.’

Amber turned and looked sharply at her.

‘I think we mentioned before,’ said Grace gently, ‘that Pawel is also Polly Sinclair’s landlord.’ She paused a moment for that to sink in. Seeing a little colour rise in Amber’s cheeks, she continued. ‘We have reason to think he might have been spying on Polly in bed with a boyfriend.’

Amber hung her head, and Grace waited for her to speak. ‘Rachel and Caitlin’s parents help out with the fees,’ she said at last. ‘Mine are skint. All they do since they split up is argue about money.’

‘Is Pawel understanding about the rent?’ prompted Grace, when Amber fell silent.

The young woman nodded. She seemed close to tears, but then raised her head and stared defiantly at each of them in turn. ‘Is this going to get him into trouble?’

‘We just need to know the truth,’ said Grace gently. ‘We
need to know anything that might help us find Polly Sinclair. We don’t know where she is, and she may need our help.’

Amber collapsed onto the settee, hugging the cushion to her chest and raising her knees up under her chin. ‘He said he’d let me off the rent,’ she said, her voice muffled by the cushion. ‘I’d’ve had to drop out of my course otherwise. I couldn’t afford to increase my debt, and … He’s a nice guy, really. He offered to take me out on his boat one weekend. Bought me some perfume. And when I was able to pay the rent again, he backed right off. I don’t believe he’d hurt anyone.’

‘So he helped you out in return for sex?’ Grace spoke as neutrally as she could.

‘I guess, kind of.’

‘When was this?’

‘Beginning of term. April.’ Amber spoke so softly Grace barely heard her.

‘Might he have had the same arrangement with Rachel?’

Amber shook her head. ‘No,’ she said decisively. ‘Her folks are loaded. She’d never need to. You won’t tell anyone, will you?’ Her eyes filled with tears and she clutched at the cushion like it was a teddy bear.

‘Did Rachel or Caitlin know?’

Amber shook her head. ‘You won’t tell Caitlin?’ she asked in alarm.

Grace sat down beside her and lightly touched her arm again. ‘No, but we will have to speak to Pawel about this,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m sure you understand. This is a
murder enquiry. He knew both women. We have to eliminate him from our investigation.’

Amber looked around the room. ‘He’s kind. This place is way nicer than most student lets. He cares about how we live. And he let me off three months’ rent. He didn’t have to. He could’ve made things really difficult for me.’

‘Did he mention if he’d ever had an arrangement like this before?’

‘No.’ Amber thought for a moment and hung her head again. ‘But he acted, you know, like it wasn’t an odd idea to put to me. He wasn’t that surprised when I went along with it.’ She looked directly now at Lance, who was trying his best to be inconspicuous. ‘I suppose there’s a name for what I did?’

‘You did your best,’ he answered kindly. ‘Maybe he wanted to go out with you and thought he’d be rejected otherwise. Men can be pretty thin-skinned.’

Amber sniffed back her tears.

‘So did you go out on his boat when he invited you?’ Lance asked the question as if he was just being friendly and trying to distract her.

Amber shook her head.

‘Do you know where he keeps it?’

‘No, sorry.’

‘Not to worry. You’ve been fantastic. Thanks for your help.’

Grace let Lance wrap things up and get them out of the house.

‘So our friend’s got a boat, has he?’ Lance rubbed his
hands gleefully. ‘Let’s get back and see if it’s listed on the Ship Register. Find out where it’s moored.’

As they hurried back to the car park, Grace imagined having to break the news to Polly Sinclair’s parents that their daughter’s body might have been dumped at sea. She didn’t envy Keith his job. They’d seen a couple of outside broadcast vans parked near the creek, satellite dishes mounted on the roof, no doubt here to record background footage of the sleepy, picturesque little town. She wondered how its inhabitants felt about being in the eye of the media, about being pushed into close association with the tawdry glamour of other people’s pain.

‘That was a really good catch, by the way,’ Lance said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘I’d never have picked any of that up. Well done.’

‘Thanks,’ she said, touched. She’d been surprised at his tact, his effortless ability to win Amber’s trust, and gave him a warm smile as they got into the car.

‘So how’s this?’ began Lance, starting up the engine. ‘What if Polly turned Pawel down at some point? That would rankle. Then he watched her having sex with Matt, had a day to fantasise, to plan, to wait until he saw how helplessly drunk she was. She knew him, so if he offered a lift home, she’d go with him willingly. Easy pickings.’

‘And Rachel?’

‘Another one who said no, didn’t need him, had to be taught a lesson.’

‘She wasn’t raped, though.’

‘No, he used the bottle instead. Punished the stuck-up bitch for turning him down.’

Grace recalled the cool way Pawel had looked her up and down; was that arrogance, entitlement or just old-fashioned sexism? His attention hadn’t immediately struck her as predatory.

‘And the vodka was Polish, don’t forget!’ said Lance.

‘You’ve got it all worked out.’

‘You don’t seem very excited.’

‘I dunno, there just seemed something decent about him. Even Amber didn’t really badmouth him. He bought her perfume.’

‘It was you who cracked this!’

‘We’ve got enough to bring him in,’ she conceded, buoyed, despite herself, by Lance’s confidence. Maybe, she thought, the perfume was the same sort of gesture as the red jacket under Rachel’s head.

As they approached the outskirts of Wivenhoe, she noticed thick yellow ribbons fluttering from a succession of lamp posts, the same colour as those worn in support of the campaign to find Madeleine McCann and other missing children. Then suddenly she recognised the name of a side road from her PNC check on Danny. ‘Can you take a left?’ she asked quickly.

Lance indicated and turned sharply down the next road before asking where they were going.

‘Just around the block,’ she told him.

He did as she requested without comment, cruising slowly past a uniform row of semi-detached post-war
council houses with neat pocket-handkerchief front gardens.

‘Turn left again at the bottom.’

On their right now was the leafy canopy of Wivenhoe Woods, a council-run nature reserve that, she knew from the maps, ran down to the railway line, with a creek beyond that fed into the river. As they turned once more, into Rosemead Avenue, she peered at number twenty-seven, a nondescript, shabby little house facing an unattractive line of lock-up garages, where a man was tinkering with a motorbike on the cracked concrete driveway.

‘Seen enough?’ asked Lance.

‘Yes, thanks.’

As he waited at the junction, looking to see he was clear before pulling back out onto the main road, he gave her a questioning glance.

‘You know the kid we spoke to in the campus bookshop?’ Grace explained. ‘Danny Tooley. This is where he lives.’

‘Did Roxanne tell you something?’

‘No! I’ve not spoken to her.’

‘So, what then?’

‘I did some digging. I figure he has a crush on Polly. I thought at first perhaps he might have been the guy who offered her a lift, but he doesn’t have a car,’ she added hurriedly. ‘It’s as well to rule him out.’ She knew how fixed Lance had become on the idea that it’d had been Pawel in town that night.

‘So why the detour?’

She shrugged. ‘Just curious. He’d like to have been a
student, I think. Wants to be in their gang. He might have followed their movements in far more detail than he was happy to let on.’

‘If you think he might’ve seen something, then we should take another crack at him.’

Grace could hear in Lance’s voice that he was just being polite, but she appreciated it all the same. ‘Let’s bring Pawel in first,’ she assured him.

Lance smiled and speeded up, eager to share their news with the team.

When they entered the station, the first person they encountered was Joan, the civilian case manager. ‘Good, you’re back,’ she greeted Grace. ‘Two of Matt’s former students have come in. They’ve seen the story in this morning’s
Courier
and want to speak to a female officer.’