Unlikely Killer Page 8

  With Mr Cheeseman on one arm, and Mr Aldredge on the other, Elaine led the two childlike men from the dining room to the day room and helped them into their seats. She had just finished supervising dinner time for the residents who could still leave their rooms easily, and, glancing at her watch, she noticed it was half past five, nearly home time.

  Walking towards the reception desk, she decided to give Mr Joyce another ten minutes with Maud until she reminded him to leave, but was surprised to see an envelope addressed to her on the desk. Picking it up, she tore it open and scanned the hurried letter within:

  ‘Dear Elaine. Thank you for today, it has been wonderful, and most satisfactory, we had a lovely time. Juli Maud was great company, but I must admit that I seem to have worn her out, she has fallen asleep again after her dinner. I have laid her down and left her to it. Unable to find you, I have left this note, and hopefully I will see you again soon, next Tuesday if that’s okay. Best regards, Paul Joyce.’

  Elaine chuckled to herself, enamoured with the pleasant letter, although the writing was quite scruffy, almost illegible. How was she going to wait a whole week before seeing that lovely man again?

  Wednesday 28th May

  It had been a long night for Sarah Johnston in The Ridings Nursing Home. There had been several disturbances amongst the residents, one man had tried to escape, a lady had had a fall in her bedroom, breaking her hip in the process, so had been admitted to hospital. The unusual events had kept many of the residents awake, and Sarah had not been able to do her normal nightly rounds because of the extra work. Finding the lifeless Maud Blessing in her bed this morning was the last straw: Sarah hated this job sometimes.

  By the time Elaine’s shift began, Doctor Waring had officially pronounced that Maud Blessing was dead, he was sure that she had suffered a heart attack. She’d done well to reach the age of eighty-five, especially with her Alzheimers being so advanced. Elaine was mildly surprised at the diagnosis, usually pneumonia caused the early death of people afflicted with the vicious disease, but, as Sarah mused, Maud was very elderly, she was bound to go soon.

  Elaine pulled the tattered note from her handbag, as she had done countless times since the previous day, and unfolded it privately. Would Julia Anton inform Paul Joyce of his great grandmother’s death? She doubted it. How could she contact him to let him know? Poor Paul. Poor Maud. At least they got to spend her last day together.

  It was mid afternoon by the time Paul finally arrived back in Peasenhall, the journey had been tiresome, and the uncommonly hot weather had increased his discomfort. Gratefully, he stepped off the bus, stretched his legs, and crossed the road, heading for the village shop. Rose, or was it Katie, would be ravenous by now, having not eaten for, what, four, or was it five, days. He dropped the shopping into a bag, and sauntered back to the derelict barn, eager to see his precious prisoner.

  Moving the rotten wood aside, he clambered through the makeshift doorway, and was hit by a foul odour. He dropped the shopping, and scrabbled towards the hay and rubble structure which housed Katie. Throwing the bales aside, he ripped his torch from his pocket urgently, sensing a problem. His fears were confirmed.

  “No! Rose, no!” Paul grabbed Katie’s shoulders and wrenched her head from the bucket, shoving her on the bales with disgust. Her body was rigid, but moveable, and her head slumped awkwardly to one side as she fell. Tentatively, his heart racing with shock, Paul leant over and tore the gag from her dripping face, throwing the sodden rag aside. Vainly, he hoped her chest would rise with life, but the morbid blue tinge of her waterlogged, swollen cheeks told him his hopes were futile. Katie had drowned in the water he’d left to keep her alive.

  Paul stood up, he angrily kicked the bucket aside, the murderous water splashing over the dry, musky hay. Tearing at his hair, his voice was shaky, the quavering pitiful. “What do I do now, tell me God, help me here. What the hell do I do now?”

  A rogue tear rolled down his cheek, and Paul slumped heavily beside Katie’s still body. He shined the light over her once more, observing that she was as pretty in death as she had been in life. The torch fell from his hands, he wiped the tear away roughly, before holding his head tightly and rocking back and forth. He needed to hear God more than ever now, he was clueless of what to do next. He needed instructions.

  Soon God’s voice exploded confidently, and relief flooded over Paul. It didn’t make a difference that Katie was already dead, he could still complete his task. In three days time it would be the thirty first of May, the day he was due to recreate Rose Harsent’s death. Paul was to use his imagination and behave as if Katie was still alive on the sacred day. He was to take Katie’s body to Providence house and mutilate it, just as Rose Harsent’s had been one hundred and six years before. In fact, her early death was a good thing, at least she wouldn’t struggle, and there wouldn’t be too much blood.

  Saturday 31st May

  Maud Blessing’s demise had passed without comment. Because there were no suspicions over her death, no autopsy was required. The medical certificate signed by Doctor Waring stated she had died from myocardial infarction, a heart attack, probably caused by the arrhythmia that she had suffered from for the past two years.

  Julia Anton wasn’t particularly upset to lose her mother. She had loved her dearly, but realistically Maud had died years before when the vice like Alzheimers had seized her. The lady Julia had visited every Saturday for the past ten months was simply an empty shell. Methodically, Julia registered the death the next day, placed a small obituary in the local paper, and busied herself with the funeral arrangements. Maud’s house had been sold a year before to pay for the costly nursing home fees, and Julia was the only child, so the will would be straightforward. If anything, the only emotion Julia allowed herself to feel was relief that her mother wasn’t suffering, trapped in a foetal body, any longer.

  Paul scanned the details of his duties for that evening on his organiser, and clicked it off. It was an unnecessary act, every element was already embedded in his memory, but the day was going slowly and he was eager for the evening to come.

  The previous day he had ventured to the nearby Halesworth, and had been ecstatic to find a delicate, floor skimming, black dress in an antique shop. Rose Harsent had been a maid at Providence House, so finding the ideal garment was surely fate.

  Carefully, he had removed Katie’s soiled trouser suit, and dragged the gown over her floppy limbs, lifting her slightly to tug it down to her feet. The weather had been uncommonly warm, and her smell had become offensive, but his feelings for her had only increased, this was going to be the most perfectly recreated duty yet.

  Once dressed, Paul propped Katie’s body against a bale of hay, and scraped her matted, greasy waves into a neat chignon. It was difficult, with every tug her body flopped to the side, but the result was splendid. He evened the bluish tinge of her skin with foundation purchased in Halesworth, and blackened her eyes dramatically with several layers of mascara. Paul stood back, taking in her new, peaceful beauty, admiring his handiwork.

  The Katie he had chosen had been a stunning woman, her bone structure was proud, and her melting eyes soulful, but the replacement Rose he had created from her body was even more captivating. There was an air of sophistication about her, but it was touched with vulnerability. Katie now had a compelling tranquillity that only death could provide her. Paul realised he loved her. Very much.

  “Mister Krein …”

  “Detective Inspector!” His temper was short with frustration.

  “Sorry, this is Karen Parsons from the MBNA bank, I’m calling regarding a credit card registered under the name of A Keeley.”

  Krein sat up straight, was this the call he had been waiting for? “Go on.”

  “The card has been used today in a place called Halesworth, that’s in Suffolk. The card was used twice.”

  “Suffolk. Saxmundham’s in Suffolk, isn’t it?” The question was to himself, rather than Miss Parsons.

  “I h
ave no idea, sir. Would you like the details?”

  “Yes, yes please. Hold on, I’ll just grab a pen.” Krein rooted through the mess on his desk until a cheap biro appeared, and scribbled the information on a pad, repeating the words quietly for her validation. “The Aulde Antique Shop, oh, Shoppe, twenty pounds, black mock Victorian servant’s dress.” He paused, his voice now incredulous. “Stop a second. Did you say a mock Victorian dress! What the bloody hell does he want with a dress?”

  She was clearly bored. “Sir, I can only tell you what I have here. Shall I continue?”

  “I’m sorry, please go on.” And again he repeated her for clarification. “Cash withdrawn from the HSBC bank, two hundred pounds.”

  “That’s it.”

  “Hold on, don’t go. The dress, was the purchase chip and pin, or signature?” Krein could hear scrabbling over the line.

  “Signature.”

  “Has anyone checked the signature against her card yet?” Although enthusiastic about the new lead, Krein despaired that the events were happening so far from Oxford. Suffolk might as well be Norway as far as he was concerned.

  “We won’t get the docket back for a couple of days, but as soon as we do we’ll check.”

  Krein was outraged, impatient. “No, we need to take the slip for forensic testing, I don’t want it sent back to you …”

  “That’s not under my control.” Her voice was bland, but the tone final. The phone line went dead.

  “Thanks.” Krein slammed the receiver down, pushing his aching back against the backrest of his seat. “Raynor.” Raynor looked over. “Contact the Suffolk Constabulary, I need an officer to collect this credit card transaction slip before it gets sent in the post.” Krein waved the pad in the air. “Make sure they’re aware that it’s evidence so they don’t add to any prints.” Raynor collected the notepad and took it back to his desk. “Get a statement from the cashier who dealt with the sale, too, see if they can describe the purchaser.”

  “No problem.”

  “Get a copy of the slip emailed to us as well.” Krein leant back again, his mind whirring with the latest development. A dress? Why would this man want a dress? He can’t be so stupid that he doesn’t realise the card transactions are being traced. Why would he risk discovery for a dress?

  Police Constable Todd Holden pushed open the glass door and walked into the cluttered antiques shop. Mabel Fairs glanced over and beamed widely in recognition. “Good afternoon, Todd, are you alright?”

  “I’m fine, thanks, Mabel. Yourself?” Todd never ceased to be amused with the local vocabulary: he’d only moved to the area a year before. They chatted for a few minutes before Todd explained why he was there.

  “Yes, I remember the dress, it was fake you know, and not that good a fake either. But the gentleman seemed most pleased with it. He asked if there was a white pinafore to go with it, but, as you know, we don’t usually carry clothing, so I had nothing else to give him.”

  “Do you remember what he looked like at all?” Todd was editing out the unnecessary details as he scribbled notes on his notepad.

  “Oh yes, dear. He was a young lad. Well, dear, I’m seventy-two, so you all seem like babies to me! He was very young.”

  “How young, my age? Teenager? Forties?”

  “Oh dear, maybe early twenties, something that region. He may have been younger, he had a young face. Very nice looking chap, although his hair could do with a decent cut, it was pretty scruffy, but then they all are nowadays, aren’t they. Men with ponytails, women in micro skirts. Oh, and the shoes. I blame it on the sixties you know.”

  “What colour was his hair?”

  “Oh, a sort of brown, well, light brown. It was short, spiky, badly cut. If I had a chance, you know, I’d get all these youngsters, scrub them up, put suits on them, and make them look decent for a change!”

  “Did you see what he was wearing?”

  “Pretty much what they all wear, dear, these youngsters. Those dreadful denim trousers, and they don’t even iron them. I liked his jumper though, it was too big for him, but it was Arran, could have been made by my own fair hand. It was too dirty though, I hope he noticed the launderette just round the corner.”

  PC Holden patiently waited whilst Mabel issued her lengthy replies to a few more questions, and wrote down anything that may be important. He wrote very little. “Did you notice anything else about him, the way he talked, colour of his eyes, anything at all?”

  Mabel rubbed her forehead with her hand, deep in thought, and presently she answered. “Not really, he didn’t have a local accent, he spoke poshly, then saying that dear, he didn’t say much, only to ask about the pinafore. He was just a young man like they all seem to be.”

  “Thank you for your help, Mabel. We may have to question you again, if you don’t mind. Oh, by the way, have you got the transaction slip for the credit card he used?”

  Mabel’s brow furrowed. “Oh dear, you know I’m sure he paid cash, I could have sworn he did. Let me have a look in the till.” Todd’s heart leapt, he’d specifically been instructed to bring the slip to the station as evidence for a possible murder enquiry. He felt in his pocket for the plastic bag he’d brought to contain the slip.

  Mabel rooted through the till, Todd felt nervous at how she was handling the dockets, concerned about adding to the prints. “Oh, here it is. Silly me, he did pay with a card.”

  Krein fingered through the files on his desk, the documents were all firmly in his memory, but waiting for news from the Halesworth Police Station was exasperating. His computer pinged, he sat up immediately and opened the new email. “Bingo!” Krein hastily downloaded the attachments, and printed them.

  “First, the credit card slip.” Krein mused to himself, rummaging through the files on his desk for the photocopy of Annabel Keeley’s signature. He compared the two. They were similar, but the original was firmer, more confident.

  Krein lay the prints down and scanned through the informal statement given to PC Holden by Mabel Fairs at The Aulde Antiques Shoppe. The description of the man who used the card was vague, but had enough detail to convince him that this was the same person who used the card in London, albeit with darker, shorter hair. He would get Raynor to contact Suffolk again, send them another copy of the existing photofit, and ask them to immediately start searching for the man.

  Darkness had fallen and Paul was placing the tools he needed for his next duty in the holdall, a knife, matches, paraffin, and a candle lamp he had discreetly stolen from the antiques shop earlier. He’d been annoyed that the old woman hadn’t had a pinafore, so he’d snatched the small item whilst she wasn’t looking. He’d paid cash for the paraffin, some glue, and a candle from a hardware store, and the matches from a newsagent’s across the Thoroughfare.

  Paul slipped the old trench coat onto Katie’s now limp body, he wanted to keep her warm against the chilly evening air, ensure she remained comfortable on her final journey in his company. He fussed over her hair, it had to be immaculate. Katie and the original Rose Harsent were dissimilar in looks, Rose had had a much harsher face, a dated photo in the book he’d used for research had shown, but that was unimportant. They were both twenty-two when they died.

  Paul began to pace, something was unsettling him, he was unsure what. Then he remembered. Rose had been six months pregnant when she had been murdered, and Katie clearly wasn’t. He needed her to look as if she was expecting if the body was going to look perfect for the police, and for God. Pregnancy was a factor so important, it couldn’t be overlooked.

  Paul glanced around, agitated, until he spotted the solution. He snatched a handful of hay, forcing it inside the dress, and another, another, until the abdomen of the garment swelled, bursting at the seams. Standing back to consider the alteration in its entirety, Paul was satisfied that when they discovered the new Rose, the scene would be authentic. The police would be thrilled to find her delicate body, her face exquisite, the following morning.

  Paul hoisted Ka
tie to stand, he slid his arm under hers, and reached across her back, tucking his hand into her armpit, supporting her slack body. From that position it would appear to passers-by that she was walking. He held the candle lamp, tucking it into her coat. He struggled to drag her through the rotting barn entrance, but once through, Paul straightened the chignon and the dress, and propped her up again. He guided her along the track, the stream tickling merrily to the right, and passed an array of pastel coloured cottages, their quaintness enhanced by the moonlight.

  Crossing the footbridge, they continued along the pavement. “Katie, as you know, you are my new Rose.” Paul was so enamoured with Katie, it seemed important he explain what he was doing. “I’m going to show you where Rose is buried.”

  Although Katie was petite, her weight was burdensome, and Paul stopped frequently to heave her body back into position. He took her left into a small lane, struggling against the slight upward gradient. Providence House was to the right, on the corner. “She lived there, she was a maid, her room was at the top. Do you see Rose, can you see? Can you put yourself in her place? I would take you in and do the duty exactly where Rose Harsent died, but the book said it had all changed in there. The layout is different. That won’t do, we’ll have to make do with outside, if you don’t mind, Rose?”

  The road swung to the right, a backdrop of a striking church to the left. Paul stopped, he turned Katie to face the graveyard. “That’s where she is, they put her in there. I would like them to put you in there with her, but they probably won’t. It would be so nice if they did.” Footsteps approached, and an elderly man passed the couple. He acknowledged them with a ‘Good day’, but Paul made no reply.