The Ladykiller (37 page)

‘Kate, this is Amanda. Louise Butler’s body has turned up.’

She took a deep breath. ‘Where?’

‘In the old quarry. Look, I don’t want to say too much over the phone. You can’t miss the place, it’s full of Panda cars. I’ll see you soon.’

Kate put down the receiver and leapt from her bed. As she showered her mind was cleared of everything but the task ahead. As always when on a case, once she had something to work on it took priority over everything. Her mind was blank now of Patrick, Lizzy, Dan. She thought only of Louise Butler. As she walked downstairs ready for work her mother was standing at the bottom with a cup of coffee for her and a lighted cigarette.

‘Five minutes won’t kill you, Katie. What’s up?’

She took the coffee gratefully and took a deep puff on the cigarette. Coughing hard, she gulped some more coffee down.

‘Louise Butler’s body has been found.’

‘Heaven help the poor child! Are you fit for all this?’

‘As fit as I’ll ever be.’

Kate gave her back the cup and pulled on her coat, the cigarette between her teeth, the smoke curling up into her eyes making her squint. She kissed her mother and went towards the door.

‘Tell Lizzy I’ll get in this evening, will you? I can’t promise I’ll be there this afternoon, but I’ll try.’

‘All right, love. You get off, and drive carefully.’

Kate kissed her again and went from the house. It was a chilly morning and she pulled the collar of her coat up around her neck.

She drove to the site of the discovery with a feeling of trepidation mixed with excitement. Please God let there be some kind of clue! To Kate’s mind it wasn’t a lot to ask.

She arrived at the quarry before Caitlin and slithered down the loose-stoned rise that led to the murder scene. When she got there she wished she’d stayed in bed.

The girl’s body was covered. When they pulled the canvas away Kate felt a sickening lurch in her guts.

DS Spencer watched her and rolled his eyes.

‘He must have come back and dug her up!’

Spencer looked at his superior with raised eyebrows.

‘Dug her up, ma’am?’ His voice was sceptical. ‘Looks more like an animal had her to me.’

‘I can see you’d think that at first, but look at the way the dirt’s been smoothed around her, the way her hair has been arranged. No, our man came back and disinterred her for some reason. Cover her up, Spencer. Where’s the pathologist?’

‘In the jam sandwich over there, ma’am.’

Kate walked to the large police car and climbed into the back seat. ‘So what’s the gen so far? Am I right in thinking that our man’s been back and dug her up?’

‘Well, well, you are on top form this morning, Kate! I would say that she has been recently disinterred, yes. The facial injuries were inflicted after death, I’d lay money on that one.’

Kate was stunned.

‘You mean he came back, dug her up and then attacked her again?’

‘Spot on. Quite a nice chap you’re looking for, I don’t envy you. Ah, here’s Caitlin, looking a bit the worse for wear. Never was at his best first thing in the morning, was our Kenny.’

Kate watched as Caitlin slid heavily down the stony incline to Louise Butler’s body.

‘One other thing, Katie, the girl was stripped naked last night. He usually leaves the clothes on them, cutting off the underwear. I couldn’t find any evidence of recent sexual activity, but by the marks on the skin of her buttocks I would hazard a guess they were pulled apart recently, and quite savagely at that. Obviously, I’ll know more after the PM. I’ll have the report ready as soon as I can.

‘I hate the stinkers, Kate, especially when they’re young girls. She’s higher than a damn pheasant at the moment. I’ll be tasting formaldehyde with my dinner for days.’

Kate looked at the man beside her and bit her tongue. Nodding, she got out of the car and made her way carefully to where Caitlin was looking at the body. Higher than a damn pheasant! That was a fifteen-year-old girl he was talking about. She hoped against hope that she never became that cavalier about her job.

‘Hello there, Katie darling.’ Caitlin’s Irish brogue drifted over to her on the cold wind. ‘The fucker dug her up, the dirty bastard!’

Kate was gratified at the distress in his voice. If even hard-nosed coppers like Caitlin could still be moved, there was hope for her yet.

‘Well, sir, he saved us a job, didn’t he?’ Spencer’s nasal twang caused Kate, Caitlin and the uniforms to stare at him.

‘Oh, yes, son, he did that all right.’ Caitlin’s voice was sarcastic. ‘Shame all the perverts don’t bury their victims and then dig them up later on. Save a fortune on inquiry charges that would. You stupid eejit . . . Get away out of me sight, before I give you a dig!’

Kate flicked her head at Spencer and he walked back to his police car, shamefaced. Kate felt sorry for him in a sense; she knew what he meant: at least the body had turned up, even if it was in this grisly fashion. Poor Mr and Mrs Butler.

‘The pathologist thinks he attacked her again last night. Whether or not it was sexual he doesn’t yet know. He thinks the face was beaten recently, but he could find no evidence of a sexual assault.’

‘Probably wanked over her. That wouldn’t leave anything.’

‘I’m not so sure. Look at the way her hair has been arranged, the way the dirt’s been smoothed around her. I think he was searching her. We know he’s a nutter, and we know he’s a sexual deviant.’

Kate knelt by the girl’s body, repressing a shudder at the rancid smell. ‘Suppose he thought he’d left some evidence on the body? What, I don’t know. He could have come back, dug her up, searched her. Then when he didn’t find what he wanted, or maybe even when he did, he attacked her. It’s got a kind of twisted logic to it.’

Caitlin nodded. ‘Sure you always was a clever girl, Katie. I think you’re probably right. But this man has finally made his biggest mistake . . . He’s wound me up, Kate. He’s pushed me too far this time. When we find him - and we will - I’m going to beat his fucking brains in!’

Caitlin looked towards the uniforms and shouted: ‘Where’s the bloody undertakers? Get this child covered up and into a body bag.’

Kate stood up. In the grey light of day Caitlin looked terrible. His haggard face with its grey stubble seemed to have sagged overnight. For all his faults, and they were legion, at that moment Kate almost loved him.

‘Come on, come back to the station with me and let forensic finish their work here.’

She took his arm and pulled him away gently. ‘We’ll go and get some hot coffee inside us.’

Both noticed she didn’t mention breakfast.

Ronald Butler walked into the mortuary at Grantley Hospital, Kate beside him. The mortuary assistant pulled the white sheet from Louise’s body and Ronald Butler stared down at the remains of his daughter. Kate looked away. Out of the corner of the eye she saw the man’s hand go up to his mouth.

‘Is this your daughter, sir?’ Her voice was low. The formal identification had to be made.

He nodded and then bent double. The mortuary assistant quickly covered Louise up and both he and Kate rushed to Butler. He was now holding his chest tightly, and as he collapsed on to the floor Kate shouted: ‘Get the bloody Crash team now. He’s having a heart attack!’

When the assistant had run off she loosened the man’s shirt and tie.

Ronald Butler was grey and a thin film of sweat shone all over his face and neck. His lips were blue. Kate knelt over his body and felt his neck for a pulse. It was barely noticeable. Entwining the fingers of both hands she pushed down hard on his chest, just to the left of his heart.

Oh, please God, let them hurry!

As if her prayers had been answered, she heard the clanging of the Crash trolley bursting through the plastic doors.

Kate carried on the heart massage until the Crash team took over and a few minutes later was gratified to hear Ronald Butler breathing relatively normally. She waited until he had been put on a trolley to be taken to the CCU. As he was being taken out of the mortuary to Cardiac Care Unit, he grasped Kate’s hand.

‘Would you tell my wife . . . please, tell her not to worry . . .’

‘Of course I will.’ Kate felt the burning inside her own chest. It was not physical pain but hatred and had been building up inside her all day.

‘Louise was our life, you see. We hoped . . . we hoped she would walk back in the house. You know.’ He squeezed his eyes shut to stem the tears. ‘That she was still alive somewhere. Anywhere.’

Kate felt the man’s agony as if it were a tangible thing. As the trolley was pushed away, she knelt down and retrieved the handbag that she had thrown to the floor as he collapsed. Standing, she went once more to Louise Butler’s body and pulled the sheet away from her face.

Fifteen. Loved and wanted. Her whole life ahead of her. And now she had been reduced to a bloody pulp.

Swallowing hard, Kate left the mortuary. She had decided to be in on the post mortem and now she would go to the Pathologist’s office and wait for the remains of Louise Butler to be laid on the mortuary blocks and then systematically cut to pieces.

Ronald Butler had made Kate feel the futility of all their investigations. His daughter was dead, Mandy Kelly was dead, and Geraldine O’Leary was dead. Three women raped and murdered in less than seven weeks.

They had to find him before he struck again, and they had nothing to go on. Nothing at all. Every avenue they pursued hit a dead end. Every lead went nowhere. This man was either very clever or very lucky. Or else had a mixture of the two.

She was still dwelling on it when the post mortem started. Kate had been given a small white mask to wear and when the pathologist cut Louise Butler from the breastbone to the navel she was glad of it. The stench of the gasses was appalling.

Kate watched everything through heavily lidded eyes. The burning was back in her breast. Stronger this time.

She brooded on what kind of man raped, murdered and buried a young girl, then went back and dug her up and mutilated her again?

He had to be caught.

Chapter Seventeen

Kate was feeling depressed. She’d just had the news that both Geraldine O’Leary’s and Mandy Kelly’s bodies could be released for burial. She decided to tell the families herself. She was not looking forward to it.

She drove towards the O’Learys’ house with a feeling of trepidation. She parked just down the road and sat for a few minutes, watching the house itself. The nets were pristine white. Obviously either Mick O’Leary was a good housekeeper or he had someone helping him. Probably Geraldine’s mother; Kate had met her on one occasion and had had the impression that she was a capable woman. Taking a deep breath, she got out of the car and locked it. She walked slowly to the front door and rang the bell.

The door was answered by Kathleen Peterson, Geraldine’s mother, who had the youngest child, Sophie, in her arms. Kate could see Geraldine in the child: the same long, brown hair and almond-shaped, hazel eyes. She smiled.

‘I don’t know if you remember me? I’m Detective Inspector Burrows . . .’

‘Oh, come in, love. Come in.’

The woman moved from the doorway so Kate could enter the tiny hall.

‘Come through.’ She walked through a doorway to her left and Kate followed her into the lounge. On the carpet toys were lying about everywhere. The television was on and Mick O’Leary was sitting in the armchair by the fire, staring at the screen. Kate was shocked at the sight of him. He was hunched in his chair like an old man, it was obvious he had not shaved for days and his clothes looked a crumpled mess.

Kathleen Peterson caught Kate’s eye and shrugged her shoulders. She motioned for Kate to follow her through to the kitchenette.

Putting Sophie down on the floor, she closed the kitchen door quietly behind her. ‘Sit yourself down. Would you like a coffee? Tea?

‘Coffee would be fine, thanks, no sugar.’

While Kathleen put the kettle on, Kate watched the child. She stood on the floor exactly where her grandmother had left her. She watched avidly every move her granny made, her eyes darting restlessly around the kitchen to wherever Kathleen was. Kate smiled at the child, but Sophie just glanced at her and then carried on watching her granny.

When Kathleen had put the coffee in front of Kate, she sat at the small table and pulled the waiting child on to her lap. Sophie curled into her granny’s bosom and popped a thumb into her mouth, shifting herself around for a few seconds before she was fully comfortable. Kathleen swept the hair back from the child’s face and then looked at Kate.

‘She’s taken it hard, the young one. They all have.’

Kate couldn’t answer.

‘Have you any news about . . . about the man?’

Kate shook her head.

‘I’m here about Geraldine. Her body can now be released for burial.’

The woman sipped at her own coffee and placed the cup back into the saucer with trembling hands.

‘Thank God! I think that if we . . . well, if we could bury her like . . . it wouldn’t seem so bad. The thought of her . . .’

‘I know. Believe me, I know. Please don’t distress yourself.’

‘It’s funny,’ Kathleen’s voice had taken on a confiding tone, ‘I used to think that nothing really bad could happen to us. I’d see things on the news - like Suzy Lamplugh and murders and rapes - all sorts really. I’d think, How terrible, and then I’d go and cook my dinner or get ready for bingo and it would be out of my mind, you know? It’s amazing how little you really care until it happens to your own family. Oh, I would feel distressed for the victims and their family, but not really for any length of time . . . Now it’s with me every waking moment. I feel as if she’s near me sometimes, I feel her presence.’

Kate sat and let the woman unburden herself. She guessed rightly that she was the first person to cross the doorstep for weeks. After the initial shock wears off, people seem to give victims’ families a wide berth. Maybe they really do think people want to be left alone, or maybe they are frightened of getting too caught up. As if that kind of bad luck is catching.

‘I was shopping the other day in town and I met a girl who went to school with Geraldine. She had her children with her, two boys. Lovely little things. She said hello and we chatted for a while, and I thought after, Why couldn’t it have been you? Why did it have to be my Gerry?