Читать книгу Cruel Acts - Jane Casey - Страница 13

It was the middle of the day so the bar was quiet except for some mellow swing music and the barman’s girlfriend talking him through her plans for a weekend away. We sat in a corner, knee to knee, leaning across the table like lovers so no one could overhear our conversation.

‘Rachel Healy.’ I held up her photograph. It was a formal portrait taken when she started working at an estate agents, Gallagher Kemp. She looked groomed, her fair hair glossy and smooth, her make-up professionally discreet. Her smile was warm, though, and the gap between her front teeth enhanced her beauty instead of detracting from it.

‘Pretty girl,’ Derwent observed.

‘Woman,’ I said automatically. ‘And yes. She was stunning.’

‘Wouldn’t go that far.’

I placed the photograph on the table with exaggerated care because I really wanted to smack him with it. He drank some lemonade and only the tell-tale deepening of the creases at his eyes gave away that he was smiling against the rim of the glass.

‘She disappeared nineteen days before Willa Howard. She worked late that night.’ I took a map out of the file and put it between us. I had drawn a star on the Chelsea office of Gallagher Kemp estate agents. ‘It was a Monday in October and they weren’t too busy but she’d been away on holiday and she needed to catch up. Gallagher Kemp do commercial property at a very high level, according to their website. If you have a company of five hundred people to rehouse in the City, they’re a good place to start.’

‘When you say she was working late—’

‘She was in the office, not showing any premises to prospective renters, so that’s not how she met her killer. Her boss was also working late – his name is James Gallagher. He said they left together. He gave her a lift and she asked him to drop her off in King’s Cross, although she lived in Tufnell Park. He left her near the station and drove home – he lives in Islington – and she went on her way, and no one ever saw her again. She never made it back to her flat. Ordinarily she got the Northern Line but she didn’t use her Oyster card or bank card and as with Willa there was no sign of her on CCTV.’

‘Who reported her missing?’

‘Her flatmates. They got the brush-off from their local police station – you know the drill.’

‘She’s a grown woman and not vulnerable and there’s no reason to be concerned for her safety yet.’

‘That’s the one. No one took it seriously until the following day when she didn’t turn up for work and didn’t call in either. Someone rang her flatmates and they said she hadn’t come home. James Gallagher kicked up a bit of a fuss at the local police station, which helped set the wheels in motion.’

‘Decent of him,’ Derwent observed.

‘He was the last person to see her. I’d imagine he was quite keen to find her, because otherwise he could have been a suspect.’

‘That or he felt guilty about leaving her somewhere that turned out to be dangerous.’ Derwent frowned. ‘But we don’t know that Leo Stone was the specific trouble she encountered.’

‘There’s the blood under the floorboards.’

‘Which is not an exact match.’

‘No,’ I admitted. ‘It could have been hers but equally it could not have been.’

‘That’s the trouble with DNA. On the one hand, it’s pointing us at Rachel Healy. On the other hand, that blood could belong to someone else. It’s not enough to get a conviction as it is. We’d have been better off in the old days when it was blood type only. Juries want a hundred per cent certainty these days. Close isn’t good enough.’ Derwent flipped a beer mat off the edge of the table and caught it as it spun around in the air. ‘Then there’s the point that her body was never recovered from the nature reserve where the other two victims ended up.’ Flip. Spin.

‘Nope. I think every inch of it was searched, too. Whitlock didn’t want to miss something obvious.’

‘So what do you think about the blood?’

‘I think we should assume it was Rachel’s.’

‘Why?’

‘Because assuming it isn’t won’t get us any further and we haven’t identified any other women he might have attacked. Our best chance is to be positive about connecting Rachel Healy to Leo Stone and work to that end.’

‘This is a man who kills without spilling blood, though. The only blood we found from the other victims was a speck on some plastic. He’s incredibly disciplined about it. You’ve seen the pictures – the room was spotless. So you have to believe he took Rachel to his house and for some unknown reason killed her in a messy and uncontrolled way, and that he was sufficiently excited by that to go back and take another woman off the street nineteen days later.’

‘Maybe it went wrong.’

‘Maybe it was nothing to do with him,’ Derwent countered, and my throat tightened with irritation.

‘Well, the blood had to come from someone. Even if it wasn’t Rachel Healy, and I think it was, someone died violently in that room and bled through the floorboards. How does that fit in with your incredibly disciplined killer?’ My voice was a shade too loud and Derwent grinned.

‘Shh. You’ll scare the barman.’

‘He’s not listening.’ I leaned sideways to check, all the same. His girlfriend was still talking, although she had moved on to the tattoo she was planning to get and where it should go.

I took a grip on my temper and returned to Derwent. ‘If it wasn’t her blood, where did Rachel Healy go?’

‘Someone else killed her. A boyfriend. An ex. A stalker. I don’t know.’ Derwent tapped the beer mat against the edge of the table. ‘It’s more of a stretch to believe it was Stone than that someone else wanted her dead. Two women a week die at the hands of partners or ex-partners. Did we look at her boyfriends?’

‘I don’t know. I assume so – at least before Whitlock got involved. There was a whole month where nothing much happened on the investigation, remember.’

‘That won’t have helped.’

‘No. No one helped Rachel, alive or dead.’

Derwent leaned back, watching me with that close attention I slightly feared. ‘Don’t get hung up on her.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You need to keep some perspective on it. She’s been missing for years. Your chances of finding her at all are slim, let alone making a case that Leo Stone killed her. If she’s dead, it doesn’t matter to her.’

‘She has a family. Friends.’

‘And you can’t bring her back for them.’

I looked away instead of at his face. I didn’t want to admit that he was right, but I knew he was. The CD changed to piano music, cool notes drifting through the dusty air like snowflakes. The barman dropped the cloth he had been using to polish glasses and leaned across the counter, drawing his girlfriend’s face towards him so he could kiss her. She held on to his wrists and closed her eyes and I found I was holding my breath …

‘You’re quiet.’

I came back down to earth with a bump. It was just as well Derwent had his back to the bar because he would probably have heckled, or at the very least criticised the barman’s technique. ‘It’s this case. It looks solid from a distance but it all falls apart when you poke it.’

‘Don’t tell me you’re having doubts about Stone.’

I shook my head. ‘It’s too much of a coincidence to think his van was here and Willa’s blood was in his house by chance. But Miss Middleton never saw Leo Stone at the van. No one did. They didn’t trace a building company that was using him around here. According to him he’d been off work for a month because of back pain and Miss Middleton got the VRN wrong when she wrote it down.’

‘Back pain my arse. His van was here. He was hunting in this area. It’s perfect. No CCTV. No nosy neighbours. Plenty of footfall from the pubs, people coming home late. Easy access to main routes out of the city centre.’

‘That’s a good point. We’re not far from Euston and King’s Cross. The Euston Road is the A501 and if you stay on it and keep heading west, it turns into the Westway.’

‘See? It all fits. He was using that as his main route through the city and dropping off it anywhere that seemed quiet and residential. This is exactly the sort of place where no one is going to notice you hanging around. You heard what Miss Middleton said about the area. It’s a backwater between busy areas. It’s not unusual to have strangers passing through, or hanging around for a few days at a time. No one is going to look twice at a man in a white van unless they’re an elderly lady with nothing better to do.’ Derwent drained the last of the liquid in his glass and burped. ‘Come on. Back to the car. It’s time to go and talk to Dr Early about body dumps and decomp.’

‘I can hardly wait.’