Strange Blood (18 page)

‘And she didn't make any calls herself that afternoon?'

He shook his head. ‘Nothing all day. And there was no land-line in the house.'

‘So no e-mails, either,' Megan said, thinking aloud. ‘Vicky Tomlins said Joanna had been doing some supply work at Pendleton College. Wonder if she popped in there before she went to the supermarket? It makes more sense than her going all that way for a few last-minute bits and bobs she could have bought in town.'

‘Why would she go there when she was just about to go off on holiday?'

She pursed her lips. ‘Vicky said she was trying to land a permanent contract at the college. What if she got a call from them that afternoon asking her to attend some sort of interview? That would explain the clothes – the red outfit and the black leather jacket – the sort of clothes that would make a real impression.'

‘But we'd have known straight away if the call to her mobile was from the college. It would've come up on the computer.'

‘That doesn't necessarily rule it out though, does it? Could be one of the staff using a mobile for some reason?'

Megan knew it was a long shot. The supermarket receipt was the only concrete evidence of Joanna's link with Pendleton. But as the car pulled into Tipton Street she made up her mind to go to the college in the morning. It was a gut feeling that probably had more to do with her fears for Ceri than anything else, but it was something she felt compelled to do.

‘What the hell's going on?'

The tone of Todd's voice startled her. Glancing up she was dazzled by headlights. As she blinked she saw that a huge white van was parked in front of the police station. The BTV logo was emblazoned above the windscreen.

‘It's the Outside Broadcast van.' Todd grimaced as he pulled off the road. ‘Wonder what the Guv's got up his sleeve this time?'

They could hear the scrum inside the police station before they got through the doors. The foyer was milling with photographers, cameramen and reporters. Todd shouldered his way past them and led Megan to the conference room where microphones were being set up on a long glass-topped table.

‘What's kicking off?' Todd asked one of the uniformed officers on the door.

The man grinned. ‘Guv's about to throw Raven to the wolves.'

Ten minutes later Megan stood at the back of the packed room watching Steve Foy's performance, wondering what the hell he was up to.

‘The occult is a difficult strata of society to get into,' he said, leaning towards the microphone. ‘We don't have much intelligence on it – unlike terrorism or organised crime. It's a very secretive area.'

‘What's made you aware of the fact that both victims had links with the occult?' The question came from a reporter with the BTV logo on his hand-held microphone.

‘I'm afraid I can't divulge that information for operational reasons,' Foy replied.

‘But Tessa Ledbury was a Sunday school teacher,' a woman standing a few feet from Megan piped up.

‘Yes,' Foy nodded, ‘but we now know that before she became involved in the church she was a member of an occult group – a coven of witches – and we believe that connection may have played a part in her murder.' There was a murmuring from the floor as the journalists digested this tasty morsel.

‘We understand that the man you're questioning has links with the occult.' The BTV reporter again. ‘Is he one of the witches?'

Megan slipped out of the room. She had heard enough. Foy had obviously been unable to wait for his star slot on
Crimewatch.
He'd got nowhere with Raven so he was getting the press to do his dirty work for him; pinning his hopes on someone coming forward to say they'd seen Joanna Hamilton at a coven. Perhaps he'd got it into his head that Raven was operating a whole chain of covens with different women at each one. The tabloids were going to have a field day.

When she got home it was on the late-night news.
Occult link in horror stabbings.
It was the kind of headline that would make anyone sit up and take notice. Foy was a real operator, there was no doubt about that. She hoped he could sleep at night, because she was damn sure Raven wouldn't.

*   *   *

Lying in the miserable little bed the memories came flooding back. The two of them dancing round the Christmas tree in taffetta dresses and lace petticoats. Turning on the TV in time for the film. Watching Dorothy swept up by the twister. The house landing on the witch. Looking up at the sound of the key in the lock. Dad's face framed in the doorway. Catching them. The shame of the clothes being ripped off. Mum screaming behind the sofa. Dorothy tripping down the Yellow Brick Road while Dad beat shit out of them both.

Chapter 13

Patrick was heading back to Birmingham with a feeling of dread. He'd seen the news about the second body and had e-mailed Megan about it but she hadn't replied. Perhaps she'd been up all night. He wondered what sort of mood she'd be in when he got back. Probably not great, he reflected. She would give him a hug, flop onto the sofa and suggest whiskies in the bath and then bed. She might even be too tired to make love.
Make love?
What was he thinking of? Sex was going to be right out of the question when he'd delivered his little bombshell.

Perhaps it would be better to wait until Saturday morning. Tell her after she'd had a good night's sleep. He tried to persuade himself that would be the best course of action, realising even as he mulled it over that it would be himself he was putting first, not her. Because if he left it until tomorrow they would almost certainly make love. If not tonight then first thing in the morning. And that was what he wanted. More than anything. Because it would probably be the last time.

*   *   *

Megan was in her office before any of the rest of the staff had arrived. There was a pile of post lying unopened on her desk and a stack of exam papers waiting to be marked. But her eyes kept wandering back to the newspaper she had bought. ‘BLACK MAGIC KILLER'. The headline screamed at her in letters that filled most of the front page. A report of last night's press conference was illustrated with a photo of Steve Foy in front of a bank of microphones. And then inside was the double page spread that had made Megan gasp when she'd first seen it. The words of the article were carefully chosen but the innuendo was clear. There was a head-and-shoulders shot of Sean Raven alongside photos of Tessa Ledbury and Joanna Hamilton.

But dominating the page was a bigger picture of a man in a black robe holding his arms aloft. The face was Sean Raven's and the only clue that this photo was nothing but computer trickery lay in the caption beneath, which read: ‘Sean Raven as he would look at a witches' coven.'

Further inside the paper was a photo of Mariel Raven with her hand up to her face. In the background was the house Megan had driven past yesterday. Mariel was obviously trying to escape from the media feeding frenzy Foy had unleashed with last night's press conference. Megan thought about the lipsticked pentagram on her car windscreen. If the woman was responsible for that she was certainly getting her comeuppance now.

She wondered how much longer Foy would hold Raven without charging him. In theory, with the extension he'd got from the magistrate, he could be kept at Tipton Street for a total of ninety-six hours. She worked it out in her head. He'd have to be released by Sunday afternoon, then. Unless Foy got the information he was hoping for. She picked up the phone and tapped out the number Dave Todd had given her.

‘Dave, it's Dr Rhys. Any news on that mobile phone number?'

‘No, not yet.' His voice sounded different. Distracted. She got the feeling she'd caught him in the middle of something important.

‘Any developments with Raven?' She should have phoned Foy to ask this but after last night she didn't feel she could be civil to the man.

‘Not that I'm aware of, no.' She heard a noise in the background that sounded like a door slamming. ‘Plenty of nutters calling in, but that's par for the course, as you know. Oh, one thing…' There was another pause and a crackle on the line. ‘Pathologist found a dishcloth in Joanna Hamilton's mouth – same colour and type as the one found in Tessa Ledbury's.'

‘Oh, that's much clearer evidence of a link, then, isn't it?' The news strengthened her resolve. ‘I'm going to Pendleton later,' she said. ‘Thought I'd do a bit of digging.' There was silence at the other end of the line. ‘Just to let you know,' she added.

‘Fine by me.' She could hear someone else's voice in the background. It sounded like a woman. Megan wondered where he was. ‘Give me a call if you need anything, yeah?'

As she replaced the receiver Megan pondered exactly what he had meant. Did he think she was going to need some sort of back-up? What she had in mind was something fairly low-key. Snooping, Patrick would call it. She sighed as she reached for her jacket. Patrick would be home soon. It would be good to be able to talk to him about this. Get his angle on all that had happened in the past three days. Before she reached the door the phone rang.

‘Megan, it's Delva – have you got a minute?'

‘Er, yes, if it's a quickie.' Megan could hear the hubbub of the newsroom in the background.

‘I won't keep you – just wanted to know your thoughts on this other woman they found yesterday. My boss is leaning on me to chase up this black magic angle. That stuff Steve Foy came out with – is it for real?'

‘You mean what he said about both victims having links with the occult?'

‘Yes.' There was a pause. ‘I mean, I know there's only so much you can say.'

‘Okay,' Megan frowned. In the months since they'd made the documentary together she had come to regard Delva as a friend. She had to keep reminding herself that as a journalist, she would have divided loyalties. ‘Don't tell Des or anyone else this, but they've found some books in Joanna Hamilton's house. Nothing particularly way out – astrology, tarot, that sort of thing.'

‘And that's the occult connection?' Delva grunted.

‘My feelings exactly,' Megan said, ‘but Foy's chosen to run with it – hence the press conference.'

‘What are you going to do now?'

‘Let's just say I'm following other lines of enquiry. I'll let you know if anything comes of it.'

‘Thanks, Megan. You take care, you hear?'

Megan smiled as she put the phone down. Delva seemed a lot more positive than when she'd last seen her. It sounded as if she was far too busy to dwell on that business with Richard Ledbury.

On her way out of the building Megan bumped into Christopher Jessop. He was struggling through the plate-glass doors with a pile of box files stacked in his arms.

‘Morning Megan,' he said, with a smile that didn't reach his large green eyes. ‘Off again?' The sarcasm in his voice was unmistakeable and she didn't grace him with a reply, merely nodding as she passed by. She wondered if he knew about her meeting with the Vice-Chancellor next week. Taking a breath, she thrust her shoulders back and strode purposefully towards the car. Whatever happened, she was not going to let the likes of
him
get to her.

At Pendleton College, Megan found a parking space beneath a large horse chestnut tree whose pale young leaves brushed the rear windscreen as she reversed. It was a good spot from which to observe the comings and goings from the grim-looking building in front of her. The college had been built in the ‘sixties. Its walls were grey and the design uninspiring. The trees lining the path from the main entrance were the only softening feature.

To the right of the entrance groups of students sat on the grass with cans, cups and cigarettes in their hands. They were a mixture of ages, Megan noticed. From kids barely past adolescence to men and women who might have been their grandparents. The gravel path forked at the point where they were sitting, one branch leading to the carpark and the other veering left across a field that bordered the precinct. She wondered if Joanna had walked along that path in her high-heeled red shoes. Unlikely, she thought, looking at the dust kicked up by a couple of girls as they trudged past.

She needed to know if there was any substance to this gut instinct about a link with the college. She would go to the reception and see if there was a visitors' book. A quick flick through the pages would tell her if Joanna had been there on the day she was last seen. Megan went to open the car door but stopped short. Was that Ceri walking along the path? She watched as a woman with the same dark hair as her sister's took the fork leading to the precinct. Large sunglasses obscured her face. Did Ceri have a pair like that? As she peered through the windscreen something else caught her eye. A helmeted figure pushing a mountain bike appeared from behind a tree. He was staring after the woman in the sunglasses. As Megan watched he glanced at the entrance to the college, then back over his shoulder, as if checking that no one was looking. Then he jumped onto the bike and started pedalling slowly along the path, gradually gaining ground on the woman. In a moment both had disappeared from sight round the corner of the building.

Megan sat stock still, her heart thumping in her chest.
What if that was him? What if that woman was Ceri?
What should she do? Run after them? No, that wasn't the answer. If he
was
the killer he'd see her running and do a disappearing act. She turned the key in the ignition. She must drive to the precinct and find the place where the path came out. Once they were in the shopping centre she could track his movements without him noticing her.

Her heart missed a beat when she got there. Ceri's yellow Peugeot was parked right by the exit barrier. There were no spaces anywhere near it and she swerved through the rows of cars, frantically searching for a space. She found one at the far end and shot into it, catching her offside wing mirror in her haste. She scrambled out of the car, squeezing past the bent-back mirror and ran towards the precinct's main square.