The Stranger You Know (47 page)

‘And then what? He disappeared?’

‘I’m still waiting to hear from the Spanish authorities but I bet there’ll be more. They don’t have any record of anyone with the name Craig being arrested for murder or anything else around that time, but that’s where he was heading. From there—’ I shrugged. ‘Portugal? North Africa? Plenty of places he could disappear. I can’t go any further at the moment. The trail is not what you’d call hot. I’m not giving up, though. Twenty years is a long time but people remember strangers, and Craig sounds pretty distinctive.’

‘Why didn’t he rape Angela?’ Derwent touched one of the pieces of paper for no real reason, moving it around, rearranging the layout. The old OCD kicking in again, I thought.

‘That’s where Stuart comes in. He was in his bedroom, where he couldn’t have seen what was going on in the garden next door but by his own account he
heard
it. That was why he woke up. That was what attracted his attention.’

‘And?’

‘And he thought it was you and Angela. I’ve spoken to Stuart’s Japanese girlfriend a few times on the phone and she’s been very helpful in filling in the background details for me. Stuart liked to get drunk about once every six weeks – his way of letting off steam because he was so disciplined about his diet and exercise usually. I told her about Angela and what we knew, as opposed to what Stuart had told us. She said he had talked about it a couple of times. That night, Stuart heard Angela moaning, thought he was listening to the two of you and his first thought was to disturb you and Angela if you were having sex. Then he decided it would be better to watch you. He was obsessed with you, wasn’t he? And Angela was a flirt. Vinny said she was a tease. She loved the attention and you have to wonder if she’d been leading him on as well. He was a sexually frustrated teenage boy with absolutely no chance of finding a girlfriend, and he was never going to get closer to actual sex.’

‘So he saw them?’ Godley asked.

‘He couldn’t see anything out of the window. He had to go downstairs and out the front door. He found Angela lying in the grass, dead. It’s just conjecture but if it was Craig who attacked the girl in Coventry, he might have been angry and frustrated. He seems to have started the attack by gouging Angela’s eyes, to control her and subdue her. He was in a high-risk area, surrounded by people in their houses, so he would have wanted to keep her quiet too, and he strangled her. Maybe it didn’t matter to him if she was alive or dead before he raped her. As it turned out, he didn’t get the chance. Stuart’s arrival on the scene disturbed Craig in the act, which meant that he had to run away before he could sexually assault her.’

‘But all of this had a lasting effect on Stuart,’ Godley said.

I nodded. ‘I think he stole Angela’s autopsy photographs because he found the sight of her arousing. He was troubled, unhappy and traumatised by his parents’ divorce, and this was his first real sexual experience, according to his Japanese girlfriend. It was a shattering, exciting event and he never got over it. Afterwards he was, briefly, very important. He was able to get his revenge on the bully who’d tormented him.’ I looked at Derwent. ‘That’s you, by the way.’

‘Noted.’

‘It was a turning point. He grew in confidence. He decided to remake himself in a different image. He became his ideal and then he was able to live out his fantasies. It just took him a long time to get up the nerve. And as it turned out, he had a gift for it. Killing came easy. Kirsty, Maxine and Anna didn’t matter to him as people – that’s why we had so much trouble making a connection between them. They looked right and that was all he wanted.’

‘How did he get them to trust him?’ Godley asked.

‘He pretended to be me.’ Derwent sounded weirdly detached, but he had to be upset about it.

I nodded. ‘I’ve been going through the file cards we found in his flat, talking to the women who interested him. He was working on two or three at a time, I think, and sometimes he didn’t pursue them – maybe if they asked too many questions or if they were too risky. From what I can work out, his technique was to stalk women who reminded him of Angela. He’d find out if they lived alone, then get talking to them. He told them he was a police officer named Josh and gave DI Derwent’s surname and rank if they asked for more details. He gave them advice on their home security, probably culled from the Met website if you go by Kirsty Campbell’s wish list. He promised to come round and check their locks, and he sent them flowers. White ones. So the flowers were there waiting for him, and the women trusted him when he went round to kill them.’

Derwent winced. ‘Calculating bastard. What a creep.’

I narrowed my eyes. ‘Let’s not forget that you do actually follow women around for their own safety.’

‘Leaving that aside.’

‘Josh …’ Godley looked appalled.

‘Irrelevant,’ Derwent said. ‘It just sounds bad.’

‘Angela’s death had a big impact on both of you. Sinclair wanted to kill women because of it. You want to save them. You weren’t all that different, really.’

Derwent glowered at me and Godley asked hastily, ‘Why was it that he didn’t have sex with them?’

‘I don’t think he could, from what his girlfriend says. Dr Chen would probably be able to explain it in technical terms, but my take on it is that he was squeamish. His flat was sterile. He didn’t like mess. He didn’t like getting dirty and that included having sex. The way he took out the eyes – it wasn’t something he enjoyed, particularly, but it was part of the ritual. Killing Angela over and over again. Staring at her dead body for as long as he liked this time. Revelling in the moment. Being aroused but in control. I imagine that killing Deena was a very different experience for him because he was angry, not enjoying himself. He wouldn’t have counted her murder because it was just practical, not for pleasure.’

‘And now he’s dead.’ Derwent leaned back, his hands clasped behind his head. ‘It seems like justice, somehow. Better than him getting fat and living a long life behind bars at the taxpayer’s expense.’

‘Happy to help,’ I said, grinning.

Godley’s phone rang and he glanced at the screen, then pulled a face. ‘My wife. I’d better take this.’

He left the room and Derwent looked at me. ‘You know, no matter what I say, you’re a good copper.’

Before I could respond, the door opened again and Kev Cox poked his head in. ‘All right? No news on the patient, I hear.’

‘She’s hanging on,’ I said, coming down to earth with a thud. Oh,
Liv
.

‘I just wanted to see you in person.’ Kev advanced across the room, looking from Derwent to me. ‘Is it all right to speak about that other matter?’ he asked me.

‘The flowers? DI Derwent knows all about it.’

Kev looked relieved. ‘Well. This is unofficial, you understand, but we’ve got the results back on tests we did on the evidence you collected.’

‘And?’

‘We found a partial fingerprint on the tape that held the cellophane wrapper around the bunch originally, and we matched it to someone we have on file.’

‘Chris Swain,’ I said.

‘Try DI Deborah Ormond.’

I stared at him, stupefied, as Derwent roared with laughter. ‘Naughty Debbie.’

‘Why would she do that?’

‘Dunno. But she wanted you to know she’d done it,’ Derwent said. ‘Debbie knows enough to keep her fingerprints to herself. You can’t tell me she’d make a mistake like that.’

‘It was more than a smudge, if that helps. Pin-sharp. No mistaking it. Anyway, here’s the report. I’ll leave it with you. It’s confidential at the moment but let me know what you want to do. I can always lose it.’ Kev laid two pages down on the table and hurried out before I could so much as thank him.

Derwent picked them up, glanced at them and ripped them into pieces.

‘What are you doing?’

‘This never happened.’

‘Yes, it fucking well did.’ I was livid. ‘That
bitch
.’

‘Forget it.’

‘No way.’

‘Listen, Kerrigan. I’m going to help you out.’ He jabbed a finger at me. ‘You don’t want to do this. You don’t want the publicity. You’re already front-page news and the tabloids will be all over this. Your boyfriend works for Debbie. He likes the Flying Squad and he’s not going to want to leave it. If you try to bring her down, you will suffer, and what’s more you’ll fuck up your boyfriend’s career. Let it go. Be glad it wasn’t Swain after all and move on.’

‘I have to tell him. How can he work with her if she’s done something so unprofessional? So
horrible
?’

‘In blissful ignorance,’ Derwent said. ‘He doesn’t need to know the truth.’

‘I would.’

‘You don’t know what’s good for you. You can’t tell him because it’s not fair. He can’t work with her if he knows, and you’ve already done him out of one decent job by shagging him.’

I couldn’t argue with that. Saying nothing made sense even though I was beyond outraged – too angry to see straight, let alone think straight. But I had the horrible and unfamiliar feeling that Derwent was right.

He picked up his crutches. ‘Come on. You need to get out of here. Find your bloke. I’ll even buy you lunch.’

‘Wow.’ I gathered up my pages of research and stuffed them into my bag. ‘This is a red-letter day.’

‘Don’t get used to it.’

We had just come out into the corridor when someone called my name and I turned to see James Peake jogging towards me. ‘Maeve. How are you?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘No ill effects? I’m glad. I still can’t believe what happened the other day.’

‘I was lucky.’ To Derwent, I said, ‘James saved my life.’

‘I heard.’ Derwent was glowering.

‘I’m sorry about Liv. How’s she doing?’

‘Holding on.’

‘Tough on you,’ Peake said, full of sympathy, and I felt the tears start into my eyes. He reached out and folded me into his arms. ‘Come here.’

I had enough time to register the situation as awkward before Derwent intervened.

‘Hey, hey, hey. That’s enough.’

Peake let go of me because he had to. The rubber ferrule on the end of Derwent’s right crutch was pressing against his windpipe. He grabbed it but by now Derwent had him pinned against the wall.

‘What are you doing?’ I hissed.

‘Letting him know to keep his hands to himself.’ To Peake, who was turning purple, Derwent said, ‘Back off, mate. She’s taken.’

Peake knocked the crutch away and coughed. When he could speak, he said, ‘Sorry. I didn’t know. Are the two of you—’

‘No,’ we said in unison.

‘She’s got a boyfriend, though. And he’s a big lad. Big muscles. Short temper. Two floors down as we speak.’ Derwent made a shooing motion. ‘Go on. Jog on, Ginger. She’s not for you.’

I think if Derwent hadn’t been on crutches, Peake might have punched him. As it was he glared, then nodded to me, all ice and wounded pride. I watched him go down the corridor and when he was out of sight I turned on Derwent.

‘“She’s taken.” Thank you very much.’

‘Sorry. I didn’t think you’d be interested. Go on, go after him.’

‘No, of course not. I’m not interested. At all. I’m glad he knows.’

‘Why didn’t you tell him?’

I tried to think how I’d explain to Derwent that you couldn’t assume someone was interested in you in that way, and it was presumptuous to warn them off before there was even an issue, and anyway I was my own person and not Rob’s chattel, but I gave up. ‘It was never the right moment.’

‘Not difficult, is it? “I have a boyfriend.” There you go.’

‘Whatever,’ I said irritably.

‘Poor guy.’ I thought he was talking about Peake until he went on. ‘He’s never going to get a ring on it, is he? Never going to pin you down. You like your freedom too much.’

‘That’s not it, actually.’

He raised his eyebrows and waited.

‘He’s too good for me. He’s better than I deserve.’

‘Horseshit.’ Derwent leaned one crutch against the wall and dropped an arm around my shoulders. ‘Your trouble is low self-esteem. You need to start thinking more of yourself. Build up your confidence.’

‘And you’re going to help?’

‘Probably not. I like you meek.’

‘
Meek
?’

‘Biddable.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you. You couldn’t have seen the Philip Pace briefings. They were from anti-terrorism and you don’t get them.’

It took me a second but when I worked out what he was telling me, I was outraged all over again. ‘Did you know that when you were giving me a hard time about them?’

‘Of course.’ He retrieved his crutches and set off down the corridor. ‘I felt a bit bad about it afterwards. Especially since you helped me.’

‘I went above and beyond the call of duty, or even friendship. And we’re not friends.’

‘No, we are not. But hey, now we’re even.’

‘Because you told me you were just being an arsehole, deliberately, and I’m not actually incompetent, and that cancels out me solving a twenty-year-old crime and clearing you as a murder suspect.’

‘Exactly.’

We had reached the lift. I pressed the button and turned to look at him. He was the same as ever, despite everything that had happened. His confidence was undented.

‘Has it occurred to you that all of this happened the way it did because Stuart Sinclair wanted to be like you?’

‘Yep.’

The lift arrived and I stood aside while a motley collection of patients, visitors and medical staff trooped out. I waited until the lift was empty, then held the door for Derwent. When he was in and the doors had closed, I tried again. ‘All of this was because of you. Don’t you think that’s strange?’

‘Not really.’

‘But you were his ideal. You were what he aspired to be.’

‘So? Makes perfect sense, if you ask me.’

And Derwent gave me his widest smile.

ONE WEEK LATER

Chapter 39

I almost didn’t go. I almost convinced myself that it was none of my business.

It just wasn’t in my character not to interfere.

This time, I didn’t call ahead. I rang the doorbell and waited. When she answered the door, Claire looked a lot better – younger, prettier, with more colour in her cheeks. She was just as hostile, though. ‘What do you want?’