Murder Club (29 page)

‘We know. We think there might be two of them. Which is why it is important you tell us exactly what happened.’

‘I told the police before.’

‘You didn’t say he tried to rape you, just that he mugged you and cut you.’

‘I didn’t see the point.’

‘What actually happened, Lorraine?’

‘He dragged me down Church Hill to the back of the theatre there.’

‘I know it.’

‘It was dark. He had me up against the wall, making out we were just kissing, he ripped my knickers off. He unzipped himself but …’

‘But what?’

‘He couldn’t get it up.’ She held a hand to her stomach. ‘Then he cut me with the knife, pushed me over and ran off.’

‘And you didn’t get a good look at him?’

‘He had a hoodie on. It was dark.’

‘But you did say he had curly hair, though.’

‘Yes.’

‘And his voice when he spoke?’

‘It wasn’t rough. Middle class more like.’

‘Educated?’

‘Yes.’

Delaney and Sally Cartwright exchanged a look.

‘What is it?’ asked Lorraine Eddison.

LAURA CHILVERS SAT
at the corner of the bar in The Pig and Whistle, the local pub the police mainly favoured, a short stroll from the White City Police Station. She lifted a glass with a large measure of Pastis in it, tilted her head back and downed it in one. She held the glass out to the tall woman behind the bar. ‘Same again please. A little water this time.’

The barmaid handed her a refill and put a small jug of water on the counter. Laura poured a splash in her glass and took a sip. Most offices in London were closed for the weekend, but there were still a large number of civilians in the bar, which was unusual for that time of day. Especially on a Sunday. But Laura figured there were enough workers and shoppers in town to keep all the pubs busy. She had suggested The Pig and Whistle as she thought it would be quiet. Most police workers coming off shift would be heading home for Sunday dinner. At least there was no loud music playing and mobile phone use was actively discouraged. She tuned out the chat that was buzzing around her and stared at the cloudy liquid in her glass. Fifteen minutes later the glass had been refilled, although she couldn’t remember ordering
another,
and a hand fell on her shoulder. She was startled, then surprised.

‘Oh. It’s you,’ she said.

Emma Halliday leaned back in the car seat and yawned. ‘So what made you transfer out of special ops back into CID?’ she asked Tony Hamilton.

The DI shrugged. ‘Special ops is a good word. Felt more like army than the police. Not really why I joined up. I found it was taking up more and more time, especially with the cutbacks, so I was doing more of that than the detective work that I enjoyed.’

‘So why apply for it in the first place?’

Tony flashed her a quick grin. ‘I like a challenge. What about you?’

‘What about me?’

‘Why’d you sign up?’

‘I had a thing for men in uniforms.’

‘Really?’

‘What do you think, genius?’

‘I think you’re pretty smart and wanted a challenge too.’

‘I came from a long line of policemen. Pretty much all I wanted to do.’

She leaned back and closed her eyes. Tony looked over at her for a moment or two, a half smile playing on his lips.

Kate Walker took the change from the lady behind the bar and sat on the stool next to Laura Chilvers.

She took a sip of her soda and lime and stared at her colleague for a moment without speaking.

‘What?’ snapped Laura finally.

‘Bible Steve.’

‘What about him? Has something happened?’

‘You knew him, didn’t you? He said you did, and he was right.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘I looked at the CCTV footage from that night, Laura. You knew him and you were covering for something. You then went out and got so blind drunk on drugs and booze that you thought you’d been raped.’

‘Well I wasn’t.’

‘You sure of that? You’ve got your memory back? Seems Bible Steve’s amnesia is catching.’

‘You’re not very funny, Kate.’

‘I’m not trying to be. Something’s going on, Laura. I want to know what it is.’

‘You’ve been living with the Irishman too long, Doctor Walker. You’re not a detective.’

‘Bible Steve recognised you.’

‘He was paralytic. He could barely stand up, let alone know who he was talking to.’

‘And yet you said he was fit to be charged and released?’

‘Can you cut me some slack here? All right, I was keen to get off. You know that. I had a hot date. Somebody special, maybe the one. Might be I dropped the ball a little with Bible Steve.’

‘And your date can back this up, can she?’

‘What are you talking about?’

Kate stared at her colleague’s still-bruised knuckles. ‘What happened to your hand?’

‘You think I went out and attacked him myself? Are you out of your mind?’

‘Something happened that night, I don’t know what. But a girl is dead and a man was put in intensive care.’

‘You know what, Kate. I don’t have to listen to this shit!’

Laura drained her glass, stood up and snatched her jacket off the hook.

‘Why are you lying, Laura?’ Kate asked as the younger woman walked away. But she didn’t get a reply. Laura Chilvers was too busy walking out of the door and pulling out a mobile phone.

Sally Cartwright had her laptop open on the back seat of the car, a mobile printer attached to it. Delaney was driving, cursing under his breath as the car slid on the icy road.

‘Here we go, sir,’ said DC Cartwright as the printer chugged out a five-by-seven-inch colour photo of the technical manager of the Ryan Theatre at Harrow School. She had googled the place and found photos of the theatre staff on their webpage.

His name was Christian Peterson.

Delaney pulled the car to a stop outside the address that DIs Tony Hamilton and Emma Halliday had phoned through to Diane Campbell. Delaney got out of the car and lit a cigarette. A few seconds later Sally joined him and gave him a sharp look.

‘Yeah all right, don’t you start. I’m giving up in New Year.’

‘About time.’

Delaney took a couple of quick drags, then dropped the cigarette into the snow. They walked a few yards down the road and up to a mid-terraced house.

On the other side of the road a man slumped down in the seat of his van, ran his hand through a tangle of curly, dirty blond hair and watched. His eyes were blue, and intent. Filled with hate.

Delaney rang the bell and a woman in her late thirties answered the door. Michelle Riley had dark hair, cut in a bob to her shoulders. She was above average height and wore little make-up.

‘Why don’t you come in, detectives?’ she said.

‘Don’t you want to see some ID?’ asked DC Cartwright.

‘I know who you are. I have seen the inspector in the papers and on television.’

Delaney and Sally followed her down a narrow hallway and into a medium-sized front room. It had a desk, shelves full of books and files, a small sofa and a number of plastic chairs stacked atop one another against the side-wall. On the wall beside the desk there was a poster with the words
RAPE SURVIVORS ONLINE
with a web address underneath it.

Michelle Riley moved a stack of files from the sofa. ‘I’m sorry for the mess. This doubles as my office.’ She dumped the files on the desk and perched on the chair beside it as Delaney and Sally sat on the sofa, rather squashed.

‘That’s fine, Miss Riley, we’re not the tidiness police,’ said Delaney.

‘Just as well.’

‘We’re here to talk about Andrew Johnson.’

‘I know. Your deputy superintendent told me. It was all a long time ago. I can’t see why you’d need to revisit the incident. And what I did wasn’t a crime.’

‘No one was suggesting it was, Miss Riley.’

‘Michelle, please.’

‘That money he paid wasn’t fair compensation, but it was some compensation. It helped me set up the support group, for one thing. We used to meet here, I’d fund a counsellor. But it’s all online now, money is tight and … anyway I can help more people this way. Victims talking to each other can be the best kind of help, I have found.’

‘Yes, I imagine so,’ said Sally Cartwright.

‘I can’t say I shed a tear, though, when I heard that he’d jumped in front of a train.’

‘How long had you worked for Andrew Johnson before he assaulted you?’

‘Just over a couple of years.’

‘In that time did he have any particular friends or associates?’

‘Not that I recall. Can I ask what this is all about? I have to visit my mother in Watford this evening. I’ll be delayed as it is, what with the weather. And you know how the elderly are – they like everything to a routine.’

‘Andrew Johnson didn’t commit suicide, Michelle,’ Delaney said. ‘We believe he was murdered. We believe the same person also killed Michael Robinson the other day.’

‘I saw that on the news.’

‘We believe the two knew each other, part of a ring. Rapists. So I need you to think was there anybody you saw him with, someone you might recognise or know.’

‘His wife kept him on quite a short lead all the time. She was a fairly domineering character. There were the masons, of course, but that was about it.’

‘He was a mason?’

‘Yes. Is that relevant?’

‘I don’t know, Miss Riley. We’re just trying to put the pieces together, and the two people who could enlighten us are both dead.’

She shrugged apologetically. ‘That’s all I can think of.’

‘Did he have meetings at the pub?’

‘We had a back room, a function room. Every fortnight or so he would get cheese and wine in. Goodness knows what went on in there.’

‘You would recognise a photo of one of the men?’

‘I’m pretty sure I would. I have a good memory for faces. Names are another matter. Don’t get me started on names. But faces, I’m like an elephant.’

‘Would you have a look at a photo for us then, please,’ asked DC Cartwright.

Michelle Riley picked up a pair of black-framed glasses as Sally handed her the photo of Christian Peterson.

‘No,’ she said, without hesitation. ‘Never seen him before in my life.’

KATE WALKER WAS
at her desk in her office at the station. She typed in some codes on her laptop, entered the name Dr Laura Chilvers and her police personnel file came up, starting with her full name.

Kate took a pen and wrote the name Angela Laura Chilvers. Underlining the first six letters of her name, twice.

Kate had suspected that Laura had been lying to her. Now she knew it. She flicked through her file and started checking her CV, the pen tapping on the desk once more as she read it.

She closed that page, then accessed the NHS database system, entering her security code and opening the files for Reading General Hospital. She put the pen aside and read the files from eight years ago. Twenty minutes later, she pushed the print icon and a photo printed from the wireless machine on top of her filing cabinet.

She slipped the print into an A5 envelope, then looked at her watch and cursed. She was running late. She was supposed to pick Siobhan up from dance school. The other matters would have to wait.

Stephanie Hewson drew the bolts on her door and
opened
it. Delaney and Sally Cartwright were standing on her doorstep and, as they walked into the house and the door closed behind them, the man with cold blue eyes in a van on the opposite side of the road made a fist of his gloved hands as he held them on the key in his ignition, then fired up the engine and sped away heedless of the frozen snow that was turning the road into a skating rink.

‘I thought now that he was dead it would all be over,’ said Stephanie Hewson.

‘I’m sorry, Stephanie,’ said Delaney, in no hurry to take off his coat. ‘But we are on it. I’ve spoken to Harrow nick and they are going to send some uniforms to stand guard here.’

‘But I don’t understand. Why would I need it?’

‘Because we think there is more than just Michael Robinson.’

‘A group of them,’ added Sally.

‘What, like some sick sort of club?’ said Stephanie Hewson.

‘It looks that way.’

‘Do you ever drink in The Castle pub?’ asked Delaney.

‘No. I’ve never even been there.’

‘You changed your testimony because someone threatened you, and I know I said I wouldn’t press you,’ said Delaney. ‘But I need to know what these people said.’

‘They didn’t say anything. They left things on the doorstep.’

‘Like what?’

‘White lilies at first. Then a postcard with the three monkeys on it.’

‘Hear no evil. See no evil. Speak no evil.’

‘Yes that’s the one. Finally there was a wreath, I think their message was pretty clear.’

‘Yes.’

‘All the time I felt like I was being followed. Watched. I know I am bound to be nervous, but it was more than that.’

Delaney nodded to Sally, who held out the photo to the distraught woman.

‘Do you recognise this man?’

‘No, should I?’

‘He matches the description of a potential rapist. Someone else was attacked on the hill.’

‘Poor woman.’

‘Do you have any connection with someone called Michelle Riley?’

‘She runs a rape victims support group, not far from here.’

‘And were you a member of that group?’

‘I went once, on the advice of a friend. But it wasn’t for me. Talking about it made it all come back. Can I see that picture again, please.’

Sally handed her the photo.

‘He does remind me a little of someone though,’ said Stephanie Hewson.

‘Of whom?’ asked Jack Delaney.

‘The guy who took me to the group.’

‘He was a friend?’

‘No. Well, sort of. I had had a blind date with him on the night I was attacked. But he came too … I don’t know. He was always turning up with gifts asking if I was okay. He knew I didn’t want a relationship. I told him that but he said he was happy
just
being a friend. In the end I told him to stop calling.’

‘And he did?’

‘Yes.’

‘What’s his name, Stephanie.’