Authors: James Raven
‘Did Slade explain why he had the snake around his neck?’
‘He said he was clearing a nest of them from his back garden. But the father said that was no reason to scare people who called at his house. He wanted a grovelling apology but Slade told him to piss off. That’s when it turned nasty. The guy threatened him with violence and suddenly two blokes appeared from inside the house. They dragged
the father back to his car and told him that if he came back they’d punch his face in.’
‘Who were the guys?’
‘Nobody knows and when I asked Slade he told me to mind my own business. But according to Ned they were really unpleasant and not from around here.’
‘Did he go to the police?’
‘Of course not. What was the point? He was the one who started making threats.’
I took a swig of my beer; felt I needed it. ‘And there was me thinking that nothing much happens in sleepy little Burley,’ I said. ‘Houston is tame by comparison.’
I then told Ray about our own weird encounter with the adder. His reaction surprised me.
‘It’s not uncommon for the little bastards to get into a house,’ he said. ‘Especially if they’re nesting close by. But you were lucky it was dead. Live ones pack a poisonous punch.’
I stayed chatting to Ray Turner for another half an hour. I had a second pint of beer – on him this time – and the more we spoke the more uneasy I began to feel.
I was pretty sure he’d embellished his account of Nathan Slade’s behaviour, and probably the story of the snake too, but it was still pretty macabre.
I left the pub after promising to come back with Nicole later in the week. He was keen to meet her and bring her up to date on what life had been like in Burley since she’d moved to Texas. The village was even busier now. I noticed a couple of TV news trucks parked up in the main street and there were more police officers wandering around. I also spotted a few press photographers and a television camera crew. The girl’s murder had clearly become a major national news story and it was my guess the village had never seen anything quite like it.
As I walked towards the Black Cat Tea Rooms my mind tried to process what I’d been told. But I really wasn’t sure what to make of it. Or whether it was in any way relevant to my family and me. After all, we were only renting King’s Manor for a short period. Sure, I had a strange feeling about the place – more a wary instinct that something was slightly and deliberately out of kilter there. But so what? We’d
soon be returning to the States and no doubt another family would be moving in.
So how much should I tell Nicole and the kids? Did they really need to know that the house was said to be haunted and that the owner was, according to his wife, sick in the head? Wouldn’t it just alarm them? Make them feel uncomfortable staying there? It was a real dilemma and one I hadn’t resolved by the time I stepped into the café. Luckily I was there before the others so I had time to think about it over a cup of coffee.
When they finally turned up, weighed down with gift-shop bags, I’d come to a decision. And that was to say nothing, except that my first pint of real English beer had gone down a treat.
T
emple stared at the photograph. It was in high quality colour and showed a naked girl in her twenties suspended from a ceiling by ropes tied to her wrists and ankles. There was a red ball gag in her mouth and a brown leather strap around her head to hold it in place.
Another girl about the same age stood to one side holding a long, thin cane. She was also naked except for a pair of nylon stockings. This girl was facing the camera and Temple recognized her at once. She had the same long dark hair and high cheekbones as the girl in the album that Angel had just shown him … Genna Boyd.
The photograph was on the sleeve of a pornographic DVD entitled
Bondage Heaven
. It was one of five DVDs they’d found at the bottom of the wardrobe in Genna’s bedroom. In another cover photo she was standing astride a young man who was lying on the floor having been ‘hogtied’ with ropes that rendered him helpless and immobile. The other three DVDs featured less painful forms of sexual activity – a lesbian threesome, solo performances with sex toys, various
encounters
between well-endowed men and women. Genna Boyd appeared on all the covers.
Temple was no prude when it came to pornography. But in the context of a criminal investigation – especially one involving murder or rape – his attitude shifted somewhat, became less tolerant and more wary. Porn was often the motivational factor behind serious sex crimes. And the discovery of the DVDs meant that this was an avenue of inquiry they would have to pursue.
Genna Boyd was obviously part of that vulgar and dangerous world; a world in which the boundaries of moral decency did not exist. The moment she stepped onto the set of a porn movie or became a sex worker, she set herself up as a potential target. It wouldn’t have taken
long for any number of sexual predators to spot her on their radar screens.
‘Have you noticed that all the DVDs were produced by the same company?’ Angel said. ‘And it’s based in Southampton.’
Temple flipped over the one he was holding. On the back cover was a crude montage of images showing Genna doing nasty things to various girls who were bound and gagged. Underneath that a small box containing the production credit –
Filthy Films, Southampton UK
. There were no other details, but it wouldn’t take the team long to find out all they needed to know about the company and who was running it. It would be a small outfit, for sure. Maybe a one-man operation. It didn’t take much in the way of manpower and resources these days to tap into the lucrative porn market. You no longer needed expensive equipment and crews. New high-tech cameras and PC-based editing meant that top quality material could be produced on a shoestring – and most performers came cheap.
As for distribution – well that was the easiest part of all. Footage could be uploaded onto internet pay sites or sold directly through virtual adult DVD stores. And the audience for porn was enormous. Temple had seen the statistics and they were shocking. More than twenty-five per cent of all search engine requests were porn related. Nearly forty per cent of all internet downloads were pornographic material. And every taste was catered for. He didn’t doubt that the films they’d found were already out there in cyberspace and probably on sale in sex shops across the UK.
He viewed this as a disturbing development. Partly because it dramatically increased the possibility that Genna Boyd was murdered by a complete stranger. And partly because the tabloids were going to turn the whole thing into a media circus once they got wind of what kind of girl she was.
The scene-of-crime team arrived at the flat along with a contingent of uniforms. Temple organized the bagging of some of the priority evidence that he wanted rushed back to the incident room so it could be collated and followed up. This included the DVDs and all Genna Boyd’s personal documents. Her mobile phone details had already been passed on.
He and Angel then talked to Christine Faber in more detail about her neighbour, but she added very little to what she had already told them. She was shocked to learn that Genna’s flat had been ransacked and said she hadn’t heard any unusual noises or seen any suspicious people over the past few days.
As the uniforms started door-to-door inquiries in the block, and along the rest of the street, Temple told Angel to hang around and oversee things.
‘Speak to Genna’s landlord,’ he said. ‘And get someone to check on CCTV cameras. There are none covering the block but we might strike lucky if nearby streets are covered.’
‘And where are you going, Guv?’
‘The mortuary, to check on the post mortem results. Get one of the patrols to give you a lift back to the station. We’ll have a briefing session this afternoon.’
As soon as Temple entered the chilly hospital mortuary his thoughts snapped back to the investigation. Coming here was a necessary evil, and he hated it: the smells, the insipid colours, the suffocating air of misery that hung in the air like an invisible cloud.
He only ever stayed as long as he had to. He wasn’t one of those detectives who liked to witness autopsies. He just wanted to get the results, ask a few questions and be on his way before the stench of death and decay turned his stomach.
The pathologist, Dr Matherson, knew better than to try to interest Temple in all the gory procedural details. So when Temple walked into the autopsy room, having put on a hospital gown, there was no long, drawn-out preamble.
‘It’ll come as no surprise that the victim died from the stab wounds,’ he said. ‘I can’t be precise with the time of death until I’ve done more tests, but I’d say it was four days ago based on what I’ve found so far. It’s my guess she was buried within hours of being murdered. The killer did a piss poor job of covering the body. No doubt he rushed it.’
The murdered girl lay supine on the stainless steel table. The blood and muck had been washed away and her skin had taken on a
green-grey
tinge. As Temple stared at her his complexion grew ashen. Matherson had already started the post mortem examination. He had
opened up the torso with a Y-shaped incision to get at the organs. Some had already been removed and placed in trays.
‘Both wounds are approximately five inches deep,’ Matherson continued as he turned the body on its side with the help of his young assistant, whose name was Samuel. He then pointed at one of two gashes in the flesh. ‘With this one the blade travelled between two ribs and perforated the right lung, leading to an accumulation of two hundred millilitres of blood. As you can see, the second wound is located lower down the back and this perforated the left lung, with just over a thousand millilitres of blood accumulation. Both wounds would be considered fatal.’
Matherson and his assistant lowered the body to its original
position
.
He went on, ‘The blade used has one cutting edge which is serrated. Most likely a form of kitchen knife. Both wounds show hilt marks at point of entry, which gives an indication of the sheer force behind each thrust of the weapon.’
‘What about angle of entry?’ Temple asked.
Matherson nodded. ‘Both wounds are angled slightly upwards, which suggests her killer used underhand thrusts. That’s the favoured technique of males. Women prefer the overhand method.’
Temple averted his gaze from the corpse and started making some notes.
‘There was a great deal of blood,’ Matherson said, ‘so the murder scene would have been pretty messy. We found various carpet fibres on the clothes and the bin bags. I think you’ll find that some of the fibres are from the boot of a car.’
‘Which is consistent with our theory that she was driven to the spot and dumped,’ Temple said.
The pathologist nodded. ‘Absolutely.’
‘So what else can you tell me?’
Matherson spoke as he peered at the dead girl’s face through a large magnifying glass.
‘As you can see I’m not through here yet and I’m still waiting for the results of routine toxicology tests. However, I’ve found no evidence that she was sexually active immediately before she was killed. And there’s no indication of sexual assault – there are no vaginal lesions.
There are some unsightly bite marks but they were put there by animals. And there are no defensive wounds, which tells me the killer took her by surprise.
‘She’s never had a child and she doesn’t seem to have any
congenital
abnormalities. There are no significant distinguishing marks apart from the ankle tattoo. But there are faint bruises and scars on her buttocks consistent with being struck over a period of time. So maybe the lady was into sadomasochism.’
‘Spot on,’ Temple said.
He told Matherson about the DVDs they had found.
‘I think it’s safe to assume that she preferred to give punishment rather than take it,’ Matherson said. ‘Otherwise I’m sure there would be more evidence of old injuries.’
Matherson confirmed that DNA swabs had been taken. He said he’d send a full report to the incident room as soon as it was ready. That was all Temple needed to know. He gave a sigh of relief and hurried back outside.
The day had become overcast and dark clouds were gathering at the edges of the grey sky. He walked to his car and got in. His eyes felt like they were burning in the corners; a sure sign of tiredness. He checked himself in the rear-view mirror and saw that they were bloodshot. The skin around them was coarse and lined. He looked every bit his age and for the umpteenth time he wondered what the hell Angel saw in him.
He was about to start the car when he took a call from Detective Constable Neil Buchan in the incident room. The DC wanted Temple to know they’d received the phone records from Genna Boyd’s mobile service provider. The call list covered the past month.
‘What’s interesting is that the very last call was made four days ago and it was to a number in the United States,’ Buchan said. ‘The call was timed at 5 p.m. GMT and lasted less than a minute.’
‘That was most likely the day she was murdered,’ Temple said, intrigued.
‘That’s why I’m alerting you, sir. It could be significant.’
‘Do we know where in the States?’
‘Sure do. It was Texas. The phone is registered to someone named Jack Keaton.’
‘Have you tried ringing the number?’
‘I have, but there’s no answer.’
‘Well keep trying. And find out all you can about this guy. I want to know what his connection is to Genna Boyd.’
W
e spent the afternoon exploring the forest around Burley. We did it at a leisurely pace because everyone was feeling tired and ragged.
We drove slowly along winding lanes and stopped at beauty spots to take photographs. I managed to snap a few grey squirrels, some rabbits and dozens of those ubiquitous little ponies. We checked out the famous Rufus Stone, an iron monument marking the spot where King William II – whose nickname was Rufus – is said to have been killed by an arrow during a hunt in the year 1100. After that we went to see the largest tree in the forest, the Knightwood Oak, which has a girth of over seven and a half metres and is six hundred years old.
By five o’clock we were ready to call it a day so we headed back to King’s Manor. I entered the house with some trepidation, having failed to suppress a mounting paranoia. All afternoon I’d been reflecting on what the pub landlord had told me about the property and its strange owner, Nathan Slade. His words had resurrected my anxiety; made me edgy and suspicious.
It came as a relief to find that the house was as we’d left it. I made sure I was the first up the stairs to check the rooms. They were all empty. Even so, uneasy thoughts continued to tug at my mind. And it wasn’t just because of what Ray Turner had told me. There were still those things that had happened that couldn’t be explained, despite Nicole’s best efforts to do so.
I went into the bathroom, locked the door and sat on the toilet. I needed some quiet time to rein in my scattered thoughts. They were making me tense, and that was a shame. I should have been relaxed, focused on making sure that the vacation was a great success. But in truth I would have been happy to pack up and go back to Texas on the
first available flight. The lawyer in me told me to get a grip, that I was not being at all rational. But there was another, louder voice telling me I should have listened to the girl on the phone and cancelled the trip.
You have to stay away from this place … Your family will not be safe here … Please cancel your plans and go on holiday somewhere else …
Questions whirled around inside my head. Who the hell was she? Why did she call me? Why did she not ring back? How had she got my name and number? And how had she known we were planning to come here? But these were questions I should have asked myself when I took the call.
I was conscious of an agonizing build-up of guilt inside me. I should have told Nicole about the warning. We could have then decided together whether or not to come. And I should have told her about my conversation with Ray Turner. Christ, I was digging a hole for myself and I feared that at some point the walls were going to collapse in on me.
After a couple of minutes I heard Nicole calling my name. I stood up, flushed the toilet, washed my hands and face.
As I stepped out onto the landing she was coming up the stairs. ‘There you are,’ she said. ‘I’ve been calling you.’
‘What’s up?’
‘It’s the landlord. Mr Slade. He’s on the phone. I thought it best if you spoke to him.’
I felt my jaw clench. ‘At fucking last.’
I followed Nicole down the stairs and into the living room.
She pointed to the house phone. The hand piece was resting on the side table.
‘At least it’s working now,’ Nicole said.
I picked up the phone, pushing down the rage that was threatening to overwhelm me, said, ‘This is Jack Keaton.’
‘Hello there, Mr Keaton. It’s Nathan here. Nathan Slade. I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to call you before now.’
His words and his softly spoken voice took the wind out of my sails.
‘I had some urgent business to attend to in London,’ he said. ‘And I forgot to take my mobile phone. I only just got your messages.’
He sounded sincere; both an apology and an explanation. What more could I reasonably ask for? I felt my anger subside.
‘I wanted to talk to you about some problems we’ve had,’ I said.
‘What kind of problems?’
I cleared my throat. ‘Well when we arrived we found a dead adder in one of the beds. It gave my daughter a real fright.’
‘Oh dear. I’m really sorry. That’s never happened before.’
‘Well luckily no harm was done,’ I said. ‘But if it hadn’t been dead my daughter might well have been bitten.’
‘Then please accept my apology,’ he said. ‘This time of year there are a lot of them around. Sometimes they manage to get into
properties
if doors are left open. That must be what happened.’
‘But that’s not all,’ I said. ‘Yesterday we went for a walk. When we got back there was this awful smell. It didn’t last long, but it was very unsettling.’
‘I have no idea what that could have been,’ Slade said. ‘But I’ll come out to the house and check all the pipes. It might be a blockage in the sewage outlet.’
‘Did you happen to drop by yesterday?’ I asked.
‘No, why?’
‘Well, we went out for a walk and wondered if we’d missed you.’
‘Like I said, I only just got back from London.’
I suddenly couldn’t remember what other questions I’d wanted to ask him. That was probably because in the light of what he’d said so far they no longer seemed so important. Nicole caught my attention. She’d been sitting on the sofa listening to my side of the conversation and was now signalling for me to thank him for the food and drink.
‘By the way we’d like to thank you for all the goodies you left for us, especially the champagne.’
‘You’re most welcome,’ he said. ‘It’s important to me that my guests are comfortable when they stay in King’s Manor. In view of the
problems
you’ve just mentioned I intend to give you a significant discount on the cost of your accommodation.’
‘Well that’s not what I’m asking for,’ I said.
‘I realize that, Mr Keaton. But I insist. It’s the least I can do.’
‘Well, thank you.’
‘My pleasure. Now, are there any other issues you would like to raise?’
‘I don’t think so,’ I said.
‘In that case I’ll leave you to enjoy your stay and look forward to meeting you later in the week.’
I hung up the phone and told Nicole what he’d said.
‘Well I think he’s being more than reasonable,’ she said. ‘I hope he’s put your mind at ease.’
‘I guess so.’
She stood up and headed for the kitchen.
‘So why don’t you open a bottle of wine and I’ll sort dinner? I think we should have a nice relaxing evening.’
‘Sounds good,’ I said.
I trailed after her and went to the refrigerator. Took out a bottle of Pinot. The seal on the screw top was already broken, so I wondered if Slade had helped himself to a tiny tipple before leaving it for us. I thought about what he’d said on the phone. Nicole was right. He was being pretty reasonable, and what’s more he had come across as rather pleasant. He certainly hadn’t sounded like a sick in the head pervert or a man who would be abusive to women in pubs. And that made me feel less tense and more relaxed during dinner.
‘I have to go to bed,’ Nicole said. ‘If I don’t I think I’ll collapse.’
She was pale, glassy-eyed. Her shoulders were slouched and she looked dead on her feet. But she wasn’t the only one. Tina and Michael had already gone upstairs because they could barely keep their eyes open. And I felt floppy and listless. My eyelids had begun to droop. Yet it was only eight o’clock.
I couldn’t figure out why we were all more tired than the hour would normally have made us. It had been the same the previous evening. Exhaustion had come upon us suddenly, dulling our senses and making our movements slow, almost sluggish. Maybe it was the country air. Or maybe our bodies were still out of sync with the local time due to jet lag.
As Nicole retreated upstairs I closed all the doors on the ground floor. I also made sure that everything was secure. I flicked off the TV standby switch and checked that all was in order inside the mains fuse box.
Nicole was coming out of the en-suite bathroom as I entered the bedroom. I could smell the toothpaste on her breath. A ghost of a smile
crossed her face and she said, ‘Don’t worry, hon. Everything will be all right tomorrow. You’ll see.’
I pulled her to me, squeezed her gently. Her body felt tight and knotted.
‘I love you,’ I whispered.
She breathed out a slightly ragged breath. ‘I love you too – very much.’
A couple of minutes later, after I had brushed my teeth, we were snuggling up in bed under the duvet. I allowed sleep to roll over me quickly, just letting go into the darkness.