Grave Doubts (38 page)

The autopsy on Ginny had been given highest priority and had started by the time MacIntyre and Fenwick arrived. Fenwick’s self-imposed penance didn’t extend to compulsory attendance at the weighing and measuring of her mortal remains so he filled in time until Cave’s return reading reports and studying the bloody scene-of-crime photographs. There was a full-scale manhunt in progress but so far there was no sign of the killer.

‘He ran across a rubbish dump and the dogs lost his trail.’ MacIntyre shook his head in disgust. ‘They have roadblocks everywhere but there are so many lanes that the best hope is helicopters.’

‘How did he arrive at the house?’

‘No idea. He walked through the back garden and picked the lock on the back door but there was no sighting of a suspicious car or bike.’

‘Who found her?’ Fenwick radiated flat calm but MacIntyre looked at him warily.

‘One of our boys. Her mother was walking back from the shops when she noticed the broken bathroom window. Fortunately the patrolman got there first. Thank God she didn’t have to see this.’ MacIntyre gestured to the lurid 8” x 6” photographs in which the predominant colour was red.

‘So she broke the window and tried to escape. Plucky kid. If someone had been outside…’

‘Drop it!’ It was an order.

‘Yes…sir.’ He was in a filthy mood, making it a dangerous time for employee relations.

‘We should go and eat. I know looking at that lot isn’t an appetiser but it’s going to be a long night.’ MacIntyre was determined to force him to return to common sense.

By the time they returned, Cave was in his office. They shook hands but Cave couldn’t meet Fenwick’s eye.

‘Any sightings?’

‘None. And as we don’t know what he’s driving the search is slow. The key question is, what is he likely to do next?’

MacIntyre looked at Fenwick. ‘Go on, you probably know him best.’

‘If it’s Smith, I think he will try to leave the area. It’s what he did after the crimes in London and Wales.’

‘Which direction?’

Fenwick shrugged.

‘It could be anywhere but Birmingham’s a possibility. He went there by train after London and it’s where Griffiths has been sending the letters.’

Cave nodded.

‘That’s what I thought. It’s where I’ve focused the roadblocks. Any other ideas?’

‘It’s a long shot but his father had a holiday home somewhere. We haven’t been able to trace it – unless Robyn Powell found it, or Knotty.’ Mentioning the constable’s name brought a frown to his face. ‘Damn, he’ll be back in London now.’

‘I think she left her report in your old office if you need it. We’ve also arranged some accommodation for you both at the Armada.’

‘So what now. How best can we help?’ MacIntyre’s tone was perfect. Fenwick tried to memorise it for later use.

‘A personal briefing to the team. There’s nothing you can do in the search. The Chief Constable himself has become involved. We have all the resources we need, now.’

The visitors ignored the trace of bitterness in the man’s tone.

‘You don’t need me for that. I’m going to read Robyn’s report and try to contact Knotty.’ Fenwick left them to it.

Robyn had stuck an Ordnance Survey map to the wall. It had developed a rash of red spots worse than Knotty’s acne and they formed a pattern of sorts. She had highlighted the location of Griffiths/Smith’s school with a circle drawn around it to indicate the distance the boys could have travelled within two hours. Each red pin had a number by it, which corresponded to one on a list on his desk. By referring between the two he could follow the patterns she had discovered of incidents that slowly escalated during the years before they left school.

It was useful corroboration but they had a physical link between Griffiths and Smith now and Fenwick’s attention was drawn to an unexplained splattering of pins to the west of Telford. In the hills on the Welsh Borders she had placed three red pins and several black ones. Why and how had she found these crimes? The answer was in her meticulous report. She had looked through all the records for crimes that matched the characteristics of those around the school and then cross-checked them with the physical descriptions of perpetrators that matched Griffiths and Smith. There were none to the east or north. Every one lay between Telford and the boys’ home, or in the hills beyond.

He found the relevant notes and read them out loud in the privacy of his office.

‘The black pins relate to reported cases of animal mutilation, ranging from rabbits to farming livestock. The smaller animals were flayed and gutted, the larger (a pony, five sheep, one calf, a pet dog) had their genitalia mutilated. The interesting thing to note is the dates. Every incident takes place in the school holidays.

‘The red pins relate to minor sexual assaults, again in the holidays.

‘Pin number sixty-three: Indecent exposure. Reported by thirteen-year-old girl near Belsize Lake. Description of a young man with brown hair. August 16
^th
, 14.25.

‘Sixty-four: Indecent assault on sixteen-year-old girl in hills above lake. Description as for sixty-three but face was covered with a scarf. August 20
^th
, 17.45.

‘Seventy: Indecent assault on twenty-year-old hiker in hills above lake. Description of short, heavy-set youth wearing balaclava does not match those in sixty-three and four. September 2
^nd
, 9.10 a.m.’

He drew a line around the pins encircling an area of less than a square mile through the middle of which ran a single-track road with a scattering of houses on either side. Robyn had found the Smith’s holiday home.

At one-fifteen a.m., Fenwick joined MacIntyre and Cave on a deserted road half a mile from Belsize lake.

‘There are six cottages spread out well back from the road. We have teams ready to enter and search each one.’

The three men waited without speaking then Cave’s radio broke the silence. He listened and grunted a response.

‘Nothing in cottage Charlie, a family from Cheshire are renting.’

The scene repeated itself three times in quick succession.

‘Only Cottage Echo and Bravo left. Both are empty. We’re waiting for clearance to enter.’

Ten long minutes passed before the team at Echo reported back.

‘Echo has been lived in. The fridge is stocked and there are fresh ashes from a fire in the grate.’

They went down the hill together. It was nearly two a.m. but Fenwick felt alert and full of energy. Cave passed out latex gloves and they were given shoe covers at the door. An armed officer came to find Cave as soon as he arrived.

‘You need to see this.’

The man took them to the bathroom and an open laundry hamper. He pulled out a shirt with the tips of his gloved fingers. The cuffs were soaked with blood and there was heavy splattering on the front.

‘It’s still damp in folds of the material, and there are dried traces in the sink over there.’

‘Get a full SOCO team out here right now.’

‘Done, sir.’

Fenwick’s hair was standing up from his scalp as if an electric current was running through him. Smith had been here recently, he was no longer a phantom who could come and go without leaving a trace of his passing other than mutilated young women. He needed air and stepped back outside.

The night was clear, the moon almost full. It lit up the landscape in a grey-blue light that cast dense shadows and washed all colour and depth from the scene. He tried to imagine Smith driving through country lanes, heading away from his latest crime but the scene wouldn’t fix in his mind.

Smith had killed Ginny ten hours before. It would have taken him twenty minutes to drive back here, another twenty to wash and change. He had more than a nine-hour start on them. It was conceivable that he had even left the country by now. His euphoria faded as the realities of the search hit him. With a wry smile he realised that he had already dismissed his successes: discovering that Killer B was Smith, linking him to Griffiths, finding this place because of his insistence on reviewing old crimes. They would mean nothing if he didn’t catch Smith before the man found Nightingale, or some other victim.

MacIntyre came to stand beside him and lit a cigarette.

Fenwick waited for an acknowledgement that MacIntyre had been wrong to doubt his visit north but it didn’t come. Instead the Superintendent asked a question.

‘What will Smith do now? You’re our resident expert on the man.’

Fenwick resented the responsibility that MacIntyre had shifted effortlessly onto him. He was wearing the monkey on his back again and it made him angry.

‘How should I know? I’ve been focusing on his past, confirming his identity. My only certainty is that he wants to kill Nightingale. Find her and we’ll find him.’

‘Don’t you think you’re a bit obsessed with this?’

‘I was obsessed with finding Smith. That hasn’t done us any harm. Humour me.’

He walked away before his temper gained the upper hand. There was a track, bone white in the moonlight and he followed it, rehearsing smart remarks in his mind, oblivious to his surroundings. When it reached the margins of the lake he stopped in surprise. The water lay flat and dead. It looked unwholesome and he shivered. He felt very alone out here as if demons with slimy black tentacles were waiting to drag him down into its depths.

The lights of a helicopter swept a distant hill and he realised that a lone man by the lake might set up an unhelpful search so he started back. Cave and MacIntyre were waiting for him.

‘There you are! Where have you been?’

‘Thinking.’ It wasn’t true but he thought ‘sulking’ an unnecessary admission.

‘And?’ Was MacIntyre deliberately goading him?

‘OK. Here are our priorities: match the prints on the knife to those here…’

‘Already in hand.’ Cave waved a list in his hand.

‘Confirm the bite marks on Ginny are the same as on Tasmin and Lucinda.’

‘The forensic team in London are treating it as top priority, we should hear tomorrow morning.’

‘Look for tracks around here. What sort of vehicle did he drive?’ Cave was nodding but had not yet added anything to his own notes.

‘Find Wendy Smith. She could lead us to him. And keep up the watch on the address Griffiths has been writing to.’

‘Is there much point?’ MacIntyre didn’t bother to hide his doubts. ‘Surely Smith’s self-directed. The letters from Griffiths mean nothing to him.’

‘Perhaps, but they were associates and he went to the trouble to establish contact. I think it’s worth it. And we should complete the work on the tapes from Griffiths’ trial, see if we have a clear shot of him. We can add that to the e-fit that I imagine you’ve already circulated nationwide.’ MacIntyre nodded. ‘One final thing. There’s a lake down there, walking distance. It might be worth dredging for the murder weapon.’

This time Cave did make a note but Fenwick saw that it went way down a very long list.

It was gone four by the time they reached the smart hotel where they had reservations. Fenwick was still wide awake but he told himself that it made sense to grab a few hours sleep. He showered and lay in bed naked, trying to ignore the first chirps of the morning chorus beyond his window.

Flashes of the past few days kept appearing like a disjointed slideshow in front of the darkness of his closed eyelids. Ginny’s house, Ginny dead, the shattered window. Red drops of blood became the pinheads on Robyn’s map. The holiday home, warm and lived in, still smelling of Smith, blood from his last kill discarded to wash later. He thought of Nightingale, the last time he had seen her, pale faced, stressed out, too thin. And he remembered Claire’s bombshell. Guilt for driving Nightingale away added to the remorse he felt for Ginny’s death. No matter what MacIntyre or Cave said, he felt responsible. Of the senior officers involved in the case, he was the only one who had
known
that Killer B would return. He should have stayed behind to protect her. If Nightingale died too… He stopped the thought, unable to contemplate such failure.

At some point he must have drifted asleep because his alarm woke him at seven. He took another shower, feeling dreadful and left a message at Harlden for the Superintendent to call him as soon as he arrived. A full English breakfast and coffee went some way to revive him. By the time he met MacIntyre he had stopped feeling like an old man.

In the car on the way to meet Cave, they both checked their messaging services. There was nothing from Knotty so Fenwick left an urgent message for him.

‘We’re going back at the cottage. Thought you’d want to see it in daylight.’ MacIntyre gave him another of his weird looks. ‘Is there something bothering you?’

Fenwick was becoming increasingly irritated by the man’s attitude. He shook his head and opened his window to allow fresh air into the car.

At Smith’s house SOCO were still at work, able to move more quickly in daylight. A cheque book stub had been found, Cave had already organised a stop on the account and had asked the bank to tell him immediately of any attempted withdrawals.

Fenwick went outside. A team of officers was searching the grounds in an increasingly large circle, some working down towards the lake, others uphill to a thick set of trees that marked the start of a wood. Areas close by the cottage had been taped off and white-coated scene-of-crime technicians were working on them. He flashed his warrant card.

‘What have you got?’

‘Signs of a scuffle there and over here. It made us look closer and we found this.’ The man held up an unimpressive cotton bud. One tip was pink.

‘Blood?’

‘Yes. There’s a fair bit of it.’

Fenwick went to find Cave.

‘They’ve found traces of blood outside. There’s a possibility the blood on the shirt may not be Ginny’s.’

‘We know.’

‘If it’s not hers, why would he risk a kill so close to home?’

‘It’s probably an animal’s. Remember the reports Robyn dug out?’

Fenwick shook his head.

‘Why go back to schoolboy stuff when he was already planning to kill Ginny?’