The Scribe Page 8

  ‘Looks like the same killer,’ Carver said. ‘Another lawyer, another legal term scrawled across her chest. But unlike Morrell, she wasn’t shot.’

  Grayson bent down over the body. Although it had stopped raining, the ground around them was still wet, the sky overhead a dreary battleship grey.

  ‘Chloroform,’ he announced, glancing back at Carver and Drake. ‘Unmistakeable.’

  ‘It seems you were right, Drake.’ Carver turned to his charge. The boy was good. Sharper than the average new kid on the block. Confident enough to offer his opinion, humble enough to want to learn.

  Drake felt his cheeks colour. ‘Just a hunch, sir.’

  ‘Don’t be coy about it, Drake.’

  ‘No, sir, sorry, sir.’

  Drake caught Grayson rolling his eyes at this exchange. He suppressed a grin but couldn’t help smiling inside.

  ‘Drake also thinks the girl may have been suffocated to death before she was cut.’

  ‘It’s possible, yes. We’ll do some bloods to check for levels of CO2. Usually, with asphyxiation cases, the deceased’s eyes will be bloodshot and there’s often bruising around the mouth and cheeks.’

  ‘But if the girl was drugged first, her eyes would have been closed,’ Drake said. ‘Plus, the killer wouldn’t have needed to hold her down with as much force. It would have been easy.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Grayson nodded. ‘And it explains why there are no visible signs of a struggle.’

  ‘Interesting,’ Carver mumbled.

  ‘What, sir?’ Drake asked.

  ‘Well, it’s almost as if the killer was being, dare I say it, “kinder” to this victim. Drugging and suffocating her first, before getting down to the gruesome stuff. Whereas with Morrell, it seems like he wanted her to be in pain till the end.’

  ‘I see what you mean, sir. The manner of the killings isn’t entirely consistent.’

  ‘But there is a pattern emerging all the same. Two female lawyers, both twenty-five, both of whom had legal jargon inscribed across their chests.’ He paused, as if thinking this over, then looked at Grayson. ‘We’ll let you and your team get on with your work.’

  Carver and Drake walked away. ‘Let’s head back to the station, Drake. I need to speak to the Chief about getting a few more bodies on the team. We may be dealing with a serial killer, and we need to get ahead of the game before this sicko strikes again.’

  ***

  The killer carefully washed down the blade. Scrupulously cleansing it of the girl’s blood. Another defenceless victim, doubtless believing her beauty, youth and intelligence would protect her from the murkier side of life.

  Beauty was such a blessing. Just like music. Nothing brought the killer more pleasure than beautiful music. Mozart, Handel, Beethoven especially; they were all such masters of their calling, having created works of perfection.

  Yes, beauty was such an exquisite thing to behold, to treasure. But underneath a thing of beauty, there was often such ugliness. And that was exasperating beyond belief. The cruellest of deceptions that needed to be drawn out and eradicated.

  Despite the late hour and abysmal weather, it had been risky pulling her comatose body under the sprawling fir tree, placing the polythene bag over her head, watching and waiting for her to draw her last breath. But there had been no choice. The killer hadn’t planned to kill her so soon, but a chance had presented itself and it had to be grabbed. And the powerful timbres of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5 playing softly in the killer’s ears had provided added resolve to get the job done.

  But this one hadn’t been as satisfying as the last. She’d been naive, desperate, weak; not arrogant, bitchy and wilful like Sarah. Which is why drugging and suffocating her first, before getting down to the most creative part, had been the kinder option. It wouldn’t have been right to make her suffer the way Sarah had suffered.

  But she was still a whore, still a two-faced bitch. Still someone who’d deserved what was coming to her. And still arrogant enough to walk through St Paul’s Churchyard at night, thinking she was immune from danger. Perhaps because she’d only been minutes away from the largest criminal court in the land.

  How wrong she’d been.

  ***

  ‘Oh, God, no.’

  Paul stood motionless, his face a picture of shock.

  ‘May we come in?’ Carver asked. It was midday on Saturday. Having discovered through their enquiries that Paige Summers and Maddy Kramer had, as chance would have it, been in the same year at the same law school, Carver and Drake had made a beeline for Maddy and Paul’s flat. Disappointed to learn Maddy was out, Carver had just broken the news of Paige’s death to Paul.

  ‘Yes, yes of course,’ Paul responded weakly.

  He led Carver and Drake into the living room. An inviting aroma of coffee, eggs and toast hung in the air. The telly was showing some US comedy, while the remnants of Paul’s breakfast lay on the coffee table, piled high on one side with women’s magazines and the latest edition of GQ. Paul made a quick attempt at tidying up, then removed a displeased-looking Atticus from the sofa. He gestured for his guests to take a seat. ‘As I said, Maddy’s popped out for a swim. It’s kind of her Saturday morning ritual, but she should be back soon.’

  ‘We don’t mind waiting.’

  Paul made coffee, then pulled up a chair opposite Carver and Drake. Carver gave Atticus a guarded look. He wasn’t too fond of cats, principally because he was prone to allergies, and their natural shedding process didn’t agree with him. Atticus seemed to sense this and gave Carver an equally wary look in return.

  ‘How long have you and Ms Kramer been living together?’ Carver asked, avoiding further eye contact with his furry foe.

  ‘Since our second year at the academy. So just over four years.’

  ‘You also studied there?’

  ‘Yes, for my sins.’ Paul shook his head ruefully. ‘But law wasn’t for me. I write full-time now.’

  ‘Ah yes, Ms Kramer mentioned that. Anything I might have heard of?’

  ‘No,’ Paul sighed. ‘If you had, I wouldn’t have to work nights in a bar to pay the rent.’

  Carver gave a sympathetic half-smile, then asked, ‘Were Ms Kramer and Ms Summers close?’

  ‘Very. Paige was an amazing girl. Gentle, kind. Everyone loved her. I just can’t believe it. First Sarah, now Paige. I’m scared for Maddy.’ He leaned in, looked at Carver earnestly. ‘Do you think she’s in danger?’

  ‘I don’t know. But you’re right to be scared. There’s no way of knowing when the killer will strike again, or against whom. So far, we’ve got the impression that Ms Morrell wasn’t too popular amongst her peers. Would you say that’s true?’

  ‘Yes. She was very ambitious. Which is all well and good, but not when you take it to extremes.’

  ‘You weren’t friends with her I take it?’

  ‘No, I wasn’t. But there was no bad blood between us. I just stayed out of her way, and she stayed out of mine. She was more bothered by the female competition.’

  ‘Because of Professor Stirling?’

  Paul looked surprised, but his response was deflected by the sound of the front door being opened. Atticus immediately scampered out of the room. ‘Oh, fuck.’ Paul stood up, breathed deeply, as if bracing himself for Maddy’s reaction.

  ‘Hiya,’ came her bright and breezy voice from the hallway. ‘Boy, that was good. Hangover’s practically gone.’ They listened to the sound of keys being thrown on the hall table, jacket unzipped, shoes removed and flung to one side.

  ‘Hello, sweetheart,’ they heard her say to Atticus.

  She came skipping into the living room, cradling Atticus in her arms. Full of life and cheerful weekend spirit. But she stopped dead in her tracks on spotting Carver and Drake. Her eyes flitted between them. She sensed from their expressions that this was more than just a follow-up visit. Something major had happened.

  ‘DCI Carver, DC Drake,’ she said, ‘has there been a development in the case?’ She li
ghtly placed Atticus on the floor.

  Paul went up and put his arm around her shoulder, then guided her towards the other sofa. He sat her down gently, took her hand, and clasped it tight. She looked at him fearfully. ‘What is it? You’re scaring me.’

  ‘Maddy …’ Paul began. But Carver beat him to it.

  ‘Ms Kramer, I’m afraid I have some bad news. This morning, your friend Paige Summers was found dead in St Paul’s Churchyard. We believe it was the same killer.’

  Years on the job had taught Carver to be direct when relaying news of a loved one’s death. One could say it sympathetically, but there was little point in beating around the bush. Even though a quick glance told him he’d seriously pissed off the flatmate.

  As Carver waited for Maddy’s reaction, he took in her appearance. She looked so different from yesterday, when she’d been dressed in a sleek black suit, hair straight and smooth, flawless make-up, killer heels. Now she was dressed in joggers and a baggy sweatshirt, bare-faced, her hair roughly tied up in a bun. Now she looked unaffected and rather cute. He told himself to focus on the job.

  Maddy could barely breathe, let alone speak. Her lips were suddenly anesthetised, her ears plugged with cotton wool. Did I hear right? It seemed impossible. She’d only seen Paige last night. Talked with her, laughed with her. And now… now she’s gone?

  ‘It can’t be true,’ she finally whispered. She clutched Paul closer. He stroked her hair, kissed her forehead. ‘It is, hon, it is. I don’t want to believe it either.’

  ‘How was she found?’ Maddy asked, her heart racing. It was a question she did, and yet didn’t, want to know the answer to.

  Drake explained. ‘Forensics have yet to confirm, but we believe she was drugged first, then smothered to death. She had the word “Crime” inscribed across her chest. We’re pretty sure the killer did this after killing her.’

  Maddy wanted to throw up. She’d swum hard on little breakfast and felt faint. She turned to Paul. ‘Can you get me some water, with a little sugar in it.’

  Paul dashed out of the room and was back in a flash. Carver saw how close they were. Not like lovers. Like brother and sister.

  Maddy took baby sips of the syrupy mixture, finding it hard to swallow.

  ‘When was the last time you saw Ms Summers?’ Carver asked.

  ‘Last night.’ Maddy’s voice was scarcely audible.

  Carver’s pulse quickened. ‘Where and when?’

  Maddy explained how she and Cara had parted from Paige outside the bar, after she’d rejected their offer to accompany her to Mansion House Tube station. Jesus, how she wished she could turn back time, convince Paige to let them walk with her. She should have insisted. Why the fuck hadn’t she?

  ‘How did she seem?’

  ‘Fine.’ Maddy blinked back tears. Tried to answer Carver’s question without breaking down. ‘We drank a bit too much. But it was Friday night and we’d all had a tough week.’ Why Paige, why Paige? The words kept spinning around in her head. ‘She’d been assisting with a murder trial at the Old Bailey all week and needed to let off some steam.’

  ‘Prosecuting or defending?’

  ‘Prosecuting, I think. I don’t know much more than that; you’ll have to ask her chambers.’

  ‘Was Paige seeing anyone?’

  ‘Yes. A guy named Ben. He’s a chartered accountant. Lovely guy.’

  ‘Serious?’

  ‘He was keener than her, I think.’ Maddy narrowed her eyes at Carver. ‘There’s no way he could have done this. For one, he’s been away on business.’

  ‘We can’t rule anything out at this stage, Ms Kramer.’

  ‘But you think it’s the same killer, right? I mean, it must be. It’s too similar.’

  ‘More than likely,’ Carver said. ‘You and Ms Summers were at law school together. How did she get on there? Make any enemies? Love interests?’

  Maddy hesitated. She knew where this was going. Paige’s sex life. ‘She was very popular. Bright, conscientious, passed her exams with flying colours.’

  ‘That’s the academic side covered. What about her personal life? Boyfriends?’

  ‘Not really.’ She heard her voice. It wasn’t convincing.

  ‘That’s a bit cryptic. Ms Kramer, I understand how hard this must be for you, but if you know or even suspect anything that may help us, you need to tell us. You owe it to your friend.’

  Maddy was still struggling with the news. For so long, she’d imagined the milestones she and Paige would share. Marriage, motherhood, the vagaries of the menopause. Now she would have none of those memories to look forward to. Every major event in her life would be tarnished by the loss of her friend, as it had been with the loss of her parents.

  A friend who, like Sarah, had slept with Stirling.

  She recalled the uncomfortable look on Paige’s face in the bar, the way she’d bowed her head when Cara had broached the subject of her feelings for Stirling. She hadn’t needed a signed, sealed confession to know what had gone on.

  Something had gone on between them, she was sure of it.

  ‘She never dated anyone on the course. But I know she liked someone, and I have my suspicions that something went on with the man in question.’

  ‘The man?’

  Maddy chewed her lip nervously, glancing at Paul as if seeking his approval that she was doing the right thing.

  ‘Say it, Maddy,’ Paul urged. ‘Like DCI Carver said, you owe it to Paige to try and help bring this arsehole to justice. And Sarah for that matter.’

  He was right. She did owe it to both women. To herself. Who knew who was next on the killer’s list? Why should she consider herself immune? It would be crazy, downright arrogant, to assume she was.

  ‘Professor Stirling.’

  Carver glanced at Drake. ‘Just so we’re clear,’ he said, ‘the same Professor Stirling who had an affair with Ms Morrell?’

  Maddy nodded. ‘It was obvious. But she never told me to my face. Never admitted that she liked him, let alone had an affair with him.’ She paused, then quickly covered herself. ‘That’s why I didn’t mention it yesterday.’

  Carver let this slide. ‘Did you ever notice Professor Stirling paying Ms Summers special attention?’

  ‘Not especially. He was nice to everyone, especially the girls.’

  ‘I see.’ Carver sat back. ‘Why do you think the killer wrote “Crime” across Ms Summers’ chest?’

  Maddy shrugged her shoulders limply, her eyes filling again. ‘Because she’s … sorry, she was a criminal barrister.’

  ‘No other reason? You don’t know if she ever wronged anyone? Offended, hurt them in some way? Helped put someone away where the evidence was weak? Committed a crime herself?’

  Rage motored through Maddy. She looked at Carver as if he was mad. Too emotional to see that he was just doing his job, exploring all avenues for the greater good.

  ‘Her being a criminal barrister seems a pretty good reason to me. Paige would never intentionally hurt anyone, let alone commit a crime. The idea’s unthinkable. As for prosecuting someone where the evidence was weak, again, you’ll have to speak to her chambers.’

  Maddy felt drained. She wanted Carver and Drake to leave her in peace; allow her time to grieve.

  Carver saw this. ‘I can see you need some time alone, Ms Kramer.’ He got up, thanked Paul for the coffee. ‘We’ll be going now.’

  ‘She’s obviously pretty shaken up by Ms Summers’ death,’ Carver said to Paul at the front door. ‘Keep a close eye on her over the weekend.’

  ‘Thanks, I will,’ Paul said.

  Back in the living room, he wrapped Maddy up in his arms while she sobbed like a child, unable to believe that she would never set eyes on Paige again.

  ***

  ‘We need to question this Professor Stirling.’ Adrenaline shot through Carver as he turned on the ignition of his Vauxhall Astra.

  ‘Sir, you know we have a meeting already set up for Monday morning?’

  ‘It
can’t wait till then, Drake. We’re going to his house. Now.’

  Chapter Eight

  An hour later, Maddy stared at the television, watching Carver, standing in front of St Paul’s Churchyard earlier that morning, announce Paige’s death. Has it really only been four days since he announced Sarah’s?

  Two young, bright, beautiful women, dead within days of each other. The thought of who could be next on the list spooked her.

  As soon as Carver and Drake had left, she’d called her grandmother. Although it didn’t ease the pain, it was comforting to hear her steady voice. A voice that had been through it all with her. Rose didn’t have a miracle cure for her pain. Only time could heal that. But she’d assured her granddaughter of two things: that she was strong enough to get through it; and that she wouldn’t feel like this forever.

  It gave Maddy courage. She didn’t want to feel or live like this – constantly looking over her shoulder, wary of every turn she took, every stranger she passed, every look, gesture, fleeting glance. She had no clue who the killer was, but he was already impacting on her life, threatening to stop it in its tracks.

  She couldn’t have him dictating her every move. Whoever it was had to be stopped. As she continued to watch Carver on-screen, Maddy told herself, No more. She needed to swallow her self-pity, and draw strength from the same dogged determination that had got her this far in life.

  She leapt up from the sofa and dashed to her bedroom. In the corner was a small oak bookcase. Maddy was a hoarder when it came to her career and her studies. She never threw anything away for fear she might need it somewhere down the line. It was a fear partly born from common sense, but more from superstition. Below the shelf lined up with assorted legal textbooks were various lever-arch files containing her notes from law school. She ran her finger across them, as if seeking inspiration as to the killer’s motive.

  As she’d explained to Carver, as non-law undergraduates, she and her peers had had to study and pass exams in seven legal areas during their first year.

  She traced her finger across the labelled files. “Equity”, “Land”, “European”, “Tort”, “Public”, “Contract”, “Crime”.