Grave Doubts (31 page)

‘Ah, Chief Inspector Fenwick. We’ve been expecting you. The police are
always
welcome here. Come in. You’ll find us a home away from home. London wasn’t it?’

They went inside and the door closed leaving him in the dark. A chief inspector from London, and at his old house. It could just be a coincidence but if it was, why had he taken the box away with him? And the name, it rang a bell but from where and when?

During his ride back to the hills he almost convinced himself that his fears were groundless. The police could have no idea of his existence or of what he’d done and planned to do. In his whole life they had rarely come close to him, well except that once all those years ago but since then he’d become much smarter. They had nothing on him. But that man Fenwick had visited the house. It proved that his instinct to make a complete break from the past and start all over again had been right. He was always right.

Constable Powell had revised her opinion of Fenwick. At first she had thought him an arrogant southerner, issuing orders and expecting a driver to be produced for him at the drop of a hat. She still thought he was arrogant but he’d allowed her to take credit for the idea to get a search warrant for the old Smith house. He had a nice smile and attractive eyes, yet he didn’t behave as if everything in a skirt should fancy him, which most men did in her experience. So she was pleased when the Duty Sergeant told her that Fenwick had asked for her specifically. She ignored the catcalls and wolf-whistles that greeted this revelation and went to find him. He’d been given a pokey office but didn’t seem to mind, and he’d taped up A1 pages from a flip chart all around the walls.

‘Ah Robyn, excellent they found you. This is Constable Knots, Knotty to his friends. Knotty this is Robyn Powell. She helped me at the Smith’s house last night and is going to work with us. Here’s a list of what we found in the box plus copies of relevant photographs.’

‘That was quick work, sir.’ Robyn checked her watch. It was only eight o’clock. They had brought the box in less than twelve hours before and at some stage he must have eaten and slept. Fenwick ignored her remark and read aloud.

‘One photograph of three people, presumably Mr and Mrs Smith and David. He looks about twelve. I’m having the image aged so that we can compare it with the e-fits in London.

‘There’s a desk diary but the only entries appear to be work appointments. One bit of luck, his doctor’s name and phone number are listed at the back. That’s for you, Knotty. Two magazines on coarse fishing and a draft letter of complaint to his son’s school. I don’t know if it was ever sent but it suggests that the headmistress and teachers might remember him.’

‘What was he complaining about?’

‘His son had been excluded from the school drama society for no good reason. There’s a copy for you Knotty.’

‘Not a lot for all the trouble we went to.’ Constable Powell sounded disappointed.

‘Possibly,’ Fenwick masked his irritation at Robyn’s lack of enthusiasm, ‘but the box was covered in prints and my betting is that one of them is David Smith’s. I’m sending it to London to be checked.

‘Now, today’s challenges. Robyn, I want you to go through unsolved sex crimes dating from ten years ago, looking for any that are in a ten mile radius of where David Smith lived and went to school.’

Her face fell.

‘I know. There’ll be a lot but the search area should help you focus.’

‘And what am I looking for?’

‘Patterns. My theory is based on the profilers’ reports that Killer B, possibly Smith, and Griffiths might have engaged in juvenile minor crimes – peeping Tom, indecent exposure, perhaps assault. According to the profiles it’s unusual for a serial sex offender to start straight in with rape and murder. And before you ask
why
I need to know, it’s for two reasons. First, I’m looking for anything that suggests two perpetrators and secondly, Smith has disappeared, so we are looking for any clue as to where he might be.’

‘Do you think there’s a connection to our murder here, the taxi driver?’ Robyn asked and Knotty tried to hide a smile, unsuccessfully.

‘Don’t know, but it’s a coincidence that I am going to talk to London about. We’ll meet back here at six. If you find anything interesting call me.’

There was an air of scepticism in the room that Fenwick could sense like a damp fog around him.

‘Look, you may think this is daft and I’m sure you think it odd that a chief inspector is up here with you on this sort of background work but we have to start somewhere and I’m more valuable here than in London. Superintendent MacIntyre still has more than thirty officers on the case, not including the local constabulary in Wales. But, and this is important,’ he paused and looked them both in the eye, ‘they haven’t got a
single
live lead. We have to cover every angle to find this man before he attacks again.’

‘Why are you so sure he’ll do that?’ The question from Robyn was respectful rather than doubting and Fenwick relaxed. Officers who felt they were doomed to a wild goose chase were never as committed as those at the centre, except for Nightingale of course. She was dedicated even when she went to fetch coffee. Thinking of her brought a hard knot of stress to his throat, and there was increased urgency in his tone when he told them his fears about escalating violence with Nightingale as a target.

‘You worked with her. I read about the case. The press made her sound like a hero.’

‘She’s exceptional but she’s on leave of absence and we have no idea where so we can’t put her into protection. We’re doing this for her, and for all the other young women who have had the misfortune to meet Killer B.’

He had no desire to share with them his difficult conversation with MacIntyre first thing that morning, nor to admit how far out on a limb he’d had to climb to justify another day away. It was true that MacIntyre had a large team but the Superintendent had asked for him to be seconded to help with the central direction and management of the investigation. That morning when Fenwick had called him, he’d made it very clear that he did not approve of him gallivanting about the country on a whim.

Fenwick put the thought from his mind and he went to find the SIO in charge of the taxi driver murder and assault on Virginia Matthews. The senior officer in charge was Chief Inspector Cave, a stocky man with suspicions of Fenwick and his motives that he did not bother to disguise. Fenwick resorted to charm and persuasion. Eventually Cave accepted that there might be some relevance in Fenwick asking him questions about his case, though when he summed up their conversation it was clear that he thought his time had been wasted.

‘So, this Griffiths is in prison for rape and you
think
he had a partner who’s carrying on the good work on his own.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Because of the missing finger in each case.’

‘That and the subsequent killings and rapes. And we’ve learnt that one of the prison guards who singled out Griffiths for bullying was murdered horribly.’

‘Coincidence.’

Fenwick kept his silence and his temper, just. Cave paused to see if he had provoked a response then continued, a half smile on his face that Fenwick was finding increasingly irritating.

‘But Virginia Matthews didn’t lose a finger.’

‘Maybe he was interrupted before he managed to take it.’

Cave shook his head in disagreement, then gave another condescending smile.

‘Well let’s assume for one minute that you’re right and Griffiths had a partner, and that it’s this man, Smith, who killed Geoffrey Minny and raped the Matthews girl. Why go berserk and kill a man? And why is he stupid enough to come back to Telford?’

‘Not stupid, arrogant. He’s trying to copy Griffiths and attack outdoors but by nature he’s used to charming the girls into taking him home. This crime appears to combine both methods.’

‘Except that her home was several miles in the other direction.’

‘His old house was less than a mile away from where the attack took place.’

‘Another coincidence. It signifies nothing.’

‘Maybe, but Virginia is in the target age range, slim, pretty, dark haired and confident.’

‘So are hundreds of thousands of other girls in the country.’

‘Was there trace evidence at the scene?’

‘Masses. Trouble is the copse was full of debris so it’s going to take a long time to sort through.’

‘What about from the girl?’

‘She’d been washed in a stream that runs along the edge of the field but we found a foreign pubic hair, so we’ve trying for DNA. No semen.’

‘The washing is consistent with the other crimes. A stream is less thorough, but he must have been familiar enough with the area to know that it was there.’

Cave opened his mouth to belittle Fenwick’s point but closed it again when nothing occurred to him and tried a different argument.

‘The girl was drugged with GHB.’ Gammahydroxybutyrate had replaced Rohpynol as the date rape drug of choice. ‘That doesn’t fit.’

‘Far simpler than seduction or assault, and he needed her compliant for the drive. Why risk the taxi ride unless the place was significant to him?’

The same point had occurred to Cave but he didn’t see why he should start to discuss his case with this arrogant prick.

‘Anything else?’

‘The girl’s description of her attacker. Did you have a likeness made?’

‘It was very vague. She’d been drugged remember. The waiter in the restaurant added to it but it’s not much to go one. Here, you can keep it.’

Fenwick studied the e-fit. It showed an attractive man with an unlined face, wide set green eyes, clean-shaven wearing an earring. The style of hair was completely different and altered the shape of his face so that there was little similarity with other e-fits.

‘Will that be all?’ Cave could sense his disappointment.

‘For now. Would you have any objection if I interviewed the girl?’

Cave tensed.

‘Yes I would. She’s completely screwed up by the attack and only came out of hospital yesterday. We have an expert rape officer coaxing information out of her but we’re getting precious little.’

‘Could I speak to the officer, then?’

‘If you must.’

Fenwick escaped from the office, pleased with his extraordinary, and out of character, self-control.

He parked the car in front of the house, 23 Beech Pass, and waited. The specialist rape officer had arrived to talk to the girl as soon as she woke up and was still inside. She should be due to leave soon. Less than a quarter of an hour later a short red-haired woman left the house and walked down the drive. She stopped when she saw Fenwick step out of his car and glared at him with suspicion.

‘I’m not a journalist, don’t worry. Chief Inspector Andrew Fenwick, Harlden CID.’

She studied his warrant card carefully, comparing his face with that in the photograph.

‘Harlden?’

‘It’s in West Sussex. I’m up here because I think there may be a link between this crime and others that we have under investigation. Chief Inspector Cave has agreed to my asking you some questions.’

‘OK, we can use my car.’

In the privacy of its interior she relaxed a little.

‘Fire away.’

‘Did he say anything when he raped Virginia…’

‘She’s Ginny or Diamond to her mum and dad. He swore at her. Called her a fucking bitch, a filthy cow. Said women were all the same. It was clear that there was a lot of hatred involved. He despises women.’

‘And before, in the restaurant?’

‘She can’t remember but she thinks he was quite normal.’

‘Confident? Articulate?’

‘All I can say is that nothing he said or did made her feel uneasy.’

‘What injuries did she suffer?’

‘He cut and beat her, and her body is covered with bites.’

‘Bites? Have you sent photos to the Met so that they can check them against those the other girls sustained?’

‘No idea, but I’ll check with Inspector Cave when I get back. That’s all we have from her so far.’

After she’d gone he stared up at the house. He was desperate to talk to Ginny and hear her account directly but to do so would put at risk the painstaking work being done by the specialists. After a moment’s pause he drove away. Behind him, unnoticed, a motorcyclist quietly slipped his machine into gear and followed.

Ginny watched the man and Siobahn, the nice policewoman, from behind the net curtain at the front window. He looked OK, but she was glad that he hadn’t tried to come in. Her face still looked a mess from the bruises, although her mum insisted it was getting better. She had a stinking cold and she had spots like she was thirteen years old. Her hair needed a wash but she couldn’t face the thought of doing it herself and had resisted her mum’s gentle suggestion that she could do it for her.

She never wanted to look attractive again. Her counsellor had explained that she would feel mixed up but none of the woman’s words could describe the self-loathing that she felt. Tears of self-pity made her eyes blur.

She went back to the sofa and snuggled down under the blanket. It was comfy and she tried to sleep. Napping during the day was better than sleeping at night when the nightmares would come and shock her awake into darkness. During the day there were noises of her mum or dad in the background. They were taking it in turns to have time off work so that she wouldn’t be on her own. Even her brother was being nice to her. To welcome her home he’d bought her something from the Body Shop with his pocket money. Her little sister had been an angel, drawing her pictures every day. Alex was only ten and didn’t know what had happened but she knew that her big sister had been hurt and the knowledge made her eyes grow huge with misery.

She missed them. Dad had driven them over to Grandma’s, away from the police visits and the journalists’ phone calls. It was better that they’d gone she told herself but regretted that she had said no to the opportunity herself. At the time, the idea of stepping outside the house had been too awful. She hadn’t worn anything but pyjamas and a dressing gown since…for a long time.

Sometimes she thought she would go mad. Life would never, ever be the same again and the realisation made her weep for her loss. In one session with the counsellor in hospital, she had been asked to choose just one word to describe how she felt. To her own surprise she had said bereaved, and had known at once that it was true. She was in mourning for herself, for the Ginny who wasn’t afraid of the dark, who could sleep for ten hours and wake with a smile, who had been looking forward to growing up and everything that it would bring.