Authors: Sharon Bolton

Now You See Me (26 page)

BOOK: Now You See Me

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B
ARRETT PASSED ON THE INSTRUCTION AND I SENSED THE room holding its breath. We waited the several minutes it would take for strong young coppers to break down a door.

âThey're inside,' said Barrett.

âIf anybody here's religious, this would be a good time to put it to use,' said Tulloch in a quiet voice.

âNothing on the ground floor,' said Barrett. âThey're making their way upstairs.'

I am not remotely religious, but I was still repeating an old prayer from my childhood, over and over in my head.

Seconds ticked by. Barrett was talking quietly on the phone again. He looked up.

âNothing,' he said. âNot a trace of anything out of the ordinary.'

There was a sound of exhalation and I wondered if everyone in the room had been holding their breath. Tulloch sank on to a chair. âThank God,' she said, dropping her head into her hands.

âHang on a minute, Boss, they have found something.'

Every head in the room turned in one direction.

âIt's an envelope behind the door,' said Barrett. âIt's not been opened but it looks a bit like the one Jacqui Groves had. What do you want them to do?'

âOpen it,' said Tulloch.

We waited.

âAnother warning note, Boss,' said Barrett after a second. âPress
coverage of the Jones and Weston murders and a typed note saying “TIME FOR NUMBER FOUR”.'

Tulloch was on her feet. âWe need to find Karen Curtis as a matter of urgency,' she said. âShe hasn't seen the note, so may not be on her guard. Tom, can you sort that out?'

Barrett nodded.

âAnd get a team talking to her neighbours,' Tulloch went on. âFind out where she works, who her friends are, when she was last seen.'

âWho's sending these notes?' asked Joesbury. âThe Jones, Weston and Benn mothers weren't warned.'

âThat we know of,' said Tulloch. âThey could have had a note of some sort, just not kept them. Or the killer could have taken them.'

âDoesn't make sense to me,' said Joesbury. âIf you want to take someone by surprise, you don't put them on their guard. And why two number fours? Surely the killer knows who he or she's going for next.'

âGayle, get back to the three families,' said Tulloch. âFind out if the mothers received any unusual mail in the days before they were killed. Then find out where these letters were posted. And get them down to Forensics, see what they make of them.'

âOn my way.'

âOK,' said Tulloch, as Mizon left the room. âAfter finding Karen Curtis, top of the list is tracking down the Llewellyn sisters. Mark, do you have contacts in Cardiff?'

He nodded. âHelped bring down a paedo ring couple of years ago,' he said.

âFind out as much as you can about the girls, please,' said Tulloch.

âYes, ma'am.' Joesbury sat down and picked up the phone.

âAnd I want someone to get on to Social Services in Wales,' said Tulloch. âSee if they have any record of them. We need to know about family background, school, that sort of thing.'

Across the room, someone volunteered.

âNeil and Lacey, can you make your way through the other agencies. Start with the DSS.'

DS Anderson and I nodded. It was standard procedure when trying to track someone down. Start with the Department of Social Security. If the two girls had ever claimed benefits, they'd be on the system. Failing that, we'd work our way through the others. If they
paid tax, the Inland Revenue would hold records; if they drove a car, the DVLC would have them on file. We'd try the utility companies in Wales and then London. If they'd ever paid a gas, electricity or phone bill, they'd appear on a database somewhere.

âWe'll meet back in an hour,' called Tulloch as she left the room.

Fifty minutes later she was back. âJacqui Groves is going to stay with her sister's family for a few days,' she said. âWith a police escort. Anything on the letters, Gayle?'

âNone of the other families can remember their mothers getting any sort of warning letter,' said Mizon. âWe've got uniform going through the Benns' dustbin just to be on the safe side. Both the notes and the press coverage were printed out on the usual A4 office paper on a completely bog-standard printer. We've got umpteen similar ones here, apparently. No prints yet.'

âThanks, Gayle,' said Tulloch. She turned to the corner desk. âMark?'

Joesbury glanced down at his notes. âI ran them both through the box,' he said. âNothing on Catherine, the younger sister.'

By âthe box', Joesbury was referring to the Police National Computer. Anyone who has ever been charged with an offence or accepted a caution will be on it.

âThe older one, though, Victoria, she was a different story,' continued Joesbury. âTwo reprimands on her record, both for being in the company of joy-riders. Shortly before the incident, she accepted a final warning for knowingly being a passenger in a stolen vehicle and for exhibiting abusive and anti-social behaviour.'

âSo we'll have her fingerprints?' said Tulloch.

Joesbury shook his head. âIt all happened on the street,' he said. âNo prints taken.'

âThey must have been printed,' said Tulloch. âWe've just been told the girls' prints were on the condom packet.'

âYep, both girls had their prints taken that night,' said Joesbury. âBut they went back a couple of weeks later with their social worker and witnessed them being destroyed.'

Tulloch muttered something under her breath.

âThe night Victoria disappeared, she was caught on camera breaking into a car in the city centre,' Joesbury was saying. âThey put
out an APB on her, but never found her or the car. Technically, she's still on Cardiff's wanted list.'

âThey can join the queue,' said Tulloch.

âI spoke to everyone I know at Cardiff Central,' Joesbury went on, âbut none of them were around eleven years ago. They suggested I speak to a Sergeant Ron Williams. He's not on duty till tomorrow.'

âI talked to Social Services in Cardiff,' said Barrett. âThe girls' mother, Tina Llewellyn, was a drug addict and an alcoholic. She served time when the girls were small.'

âWhat for?' asked Tulloch.

âDealing,' said Barrett. âAll minor stuff. She wasn't a big player, but it wasn't her first offence. The girls were sent to a children's home in the city and then, when they were eight and six, they were fostered.'

âGo on,' said Tulloch.

âThe foster placement broke down when the older girl went to secondary school,' said Barrett. âShe had a history of truancy, abusive behaviour towards the teachers and suspected shoplifting, although that was never proved. They went back into the children's home.'

âBoth of them?'

âYeah. The foster family were happy to keep the younger girl, but she wouldn't be separated from her sister. There were several other foster placements over the years â apparently the younger girl was very pretty and could be quite engaging in a quiet sort of way.'

âDid any of them last?'

Barrett shook his head. âThey followed a pattern, Boss. It worked for a while, then Victoria would get into trouble, the foster parents would give up and poor little Cathy got dragged back into care. In spite of that, she still managed to do pretty well at school. She was considered university material. Until the alleged rape, of course.'

âThen what?'

Barrett took a moment to look at his notes. âWell, ironically, Victoria seemed to pull herself together for a while. She stopped hanging round with the gangs, made an effort to sort herself out, even started trying at school. But the headteacher says she had a sense of real anger bubbling away inside. Several of the teachers became genuinely afraid of her. And it all started to go wrong for Cathy. She started missing school, she was suspected of taking
drugs. There'd be very public rows between the two sisters. One day, Cathy just upped and left.'

âTo go where?'

Barrett shrugged. âNo one knows for sure. She'd said nothing to any of her friends, not that she had many left by this time. The view at the time was that she'd come here, to London, and was living rough. A few weeks later, Victoria left too. In the stolen car we've already heard about.'

âAre they on the missing-persons list?' asked Tulloch.

âHaven't checked yet,' replied Barrett. âThere's just one snapshot on file. It was taken two years before the rape and isn't that clear. I've blown it up as much as I can without losing too much clarity.'

He passed round a sheet of A4 paper. Joesbury looked at it for a long time. Eventually it came to me. It had been taken in a photo booth, two young girls messing around. The older girl, whom we could only see in profile, was a Goth. Dyed black hair sticking away from her head at angles and falling down over her forehead to meet eyebrows that had been plucked to a pen-stroke. Her mouth had been painted in very dark lipstick and was pursed up as she pouted at the camera. She was wearing a torn black T-shirt that didn't hide very generous breasts for a fourteen-year-old, and a black leather jacket with lots of metal.

Twelve-year-old Cathy was quite plump, with a wide-mouthed grin and even teeth. Her fair hair was shiny as toffee. She was model-girl pretty and the glint in her eyes said she knew it.

âAnd that's that?' asked Tulloch. âNothing else?'

DS Anderson held up both hands and shrugged. I shook my head. We'd found nothing. Whatever had happened to Victoria and Cathy over the last eleven years, they hadn't claimed benefits, paid tax or utility bills or legally driven a car. They'd fallen off the grid, as so many do.

âTina Llewellyn, the girls' mother, died of cancer seven years ago,' said Barrett. âShe was a lifelong smoker apparently, got a tumour in her lungs that spread very quickly. She died in a hospice in Mid Glamorgan. No father that we know of. The girls might not even have had the same father.'

âActually, Victoria did re-emerge briefly, after about twelve months,' said Anderson. âThe girl's grandfather, their mother's
father, lived up in the Rhonda Valley. They hadn't had much contact with him even when they were kids, but when he died he didn't leave a will and the girls inherited his house. Went for about a hundred thousand quid. Victoria claimed it.'

âAll of it?' asked Joesbury.

âAs far as I've been told,' said Anderson. âIf she's a psycho, she's a psycho with money.'

âIs that it?' said Tulloch.

Nobody spoke. That was it.

âOK, we keep looking. Lacey, we might need you to go out on the streets again, take a team with you, show that picture around.'

âI can start now, if you want,' I offered.

âActually, I have another job for you and Gayle first,' said Tulloch. âKaren Curtis hasn't been seen at work for two days, but according to one of her neighbours, she had an elderly mother living close to the river in Fulham. She used to visit her several times a week. It could well be where she's gone to ground.'

âYou want us to go and check?' asked Mizon.

âThe mother is frail, by all accounts,' said Tulloch. âNo point scaring her with the heavy brigade. Go and see if she can help.'

M
RS EVADNE RICHARDSON, KAREN CURTIS'S MOTHER, lived on a street of houses that probably sold for over a million pounds each. It ran north, perpendicular to the river, and the kerbs were crowded with expensive-looking cars. Number 35 was shabbier, more old-fashioned than the rest.

âBet she bought this for a couple of grand fifty years ago,' said Mizon as we stood on the tiny, tiled path that led to the front door. âDo you think this bell's working?'

I lifted the door-knocker and rapped. We waited. Mizon stepped back and looked up to the first floor. âGot a bad feeling about this,' she said.

âDon't,' I replied, because whatever bad vibes Mizon was picking up, I could sense them too. I leaned forward. âSomeone's coming,' I said.

I could hear footsteps approaching the door. Then the sound of a bolt being drawn. A key was turned and the door opened just four inches. A brass chain held it in place. I had to look down to make eye contact. A tiny, wrinkled faced stared up at me. Soft brown eyes behind thick, gold-rimmed glasses. Invisible lips.

âMrs Richardson?' I asked.

âYes.' She nodded her head once, looking scared. I realized that with my bruises I probably wasn't what a frail old lady would want to see on her doorstep. I took a step back. Mizon held up her warrant card so Mrs Richardson could see it through the gap in
the door. The old lady took a step closer and her eyes narrowed.

âMrs Richardson, we're trying to find your daughter, Karen,' she said. âWe were hoping to ask you a few questions.'

A bluebottle flew out of the gap between the door and the frame and hit me on the forehead.

âShe's not here,' said the old lady.

âCan we talk to you for a few minutes?' asked Mizon.

âMondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at five o'clock. That's when she comes.'

I forced a smile. âMrs Richardson, we need to ask you some questions,' I tried. âIs it possible to come in?'

The woman disappeared and after a second the door was opened.

âClose it behind you,' she told us, as she made her way back along the corridor. âMake sure it's locked.'

The hall floor was covered with black and white tiles that looked as old as the house. The walls were covered in pictures, decorative plates and mirrors. A wooden staircase led up to the next floor.

The house didn't smell too good. It wasn't strong but it was nasty. Like damp. Like rubbish that had been left too long in the bin. Like something gone off. Mizon wrinkled her nose at me as we followed Mrs Richardson along the corridor. As she pushed open a door we could hear the soft buzzing of houseflies.

We were in a sitting room, large but so full of furniture it seemed cramped. There were lots of family photographs over the fireplace and on the lid of an upright piano in the corner. I could see a dead housefly in Mrs Richardson's silver hair and several more buzzing around the large bay window.

âWould you like a cup of tea?' asked the old lady, once we were all settled in easy chairs.

At my side, Mizon shook her head. âNo, thank you,' I said. âWe won't keep you long. Can I ask when you last saw Karen?'

âMonday night,' she replied. âShe comes at five, cooks me some dinner and helps me have a bath. She goes about half past seven. Just as
Coronation Street
starts.'

âSo you're expecting to see her tonight?' I asked. Today was Wednesday.

Mrs Richardson was nodding at me. âShe'll be here at five,' she said. âShe comes straight from work.'

I glanced at my watch. It wasn't far off five, but Karen Curtis hadn't shown up at work for the last two days.

âMrs Richardson, how did she seem on Monday?' asked Mizon. âWas she her usual self?'

Evadne Richardson nodded. âJust the same,' she said. âShe'd had a phone call from Thomas. Said he had a new girlfriend.'

She pushed herself to her feet and crossed to the fireplace. Her hand went up and she seemed to be counting off the frames that were lined up along it. When she got to the fifth, she stopped. âThis is my grandson,' she said, taking down a photograph of a boy in graduation robes. âThomas.' She held the photograph out. I took it and passed it quickly to Mizon, just getting a glimpse of a dark-haired boy. He was smaller and slimmer than the other boys we'd met. The cox of the rowing team.

âDid she say anything about planning to go away?' I asked.

Evadne looked puzzled and shook her head. âShe doesn't go away,' she said. âNot without arranging for a home help to come in and see me. I have health visitors calling every day,' she said. âJust for ten minutes. They make sure I take the right pills. But they don't do any cooking or cleaning up.'

âDid she seem worried about anything?' asked Mizon.

âNo. What would she be worried about?'

âHopefully nothing,' said Mizon. âI don't want you to get worried, but she didn't go to work today. Can you think of anywhere she might be?'

The old lady was on her feet again. âI'd better just phone her,' she said.

Mizon and I watched Evadne cross the room to the phone, dial a number and wait to be connected to her daughter's answer-machine. I saw Mizon bat a fly away. Evadne put the phone down.

âMrs Richardson, is there anything you can tell us, anything unusual about her visâ'

âShe went upstairs,' Evadne said.

âUpstairs?' repeated Mizon.

The old lady nodded. âI heard her,' she said. âThe music on
Coronation Street
had just finished and I heard her going upstairs.'

âAnd that was unusual?' I asked.

âWe don't use the upstairs rooms,' she said. âI can't manage the
steps any more. My bedroom's downstairs in the room we used to call the back parlour. A few years ago, we had the pantry turned into a bathroom. I haven't been upstairs in years.'

âBut your daughter went up?' I asked.

âDid she come back down again?' said Mizon.

The woman looked startled. We were scaring her. âYes,' she said. âAfter about fifteen minutes. I remember because the ads were on. I heard her come back down and go out the front door.'

âDid she speak to you again?' I asked. âCall out goodbye or anything?'

The lady shook her head. âNo,' she said. âShe'd already said goodbye.'

I had no need to look at Mizon.

âMrs Richardson, have you let any strangers into your house over the last few days?' I asked. âAnyone you hadn't seen before?'

âNo, dear, I'd never do that. Wouldn't dream of it.'

I was starting to breathe again.

âOnly the nurse,' said the old woman.

I waited for a second. âWhich nurse was that?' I asked.

âThe new one,' said Evadne. âThe one that came on Monday. About mid afternoon. She had a card and a uniform and everything. Should I not have let her in?'

âI'm sure it was fine,' I said. âDid she come to give you your pills?'

Evadne shook her head at me. âNo, dear, I'd already had those,' she said. âShe came to give me a health check. I'm not sure she checked much, though. Just talked to me for a few minutes, asked when Karen was due. Then she left.'

âDid you show her out?'

âShe said not to get up, that she'd show herself out. I heard the door, though.'

I looked up at Mizon. She was pale, her hands clasped tight in front of her. I stood up.

âMrs Richardson,' I said. âDo you think we might look round the house?'

BOOK: Now You See Me

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