Cold Sacrifice (29 page)

‘Why did you marry me if you don’t trust me?’

‘Trust you? What are you talking about? Of course I trust you.’

It was hopeless.

Ian had never spoken much about his work but throughout the early years of their relationship he used to ask about her job at the recruitment agency, making her feel as though she was the centre of his world. Now he never asked to hear the gossip about her colleagues, or what her shameless boss was up to. It seemed that he wasn’t interested in her life outside of their marriage after all. When he was home, he claimed he was exhausted. Meanwhile, she was well into her thirties. Another ten years and her looks would start to fade. Already her boss overlooked her in favour of younger women, as though her experience counted for nothing. She was beginning to think she had wasted the best years of her life on a horrible mistake.

They had agreed to spend Saturday evening with friends, meeting at a restaurant at eight. Ian had promised to be home in time. Bev glanced at the kitchen clock. It was nearly eight now, and there was still no sign of him. She tried his phone again and left a message.

‘Where the hell are you? You’re late.’

She would have been better off single. Her husband constantly made her look like a fool in front of other people; first her family, now her friends. It was almost eight. Thinking about it, she wasn’t sure which would be more embarrassing, to cancel at such short notice, or to go alone. She had already cancelled several arrangements with these friends because of Ian’s work. If she cancelled again, they might think she was giving them the brush off. After a moment’s hesitation, she decided to go by herself. There was no reason why she should sacrifice her social life to Ian’s work commitments. It was typical of him to behave with utter disregard for her wishes. All he cared about was his work – if that really
was
what was keeping him busy in the evenings.

Usually Ian drove when they went out. Bev felt a surge of independence as she accelerated along the main road. Ian and she had been together since she was eighteen, on and off. She had never really experienced life as a single woman. They had been through periods of estrangement, but she had always known she could get him back if she wanted. Speeding along the road, she was no longer sure she had been right to pursue him. Increasingly absorbed in his work, he had blatantly lost interest in her. Even their once dynamic sex life had fizzled out. She was often asleep by the time he arrived home. He claimed he didn’t want to disturb her, although she had told him she wouldn’t mind being woken up. It wasn’t the sex she missed – although that was a visceral part of his betrayal – so much as his attention. She had tried to tackle the subject, but Ian always pleaded exhaustion at the end of a day’s work. When she had protested they had only been married for two months, he had retorted irritably that they had been together for years. Predictably enough, the conversation had deteriorated into a row. Thinking about her husband as she drove into town, Bev put her foot down. She would show him she was fine by herself.

The verges at the roadside were looking vibrant, the grass speckled with a few tiny dots of white and yellow early flowering weeds. Most of the trees were covered in tight buds, their leaves waiting to uncurl in warmer weather. A few remained bare. An occasional conifer stood out from the other trees, its rich green foliage almost black in her headlights. She hoped Ian wasn’t thinking of pulling the same stunt at Easter. They had agreed to go away for the weekend with her parents, but he had as good as admitted to her that he hadn’t booked the time off. He maintained he didn’t want to do anything that might jeopardise his promotion prospects.

‘I want you to be there,’ she had told him firmly, but he had merely shrugged.

It was a painful betrayal from a man who had vowed to devote his life to her.

‘It’s nice to be married to someone who worships you,’ her mother had said once, smiling complacently.

Bev and her sister had agreed. All three of them shared the same striking features and elegant figures, lean yet voluptuous. Her mother and sister had both used their looks to attract husbands dedicated to pleasing them. Bev had expected the same commitment from Ian, but her marriage wasn’t turning out like that.

As soon as she arrived at the restaurant she regretted the decision she had reached in anger. What made it worse was that Ian was probably on his way home. She should have waited for him. All she could do was smile, and pretend to ignore the raised eyebrows.

‘Is Ian all right?’

‘Yes, he’s fine. He had to work late today. They don’t give him much notice or I’d have called to let you know.’

‘He’s working late on a Saturday? You poor thing. Come and sit down and have a glass of wine. Red or white? Or are you driving?’

‘Actually,’ Bev announced rather too loudly, ‘Ian’s working on a very important project right now, keeping the streets safe for everyone.’

‘Is he a traffic cop?’ someone asked.

Bev felt herself blush.

‘He works for the Murder Squad.’

No one spoke for a few seconds, and then the conversation moved on.

In the ladies, one of Bev’s girlfriends met her eyes in the mirror while she was washing her hands.

‘Are you sure you’re OK?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, are things OK between you and Ian? Only this is the second time he’s cancelled, and we were all wondering –’

Bev gave a short laugh to indicate her friends’ concern was not only misplaced, but ridiculous.

‘Everything’s fine. I told you, he’s doing a very important job. I’m really proud of him.’

‘Yes, I know, but – what I mean is, he’s not thinking about you, is he? Going out like this by yourself on a Saturday night. You are married. You deserve better.’

Bev could hear defiance in her voice as she repeated her assurance that everything was fine. But everything was far from fine. Her friends were right to talk about her behind her back. Her marriage was a failure. It was Saturday night, she was out without her husband and, wherever he was, Ian was certainly not thinking about her.

T
HERE WAS NO SOUND
in the flat. Ian hoped the tremor in his voice wasn’t noticeable as he muttered softly into his phone, summoning back-up. His message delivered, he switched the phone off completely. Even on silent it had buzzed a few times. He couldn’t risk discovery. There were several voicemails from Bev, but they would have to wait. For a moment he stood perfectly still, muscles tensed, listening. At any second he might be attacked, his assailant possibly armed. It was slight relief to recognise that the only sounds came from above his head. Meanwhile, with reinforcements on their way, he couldn’t justify hanging around in the kitchen any longer. It was possible someone was in need of urgent medical attention. Faced with the likelihood of a violent intruder skulking in the flat he would have waited for back up to arrive before investigating, had Candy lived alone. But she had a young son who might be hiding in the flat, terrified. It shouldn’t make any difference whether it was a child or an adult whose life might be threatened. But remembering the small boy, Ian trembled with a primal fear. The child might be in danger, or dying for want of medical attention, while Ian stood in the kitchen, dithering. He couldn’t afford to waste any more time before checking the rest of the flat.

Drawing in a deep breath, he muttered a quick prayer to a God he didn’t believe in, before creeping out of the kitchen. His back to the wall, he edged sideways along the passageway. Above him, music played for neighbours oblivious to the drama taking place beneath them. Reaching the door to Candy’s room, he pushed it open and slipped inside. It was very quiet. Even the rhythm of distant music was muffled. The light from his torch illuminated a woman lying motionless on her back on the bed, her face concealed beneath a pillow.

‘Candy, Candy!’ he whispered urgently.

Gently, he lifted the pillow off her face. Placing it on the bed beside her, he put down his torch and examined her for any signs of life. She was staring up at the ceiling, her bloodshot eyes further evidence of suffocation if any more was needed.

Sure she was dead, he turned and looked around the room. There was a kind of temporary nest in one corner: a tattered sleeping bag spread on top of a long cushion that must have belonged to an old piece of furniture that had seen better days. The little boy must have slept there. The sleeping arrangement hadn’t been in place on Ian’s previous visit. On that occasion the sleeping bag and cushion had been rolled up and stowed on top of the wardrobe. He wondered where Candy’s son was now, and if he had been in the flat when his mother had died. Her death could have been the result of an accidental overdose, but the likelihood was that she had been murdered. Whatever the truth, the homicide team had to be summoned straight away. As he took out his phone, he heard voices in the hall. Back-up had arrived.

‘Stay right where you are!’ he shouted, ‘this is a crime scene!’

He hurried out of the room to intercept them.

The sight of two sturdy officers in uniform was reassuring, but they had arrived too late to save Candy. Flicking on the light in the hall, Ian sent the pair of them straight out again to make sure no one else entered the flat, while he summoned the Homicide Assessment Team. The last thing forensics would want was multiple sets of footprints traipsing through the flat, contaminating any evidence the killer might have left behind. It was damaging enough that Ian had shuffled along the hall to the kitchen, and then into Candy’s room. He had been wearing gloves when he entered the flat. No doubt the killer had done the same. Apart from DNA, possible footprints in the kitchen could provide crucial evidence.

‘You might as well bring a forensic team with you,’ he told the Homicide Assessment Team. ‘A woman’s been murdered. Don’t worry, you won’t have to take on the case, she was a witness in an existing murder investigation. That is, she would have been if someone hadn’t got to her first,’ he added bitterly.

While he waited for the HAT car to arrive, Ian quickly glanced in the other rooms. There was no sign of Candy’s little boy anywhere in the flat. Ian was relieved, but apprehensive at the same time. The constables were outside watching the front door, the assessment team were on their way to make an initial report on the scene. There was nothing else that Ian could do now. He would have liked to take another look around for any evidence to link Candy with Henry, but was reluctant to move around the flat any more in case he disturbed anything the killer had left behind.

‘One stabbed, one strangled, and now this victim’s been suffocated,’ he muttered to himself. ‘What the hell next?’

The methods of killing had been different and the victims had met their deaths in different locations, yet there was no doubt the three victims were linked. Caught up in a macabre game the killer was playing, Ian had no idea what the rules were.

T
HIS TIME
P
OLLY DIDN
’
T
chatter cheerfully as she drove. When he glanced over at her she was staring straight ahead, her face rigid. He knew her well enough to understand she was troubled by their third visit to the morgue in little more than two weeks. It wasn’t the post mortem itself that bothered her, but the fact that they were investigating yet another death and were still no closer to making an arrest. At last Polly broke the oppressive silence.

‘What if we never stop it?’

‘We’ll get him,’ he assured her.

‘How do you know?’

‘He’s bound to slip up sooner or later.’

‘Later?’ she burst out. ‘How many more women is he going to kill before we finally catch him? It could take years. He’s already killed three women in two weeks, that much we know. And that’s all we know. Three victims in two weeks is seventy-five victims in a year, if he carries on at this rate.’

‘He won’t.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Because we’re going to catch him.’

In an investigation that was spiralling out of control, Ian struggled to suppress his memories of two women who had been brutally murdered shortly after he had met them. He had established no particular rapport with either Jade or Candy, but he had heard their voices, and gazed into their living eyes. He had witnessed Jade’s vulnerability, and Candy’s affection for her child. The last thing he wanted right now was to allow Polly’s fears to undermine his confidence. They had to find this killer. He told her so, in as forceful a voice as he could muster.

‘How can you be sure?’ she asked again.

‘We have to be sure. We have to proceed on that basis. We can’t contemplate it not being the case.’

‘OK, I get it. You’re scared as well, aren’t you? But we have to be brave. Failure is not an option.’

He wondered if she was mocking him.

It was so difficult to understand what women meant. He was failing in so many aspects of his life right now, he couldn’t afford to fail in his career as well. As if all that wasn’t worrying enough, he had to prepare himself to view Candy’s sliced up corpse. As far as he had been able to tell, the murderer had left her physically intact. The pathologist would hack her open and expose her innards to a group of gawping strangers. Ian felt sick and they hadn’t even reached the morgue yet. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath and tried to focus on something else.

‘Have you got any plans for the weekend?’

To his relief, Polly didn’t appear to find his question incongruous. He wished he could switch off from work as easily as she did; but perhaps she was just making a better job of hiding her feelings than he was. It was hard to believe she was completely unmoved at the prospect of seeing another body.

‘A friend of mine’s having a hen night,’ she announced cheerily, dispelling his doubts about her composure. ‘I’ve booked tomorrow off. We’re going to get so wasted tonight, I can’t wait.’

She laughed. Glimpsing his expression, she added quickly, ‘I would have said I can’t go but she’s my best mate and there’s a group of us who were at school together. The trouble is, we’re meeting in Central London and I don’t know how I’m going to get home again at that time of night so I’m thinking I’ll probably go home with one of the other girls. They all live near each other. It’s only me that’s moved away, and if I got a cab home by myself it would cost a fortune.’