A Velvet Scream (32 page)

That was when he began to look worried because Joanna was simply nodding, as though she already knew all this.

‘When I came back out she was just lying there.' He spread his hands, appealing for them to believe him. ‘I knew it'd look really bad for me. I didn't know what to do with her.'

‘Where is she?'

‘I put her in my car to try and warm her up,' he said. ‘Then I realized she was dead.' He held his hands out. ‘What could I do? What would it look like? Me – a decent man with a dead young girl in my car. I panicked, didn't I?' His face assumed the picture of innocence. Piggy little eyes wide open.

‘Where is she?'

Ruth Gaul held up her hands.

TWENTY-THREE

A
t two o'clock Joanna and Mike drove out to Leekbrook to the place where Andrew Crispin serviced his motorbike, to join the SOCO team. Matthew, as the Home Office pathologist, would be on his way. The vans had already gathered and the scene had been sealed off from prying eyes or unwelcome guests.

Barra met her at the door. They entered between a narrow corridor of police Do Not Cross tape. It had once been a petrol garage plus service area but most people bought their petrol in a supermarket these days; either that or at one of the big chains. And small, servicing workshops had likewise suffered over the last ten years. Too much expensive equipment needed. So the premises had fallen empty and derelict. But it was still a workshop and like many people who have spent time in prison, Crispin was a tidy creature. There were shelves neatly stocked, oil marks on the floor and a lovely old motorbike in three sections. Korpanski eyed it reverently. ‘Harley Davidson Hummer,' he said. ‘About nineteen fifty. Lovely.'

‘This isn't so lovely, Sergeant,' Barra said drily. ‘Take a look at this.'

Like many garages this one had an inspection pit in its centre: six feet deep, concrete, straight sides like a grave. Barra had pulled aside the cloth which must have covered it. Joanna peered over. At the bottom lay a young girl long dark hair, a bright red dress the colour of fresh blood rucked up over slim thighs. As she watched a rat ran over her.

They'd found Molly. Adored daughter. No university tuition fees now. No more worrying where she was at night. It was all over.

Joanna stared.

‘Hi.' Matthew was here, dressed in his forensic suit, bag at the ready. He caught up with her and saw what she saw.

Matthew Levin didn't waste time on sympathy. He simply patted her on the shoulder and jumped down into the inspection pit to begin his task. Joanna watched him. You could always tell a pathologist who had attended many murder scenes by their manner. They were quiet, efficient, knew exactly what to do, which made their movements economical and their comments spare.

‘No marks on her,' he said only moments later. ‘Looks like there's been some sexual activity. She's not wearing any knickers. Probably been here ever since she was abducted.'

He looked up. ‘I'll speak to the coroner,' he said. ‘We should get her moved. I'll complete the examination down at the mortuary.'

Dusk was dropping from the sky as Joanna went back outside with him. ‘Thanks, Matt,' she said. ‘Thanks for coming so quickly and, well, just getting on with it.'

He kissed her on the mouth, very gently. ‘I just can't wait to take you away from all this,' he said.

She kissed him back. ‘But only for two weeks.'

Matthew gave a short laugh. ‘I'd take you away for ever, Jo. But I have the feeling you'd resist.'

‘I'll see you later,' she said. ‘And don't ask what time.'

She took PC Bridget Anderton with her and knew as they walked up the path towards the watching faces that Beth and Philip Carraway already knew what had happened to their daughter. Joanna hardly needed to explain. ‘I'm so sorry,' she said. ‘We've found Molly.'

The pair of them sat, frozen together like statues in an ice tableau. They seemed to have lost all power of movement or speech. Even the blinking of their eyes looked robotic and jerky.

Bridget Anderton glanced at Joanna then back at Molly's parents. ‘Is there anyone you'd like me to ring?'

Philip Carraway managed a jerky shake of the head. Beth was in misery too deep to respond to even this simple kindness.

‘I shall leave WPC Anderton here with you,' Joanna said.

Philip Carraway managed to give a slow nod and Joanna left. There was a police initiative to bring a victim's relatives and the perpetrator of the crime face to face.
Maybe
, Joanna thought, as she slipped the car into gear
, in some cases, with some people, it might help
. But not here. No way could she see that Beth and Philip Carraway could possibly benefit from ever meeting Andrew Crispin.

So now, back to the station and Crispin himself. Ruth Gaul was still with him, taking notes as he spoke. She eyed them cautiously as Joanna and Mike entered and sat down.

‘We've found Molly,' she said. She did not address Crispin specifically but made her next question sound like rhetoric, addressed to the room in general. ‘What goes wrong with these girls?'

Ruth Gaul frowned but made no comment.

Crispin looked slightly interested. ‘What do you mean?' he asked, crossing his thick legs.

‘You don't mean for them to die, but they do, don't they?'

Gaul's antennae were up but Joanna ignored them. At her side Korpanski was wearing his famous wooden expression.

Joanna continued. ‘You just want to have a good time, don't you, Andrew? And they make out so do they.'

Crispin's eyes flickered over her.

‘But then they get just too drunk. Danielle completely lost it, didn't she?'

Again Crispin's eyes flickered over her.

‘Bloody well died on you.'

‘She didn't—'

‘Too late, Crispin. No, maybe she didn't die
on
you. You weren't even there when she expired, were you?'

Gaul gave him a quick, warning glance.

‘And Kayleigh. Well, that was interesting. Kayleigh survived. But she'd been so drunk and it had been so dark she couldn't describe you. But you couldn't take that chance again, Andrew, could you?'

His eyes were watching her, mesmerized. ‘You witch,' he managed.

‘So you had to try something else.'

And then it burst out of Andrew Crispin like a lanced boil. ‘Fucking ketamine,' he said. ‘Fucking stuff. No good. She just clapped out.'

‘May I have a word with my client?' Ruth Gaul sounded just about as pissed off as she could be.

‘My client,' she said calmly, when they trooped back in twenty-five minutes later, ‘is prepared to make a statement. He denies any knowledge of the death of Danielle Brixton or of the recent assault on Kayleigh Harrison. However, he is willing to assist you in the enquiry into the
accidental death
of Molly Carraway as a result of her
accidentally
ingesting a dose of ketamine.'

How did she do it? Joanna thought wearily. Defend a complete psycho like Crispin, find a loophole in the story that he can slither right through.

Answer? Like her. Someone has to. And now she understood why there had been no blood near the torn out earring. Molly had already been dead. And the dead don't bleed.

TWENTY-FOUR

S
he was home before midnight and Matthew was still up, waiting for her.

‘Tell me about ketamine,' she said. ‘What is it? What's it used for? Why is it so popular as a recreational drug? Will you be able to find traces of it in Molly's body? Why did he use it?'

‘It's primarily used in anaesthetics,' he said, ‘and for chronic pain – more in veterinary medicine than with humans. It produces something they call dissociative anaesthesia – the patient isn't exactly knocked out but they don't
remember
what has happened to them and that's why it can be used as a “date rape” drug. I suspect this is why your guy used it. If he expected Molly to survive then he would obviously not want her to remember clearly what had happened to her. And certainly not who had raped her. Unfortunately it has side effects: hypotension, depression of the respiratory centre, a high incidence of extraneous muscle movement, hallucinations, nightmares and other transient psychotic effects. It would be difficult to titrate the dose to induce a state of complete relaxation and amnesia without killing your patient. We don't use it much. As for your last question about finding traces in Molly's body: possibly. It has a half-life of two to three hours. If she died in that time frame we should not only be able to work out what was given but also what dose was administered.'

‘Mmm.'

‘And now,' he said with only a hint of reproach, ‘how about we get on with the wedding?'

TWENTY-FIVE

T
hey had chosen the wedding venue together, both loving the high moorlands venue, but even they could not have organized the snow-capped peaks and the bright sun which made her dress sparkle and shimmer as she left the car to walk the few steps through the studded oak door and stand, for a moment, in front of the mirror. Her wedding dress was Pacific blue, with a halter neck which left her shoulders bare. She had worn a white fur stole but now she took it off to allow the maximum benefit of the crystals randomly scattered over the skirt. As she walked in on her brother in law's arm she felt everyone turn around and stare. ‘Scatter the crystals,' she had said to the dressmaker, ‘at random.' And so she had, each crystal sewn on by hand.

The dress clung to her hips from the front but had a train at the back which rustled and spread as she walked. Her hair was loose and she had plaited some of the dress material with flowers to form a circlet which sat on her head, long ribbons down her back. Matthew was grinning at her and she grinned back, knowing that he had worried what she would wear.

Not black.

And so she walked slowly towards him, through the small collection of friends, relatives, acquaintances: Eloise, who had worn funeral-black trousers, and Matthew's tight-lipped parents, who stood next to their granddaughter in a show of solidarity. She walked past Sergeant Mike Korpanski, reading his radar, one eyebrow raised – either he never thought she'd go through with it or he was wondering how long it would last – feeling the hostile gaze of his wife scorch her back as she moved forward. She caught Chief Superintendant Arthur Colclough's warm, fatherly smile, mirrored by that of his wife who, although she had pretended otherwise, had always had a soft spot for Joanna; had watched her morph from hot-headed, newly appointed Inspector, to the woman who was still maturing in front of her. It was a relief to reach Caro's eyes and see her smile, even if her hands were wrapped round her swollen belly. Then Tom's broad grin, her sister Sarah, and Alan and Becky, Matthew's friends who had let him live on their top floor when he and Jane had first split up. They had looked after him until he and Joanna had finally bought Waterfall Cottage together.

And now she had reached him. She handed her small bunch of flowers to Lara, her niece, in dark red.

Another red dress.

‘Thanks, Jo,' Matthew whispered. Then reassured her: ‘It will be OK.'

Would it?