Requiem (13 page)

Anderton tousled his hair and let his hand drop.

“No, Genevieve was the person who strangled Elodie. It’s a horrible thought, a mother killing a daughter, but that’s what happened. I don’t think we’d have to dig too deeply into Genevieve’s background to find another story of abuse in
her
childhood. Not that that’s any excuse for what she did.”

Kate waited until he paused and asked her question.
“So Duncan knew Genevieve had killed Elodie?”

“Knew? He almost certainly witnessed it. Why didn’t he stop her? Was it because he too thought he was the father of his stepdaughter’s baby? Was he in shock? Who knows? He can’t tell us.”

“Did Nathan Vertz think Thomas Duncan had killed Elodie?” asked Olbeck.

Anderton nodded. “I think so. It tipped him over the edge. He knew about the abuse, of course
, but it was the revelation of the baby that drove him to kill. Perhaps all the rage and shame and anger at the abuse he’d suffered in childhood came flooding out. Thomas Duncan became the symbol for what had happened to him as a little boy.”

“Poor man,” said Kate.

“Yes,” said Anderton briefly. “So we have the Duncans colluding to dispose of Elodie’s body. You know, Kate, I think they
did
put her body in the river in the hope it would incriminate your brother.”

“It nearly did,” said Kate, remembering Anderton’s rage at her seeming deception. Their eyes met for a moment
, and she felt another surge of the attraction that she thought she’d nearly succeeded in tamping down. Did he feel it too? She dropped her gaze, willing herself not to blush.

Anderton cleared his throat.

“A sad case,” he said. He turned to the whiteboard and touched the picture of each child gently, just once. “A very sad case. Thank you all for bringing it to the only possible conclusion.”

Later that afternoon, Kate signed the last report, capped her pen and pushed her chair away from her desk. She looked over at Olbeck.

“I’m done for the day.”

“Good for you. I’ve still got loads to do.”

“Leave it for now, Mark. I’m going for a drive. Why don’t you come with me?”

Olbeck considered. Then he stood up and took his coat from the back of his chair.

As they walked towards Kate’s car, his phone chimed as a text message came through. “Another new date?” asked Kate, trying to keep the disapproval from her voice as they got into her car.

“Same one, actually,” said Olbeck, clipping on his belt. “It’ll be our third date.”

“Oh, right,” said Kate, eyebrows raised. She turned on the engine. “Is it serious?”

Olbeck scoffed.
  Then he reconsidered.

“Don’t know, actually,” he said, sounding surprised. “It might be. I like him.”

“Good.”

Olbeck smiled slyly.

“What about you?”

“What do you mean, ‘what about me?’”

“When are we going to get you fixed up?”

“Oh, Mark
.” For a moment, Anderton’s face came into Kate’s mind. She dismissed the jump in her lower belly. “I’m all right on my own.”

“Sure?”

“Sure,” said Kate, trying to sound firm.

They found a parking space not too far away and got out. It was one of those beautiful winter days with pale sunlight and high, wispy white clouds, the leafless trees like living sculptures. Kate and Olbeck walked along beside the river, their feet scuffing over frost-hardened ridges of mud. As they got closer, Kate could see all the flowers, laid out like a colourful carpet along the riverbank. She and Olbeck stopped a little way away and regarded the heaped blooms. She thought again of the painting with Elodie on the riverbank, pale and blue-lipped, entwined with flowers.

Something caught her eye, a tiny gleam of pale yellow, right at the water’s edge. She looked harder and then nudged Olbeck.

“Look.”

Olbeck followed her pointing finger past all the gaudy, plastic-wrapped hothouse flowers to the little blossom growing through the frozen mud.

“A primrose?” he said. “Growing in November?”

“Yes.”

“That’s weird. It’s been so cold, you wouldn’t have thought it would live.”

They regarded the flower for a moment, its delicate yellow petals trembling in the cold wind.

“It’s for Elodie,” said Kate softly.

Olbeck looked at her quizzically. “It’s not like you to be sentimental.”

Kate thought of something else Jay had said, that Vertz had said
, that even her stepfather had said.

“Elodie was different,” she said.

Olbeck was silent. Kate took one last look at the primrose and turned away.

“Come on, time to go home.”

They walked back along the riverbank, quietly, shielding their eyes against the sunlight that gleamed from the surface of the glittering river.

THE END

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Want more Kate Redman? The third novel in the series,
Imago (A Kate Redman Mystery: Book 3)
, is
now available on Amazon Kindle.

IMAGO

(A KATE REDMAN MYSTERY
: BOOK 3)

“They don’t fear me, quite the opposite. It makes it twice as fun… I know the next time will be soon, I’ve learnt to recognise the signs. I think I even know who it will be. She’s oblivious of course, just as she should be. All the time, I watch and wait and she has no idea, none at all. And why would she? I’m disguised as myself, the very best disguise there is.”

A known prostitute is found stabbed to death in a shabby corner of Abbeyford. Detective Sergeant Kate Redman and her partner Detective Sergeant Olbeck take on the case, expecting to have it wrapped up in a matter of days.  Kate finds herself distracted by her growing attraction to her boss, Detective Chief Inspector Anderton – until another woman’s body is found, with similar knife wounds. And then another one after that, in a matter of days.

Forced to confront the horrifying realisation that a serial killer may be preying on the vulnerable women of Abbeyford, Kate, Olbeck and the team find themselves in a race against time to unmask a terrifying murderer, who just might be hiding in plain sight…

Read the first two chapters of
Imago (A Kate Redman Mystery: Book 3)
below…

IMAGO

(A KATE REDMAN MYSTERY: BOOK 3)

CELINA GRACE
 

© Celina Grace 2013

J’s Diary

The
first girl’s death was an accident.

I lifted my pen off of the paper and thought for a bit. My pen was poised to cross it out – the impulse trembled up my arm – but in the end, I left the sentence as it was.

I don’t really know why I started writing this diary, account, whatever you’d call it. I suppose I wanted a record of what’s happened in my life since the first one. Ever since I realised what I had to do to become complete – to unfold into a whole person rather than inhabit the empty shell of one – there’s been another urge, almost as strong: the need to write down 
why
 I do the things I do. I’m not trying to justify anything to anyone, in the unlikely event that someone reads these diaries. The key thing, I suppose, is to be true to myself, to be truthful when I’m talking to myself as I am here, setting down these words. That’s the only meaningful thing to do. If I’d only been true to myself from an early age, none of the bad things would have happened. Or maybe they would. Who knows?

So, in the interest of truth, the first death wasn’t really an 
accident
. I’ve just checked my dictionary and the definition of “accident” is something like 
an unfortunate event that happens unintentionally
. Her death was certainly unfortunate – for her – and it was, at the time, unintentional. I didn’t plan it; I didn’t spends hours and days fantasising about bringing it about as I have done with the other ones. So you could say it was accidental, I suppose, although I’d have a hard time convincing a jury.

It won’t come to that, though. Now I’m getting good at this. It’s a new skill, as well as a calling, and I’ve always been a fast learner. It makes me shiver in anticipation when I think that I could go on like this, year after year, getting better each time. Each time more perfect and more fulfilling than the last one. All those girls out there, for me. None of them have any idea that I am watching and waiting, waiting for the next time…the next death. None of them have any idea because I am in disguise. They don’t fear me. Quite the opposite. It makes it twice as fun. Fun. That’s certainly a surprising choice of words, especially for me, but that’s what it is. It 
is
 fun – as well as the greatest pleasure I’ve ever known. Why don’t they tell you this? Why do they lie? I feel like I’m the keeper of a secret only a few have discovered.

I know the next time will be soon; I’ve learnt to recognise the signs. I think I even know who it will be. She’s oblivious, of course, just as she should be. All the time, I watch and wait, and she has no idea, none at all. And why would she? I’m disguised as myself, the very best disguise there is.

Chapter One

Kate ran.

Her breath rasped in and out of her lungs; her leg muscles burned. A drop of sweat rolled into the corner of her dry mouth. It felt as if she’d been running forever, weaving among the people on the pavements, the shock of her feet hitting the concrete reverberating through her muscles. Every fibre of her being cried out for her to stop, but she couldn’t – she was afraid. The man was a sadist, a brutal sadist. She struggled on up a slight incline, her face burning, her lungs crying out for air. At the top of the hill, she had to stop, bent double, gasping for breath. The man following her at an effortless, loping run drew up alongside her.

“Come on, Kate. We’ve still got two miles to go.”

“I can’t,” gasped Kate, when she had enough oxygen in her lungs to speak. “I’ll be sick.”

“You won’t.”

“Will.”

The man appeared to relent.
“All right. Take a two-minute breather.”

Kate staggered over to a convenient bench and fell onto it. She put her roasting face down between her knees.

“Can’t – do – this,” she said, between gasps.

Detective Sergeant Mark Olbeck sat down beside her and stretched his legs out in front of him.

“It’s only a bloody half marathon, for God’s sake,” he said. “Thirteen miles. It’s nothing.”

Kate sat back up again, marginally more comfortable, although still breathing hard.

“I’m too – unfit. Someone else will have to – do it.”

“You’ll
 
get
 fit. That’s the whole point of us going out running. Come on, you said you’d do it. It’s for charity, remember.”

“I can’t get fit enough in
three weeks.”

“Well that’s all the time you’ve got. You’ve got to be part of the team. If you
pull out now, we won’t have enough people.”

Kate knew this was right. The Abbeyford Charity Half Marathon team from the police station had consisted of Olbeck, Detective Constable Theo Marsh and Detective Constable Ravinder Cheetam until Theo had broken his ankle playing football and had to drop out.

“There’s Jerry. And Jane.”

“You know as well as I do that Jane’s got two small children and no partner. She can’t go out in the evenings at the drop of a hat. And Jerry would probably have a coronary or something if we made him run, the poor old bugger.”

Kate leant back against the back of the bench and closed her eyes. She knew all this already, which made her feel even worse about her lack of enthusiasm.

“Don’t get comfortable,” warned Olbeck. “Come on. On we go.”

Kate heaved the deepest sigh her abused lungs could muster. Then she lurched to her feet, and they jogged on through the streets of Abbeyford.

They stopped at the bridge that spanned the river Avon, leaning against the stone parapet and watching the glittering waters slide beneath them. It was a beautiful summer’s day, the sky blue but wisped with a filmy curtain of white cloud, the sun gaining in strength by the hour.

“You know, Mark, I’m really not sure I can do this,” puffed Kate. She leant her head on her folded arms for a moment
and then raised it, looking out at the sparkling water.

“You’ll be fine,” said Olbeck. “And you’ll feel very proud of yourself when you
finish.”

“I’ve done plenty of things I’m already proud of,” said Kate. “I don’t feel that putting one foot in front of the other very quickly qualifies as any kind of great achievement.”

Mark grinned. “God, you’re narky today.”

“It’s the unaccustomed blood rushing to my head.”

There was a muffled buzzing from Mark’s back pocket. He fished his phone out, frowned and answered the call.

“Hello sir. No,
we’re not doing anything.”

Kate waited, knowing it was something serious. She had that familiar feeling she got every time a new case began: tension, anxiety and yes, shamefully, a little bit of excitement,
which was tempered with relief – at least she wouldn’t have to do any more running that day.

Olbeck said goodbye and put the phone back in his pocket. His partner raised her eyebrows.

“That was Anderton.”

“So I gathered. What is it?”

“Dead woman, down by the canal. We’ve been called in.”

“Let’s go, then.”

Abbeyford was a large market town in the
southwest of England. In addition to the river Avon, one of several so named in the country, the town also had a canal running through it. In earlier times, goods had been brought to the town from neighbouring cities, and canal boats pulled by horses moved slowly along the paths by the water to be unloaded at the tiny docks. The canal freight trade had long since gone, and the canal docks in Abbeyford had gradually fallen into disrepair and, eventually, disrepute. The warehouse windows were all broken, the glass in the few remaining panes dulled with dirt and moss. A long-ago fire had gutted one of the buildings, leaving its blackened girders exposed like the charred bones of an animal. Rubbish, dead leaves and dirt were heaped in every corner.

Kate had never been to the area before; she was barely aware of its existence. Perhaps
the other Abbeyford residents had a similar knowledge of this part of town, and this was why the killer had chosen to dump the body here. Or had killer and victim met here?

As it turned out, Kate
wasn’t off the jogging hook after all. She and Olbeck were close enough to the site to make their way there on foot, and Olbeck had insisted that they run, “to get in some more training.” Kate arrived at the scene knowing that her face was tomato-red and that her tracksuit was stained with patches of sweat, but after one look at the huddled body of the woman on the ground, these minor concerns faded away.

Scene of Crime officers had already erected the tent that hid the body from prying eyes. Kate and Olbeck ducked under the flap that covered the entrance. The victim was a small, thin woman,
with long, dark hair tied tightly back in a high ponytail. She lay on her side, curled in a foetal position, her back to the detectives. One dirty-soled foot was bare; the scuffed silver ballet pump that had fallen from it rested a few inches away. Kate couldn’t see any obvious wounds, although the mottled, bare legs were spattered with small amounts of blood.

She
studied the scene as intently as she could in the short time that she had, taking in everything that she could see. 
Get a feel for the scene
, Anderton was always telling them. 
It’s amazing what you can pick up without even realising. It can come in very handy as the case progresses.
 Kate knew she would never again have this first impression, so she observed with laser-intensity focus, trying to burn the image onto her retinas and into her mind.

 
Detective Chief Inspector Anderton was there along with Detective Constables Jerry Hindley and Ravinder Cheetam – Rav to his friends and colleagues. The three of them were in a huddle, talking quietly, whilst behind them, the scene was being preserved, photographed and otherwise documented by the Scene of Crime officers. Anderton looked up as Kate and Olbeck approached.

“You got here commendably quickly,” was his opening remark. “Glad to see all this running’s starting to pay off.”

Olbeck gave Kate a ‘you 
see
?’ look but said nothing. He nodded at Jerry and Rav.

“Let’s go outside,” said Anderton. “Too many people in here.”

Outside, the air felt fresh and the sunlight was warm and welcoming on Kate’s upturned face.

“What’s been happening?” she asked.

“The body was discovered this morning,” said Anderton. “A couple of hours ago, so that makes it, what – twelve thirty or so?”

“Who found it?” asked Kate.

“Two young lads. They were a bit reticent about why they were down here in the first place. Probably here to do some tagging or something. They’re back at the station at the moment, giving their statements.”

“Cause of death?” asked Olbeck.

“We don’t yet know. Stanton should be able to tell us more when he’s finished – talk of the devil—” Anderton looked up as the white-clad figure of the pathologist emerged from the tent. “Stanton. Stanton!” he called. “What’s the quick and dirty?”

Doctor Andrew Stanton
joined the group, brightening a little as he realised Kate was amongst them. He had an undisguised admiration for her, which always led to a day’s worth of teasing from Olbeck after the three of them met.

“Hi guys. Hi Kate,” he added, with special
, caressing attention. The other men grinned, and Kate managed to grit her teeth and smile politely at the same time.

“What have we got?” asked Anderton.

Stanton immediately became professional.

“Stab wounds, several of them, mostly through the lower thoracic region. Stomach and lower chest.”

Anderton shook his head.

“Definitely one for us, then. Oh well. Any sign of sexual assault?”

“Difficult to tell. I’ll be able to give you a better answer once we’ve done the PM.”

“Right,” said Anderton. “Stab wounds. That puts another
possible spin on things.” He didn’t elaborate on what this spin could be. “Any chance of fixing the time of death?”

Stanton shrugged.

“Probably sometime early in the morning, very early. Two or three o’clock. You know I can’t be accurate at this stage. You’ll have to wait for the PM.”

“It gives us a starting point,” said Anderton, briefly. “Okay, thanks
, Andrew. We’ll speak later.”

Once Doctor Stanton had left, Anderton ducked into the tent, quickly followed by Rav and Olbeck. Kate found herself standing alone with Jerry Hindley, and her heart sank a little. Jerry was the colleague she knew and liked the least. From the very start of her career at Abbeyford, he’d made it plain that he didn’t like her. She’d asked Olbeck and Theo why this might be, and they’d explained that it was probably jealously. “You got the promotion he’d been angling for, Kate,” Olbeck had said, and although this sounded plausible, it seemed strange that he’d still be acting hurt and resentful two years later. Again she reminded herself that she didn’t care about the opinion of someone so petty and sexist. Occasionally she’d attempt to be friendly, wondering whether he’d ever respond in the same way. She tried again now.

“What do you think happened, Jerry?”

He sighed in an irritated manner. “Didn’t you hear the guv? We don’t know anything other than what you just heard.”

Kate said nothing more. Why did she bother? Was she trying to make him like her? Why? She didn’t care about his opinion, did she?

She was relieved to see the other officers exit the tent and make their way back to where she stood.

“Do we have an ID on the victim yet, sir?” Kate asked Anderton, provoking an irritated sigh from Jerry. She ignored him.

Anderton shook his head.

“There’s no ID at all on the body. No cards, no purse, no bag.”

“Really? That’s strange. You’d expect her to have a purse at least, even if she didn’t use a handbag.”

“Exactly,” said Anderton. “It was almost certainly removed from the body by our perpetrator.” He looked at the still surface of the canal. “We’re going to have to have that searched. It could
easily be in there, as well as the murder weapon.”

Olbeck was glancing around at the buildings surrounding them.

“Any cameras here?” he asked. “CCTV footage would help.”

“I can’t see any,” said Kate, scanning the scene. “It doesn’t look the sort of place where people would care about vandalism or theft.”

“Right, well,” said Anderton. “We need to start digging. We don’t know whether the murder actually took place here, although from the blood found at the scene, it seems likely. We don’t know who the victim is. We don’t know what the murder weapon was – yes, some kind of knife, but what kind? We’re currently operating from a standpoint of complete ignorance, and that’s not a position I like to be in.” He paused for breath. “Let’s get back to HQ, and we’ll take it from there.”

Buy
Imago (A Kate Redman Mystery: Book 3)
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