Frozen (7 page)

‘No thanks, I'm trying to give up.' Megan wrinkled her nose as he lit his cigarette. The craving was almost unbearable. She concentrated on the photograph. There was a black high-heeled shoe near the bed and a small pile of dark-coloured, shiny material that looked like a dress and underskirt twisted together.

‘Are these her clothes?'

‘Yes.' Leverton blew out a plume of smoke. ‘It was her birthday, poor cow. According to the sister she was getting ready for a night out.'

‘But not with the husband, presumably,' Megan said, opening her window and taking a gulp of fresh air. ‘They were separated?'

‘Yes. He'd gone back to live with his parents. They own a farm near Wolverhampton. The shotgun was theirs, evidently.' He glanced at her. ‘Are you all right? Do you want me to put this out?'

‘No, it's okay,' she lied, wishing she hadn't left Patrick's Maltesers in her car. ‘So, Tina Jackson was dressed up for a night out with someone else. Dudley came to the house with a shotgun. She was restrained and strangled then shot through the back.' She frowned. ‘We know Dudley Jackson wasn't responsible for the anal penetration, but do we know for sure that he didn't either strangle or shoot her? Any prints on the body?'

‘Nothing. He must have been wearing gloves – the killer, I mean. There are prints of Dudley Jackson's all over the house and on the gun, but nothing on Tina's body.'

‘Do we know how long after she was strangled the shots were fired?'

‘Not long. The pathologist said that the spread of bloodstains on the bedclothes showed that she'd been shot almost immediately after death. Otherwise the blood would have congealed and there wouldn't have been so much loss.'

‘Do you think Dudley Jackson caught her in bed with someone else?'

‘Certainly looks that way.'

‘You said on the phone that she wasn't a prostitute – how can you be sure?'

‘I can't, really. All I can say is that she appears to have been fairly respectable. She worked in a building society in West Bromwich.'

They drove on in silence, Megan sifting through the horrific photographs in her lap. The light was beginning to fade and Christmas decorations winked incongruously from every lamp-post. Megan thought of the sister they were going to see. Every Christmas was going to be hell for her now.

When Leverton finally pulled up she noticed a patrol car parked a few yards further down the street. A uniformed policewoman got out of the passenger seat and walked towards Leverton's car. Megan wondered how the sister would feel about being questioned by three people.

Charlotte McGahy lived in a rambling Victorian house that had been converted into flats. When she opened the door, Megan immediately noticed how attractive she was, despite the absence of any make-up and the blank expression on her face.

‘Miss McGahy,' Leverton offered her his hand. ‘You know WPC Cartwright, don't you? And this is Doctor Megan Rhys – she's a psychologist and she'd like to talk to you about your sister's death.'

The woman nodded blankly and led them into a large, cold room with an ornate marble fireplace. A single-bar electric fire stood in the hearth giving out a pathetically inadequate amount of heat.

‘You're a bit late, aren't you?' Her question was addressed to Megan.

Megan blinked and turned to Leverton, who looked as confused as she was. ‘I'm sorry?' she said, anxious not to say anything that would upset the woman even more.

‘I phoned your lot six weeks ago about Dudley. They knew he had a history of depression and that he'd hit Tina when they split up. I warned them he was dangerous and wanted locking up. Psychologist? What's the use of a bloody psychologist now? It's too bloody late, isn't it?'

She wept into a pink paper tissue tugged from inside her sleeve.

The policewoman put an arm around her shoulder but she shrugged it away, blowing her nose and reaching across to a coffee table for another tissue.

‘I'm all right!' she whispered, looking away from them at the glowing bar of the fire.

‘I'm sorry Miss McGahy, Doctor Rhys isn't here to talk about your brother-in-law. You see it wasn't Dudley that killed your sister.'

‘What?' Charlotte's gaze shot from the fire to Leverton.

‘Tests have been carried out on the shotgun found in your sister's bedroom. Dudley couldn't have fired it into his mouth himself. We believe someone else killed both Tina and Dudley.' Leverton paused, waiting for this new bombshell to sink in.

She stared at him, her mouth slightly open. ‘Someone else? How could it have been someone else? It was Dudley's gun. I've seen it at his mum and dad's house in a case on the wall!'

‘I'm sorry, I know this is going to be very hard on you but we need to know who else might have been in the house when Dudley arrived with the gun. Would you mind if Doctor Rhys asked you a few questions?'

The blank stare returned to the woman's face and she nodded dumbly, as if there was nothing else that anyone could say or do that would make the pain any worse than it already was.

The policewoman went to make cups of tea and Leverton walked over to the bay window. The curtains had not been drawn and he stood, looking out. There couldn't have been much to see in the lamp-lit street, but Megan was grateful for his tact. She leaned forward in her chair, speaking softly.

‘The first thing I need to know is how long your sister had been separated from her husband.'

Charlotte looked puzzled, as if she couldn't see the relevance of the question, but answered all the same. ‘Not long; Dudley only moved out a couple of weeks ago.'

‘How long had they been married?'

‘Ten years. God knows how she put up with him for that long.'

‘You said he'd hit her when they split up…'

‘Yes, but it wasn't the first time. She used to make excuses for him. She couldn't stand the thought of them breaking up, said she didn't want to be a failure.'

‘Why did she think she was a failure?'

‘I don't know. She was always doing herself down. It was his fault. He made her like that. Always criticising her.'

‘What was it that finally led to the break-up?'

There was a long pause. ‘I think it was when she started doing the soup run.'

Megan frowned. ‘Soup run?'

‘She took soup round the red light district. For the prostitutes and the down-and-outs. She was like, you know, a volunteer. She did it a couple of nights a week and Dudley didn't like it. He was so jealous – wanted her to stay in with him every night. They had a big row about it and he smacked her across the face. Next day she had the locks changed and went to see a solicitor about keeping him away from the house.'

Megan nodded slowly. The red light district. So there was a connection. From the corner of her eye she saw that Leverton had turned his head and was listening intently. She waited for him to speak but he said nothing. ‘Do you know if she'd been on the soup run the night she died?' Megan held her breath.

‘Yes.' Charlotte sniffed. ‘We were supposed to be going clubbing. It was her birthday. We were going to go for a meal first but she said she couldn't make it before ten because she was on the soup rota and there was no one to swap with.' She blinked. ‘That's the sort of person she was. Wouldn't dream of letting anyone down – not even on her birthday.' She bent her head, her shoulders heaving as she sobbed.

Megan crossed the room, sitting on the sofa beside her. Instead of putting an arm around her, she tried to find words that would encourage her to open up again.

‘I'm really sorry I'm having to ask you all these questions. I've got a sister myself. I can't pretend to understand how you're feeling now. All I can say is that if someone killed my sister I'd want to do everything in my power to get them locked up.'

Megan paused, trying to gauge the effect her words were having. ‘Why do you think Tina volunteered for the soup run?'

‘She said she wanted to give something back.' She mumbled the words into her tissue. ‘Said she was so lucky to have a good job and a nice house.'

‘Do you know if Tina was seeing anyone else?'

Charlotte turned slowly round to look at Megan, dabbing eyes that were now puffy and red. ‘No I – I –' she stammered – ‘I don't think so.'

Megan spoke slowly and softly, trying to keep the urgency out of her voice. ‘What about the soup run? Are you sure there was no one? One of the other volunteers, maybe?'

‘No. I'm sure she would have told me.' She reached for another tissue. ‘We're – we were – very close.'

Megan pursed her lips, trying another tack. ‘How would you describe Tina? Physically, I mean?'

‘She was beautiful,' she replied, a faraway look in her eyes. ‘I mean, she was 40 but she didn't look it. I'm three years younger than her but people always think I'm the eldest. She could easily pass for early thirties.'

‘This is an awful question to have to ask you, but do you think Tina could have been mistaken for a prostitute? The reason I ask is because we think her death might be linked to the murder of a young girl who worked in the red light district.'

Megan braced herself for what might follow, but the woman merely shook her head. ‘Oh no. She always wore what she called her scruffs when she did the soup run. Old jeans and hoodies – that sort of thing. It was partly because of Dudley being so suspicious, I think. She made herself look as plain as possible.'

‘Even after they'd split up?'

‘Yes.' Charlotte sniffed. ‘I spoke to her on the phone just before she went out. She was joking about how she'd have to do a quick change and put on a bit of slap to look decent for later.'

‘Did she say anything else? Mention who she was doing the run with?'

‘No. All she said was that she was worried about Dudley getting into the house, it being her birthday and everything. He knew Tina was planning a night out. She was scared he might try breaking in and she'd come home and find him waiting for her.'

The policewoman came in with a tray of tea, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. Leverton left his post at the window and sat down, judging this a suitable moment to ask a few questions of his own.

‘This voluntary organisation your sister worked for – what was it called?'

‘I'm not sure. I think she found out about it through a friend at work.' Charlotte reached for a mug of tea and cradled it in her hands, as if seeking comfort from its warmth.

‘Would that friend have been a man or a woman?' Leverton persisted.

‘A woman. Her name's Gail something. Sorry, I don't know her last name.'

‘We can soon check that. Do you know how many people she did the soup run with?'

‘It would have been her and one other person,' Charlotte said, staring at the steam curling from the mug. ‘They always went in pairs. For safety reasons, she said.' Her chin wobbled and a tear splashed into the tea.

Leverton looked at Megan before getting to his feet.

Back in his car, he punched out numbers on his mobile. ‘Sweet Fanny Adams,' he grunted, slamming it down on the seat.

‘No one there?' Megan glanced at her watch.

‘Bloody answerphone. Probably off on a Christmas piss-up.'

‘Well, unless this Gail woman saw Tina home, it's unlikely she'll be much help.'

Leverton frowned. ‘What are you thinking?'

‘That whoever did this saw Tina in the red light district and followed the soup van. Waited for her to finish and followed her home.'

‘And then what? How did he get in?'

‘Conned her with some ruse,' Megan said. ‘Like Ted Bundy with his fake broken arm. Maybe he knocked at the door and pretended to be someone needing help. Sounds like Tina would be a sucker for that sort of thing.'

‘So we're looking for a smooth-talking kerb-crawler who knocks about with a pimp and fancies scruffy dark-haired forty-year-olds?' There was more than a hint of sarcasm in Leverton's voice.

‘Not exactly what I would have put in the profile.' Megan arched her eyebrows. ‘But yes, a charming, persuasive man who is familiar with the red light district. As for Tina being scruffy, from the way her sister described her it sounds as if she'd have stood out from the crowd whatever she wore.'

Leverton gave her a sidelong glance that made her feel uncomfortable. As he drove on through the dark streets, Megan thought about Tina. She'd gone out that night, looking forward to celebrating later and no doubt happy to be free of her vicious husband. And what had happened? She'd been stalked by someone even worse.

And Natalie. It was bad enough that she went, like Donna Fieldhouse, from a children's home to the streets; bad enough what her usual punters asked of her, without being used by some monster to stand in for all his hatred of the world.

Stand in. Something flickered in her mind. He used them as a stand-in for the real object of his hatred. Who? A wife? Girlfriend? Mother? Boss?

And he used the pimp – the O man – to hide behind too. O got Natalie for him. Perhaps O dumped her body as part of the deal. A murderer hiding behind another killer. She shivered. And they had no idea who either of them were.

Chapter 6

Megan stood on a duckboard in Tina Jackson's bedroom. For the past two days scenes-of-crime officers had been carrying out a painstaking search of the entire house. Anyone who entered was required to put on protective clothing and getting from one room to another meant walking on the raised wooden boards that criss-crossed the floors like stepping stones in a stream.

The room now bore little resemblance to the crime scene photograph Megan held in her hand. The bed had been stripped, its duvet, sheets, pillows and mattress taken away for forensic examination. All that was left was the brass and cast iron frame. Megan could see how easy it would have been for the killer to handcuff Tina to its rails.