Child’s Play: A totally unputdownable serial killer thriller, page 7
‘Penn, anything to offer before you get off to court?’
He put his phone aside. ‘Just checking if I need to go, boss. Not sure what’s happening.’
‘Thought the case was pretty straight forward?’
She’d been hoping to have him wrapped up and returned to her by the end of the week. Having to trust Inspector Plant and his team with the follow up interviews did not sit well with her.
‘Defence witness went AWOL yesterday. Uniforms went out looking but no update yet.’
‘Everything else, okay?’
He hesitated. ‘Fine boss, but I could easily have come back for a few hours last night.’
‘You read the memo,’ she reminded him.
‘We really still sticking to that?’ he asked, causing another two heads to raise in hope.
Jeez, Kim thought, it was like trying to force a kid to eat their greens. You knew it was good for them but they fought you at every mouthful.
‘Yeah, we’re sticking to it,’ she said, as Penn’s phone sounded receipt of a text message.
He read it. ‘Still no neighbour but the defence is calling their only other witness, which is his wife, so that should be fun seeing as she’s a hostile witness.’
Kim nodded as he pushed his chair away from the desk. This was what happened sometimes. Witnesses were rearranged to provide continuity and keep disruption for the jury to a minimum. Once a case had started no one wanted it interrupted, schedules had been cleared, meetings postponed, experts booked, family members primed for a result one way or the other. Every effort would be made to keep the trial going.
‘And then there were three,’ Kim mused as Penn disappeared out the door.
She headed over to the board.
‘Okey-dokey, good work on the phone calls between Belinda and her sister yesterday, Stace. Still got no explanation about the weird relationship between the two of them and I want you to keep digging on that. I want to know everything you can find out about these two ladies: their parents, childhood friends, neighbours, boyfriends, everything.’
In her peripheral vision she could see Bryant’s expression questioning the instruction.
‘Go on, spit it out,’ she said, without turning.
‘Veronica has an alibi and you can’t seriously think…’
‘And check out that alibi while you’re at it, Stace,’ Kim instructed. ‘Skyping with the editor at the Telegraph shouldn’t be too hard to prove, and then we can rule her out completely.’
‘Got it, boss,’ Stacey said, making notes. Kim was relieved to see the tension slipping from her face.
She turned towards her colleague. ‘And why should we rule her out without checking her alibi, grumpy boy?’
‘She hardly—’
‘Don’t you even dare say she doesn’t look the murdering kind. Tell me the last time we arrested someone that did. And you never hear of sororicide?’
‘Err… no,’ Bryant answered. ‘And if you’ve got it, is it contagious?’
‘The killing of one’s sister,’ Kim elaborated. ‘Primarily when sibling rivalry gets out of hand. Ronald DeFeo Jr. shot both his sisters in 1974. The murders became the inspiration for The Amityville Horror books and films. Karla Homolka and Paul Bernardo raped then killed Karla’s sister Tammy in 1990, and Yuki Muto murdered his sister in—’
‘Someone appears to have spent their downtime doing some research last night,’ Bryant observed, tapping his fingers on the desk.
‘Yeah, just fell on this article that happened to be open on the laptop,’ she lied.
Twenty minutes after he’d left she’d been unable to resist just taking a look.
‘Aah, I get it,’ Stacey said. ‘If we happen to open our computers and there’s something there to…’
‘I’ve told you. It was an accident.’
‘Yeah, she tripped and fell into Wikipedia,’ Bryant said around her as she walked between them.
‘Boss, there’s still some phone numbers on the call register to work through so?…’
God damn it, right now she could have done without Penn in court. Stacey’s workload was going to get pretty heavy.
‘Finish that off first and then start on the other stuff.’
Stacey nodded her understanding.
The detective constable was going to have a busy day and yet Kim had the feeling that she wouldn’t mind.
‘Bryant and I will be focussing on her last place of work, the man she was seeing and trying to find out where she was going.’
‘She had condoms in the case?’ Stacey asked with wide eyes.
‘She was being responsible,’ Kim replied.
‘But I mean…’
Bryant folded his arms. ‘Stace, if you’re talking about her age, folks still have normal desires beyond retirement, you know. And being in your sixties doesn’t prevent you catching sexually transmitted diseases.’
‘Yeah, I get it, but it’s just…’
‘Stacey Wood,’ he blustered. ‘How can you write someone off just because they’ve reached…’
‘Ignore him, Stace. He’s just getting worked up cos he’s approaching that stage of life himself.’
Stacey chuckled as Bryant opened his mouth to respond.
Kim held up her hand to stop him as her mobile began to ring.
‘Keats,’ she answered.
‘I need you here.’
‘And good morning to you too.’
‘I have something to show you. I found the answer.’
The line went dead in her hand.
She didn’t even know there had been a question.
TWENTY-ONE
Penn arrived at court with a few more minutes to spare than the day before.
He entered the building and clocked Lynne and Doug holding up the coffee bar at the far left of the space. He hesitated when he spotted Mr Kapoor dead ahead at the end of the line waiting for access to the public gallery.
He headed towards Mr Kapoor. The man was not a witness, so communication between them was not an issue.
‘How are you holding up?’ Penn asked, offering his hand.
‘Truthfully, sir, I want it to be over. I want to remember my son for other things.’
Penn understood. The man had lived twenty-three years of Christmases, birthdays, school, college, graduation and all Mr Kapoor could think about were the events of the last few minutes of his son’s life. And until the bastard that had done it was punished that would be all he could think about. Penn wanted nothing more than this man to have some kind of peace.
‘How is Mrs Kapoor?’
He looked down at his feet. ‘She still blames me and I understand. I was stupid. I should have listened to you,’ he said, raising his head and nodding towards the others at the café. ‘I should have installed CCTV. We were an easy mark for anyone but I couldn’t afford it. We were losing money week after week but I should have found it.’
Penn felt for the man. The opening of a mini market along the road had hit him hard. His few bits and pieces of grocery couldn’t compete with the light, bright and shiny premises along the street, and if the rumours he’d heard about a Tesco superstore a mile and a half away were true the man would barely be able to give his petrol away either.
Penn could feel the man’s regret: had he known what he was going to lose he would have begged, borrowed or stolen to get more security, but he hadn’t, his son was dead. Penn wanted the murderer to pay so this man could begin to rebuild his life.
‘Is all okay with the case, sir?’
Despite his urging the man refused to call him anything else.
‘I noticed some sort of upset yesterday. Is all well?’
Penn realised he must mean the discovery that one of the witnesses had gone missing.
‘Nothing on our side, Mr Kapoor,’ he reassured the man, touching him on the arm. ‘If there’s anything you need to know, I’ll find you,’ he said, before turning away.
‘Any more news?’ he asked Lynne and Doug as he approached.
Lynne shook her head, and Doug shrugged in a ‘Who Cares’ expression.
‘The defence is calling Gregor’s wife, to give the uniforms more time to track McCann down,’ Lynne said.
‘Well, this should be fun,’ Doug said, rubbing his hands together, as they began to file into the courtroom.
Penn was sure they were expecting a hostile witness but they had yet to meet Irina Nuryef.
He’d met the woman twice and neither occasion would he have described as fun.
TWENTY-TWO
Kim knew what Bryant was going to say before he said it. She was only surprised he managed to keep it in until they were walking towards the morgue.
‘You saw Stacey, right? You know she’s miserable being sent home at five each night?’
Of course she’d seen her colleague. ‘It’s an adjustment period. She’ll get used to it. With all this extra time you’ll make new friends, too, take up cake decorating; now get off my back. There’s nothing I can do.’
‘And what time do you call this?’ Keats asked, as they entered the cold, sterile area.
‘Don’t even start,’ she advised.
‘Working half days, now?’
And of course, asking him to stop doing something only encouraged him more.
‘So, what you got?’ she asked, placing her hands onto the metal dish.
‘Hands off,’ he said, wrapping her knuckles with the ruler in his hand.
‘Oww,’ she said, rubbing at her hand.
‘I’ve just cleaned it,’ he said, reaching for his clipboard.
She looked to Bryant and silently asked him if that gave her permission to haul him over the dish by his lapels.
Bryant’s brief shake of the head said no.
As the ruler was still in his hands she placed her own into her pocket, not least to protect them from the ruler but also from tightening around the pathologist’s throat.
‘So, Belinda and I have been chatting some more and she seemed to have a little more to say. I can confirm that she was sexually active and—’
‘Blimey, Keats, how the devil do you deduce such a thing?’ Kim asked, wondering about the physicality of such a discovery.
‘Because of these,’ he said, placing a photo on the metal dish between them.
She looked down to see raised bobbles of pink skin.
‘Genital warts, Inspector,’ Keats explained. ‘HPV: human papillomavirus. These little terrors are sore, painful and very easily transferred by sexual contact.’
Kim took a moment to digest the information, trying to compute the image of the professional, educated middle-aged lady, well dressed, well presented, appearing to be highly sexed.
‘And that’s not all,’ he said, placing two more photographs on the table.
She reached out, placed them side by side and then shuffled them, unsure exactly what she was looking at.
‘Hands,’ Keats said, again cracking her fingers with the ruler.
‘Keats, I swear if you do that one more time, I’ll…’
‘What you’re seeing here,’ he said, pointing to the first photo with the ruler, ‘is a magnified image of the corners of Belinda’s mouth. Here,’ he said pointing to his own mouth where the lower lip met the upper lip. ‘There are minute tears to the skin on both sides. And this’, he said, turning the second photo around to face her, ‘is the imprint of a circle close to her ears on both sides, cleverly concealed with make-up.’
Kim shook her head.
‘A ball gag, Inspector. Commonly associated with sado-masochism. The ball is placed in the mouth and a leather strap is buckled around the back of the head.’
‘I still have no idea…’
‘Bryant, google it for her, will you?’
Her colleague took out his phone, pressed a few buttons and turned the screen her way.
‘Oh, okay,’ she said, wondering how the hell such an object could enhance sexual pleasure.
‘Keats, how on earth do you?…’
‘It’s my job to know these things, Inspector.’
‘So, it looks as though our victim not only liked sex but also liked sexual games.’
‘I think we need to find out who she was playing those sexual games with,’ Bryant said. ‘And we might just find our—’
‘It’s not sexual,’ Kim said, walking around the table, her hands firmly back in her pockets.
‘Come on, guv,’ Bryant said, incredulously. ‘The woman took condoms wherever she went, she had a sexually transmitted disease and she liked to play games.’
‘Precisely. She was sexual but the murder was not.’
‘Could have been a sex game gone wrong,’ he pushed.
She shook her head, stubbornly. ‘It has none of the signs of a sexually motivated murder. There was no sexual contact—’
‘There doesn’t have to be sex for it to be a sexually motivated murder, guv,’ Bryant argued.
‘Agreed but no clothing was removed; there was no mutilation of sexual organs. Nothing had been removed or tampered with and the marking on her neck was done in an area where her garments didn’t need to be touched.’
‘But if she’d passed on the disease to someone who was less than pleased with the gift?’
‘Still wouldn’t be sexual though, would it?’ Kim observed. ‘That would be revenge.’
Bryant turned to Keats. ‘Help me out?’
Keats tapped his chin with the ruler. ‘Sorry, but, much as it surprises me on this occasion, I have to agree with your boss, may the lord forgive me,’ he said, looking heavenward. He continued. ‘In my experience, sexually motivated murders are unmistakeable: clothing has been removed, destroyed, genitals are on display and often mutilated, interfered with or totally removed. It’s a statement. It’s the first thing the killer wants you to notice whether it be a fetish or whatever the reason. It’s normally on display for the symbolism to be clear. It’s their message.’
Bryant still appeared unconvinced, and Kim had a good idea why.
‘You’re allowing her age to colour your view,’ Kim said facing him across the table.
‘Don’t be…’
‘If we were looking at a twenty-something victim, you’d take the information about her sex life as part of her story, but because she’s older you’re assuming this is her only story. If she’s in her sixties and having kinky sex then that has to be the reason for her death.’
‘Keats, are you hearing this rubbish?’ Bryant implored.
Keats shook his head. ‘Remaining silent right now as even I can’t stomach agreeing with the inspector twice in one day. And much as I’d love to stand and watch you argue this one to the death, I do have other customers to deal with, so…’
‘Thanks, Keats,’ Kim said, heading towards the door, her mind whirring with what they’d learned.
‘Not so fast, Inspector. I do want you gone, admittedly, but you still don’t have the answer I called you here for.’
‘And the question was?’
‘The cause of the forty-seven nicks in the bones of the left hand.’
‘And?’ she asked.
‘I’d have thought that was now perfectly obvious,’ he answered, with a coy smile.
Her brain clicked.
‘The ruler?’ she said, rubbing at her left hand.
Keats nodded. ‘At some stage our victim’s knuckles were being constantly rapped forcefully with a sharp, metal ruler.’
TWENTY-THREE
Penn held his breath as Irina Nuryef strode to the witness stand, offering a filthy sideways look to everyone in her path.
Again, he couldn’t help but notice the difference in her appearance from the other two times he’d seen her.
With a face set in a permanent scowl she looked like a feral animal ready to strike at any second. The hair may be better styled, the make-up more expertly applied and the jewellery finer but the hostile expression he’d know anywhere.
He studied her as she took her oath and realised that she hadn’t looked at her husband once.
The defence barrister stood and smiled in the direction of the witness, who glowered in response.
‘Mrs Nuryef, the court understands that you are in fact a hostile witness to the defence team of your husband who is currently on trial for murder.’
Still she didn’t glance in his direction and managed to remain silent, clearly coached to stay shtum unless asked a direct question. Knowing her as he did Penn could only wonder at how long that would last.
‘It is your testimony that your husband was not at home on the night of the twenty-sixth of October last year.’
‘Yes’
‘And that you have no idea where your husband was that evening?’
‘Correct. I already—’
A shake of the head from the prosecution cut her off, but the real Irina Nuryef was just dying to break free.
‘And to the best of your memory this information is accurate and true?’
Penn began to relax. This questioning was not doing them any harm at all. Every time she repeated her answer the jury heard her say it again.
‘I’ve already said—’
‘Just answer the question, Mrs Nuryef,’ the barrister said curtly causing the anger to flash in her eyes.
‘You say he left at approximately 9 p.m. and returned around 11 p.m.?’
‘That’s what I said, didn’t I?’
‘Eventually, yes,’ said the barrister. ‘But I’ll come to that.’
Penn suddenly knew exactly where the barrister was going but had no idea how much this was going to hurt them. He had a feeling it would come down to the credibility of the witness and that was the cause of his concern. And that of his colleagues judging by the tension on their faces.
‘And you recalled that he didn’t come straight into the house. He went into the garden first?’
‘Yeah, bastard was—’
Shit, the genie was out the bottle.
‘You don’t actually know what your husband was doing in the garden, do you?’
