Tastes Like Fear (D.I. Marnie Rome 3) (16 page)

‘Well she ate a lot of meat in the last twelve weeks,’ Fran said. ‘Salt-cured, possibly. But red meat. No other way to account for the protein levels. Quinoa’s good, but it’s not that good.’

‘Talk us through the strangulation. You said she didn’t put up a fight?’

‘My best guess? She was lying on her back. He was over her, probably kneeling either side of her torso. If he was a big man, and she was sleeping when he got into that position, it would’ve been hard for her to put up a fight.’ Fran sipped at her tea. ‘He was quick. Didn’t drag it out, didn’t play with her. He just wanted her dead. I’m going out on a limb and saying this isn’t a sexual psychopath. He wasn’t taking pleasure in what he did, or not in the sadistic sense.’

‘He left her on display,’ Marnie said. ‘Naked, more or less. That suggests contempt.’

‘Perhaps he wanted us to see the writing. She’d been keeping it a secret, hadn’t she? From her parents, friends. It was the first thing we saw when we looked at her. Not her body, not even the marks he left on it, but her writing. Not what
he
did to her, but what she did to herself.’

‘Do you think he’ll want to do it again?’ Marnie asked. ‘Even if he took no pleasure in it. The ritual, the way he laid her out. The
spectacle
. That made us think he’d do it again.’

‘I can’t argue with that.’ Fran finished her tea, glancing at her watch. ‘Over to you.’

Back at the station Noah said, ‘Learned helplessness. I’m wondering if that’s what happened to May, why she didn’t put up a fight, ate his food, all that long-life crap, meat when she’s a vegetarian. Learned helplessness means complete passivity, your victims emotionally and physically unable to disobey, or to take the initiative.’

‘Stockholm syndrome with a topspin.’ Marnie suppressed a shudder. ‘Here was me hoping she was somewhere safe until he found her.’

‘The boyfriend theory? It could still be true. If Fran’s right and the killer’s not a sexual psychopath, then perhaps he’s not the one who got her pregnant.’

‘But he’s the one who found her. And maybe not just her … Yes, DC Tanner?’

Debbie was waiting outside Marnie’s office. ‘Ruth Eaton’s being discharged this morning. Joe called to let us know. She says she saw our missing girl and she can give us a description.’

‘Good. Get her help with the e-fit. This girl was one of the last people to see May alive. We need to find her as a priority, whether or not she’s at risk.’

‘Will do, boss. Oh, and Calum Marsh is downstairs asking to see you. I didn’t make any promises, knowing how busy you are.’

‘I’ll see him. Thanks.’

On their way downstairs, Marnie told Noah, ‘Sergeant Kenickie, Serious Collision Investigation Unit, has been stirring things with the Marshes. Expect an angry father seeking justice for his son.’

‘Then this is damage limitation, or public relations?’

‘So cynical …’

Calum Marsh was sitting in a plastic chair under a poster warning visitors of the penalties for violent or threatening behaviour. In an open-collared shirt and dark trousers, elbows on his knees, hands hanging, head down. He looked beaten, defeated.

‘Mr Marsh. I was so sorry to hear about Logan.’

Calum got to his feet, shaking Marnie’s outstretched hand. He was wearing the laced shoes he’d struggled with at the hospital. No neck brace or sling, but fatigue had set new shadows everywhere on his face. ‘Thanks. I’m not here to give you a hard time.’ He nodded at Noah. ‘I know you’re flat-out busy, but I wanted to know if you’d found her, the girl from the crash. Is she okay?’

Sergeant Kenickie might have done his best to stir up a sense of injustice in Logan’s parents, but he’d failed, at least in the case of Calum. Nothing but bleak concern in his face as he searched Marnie’s for news of the missing girl. ‘Logan volunteered at homeless shelters, made friends with kids who were living rough. If this girl was like that, he’d want to know she was safe.’ He rubbed at his collarbone, blinking sleep-starved eyes. ‘She can’t have meant to cause the crash. From what Joe said, she was desperate … I’ve been trying to remember details about how it happened, anything that might help you.’ He looked ready to fall down. ‘I want to help.’

‘Let’s find a quiet room,’ Marnie said. ‘And would you like a cup of tea, or coffee?’

‘You’re busy,’ Calum repeated, but he followed them to the interview room. ‘I don’t mean to take up your time. I can’t do anything for Gina, not with the divorce … I’m a fifth wheel.’ He tried to smile, but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate. ‘Can’t stand being useless.’

Behind the pain in his eyes was blame, and guilt. Had Gina accused him, maybe just by her silence? Noah hoped not. It was easy to see how heavily blame would sit on this man’s shoulders.

‘We’re talking with Ruth Eaton this morning,’ he told Calum, ‘hoping for a better description of the girl.’

‘Ruth’s okay. That’s good.’ He put his fingers to his eyes as if he was afraid of finding tears, but it was only pain spilling over. ‘Their kids’ll be glad to get their mum back.’

The room smelt of sweat and carpeting. They sat at the metal table.

‘I know Sergeant Kenickie’s been in touch,’ Marnie said. ‘I’m sure he’ll keep you informed of progress with the investigation.’

‘Kenickie,’ Calum repeated. His jaw moved. ‘Yes, I met him. He’s got it in for Joe, expected me to feel the same, but Joe wasn’t driving
my
car. I should’ve reacted faster.’

‘From what Joe said, there was no time for that.’

‘Ruth saw the girl, that’s what I don’t understand. They both saw her, but I didn’t. How could I have missed her? She must’ve been directly in my headlights. If Joe swerved into us, then she must’ve been right
there
.’ He jabbed a thumb at the table. ‘I should’ve let Logan drive. He had his provisional licence and he was doing
great
. Nothing fazed him. He was all grown up, didn’t need my help with anything, not any more. If I’d let him drive …’ He shut his eyes for a second before blinking them back open. ‘He’d want to know the girl’s okay. It cut him up to think that kids like that were out there. I know Kenickie thinks it’s
her
fault for walking out into the road, but Logan wouldn’t agree.’

‘How’s his mum doing?’ Noah asked.

‘She’s got her parents round. Logan’s gran and grandad. Mine died a couple of years back; he only had Gina’s mum and dad.’

‘Do
you
have someone?’ Noah hoped the man wasn’t on his own. ‘Brothers, sisters?’

Calum shook his head, as if he didn’t matter. ‘This girl … If she’s homeless, on the streets, Logan would want to help. He wasn’t volunteering for his CV or because his mates were doing it. He
cared
. The kids he met … They were like him, that’s what he always said, just that he was lucky enough to have a roof over his head. “Dad, can you imagine living like that? Being scared and on your own, no one to look out for you?” It cut him up. That’s what I keep thinking about. How much he
cared
. He’d hate this girl to be lost, no one taking care of her. Her family wondering where she is, missing her, praying for news …’ He hugged himself the way Loz had done, rocking slightly in the seat, blinking at nothing. ‘I hope Ruth gives you something. I wish
I
could. Wish there was some way I could help, but I didn’t see her. Didn’t see anyone, just Joe’s car coming right at us, and … Logan, hitting the windscreen.’

‘Poor bloke,’ Noah said, as they climbed the stairs back to the main office. ‘How long d’you think he’ll keep blaming himself?’

‘Until he’s able to forgive himself, or until his wife does.’ Marnie wore the thread of a frown at the bridge of her nose. ‘Or until Kenickie backs off. He’s gearing up for a manslaughter conviction. If he keeps on at Gina and Calum about the need for someone to pay the price for Logan’s death—’

Her phone thwapped. ‘DC Tanner, we’re on our way back up …’ Her eyes sharpened as she listened, and she switched to speakerphone. ‘Again, please.’

‘We’ve got another one.’ Debbie’s voice was stressed by static. ‘Another body.’

‘Where?’

‘On the Garrett.’

Marnie and Noah turned back down the stairs, towards the car park. ‘Who’s on the scene?’

‘DS Carling and the house-to-house lot. Ron’s sealing it off.’

‘Another girl?’

‘Yes, but he says it’s not like May. This one’s been dumped.’

‘Dumped where? Who found her?’

‘Kids. He says kids.’ Debbie sucked a breath. ‘Not drugs, it’s not an overdose. They’ve had their share of those on the Garrett, but this girl was killed. Strangled, he thinks. Like May, but not clean. He strangled her and then he dumped her.’

‘Is it Traffic’s girl?’ Noah asked.

‘Ron doesn’t think so. She’s too big, and there’s no writing as far as he can tell. He’s sealed off the scene and he’s waiting for Forensics, and you.’

‘Tell him we’re on our way.’

24

May Beswick’s murder had been loud, her body shouting at Noah from the bed in Battersea. This new murder was noiseless, shoved against a brick wall still bleeding with recent rain. A tall girl, bigger than May, but the killer had turned her into a smudge, as if a dirty thumb had been rubbed against a hard surface unthinkingly to remove a stain.

Marnie crouched, gesturing for Noah to join her. He saw the distinctive crook in the dead girl’s nose. The fleshy lobes of her ears were pierced in three places.

Marnie said, ‘It’s Ashleigh Jewell. Yes?’

‘Yes …’

The girl from the whiteboard at the station, the one blowing a kiss at the camera. Her face was closed, lips swollen shut by blood, blackish, a match for the marks around her neck.

The scratch of litter across tarmac made Noah turn his head.

Ron Carling caught his eye and glanced away, as if the crime scene shamed him.

‘Do you think it’s the same killer?’ Marnie asked.

Noah looked. ‘Yes.’

‘Tell me why.’ Her voice was freighted by calm, holding him here, making him respect the crime scene despite its smell, its meanness, its futility.

‘The bruises. The pattern is the same. Big hands.’

‘What else? Is anything else the same?’

At first glance this killing had nothing in common with May’s. Ashleigh Jewell was fully clothed. No writing in the palms of her hands or on the visible part of her sternum. Her hair had not been brushed. She’d been dumped in the corner where the flats met – a litter trap reserved for communal rubbish – her body at a right angle, brick wall at her back, her face half buried in chip papers and an empty pizza box, her hands lying loose, no sign that she’d been tied. Wearing what looked like a school uniform, white shirt and black skirt, opaque tights, trainers on her feet. No watch or rings, no jewellery. Her hair was loose, its ends matted by the shallow tide of rubbish. No make-up or nail polish, although Noah could see the speckle of old polish at the base of two of her nails, a gritty line of silver close to her cuticles.

‘She’s clean.’ He looked across at Marnie. ‘She’s
too
clean. And she smells the same as May. Underneath, I mean. Soap and water. She smells of Pears soap.’ His nose pinched shut, protesting the memory. ‘The uniform is … wrong. As if someone dressed her to look like a child. She didn’t look like this in the photograph you put on the board.’

‘No, she didn’t.’ Marnie straightened and stepped back from the body.

Noah moved with her, working the perimeter for evidence that needed tagging. A breeze sucked at their crime-scene suits, and at the polythene tent erected too late for the handful of residents who’d gathered to see what was happening. A bad vibe from the crowd, too much static making Noah’s scalp prickle. He sensed a fight coming.

Marnie glanced in the direction of the rubberneckers before crouching back by the side of the dead girl. ‘Go and see what’s happening. I’ll finish up here.’

Noah moved outside the cordon, ducking under the tape to where Ron was holding a trio of teenage girls at bay, his hands raised against their questions.

‘The fuck’s going on?’ one of them demanded. Dressed for school, but not like Ashleigh Jewell. This girl wore skin-tight trousers and a black sweatshirt with the neck ripped out, a white vest top underneath. Black-spoked eyes, blusher slashed on her cheeks, hair gelled back into a ponytail that looked like a whip. Everything about her was hard and tight, from her laced ankle boots to her lips. ‘The fuck’s going on?’ Pointing her chin at Ron.

‘Back off. Now. This is a crime scene.’

‘Yeah? Sat on someone, did you?’ Throwing a laugh in the direction of her friends.

‘Back off, Abi. I won’t tell you again.’

‘I saw you with the old cow again.’ She was Abi Gull, the fire-starter who was terrorising Emma Tarvin. ‘Eating her fucking biscuits like a
pig
.’

Ron said, ‘Go to school. Or nick off, it’s all the same to me. But this is a crime scene and you need to stay clear of it.’

‘I’ve a right to know. I gotta live here. You get to piss off home when you’re done wringing us out.’ Craning her neck and catching Noah’s eye. ‘What?’ Tightening her stare. ‘Saw
you
, too. With that old bitch. Like she’s your gran, sucking up.’

‘Aw, Abi.’ One of her friends, same uniform, but baby-faced. ‘He’s
peng.’

‘So? He’s still a pig.’

‘You would, though, wouldn’t you?
I
would.’

Laughter from the other two girls, but Abi just stared at Noah. ‘Someone died. You’re wearing the white suit. Who’s dead?’

Ron put his hands up again, palms out towards the girls. ‘Clear out, now.’

‘I fucking
live
here. I’ve a right to know whether one of my mates is dead.’

‘We don’t know, all right? Who she is or how she died. Let us do our job, make this place safe.’

‘You wouldn’t know
safe
if it sucked your dick.’ Stretching the stare to Noah. ‘Fucking feds, you’re all the same. Even the black ones are dirty white.’

She turned on her heel and walked away, flanked by her friends.

Noah recognised the shape they made. Arrowhead formation, Abi a stride ahead of the other two, all three swaggering. They might not be the only gang on the Garrett, but they owned it. The other two girls kept turning their heads, scoping for enemies. Noah had grown up watching kids like this. Avoiding kids like this.