Grave Doubts (37 page)

‘Did she know we were coming?’ Fenwick felt odd. Despite the heat he kept shivering; perhaps it was the flu.

‘Yes. I distinctly told her three o’clock.’ MacIntyre glared at Fenwick, regretting his promise to the Commissioner to see the profiler personally because of the Home Secretary’s insistence.

She arrived at five past with a smile that dismissed the Superintendent’s glare. In her office, MacIntyre forgot his diplomacy and pushed her hard for opinions on the probability of a relationship between Killers A and B.

‘As I said in my report, Superintendent, I consider it a possibility but one can never be certain. It could be coincidence that two perpetrators took a finger from their victims’ hands, selected exactly the same type of girl – looks, age, physique – and chose the same towns in which to prey on women. But I don’t think that’s likely.’

MacIntyre looked distinctly put out. Fenwick didn’t know whether to be pleased at Professor Ball’s conviction or worried that MacIntyre still had so many doubts.

‘May I add more data?’

He told Ball everything he had uncovered about Griffiths’ childhood and fostering, the little he knew about the Smith family, including their sudden disappearance, and the pattern of crimes that Robyn had discovered, dating from the boys’ time at school. MacIntyre stopped pacing and started to take notes.

‘Fascinating! This is very suggestive of an adolescent bonding reinforced by petty crime. Tell me more about the cousin, Wendy Smith.’

‘I know no more, Professor. My theory is that Smith junior assaulted her or she might have been a willing participant over-awed into compliance. I think it happened when she was under age and that her father found out. Fred Smith is a loser quite capable of blackmailing his brother. It would explain the regular cash withdrawals. When the father was told about the boy’s behaviour by the drama teacher, he commented that something similar had happened before.’

‘And where is Wendy now?’

‘We’re still trying to find her.’

‘Be careful when you do. There’s a chance that she’s still with him.’

‘Would B be able to sustain a relationship? I mean, if he’s a serial rapist and killer, surely, a partner would have suspected something and left him.’ MacIntyre appeared determined to preserve his scepticism about Killer B’s identity.

‘Sadly the two things don’t automatically follow each other. I can list you a dozen of the worst male killers society has known who had a wife or girlfriend. It is not uncommon, particularly with someone as plausible and charming as Killer B. There are none so blind, gentlemen.’

Fenwick shook his head in disgust.

‘And Griffiths? Would it have been a menage à trois?’

‘I doubt it. Killer B, Smith in your theory, is the dominant member of the group. He might have let Griffiths use Wendy as an occasional reward but there would have been no relationship there.’

‘We should be going.’ MacIntyre stood up, suddenly impatient to be gone.

‘One final question.’ Fenwick turned to the Professor as MacIntyre started his pacing again.

‘Killer B has failed in his last two attacks. One victim survived because he left her to drown and it wasn’t a spring tide. The second – and I accept that it’s only me who thinks B is the attacker – was saved by a taxi driver who was killed for his bravery. How will B be feeling? And why is he making these mistakes?’

‘Let’s take your second question first and assume that your theory of a single attacker is correct. He’s attacking outside, forced to behave in a manner to which he is not accustomed for motives you are better at assessing than I. That’s one of the reasons he’s making mistakes. Despite that he is becoming more confident. Killing the taxi driver before escaping was a bold act. If this is the work of one man he has killed three people and attempted to kill two others within the last ten weeks. That is extremely active, even for a serial killer. If it is one man then the pace of his crimes is accelerating. He’s becoming increasingly daring. It’s possible he may even consider himself invincible by now.’

‘Is it possible, and I know this sounds crazy, I’ve already been told that in no uncertain terms, but could he return to kill one of the girls, say, his last victim?’

There was a long silence before Professor Ball spoke.

‘It would be very stupid, and I think Killer B has significantly above average intellect even though he is an under-achiever. But…he’ll be angry. He will be unable to accept that he has failed…and he certainly won’t lack the confidence to do it.’

‘Well? Could he?’

‘It’s possible but I’ve never known of such a case. When was the girl attacked?’

‘Over a week ago. She spent the first five days in hospital, now she’s back home.’

‘He’s left it a long time. I don’t think of him as obsessive…’ she paused, then looked confused, ‘unless he needed to prove himself – failure might eat away at him. I’m sorry I can’t be more definite.’

‘We’d better go. Professor Ball, as always, your insights have been most useful.’

‘Could I have a word with you in private, Superintendent?’

Fenwick waited in the corridor, feeling like a scolded schoolboy. He could hear the murmur of voices through the closed door and occasionally identified his own name. MacIntyre was tight-lipped on the way back to his office but roused himself as they left the car.

‘Are you OK, Andrew? You look pale.’

‘I’m fine. It’s just Ginny, I’m worried for her. If it were my case…’

‘But it’s not and for what it’s worth I would have reacted in the same way as Cave. Nothing could happen in a few minutes.’ MacIntyre slapped him on the back and told him to cheer up. ‘If it’ll make you feel better I’ll call Cave again, find out how things are.’ He was laughing as he walked into his office but stopped abruptly when he saw the urgent message on his desk to call Telford.

The men stared at each other, unspoken fear large between them. Fenwick switched on his mobile, desperately hoping that there were no messages but he was disappointed. He went to the window for a better signal and watched MacIntyre dial. Fenwick leant against the cold glass and listened to his answering service.

‘Fenwick, it’s Cave. He went back. I need you up here, now.
’

Fenwick could taste bile in his throat. Behind him he heard MacIntyre talk to Cave. He was unable to turn around to witness the expression on his face. The message said only that he’d had gone back, it hadn’t said that Ginny was dead. She could still be alive, but the dread around his heart told him otherwise.

‘I see. We’ll leave straight away. I’ll call you for directions when we’re closer.’ MacIntyre replaced the receiver and cleared his throat.

Fenwick wiped his face and found it cold with sweat.

‘I’m sorry, Andrew. Ginny’s dead. She was strangled and knifed to death in the bathroom of her house this afternoon.’

He knew that he was going to be sick and ran to the bathroom, just making it to the sink. His stomach heaved and he retched, then again. He ran the cold tap and used a paper towel to clear the mess away, then washed his face with cool water. The door opened behind him but he kept his head low.

‘Are you OK?’

He nodded. MacIntyre walked past, urinated, flushed and washed his hands. Fenwick was still staring into the sink when he’d finished.

‘We have to go. They need us.’

‘You go. I can’t. How can I face them? It’s all my fault.’

‘Don’t be bloody stupid! Do you know how ridiculous and arrogant that is? You did your best. You warned Cave, several times. It is
not
your fault.’

‘But I knew he was going to do it. I should have stayed up there.’ Fenwick straightened and winced at the burning pain in his gut.

‘Nonsense. What could you have done?’

Anger filled him, a burning fury like vitriol.

‘I could have
saved
her,’ he shouted, his spittle covering MacIntyre’s face. ‘I could have sat outside her fucking
house
day and night until the bastard gave up and went away.’

He wanted to hit MacIntyre. The man had dragged him back here with his sarcastic insistence that he’d been wasting his time, but he stopped himself. He couldn’t pass on the blame that easily. It was
his
fault. One time he would have followed his instincts whatever the price. He was too concerned about his own career, that was the problem, too busy trying to please people rather than catch killers. He’d been seduced into forgetting that that was what real police officers actually did.

‘Jesus.’ He turned away from MacIntyre in self-disgust and pulled out another towel to wipe his face free of moisture.

‘And where would you have sat?’

‘In the car.’

‘At the front of the house. He went in the back, Fenwick. She was dead in minutes. Her mother left to go to the local shop and shortly afterwards the officer on duty had an urgent call of nature and had to leave. He swears it was for less than five minutes. When they returned, Ginny was dead.’

‘I could have saved her.’ The possible truth of the statement ate into him like acid.

‘It wasn’t your case, it wasn’t your patch. You were up there on an unrelated matter. A highly experienced local SIO was in charge. If there is any blame it’s his, not yours. Do you understand me?’ He swung Fenwick round to face him and almost shook him.

‘I’m going to be ill again. Would you mind going?’

He was, very ill. Eventually, empty and light-headed, he straightened his tie and walked back to MacIntyre’s office.

‘I’ve changed my mind. I will come with you. I need to see it, to be there.’

‘Don’t be such a bloody masochist. You’re coming with me because you’re going to help me catch this bastard before he kills anyone else. Do you need anything?’

‘My overnight case is in my office. And I’ll take my files.’

‘I’ll see you in the car park in five minutes.’

MacIntyre had arranged for a driver and Fenwick was glad. He didn’t think he could handle a car. They were silent for the first part of the journey. Traffic was thin and the flashing blue light cleared a swathe before them.

Fenwick asked the driver to pull over at the first service station and went to buy a sports drink, bar of chocolate, and two coffees.

‘You not having one?’

‘Don’t think my stomach could take it. I’m craving sugar and salts.’

‘Perhaps you ate something that didn’t agree with you. You were looking off-colour all afternoon.’

‘Probably.’

MacIntyre stared at him strangely.

‘What?’

‘You knew this might happen. Why?’

‘Didn’t you think it possible?’

‘No – even Ball didn’t. I’ve spoken with Cave. He’s gone over his rationale for the level of protection with me and…’

‘Perhaps he’s rehearsing his lines.’ The bitterness inside Fenwick made his mouth twist in disgust.

‘I’m sure, but the point is that other officers would have done the same.’

‘Even though she witnessed a murder?’

‘She was unconscious, drugged out of her mind for the whole episode. And he didn’t care about being recognised. The barman saw him at the Italian they went to. And the taxi driver, if he hadn’t gone back, which was a highly unusual thing to do, he would have been a witness. This man doesn’t care too much about being seen.’

‘Whatever. She’s dead. Only eighteen and he butchered her. That should never have happened.’

‘How do you know he butchered her?’ There was a sharpness in MacIntyre’s face that jolted some sense into Fenwick. He wanted to stay on the case, catch the bastard, revenge Ginny and save Nightingale. He would need all his wits.

‘You said so after Cave’s call.’

‘I didn’t describe how she died but you’re right. The injuries inflicted on her were dreadful. How did you know?’

‘It would be in keeping with his MO. Smith detests young pretty women with dark hair.’

‘Supposing Ginny’s killer is Killer B and Killer B is Smith. Do you think that you know this man’s mind?’

All Fenwick’s instincts screamed at him to be cautious.

‘I’ve simply studied the crime scenes and I know the profilers’ reports off by heart. That’s given me an insight.’

‘Hmm. Do you think he’ll still be in Telford?’

‘No. His business is finished there. He’ll have moved on.’

‘To find Nightingale.
’ He resisted voicing the thought and concentrated instead on working through what Smith would do next. Despite his careful answer to MacIntyre, he felt unusually connected to the killer. He was convinced that if Nightingale hadn’t decided to leave Harlden and her past so completely behind her, she would have been dead by now because Smith needed to punish her for catching his partner. He finished his drink and the last chunk of chocolate then closed his eyes for some precious sleep, on the assumption that there would be little in the days ahead.

MacIntyre woke him as they turned onto the M52, shaking him roughly by the shoulder in impatience. The expression on his face, irritation mixed with a hint of respect, brought Fenwick to instant wakefulness.

‘The prints on the knife. I’ve just had a call. Apparently Forensics were asked to look for matches against evidence you gave them, on my urgent instructions?’

Fenwick said nothing. Yes he’d used MacIntyre’s authority, so what, how else was he to get anything done?

‘The prints match a set found on the letters sent to Griffiths. You know what that means, we have a confirmed link. Griffiths knows Killer B. They said that you’d given them a box to test as well?’

‘From the Smith house, yes.’

‘Well they lifted some good prints and ran those against the knife as well. One set is a match.’ MacIntyre soft punched his shoulder. ‘Congratulations. You were right, Killer B is Smith. You’d better get on the blower to that sergeant of yours in Harlden. The search for Nightingale has more priority now. Even your ACC should devote resources to it. You sort it while I break the news to Telford. Somehow I don’t think it’s going to make Cave’s day.’

The moment of victory meant nothing to Fenwick. It had come too late to save Ginny and he shrugged the Superintendent’s compliment to one side. He’d been right from the beginning, but all he could think about was a dead eighteen-year-old lying in her own blood in the supposed safety of her own home.