River of Souls (35 page)

51

It’s midday when the man returns to the spot where he left the woman. The risk terrifies him, a buzz of panic spreading through his system, but there’s no other way. He takes a cab east from the city, then walks the last half-mile through narrow back streets. Every passer-by fills him with alarm. He’s angry with himself for losing confidence. The river’s voice used to offer comfort and reassurance, but today all he hears is criticism.

It’s a relief when he reaches his destination. There’s no sign of the police, and nothing has changed. He glances around cautiously before approaching the steps, the river’s smell rising from the silt, acidic as sour wine. He expects to see the woman’s spirit hovering above the water, but there’s no sign of it as he paces down the stairs.

The truth dawns on him when he sees the rope hanging from the mooring ring. The woman has gone. He slumps on the cold ground and stares at the opposite bank, unable to accept that she has escaped. Only one thought reassures him. She may already have drowned, the river’s currents loosening her ties then dragging her into its depths. Something moves at his feet, making his whole body shudder, a rat scurrying across his shoe. The river hisses, and the weight of his failure overwhelms him. He stands at the water’s edge, head bowed in shame.

52

I stood outside Jude’s room trying to catch my breath. I was still recovering from watching the medic bringing her round. Her life had hung in the balance, vital signs dipping towards zero, but at least she was alive. The experience had brought home how much I wanted to find her attacker, to give her the pleasure of seeing him captured. I regretted having to tell Heather about her husband’s affair while her daughter fought for her life, but there was no way to protect her from the questions Burns’s team would throw at her.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and listened to my messages. The first was from Christine Jenkins asking me to touch base. I deleted it immediately, aware that she couldn’t help, despite her sympathetic tone. I would end up venting my anger about the threat of being removed from the case, even though it wasn’t her fault. The next message was from Lola, bored senseless by the long wait for Greek God Junior to arrive and begging me to visit. Her voice lifted my spirits – normality still existed, and with luck I could return to it soon.

Burns sounded more relaxed than before when I dialled his number. ‘Guess who we just brought in?’

My brain was too frazzled for games. ‘Who?’

‘Guy Shelley. He was wandering round Borough Market, talking to himself. Can you come and assess him?’

‘I’m on my way.’ There was no point in asking about Tania. He would have told me straight away if she’d been found.

The press must have got wind of a new development because the crowd outside the station had thickened. I considered using the back entrance, but knew there was no point. Photographers would be blocking the car park, hoping to catch new suspects arriving. Flashguns blinded me as I trotted up the steps, but the atmosphere inside was subdued enough to hear a pin drop. Most of the seniors were on the riverbank coordinating search teams, but those left behind were working at full pelt, not a smile in sight.

Burns was closeted in his office with Pete Hancock. I scanned the room while they finished their conversation. A battered suitcase and two holdalls were piled by the wall beside a heap of cardboard boxes. It reminded me of the eccentric historian, Hugh Lister, his office crammed with possessions. Burns turned to face me as soon as Hancock had left.

‘Guy Shelley’s doing a good job of acting like a nutter. The search team found a blond wig hidden behind a cupboard in his flat.’

‘That doesn’t automatically make him guilty. And people aren’t nutters, they’re mentally ill.’

He snarled something under his breath. ‘I stand corrected. He’s not answering questions, and he won’t cooperate.’

‘What won’t he do?’

‘Fingerprints, compliance form, registration, the whole nine yards. The bloke’s talking gibberish.’

‘Have you interviewed his father today?’

‘For an hour, before Guy was picked up. He tried to hold back about the affair with Speller, but he cracked eventually.’

‘Heather said it’s not the first time, but she’s turned a blind eye. When she heard he’d been seeing a man, she went into shock.’ I stared down at the scratched surface of his desk. ‘I felt terrible saying it all in front of Jude.’

He took a step closer. ‘She had to be told. It’ll be a miracle if the press don’t get wind of it.’

‘Does Heather know Guy’s here?’

He nodded. ‘She can’t see him till he’s been interviewed. The lad punched my desk sergeant – it took three uniforms to put him in a holding cell.’

I felt a surge of pity for Heather as we left Burns’s office. If Guy was responsible for the murders, she would need an iron will just to survive. I noticed how edgy Burns was when we reached the interview room, twitching with caffeine and frustration. If I was distressed by Tania’s disappearance, his anxiety must have been raging out of control, his shield of professionalism cracking apart.

‘Let’s see what he’s got to say for himself,’ he growled.

‘We can’t interview him. I can do a risk assessment, then we need to wait for the solicitor.’

Burns stared at me like I was missing the point. ‘The lab are running tests on the wig hidden at his flat to see if it matches the fibres on Amala’s carpet. If it’s him, I’ve got to know where he’s hiding Tania.’

‘But it may not be. Plenty of students own fancy-dress costumes, and Jude thinks her attacker was older.’

He looked unconvinced, but there was no time to argue. Guy Shelley’s protests were audible as he was marched down the corridor. His two escorts looked unnerved, as if they expected him to lash out at any minute. When he finally arrived, my concern intensified. His lips were moving rapidly, releasing a stutter of words. There was a long smear of dirt on his cheek; his hair was matted, clothes covered in mud. The raw state of his hands suggested that he’d either been fighting or punching walls. His appearance reminded me that Will was still missing. Guy looked like my brother when his bipolar disorder was at its worst; the strain of watching a close relative fall apart must have added to Jude’s suffering.

‘We’ve been looking for you,’ I said. He didn’t reply, but his muttering quietened. ‘These officers need to fingerprint you. Will you allow that?’

‘None of it’s my fault.’ He still wouldn’t meet my eye.

‘Everyone’s fingerprinted – you’re not being singled out. Your parents have been so worried. Can you tell us where you’ve been?’

His face contorted. ‘Walking, sleeping, standing in the rain.’

‘Why didn’t you go home?’

‘I can’t look any more. It’s my fault she’s like that.’ His head bowed over his knees.

Burns lurched forwards. ‘Are you talking about your sister?’

‘I hurt her more than anyone.’

‘You’re telling us you harmed Jude?’ His eyes blazed. ‘Did you attack the others too?’

‘Guy, if you’ve hurt anyone else, we need to know,’ I said.

I put a restraining hand on Burns’s arm. The whispered conversation Guy was holding with himself was too garbled to make out. I knew he could slip beyond our reach permanently, and without a solicitor present, his statements wouldn’t stand up in a court of law.

‘Do you want to say anything else before your fingerprints are taken, Guy?’

He didn’t reply, making no protest when the uniforms led him away, but it was obvious that Burns was struggling to control his rage.

‘I think he was talking about when they were kids, Don. He’s very agitated. I hope you’ve got him on suicide watch.’

Burns scowled. ‘He could have tied Tania to a barge somewhere and left her to drown. When the solicitor comes, he’ll be straight back in here.’

He shut the door more forcefully than was necessary. Everywhere I looked, people were falling apart: Tania’s sister hysterical with shock, Heather fighting to keep her daughter alive, and Burns buckling under an overload of guilt. If the pressure continued, he’d be a gibbering wreck.

I found an EF1 form in my briefcase and recorded my assessment of Guy’s mental state, marking high scores for agitation, aggression and volatility. His panic condition had worsened to the point of breakdown. I guessed that he’d been skipping medication, which could explain his violent outburst. Sleep deprivation would be increasing his confusion. If he was a cold and calculating murderer, he was doing an impressive job of pretending to be disturbed. But I remembered the complex psychology behind his sketches of Jude’s wounds. Either he had been revelling in his handiwork, just as some serial killers keep photos of their victims, or he’d been striving to accept his sister’s injuries.

Guy’s behaviour was calmer when he returned half an hour later. He was accompanied by his solicitor, a tall blonde with a haughty expression who must have insisted that he be allowed to tidy himself up. His clothes still looked filthy, but the streak of dirt had vanished from his face and someone had bandaged his damaged knuckles. He rocked silently in his chair while Burns fired out questions.

‘Nowhere to hide,’ Guy chanted softly. ‘Nothing to say.’

‘My client’s exhausted,’ the solicitor said. ‘Can’t you see he’s distressed? He should be allowed to see his parents and have access to a doctor.’

‘All in good time,’ Burns snapped. ‘Your client could be facing a multiple murder charge.’

The solicitor muttered something about human rights, but a dismissive gesture from Burns silenced her.

I tried to make eye contact. ‘Guy, you need to tell us if you abducted a woman in Wapping. The police think you took her somewhere, then set light to her car.’

‘Ripped apart,’ he murmured. ‘Everything in pieces.’

‘Try and focus on my questions. Do you know where Tania Goddard is?’

He was humming softly to himself. Burns carried on throwing questions at him until it grew obvious that Guy was unable or unwilling to answer. The uniforms were about to lead him away when he swung round to face me, his eyes burning with anger.        

‘Did Dad tell you his secret?’

‘I know he was seeing Julian Speller.’

His stare smouldered and it was a relief that he was handcuffed. ‘I was seven the first time I saw him kissing a man. He made me promise not to tell.’ Guy’s face relaxed the instant he’d vented his father’s secret.

Burns stood by the door rubbing the back of his neck after he was led away. ‘But is he sick enough to kill?’

‘It’s possible. He carried that burden for years. Maybe it exploded out of him in the form of violence. He could have been attacking people his dad relied on: his priest and his lover. But the others make less sense. He loved Jude and Amala, and Tania’s a complete stranger.’

‘He’s given us nothing. We’ll have to wait till forensics send in their results.’ Burns’s skin was growing paler by the minute.

‘When’s the last time you ate?’

‘Can’t remember.’ He was too busy gathering his papers to look up.

‘The pub on the corner does food.’

‘I can’t leave here.’

‘Then order something, before you keel over.’

He almost cracked a smile. ‘Thanks for the health warning, Dr Quentin.’

Guy’s statements buzzed around my head like bluebottles until the noise was deafening. I stared through the window as I tried to describe his body language and demeanour, knowing that my psychological evaluation had to hold up in a court of law. More journalists were massing outside. Now that Guy Shelley was being held, the pressure on his family would be even heavier. My old nemesis Dean Simons stood at the heart of the pack, dirty grey hair spilling over the collar of his leather jacket. Hopefully he remembered the eye-watering fine he’d paid for invading my privacy. I understood the need for a free press, but hacks like Simons wrote without conscience, touting their fabrications to the highest bidder. I pulled down the blind and concentrated on my summary.

It was nine p.m. when I returned to Burns’s office. The evening had been spent scouring my notes, looking for connections between each attack, head fogged by over-thinking and lack of food. Burns was gazing at his computer screen as if he was peering into a black hole.

‘There’s no news,’ he said. ‘He’s left her somewhere to drown.’