Fearful Symmetry Page 9

“I see, sir,” Kath replied, trying to process half of what had been said. “And you’re right. It isn’t illegal but at the same time, if you’d warned me then I wouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”

  “Anyway, it isn’t us you should be questioning,” Paul said, letting his indignation build again. “If you’re looking for a shady customer, you should head over to number six.”

  “Donald Pleavin?”

  “Paul, don’t…”

  “Why not? He’s always lording it up and down the street like he’s better than the rest of us with his Neighbourhood Watch,” Paul snapped. “Well, let’s just say that he’s fond of a bit of Goldilocks, too.”

  *****

  After looking at number seven Hilbre Grove and finding it locked and empty, Blake had taken himself back to HQ at Canning Place. He was relieved that the house held no surprises; having stood empty since its owner had died, it was a prime location for the killer to use. He was a little surprised that the killer had gone to all the bother of using a house that was occupied when a vacant one was available. On the flip side, at least he hadn’t found Ellen Kevney’s rotting corpse.

  Having spent the afternoon working on the case from his desk, Blake called the team together to see what they had gleaned from the Grove. One name cropped up time and again.

  “Donald Pleavin,” Andrew Kinnear said. “Gave me the creeps. The way he spoke to his wife was horrible.”

  Blake shrugged. “We can’t call him in because he gives us the creeps, Andrew. Anything more substantial?”

  “He’s got an intimate knowledge of people’s comings and goings, sir,” Kinnear said. “He knew the Taylors’ weekly social calendar like it was his own. If anyone could plan this, it would be him.”

  “Albert Green didn’t have a good word for him, either, boss,” Manikas said, flicking through his notebook. “Said he was always in and out of people’s gardens.”

  Blake nodded. “He’s certainly a character,” he said. “Come on, Kath, you’re bursting to tell us something. Spit it out.”

  “So, first off, Gretchen Jones from number six said that Pleavin tried to touch her up at a party. He seems to have something of a predatory reputation. Plus, Tina and Paul White run a cam-girl service from their home. She calls herself Lilly White. All manner of people pay to direct her over the internet…”

  “Direct her?” Blake said.

  Kath went red around the neck. “Yeah, you know, tell her what to do. Talk dirty to her. But Mr Pleavin likes a bit of bondage; ropes and gags and the like, apparently.”

  “The dirty old man,” Kinnear said, grinning at Kath. “What does her husband do? Is he a looker too?”

  “Calm down, tiger,” Kath said, grinning. “He just sets up the cameras. And no, he’s a flake.”

  “Shame,” Kinnear said.

  “Just for that, Andrew, you can take a closer look at this Lilly White. See if there might be any connection.”

  “Kath, you get Pleavin in, if you can. Getting him off his home turf might work to our advantage.”

  “Could I have a word with Mrs Pleavin while he’s out, sir?” Kinnear said. “I’m sure she has some dirt on him but won’t say anything in his presence. I think she’s scared of him.”

  “Okay, Andrew,” Blake said.

  “What about the magazine in Ellen Kevney’s car, boss? And the paintings? Is that something Pleavin would do?” Manikas looked doubtful. “Plus, he doesn’t really fit the description of Ralph Vaughan, the man who left Aphrodites club. I mean, he was using a stolen identity. It couldn’t have been Pleavin.”

  “That’s true, Alex,” Blake said. “But we can’t just ignore Pleavin, either.”

  “Almost the first thing he mentioned to you was the Searchlight TV programme, sir, d’you remember? He said he was a big fan,” Kinnear said.

  Blake pulled a face. “True. Let’s give him a call. Get him in tonight or first thing tomorrow.”

  *****

  Vikki Chinn sat in St Anne Street Station interview room with DI Bev McCallon of the National Crime Agency. She was a tall, dark-haired woman in a grey trouser suit. Opposite her, Heather Joynson twisted a soggy tissue between her fingers.

  She’d waived the right to a solicitor, even though one had arrived at the station almost before Vikki had. McCallon had introduced herself to Vikki.

  “That was a bit rash, Vikki,” McCallon had said. “Happy Homes Cleaners is a tiny cog in an international trafficking ring. The guy you arrested could easily have been armed.”

  Vikki nodded. “I know, Ma’am, I should have waited…”

  “Ah well,” McCallon had said. “Looks like you struck lucky.” She turned to the solicitor, a tall, bespectacled man, in an expensive suit. He looked oily to Vikki, with his slicked back hair and smug grin. The grin faded when McCallon announced that his services would not be needed.

  “Who did actually send you, by the way? Ms Joynson hadn’t made a call.”

  The solicitor inclined his head. “That I can’t divulge, I’m afraid. Let’s say someone who is concerned for Ms Joynson’s welfare.”

  Now, sitting in the interview room, Vikki could see how vulnerable Heather Joynson looked. Someone powerful had sent that brief and she had declined the help. It was bound to be seen as a slap in the face.

  “You’re sure you don’t want a brief here, Heather?” Bev said.

  Heather nodded. “Yeah. I want nothing more to do with that lot. They’ve made my life a misery for months and now that poor girl is dead.”

  “So, the women in the upper floor of the building that houses your cleaning company. How did they come to be there?”

  “I didn’t pay attention to that,” Heather said. “I was approached by some men who wanted to hire the upper floors. They said they would pay good money if I didn’t ask any questions. I was desperate because my business was going down the toilet. Couldn’t get decent staff. I was losing money right, left and centre.”

  “These men. Who were they?” Bev asked.

  Heather shrugged. “I don’t know. The rent money just went into my account. The faces changed all the time and they all spoke another language. Romanian, I think.”

  Vikki caught Bev’s eye and she nodded. “Heather. How did Katerina Dragavei come to be working for you?”

  Heather’s hatchet face softened. “Once I realised the girls were being kept up there, I tried to think of some way I could help them without getting into trouble myself. These men were like leeches; they hooked into my business, watched me all the time and I couldn’t say anything.”

  “So you hatched a plan?”

  “I thought if one girl could get out, maybe she could raise the alarm and save the others. And one day Katerina sneaked downstairs. She was a bright kid. We thought if I could persuade them to let her work for me as a cleaner, then it might give her a chance.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well it worked, didn’t it? I got her passport to hold over her as a threat and she got to work for me. The deal was to do a few cleaning jobs and not run at first. Gain their confidence, see what I mean?”

  Bev nodded. “Right. But then what happened?”

  “She didn’t come back from one of the jobs. They dropped her off but when they went back to pick her up, the house was closed up and there was no sign of her. I thought she’d done it. Got away and run for it.” Heather Joynson dabbed the tissue to her face. “Instead, she was murdered.”

  “Do you think it’s possible that the gang that rented your building killed her?” Vikki asked.

  “I’m sure they’re capable of it,” Heather said. “They treat people like cattle. I’m not worried for myself. I don’t care anymore. I couldn’t bear what they were doing. Those poor girls getting shipped around the country for God knows what.”

  Later, when they’d finished, McCallon passed Vikki a coffee. “D’you think they killed the girl?” Vikki said.

  “It doesn’t seem likely,” McCallon said. “They aren’t stupid. If they were goi
ng to do it, they’d dump her somewhere that couldn’t be traced back to Happy Homes Cleaning. “Besides, weren’t there other features to this case? A picture connected to your celebrity DCI?”

  Vikki grinned. “William Blake? Yes, ma’am.”

  “I can’t imagine the traffickers spending time adding touches like that. Besides, the girls are a commodity. They’re sold into slavery. No, I’m afraid poor Katerina was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Slavery,” Vikki muttered. “The Little Black Boy poem was meant to be about slavery, I think.”

  “A very subtle touch. Whatever sick bastard’s doing the killing, Vikki, I don’t think they’re part of this outfit.”

  “Which leads us back to the residents of Hilbre Grove,” Vikki muttered. “Literally a dead end.”

  It didn’t surprise me that it took them so long to find my second victim. In my plan, it would have been a little later before the second one was discovered. It’s a bit like timing fireworks to go off. Maybe they’re smarter than I give them credit for. Maybe.

  Again, it was nothing personal. I didn’t get any kind of kick out of killing him. There had to be another victim. Everything was done for a reason. Even if you’re particularly sadistic or you mutilate the body in some hideous way, you’re instantly forgotten if you just kill one person. You’re just a person who has killed someone. The public might think you’re a sick fuck but, in their minds, there’s little difference between you and someone who kills in a fight. I know there’s the whole thing about intent; obviously a careless driver is careless and didn’t set out to murder someone. I suppose what I’m saying is that if you kill one person, you might be a murderer but that’s all you are. When only one person dies, the public care more about the victim than the killer.

  Kill more than one person and the public starts to pay attention. They start to wonder: ‘Why did he do that? What drove him to such extremes?’ More than one victim and maybe a pattern emerges. Or at least you search for one. Herd instinct begins to kick in; forget the individual, watch out for the killer. Instantly, the prey is forgotten, and the hunter takes the stage. Front and centre.

  I’m glad they found him. Things are hotting up now. We’re in the crucible where base metals are turned to sparkling gold.

  Chapter 17

  Blake reached home late again, too tired to even think about food. He just wanted to sleep. It had been another frustrating day and he was no nearer solving the murders or finding Ellen Kevney. Laura met him at the door, holding Serafina. “God, you look shattered,” she said.

  “I am,” Blake replied, slipping past her into the house. “Between mad old men and cam girls, I’ve had about enough for one day.”

  “I texted you.”

  “I know. I can’t really reply when I’m at work.”

  “Well what about lunchtime?”

  “Lunchtime? What’s that?”

  “Surely you can take thirty seconds just to…”

  Blake held up his hand. “Look, I really don’t want to talk about this, now. I want to go to bed and sleep.”

  “Your brother Jeff rang. He didn’t know about me. I had to introduce myself.”

  “I’m sure you managed,” Blake said, rubbing his face. Two bodies lay in cold storage and Ellen Kevney was somewhere, either dead or close to it. Anything else was irrelevant. “What did he want anyway? As if I didn’t know. Money. Have we sold this house, yet?”

  “He’s worried about you, Will…”

  “He’s worried about me getting too comfortable in this house. That’s what he’s worried about. Talking to you will only have increased his paranoia. He’ll think I’ve moved you in; that we’re taking up residence.”

  “Well what are we doing, Will? I come round here and find the house empty. You turn up late in the night exhausted and irritable. What am I meant to do? Stay? Go home? I don’t know. It’s like I’m meant to just be there when you need me and I don’t know when that is.”

  Serafina growled in agreement.

  “I’m going to bed,” Blake said, dragging himself upstairs.

  *****

  The figure crouched in the darkness. Ellen knew he was there. She had managed to doze for a while but had been jolted awake by pins and needles in her legs. And she’d quickly become aware of him as he shifted position, a darker outline in the gloom of the container.

  “It’s always hard to know what to do for the best, Ellen,” he whispered. “I take no pleasure in the suffering this causes you or anyone else. You must understand that.”

  “Then let me go,” Ellen said. “Blindfold me. Take me somewhere quiet and deserted and let me go. I won’t ever know who you are or where you’ve been keeping me.”

  “What I was going to say was that I do take pleasure in how things are unfolding. Did you ever play with dominoes as a child, Ellen?”

  “Dominoes?”

  “Yes. You know, those wooden tiles. Did you ever set them up in a line and knock the first one over, taking pleasure in the knock-on effect as each domino in the line fell in turn?”

  “Yeah,” Ellen said, trying to keep up with the whisperer in the dark. Her head throbbed and she felt hollow with hunger. “I did.”

  “It’s like that. The dominoes are falling just like I intended and it’s fun! But there’s no way to stop things once you’ve flicked that first domino and that happened a long time ago.”

  “Where’s Ralph? What have you done with him?”

  There was a moment’s silence as if the man was thinking. “So, after almost three weeks, you still think about him. Do you miss him? Do you think he might turn up and rescue you?”

  Ellen curled up into a ball, hugging her knees to her chest. “No.”

  “Forget him. He’s dead and gone. The dominoes are falling, Ellen, one by one. and we’re all dominoes in this little line that I’ve constructed. Except I’ve noticed a glitch…”

  “What do you mean?”

  The man shifted in the darkness and Ellen knew he had stood up. “It would take too long to explain, Ellen but, in a nutshell, I’m afraid someone is going to have to die.”

  *****

  Andrew Kinnear pulled up outside his small, detached house. It was a new-build on an estate on the edge of Knowsley, just by the M57. It was far enough away from the centre of town to be quiet and trouble-free. The constant rumble of traffic filled the air as he climbed out of his car. He and Chris had fallen in love with the house the moment they saw it and decided to settle there. It was nothing special; three bedrooms, brick-built with a white cladding, but it was Kinnear’s castle. Chris had nurtured the small garden after digging what seemed like another house-worth of bricks out of the clay soil. The upstairs light was on; that meant Chris was still up and working.

  Letting himself in, Andrew shouted up the stairs. “I’m home!”

  “Up here, finishing off assessments,” Chris called down. “There’s some lasagna in the oven if you’re hungry.”

  Andrew grinned. He kicked off his shoes and shuffled into the kitchen, pulling a bag of crisps out of the food cupboard. “Not really that hungry. Going to watch some cam girls. You interested?” he grinned as he heard feet thumping down the stairs.

  Chris poked his freckly face around the door. “You what?” His jutting jawbone and cheeks, gangly arms and knobbly knees gave him an angular kind of appearance. With his mop of unruly blond hair, Chris wasn’t classically handsome, but he always managed to look good. He did to Andrew anyway. Andrew Kinnear often said it was Chris’s kindness and selflessness that shone through and made Chris so attractive. To which Chris would put his hand on his heart and say, “Babe, that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me. Have you got a bucket I can be sick in?”

  Andrew waggled his eyebrows. “Just thought it’d be a change, that’s all…”

  “Tell me Blake hasn’t given you the job of watching some dodgy porn,” Chris said, looking pained. “I was thinking more something on Netflix?”

&nb
sp; “Thought you had assessments to do. Those children will want to know if they’ve passed, you know, Mr Teacher.”

  “They’ll keep. Not due in until next week,” Chris said, giving Andrew a hug and a peck on the cheek. “Anyway, what’re these?” Chris snatched the crisp packet from Andrew’s fingers. “I made a vegetarian lasagna; all calorie controlled for you and this is how you repay me.”

  “I’m just not that hungry…”

  “You never are until you pass a Gregg’s and the call of the steak slice draws you in!”

  Andrew laughed and went into the living room, picking up his tablet from the glass coffee table. “We’re investigating this murder and it involves a cam girl called Lilly White…”

  “God it sounds like a sanitary towel,” Chris muttered. “So this woman makes money by showing off in front of a webcam?”

  “Supports her husband, too…” Andrew said.

  “If you keep wiggling your eyebrows like that, Andrew Kinnear, I’m going to shave one off when you’re asleep.”

  “It’s hardly an effective alter-ego either, really; it’s so close to her real name.”

  It took a little searching but eventually, Andrew found a site that advertised Lilly White and he recognised Tina White’s face. “Here we go… oh,” he said, staring at the paywall sign.

  “How are you going to claim that back on expenses?”

  “I’ll get it off Blakey. I’m sure he’ll stump up,” Kinnear lied. He put his card details into the site and began scrolling through Tina’s page. There were links to pictures, videos and numerous calls to click and say, ‘Hi!’ Some of the images and videos had comment boxes beneath them filled with lewd remarks.

  Every now and then, either he or Chris would utter a gasp or a, ‘Oh my word’ as they were presented with various bizarre images and scenarios.

  “Some of this is seriously flaky,” Chris said. “Why did Blake pick you to look at it?”

  Andrew pulled a face. “I kind of accidentally volunteered. Ooh, hello.”

  “What?”

  “Ralph 69 – Anytime you want your rug cleaning, my beauty…” Kinnear read out loud.