The Scribe Page 9

  As she mouthed these last two out loud, it hit her. ‘That’s it!’

  ‘What’s it?’

  Maddy spun round to see Paul standing in the doorway.

  ‘I think I know what the killer’s doing.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes, he’s following the syllabus. Contract, Crime. They’re two of the subjects we studied in our first year. See for yourself.’

  Paul came into the room, crouched down on his knees next to Maddy, and scanned the files. When he’d finished, he looked at her, astonished. ‘Bloody hell, Mads, you could be on to something there. Can’t believe you kept all your notes.’

  ‘You know me, can’t throw anything away.’ She allowed herself a half-smile. ‘After law school, Paige became a criminal barrister, which is probably why the killer wrote “Crime” across her chest, while Sarah hoped to qualify into Banking, an area of law governed by “Contracts”.’

  Paul looked perplexed. ‘But we studied five other areas.’ He skimmed his index finger across the first five files. ‘Equity, Land, European, Tort and Public.’

  Maddy nodded grimly. ‘If I’m right, the killer’s planning five more murders. And I’m betting each of the targets qualified into a department connected to one of those areas.’

  Paul swallowed hard. ‘Christ. Litigation could be any of those.’ He was trying to remain calm, but Maddy saw the look in his eyes. He was afraid for her.

  ‘Yeah, I know; I could be next. That’s why I need to speak to Carver.’ Her voice was almost breathless. She dashed to the hallway, her heart racing as she picked up the handheld, then dug out Carver’s card from her coat pocket. She dialled the number, but it went straight to voicemail. She shot Paul an exasperated look, before leaving a message, asking Carver to call her back ASAP.

  ‘Do you have any idea who might be next?’ Paul asked.

  ‘No, but I’m guessing it’s someone who attended the academy. Has to be.’

  ‘What you need is a list of everyone in our year, then find out who went on to practise and where.’

  ‘Exactly my thinking.’ Maddy looked down at the handset she was still holding. ‘Come on, Carver, where are you? Call me back.’

  ***

  Saturday, 1 November 2014, 1.30 pm

  ‘Please, come through to the living room and take a seat. James is upstairs in his study. I’ll go fetch him.’

  Carver and Drake watched Elizabeth Stirling leave the room as they sat down on a swish cream leather sofa opposite the fireplace. The first thing Carver thought as she’d opened the front door and he and Drake had stepped into the large entrance hall, was that the man they’d come to question had done all right for himself.

  The couple lived in a Grade II-listed, four-storey detached house just off Gray’s Inn Road in central London, close to King’s Cross Station and nearby Bloomsbury, where Stirling worked. It was a beautiful period property, with vast amounts of space. The one thing it was missing, though, thought Carver, was the chaos of children.

  Once he was sure Elizabeth was out of earshot, Drake turned to Carver and said under his breath, ‘This is going to be tricky, asking questions with the wife around.’

  ‘Hmm, I wonder if she suspects,’ Carver mused. ‘If things get too awkward, we’ll just have to concoct a reason for her to leave the room.’

  After a few minutes, James Stirling appeared, Elizabeth at his side. Carver immediately saw the appeal. He was a handsome man. Dark hair, dark eyes, a strong physique. That, coupled with his intellect, would make many a college girl a sure thing.

  ‘How can I help?’ Stirling shook hands with both men and gave them a warm, relaxed smile. He certainly doesn’t look like a killer, thought Carver. But then, who did? It was often the most charming, polite, impeccably dressed individuals who turned out to be the most psychotic. Who blended in, and looked like twenty other men, hiding behind a carefully constructed veneer of normality.

  Carver introduced himself and Drake, then got down to business.

  ‘I presume you’re aware that one of your former students, Sarah Morrell, was murdered in the early hours of last Tuesday morning?’

  He observed Stirling closely, studying his face for a reaction, any sign of guilt.

  ‘Yes, of course, a shocking business.’ Stirling shook his head gravely. ‘She was an excellent student, and it’s hard to imagine who might have wanted to do this to her.’

  ‘I’m not sure if you’ve seen the news, but there’s been another murder. Of a similar nature.’ Carver’s gaze lingered on Stirling. Is that a slight twitching of the mouth? Tensing of shoulders? ‘Early this morning, the body of Paige Summers, another former student of yours, was found in St Paul’s Churchyard. We’re waiting for forensics to confirm, but we believe Ms Summers was drugged, then smothered to death. The killer then inscribed the word “Crime” across her chest.’

  Stirling turned pale. He glanced at his wife, who remained impassive. Eerily so. Awkward, to say the least.

  Was he imagining it, or was she taking some sort of pleasure in this news? thought Carver. Maybe she does know about her husband’s affairs.

  ‘My God, you think it was the same killer?’

  ‘More than likely, yes. Judging by the inscriptions.’

  ‘Why do you think he’s targeting my ex-students?’

  ‘That’s something we were hoping you could shed some light on.’

  Stirling’s eyes flickered with apprehension. Elizabeth remained poker-faced. All except her eyes, which, unlike her husband’s, looked animated rather than anxious.

  ‘And how might that be?’ Stirling’s mellifluous voice was suddenly croaky. ‘Both girls graduated, well, it must be at least a couple of years ago now. No, make that three. Surely, it’s their families and colleagues you should be questioning? Their clients?’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ve got that covered.’ Carver shifted his gaze to Elizabeth, flashed her his best smile. ‘Mrs Stirling, may my colleague and I trouble you for a cup of coffee? We’ve been up since the crack of dawn and could do with the caffeine hit.’

  He saw it in her eyes. She knew why he wanted her out of the room. But to her credit, she played along all the same. ‘Of course.’ She glanced slyly at her husband. ‘I’ll be back as quickly as I can.’

  Carver noticed the way Stirling deliberately avoided her gaze, the atmosphere chilly as she left the room. Clearly theirs was not a happy marriage. He wondered what secrets they harboured.

  ‘Why don’t you sit down?’ he said to Stirling.

  Stirling had barely settled himself when Carver hit him with a bigger bombshell. ‘Professor Stirling, is it true that you once had a sexual relationship with Ms Morrell?’

  Stirling’s face reddened. ‘What?’ he said, looking aghast. ‘Where did you hear such nonsense? That’s preposterous.’

  Carver stared at him coldly. ‘May I remind you, Professor Stirling, that I am conducting an official murder investigation here. It’s vital that you tell the truth from the outset. As an ex-lawyer, I needn’t remind you of the penalties for perjury and obstructing a police investigation.’

  Stirling wavered. He looked over his shoulder, presumably for any sign of his wife, before responding. ‘Okay, okay, yes, I had a brief affair with Sarah, but it can’t get out. I have my job, my reputation to think of.’

  Carver was already starting to dislike the man. To take advantage of his young, impressionable students, and then expect his reputation to remain intact was arrogant beyond belief. He had to fight to keep his cool. ‘Is it also true that you had an affair with Ms Summers?’

  Now Stirling looked like he wanted to disappear into oblivion. He switched his gaze to Drake, as if for support, even though he was a stranger. But Drake’s face was blank. Equally appalled by Stirling’s hypocrisy.

  ‘That was nothing,’ Stirling said dismissively. ‘With Sarah, it was different. We saw each other for around six months. I developed feelings for her, while Paige was a minor dalliance. I know it sounds
conceited, but the girl was infatuated with me.’

  ‘And you took advantage of that? A respected, married academic.’ Carver’s eyes drilled through Stirling’s, trying to catch him out.

  ‘Look, I’m not proud of cheating on my wife, but you have to understand, we don’t exactly have a happy marriage.’

  ‘You’re not exactly giving that a fair chance by sleeping with your students,’ Carver said.

  ‘Look, Chief Inspector, you know nothing about my wife or our marriage. It’s complicated.’

  ‘Okay,’ Carver said, ‘but coming back to Sarah and Paige, how did those affairs end? You say you had feelings for Ms Morrell. What happened?’

  ‘It just came to a natural end. I wasn’t going to leave my wife, and it wasn’t fair on Sarah. We decided to call it a day.’

  His explanation lacked conviction. He was lying, Carver was certain. But he pressed on.

  ‘When was the last time you saw Ms Morrell?’

  ‘Three years ago, after she passed the Legal Practice Course. And the same goes for Ms Summers.’

  ‘Besides academically, how did both women get on at the academy? Did they strike up any strong friendships? Form any rivalries?’

  Stirling let out a heavy sigh. ‘Sarah was a difficult one. She was crazily ambitious, to the point she put people’s backs up. She didn’t make a lot of friends as far as I know.’

  ‘And Paige?’

  ‘Paige was different. Driven, but not to the point of obsession. She was extremely popular with her peers. One girl particularly. Madeline Kramer, I believe her name was. Another bright young woman. The two of them became inseparable from what I can recall.’

  ‘Was Ms Kramer friendly with Sarah?’

  ‘No, not especially. She was popular, though, like Paige.’

  ‘Professor Stirling, where were you in the early hours of last Tuesday morning?’

  Carver’s questioning had switched from the general to the specific in the blink of an eye. It caught Stirling by surprise. He faltered for a second, then said, ‘I was at home, in bed.’

  ‘Your wife can attest to that?’

  ‘I can.’ Elizabeth reappeared holding a trayful of coffee and biscuits. ‘James and I went to bed around the same time. In the middle of the night, I got up to fetch a glass of water. James was fast asleep.’

  Stirling appeared to swallow hard. As if he’d been gasping for air but was finally able to breathe again. Carver was sure she was lying.

  ‘I see. And last night? Where were you, Professor Stirling?’

  ‘I was at a staff function.’

  ‘Where?’

  Stirling dithered.

  ‘Have you forgotten?’ Carver questioned.

  ‘No.’

  ‘So, where were you?’

  ‘The Saint bar.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  More dithering. Then, ‘Paternoster Square.’

  Carver jolted in his seat. Glanced at Drake. Their apparent collusion further unnerved Stirling, who shifted uneasily.

  ‘Listen,’ he said, looking at both men, ‘I know what you must be thinking. That I was only a stone’s throw away from where Paige was murdered. But I can assure you that I was home by midnight.’

  ‘We don’t know the exact timing of Ms Summers’ death yet,’ Carver said, ‘but we do know that she’d been drinking with friends in Paternoster Square before she was murdered.’

  Stirling flinched, fidgeted again. Carver turned to Elizabeth. ‘Mrs Stirling, can you vouch for your husband’s whereabouts?’

  Elizabeth glanced Stirling’s way through slitty eyes, then back at Carver. ‘No, I’m afraid I was away last night, staying over at a friend’s. I only came home this morning.’ Her tone was calm, almost smug.

  Stirling grew visibly distressed. ‘Look, I have to say this is well and truly out of order. You have no right to come questioning me on a Saturday afternoon, all because I once taught both victims, and happened to be in the vicinity of where one of them died.’

  Carver raised his tall frame up in his seat. ‘Professor Stirling, I have a right to conduct my investigation as I see fit. And in view of your history with both girls …’ he stole a look at Elizabeth, ‘… it is perfectly reasonable that I should want to question you.’ Stirling didn’t speak. ‘How did you get home?’

  ‘Cab.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did anyone you know see you get in the cab?’

  ‘No, not that I’m aware of. I walked to Newgate Street from the bar and hailed a cab halfway down.’

  ‘Did you get a receipt?’

  ‘No.’

  For a few seconds Carver said nothing. He looked around the room, glancing at the piano and cello nestled in the corner. They’d caught his eye the minute he’d sat down.

  ‘Who’s the musician?’

  ‘Both of us,’ Stirling replied, looking somewhat puzzled by Carver’s swift shift to the prosaic.

  ‘I used to be a concert cellist,’ Elizabeth explained. ‘James is really the pianist.’ She smiled at Stirling; a little too sweetly. ‘It’s what drew us together, isn’t it, darling?’

  Her husband wriggled in his chair. ‘Er, yes, a classical romance, you might say.’ He followed this up with an uneasy chuckle. ‘But Elizabeth’s the pro. I just play for pleasure.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Elizabeth muttered.

  Carver widened his eyes at Drake, then stood up. ‘Well, thank you both for your time. That’ll be all. For now.’

  Stirling looked relieved that the interrogation was over. He and his wife stood up and saw Carver and Drake to the door.

  ‘Don’t disappear, will you, Professor?’ Carver said as Stirling held the door open. ‘I expect I’ll be popping by your office soon.’

  ‘No problem,’ Stirling said artificially.

  They left. Stirling closed the door and exhaled loudly with relief.

  He was walking a fine line. He’d have to be more careful in future.

  ***

  Back in the car, Drake drove while Carver rode shotgun. He listened to Maddy’s voicemail, then pressed the hash key.

  After a few seconds, Maddy picked up. ‘DCI Carver, thanks for calling me back. I think I know what the killer’s doing.’

  Carver straightened. ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes. He’s following the syllabus from the Graduate Diploma in Law. The GDL. What we studied in our first year at the academy. I’m almost positive.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Crime and Contract are two of the core subjects non-law undergrads must study on the GDL.’

  ‘How many subjects are there?’

  ‘Seven.’

  ‘Jesus. So you’re telling me the killer’s planning five more murders?’

  ‘If I’m right, then yes, I’m afraid so.’

  ‘Any idea why the killer chose those particular subjects for Morrell and Summers?’

  Maddy explained her theory. ‘It’s the only logical explanation I can think of.’

  ‘It makes sense, I’ll grant you that. Thanks, Ms Kramer.’

  Carver glanced at Drake, who had one ear on the conversation, one eye on driving – a risky arrangement in Saturday afternoon London traffic. ‘So how are we going to pre-empt the next victims?’

  Carver had an idea himself but wanted Maddy’s take on it. She was bright, as expected from a City lawyer. But it wasn’t just her intellect that interested him. He could tell she had good sense and sound judgment; not like most of the other suits he’d interviewed at Channings, sealed in their own corporate bubbles, blind to reality. He guessed he shouldn’t be surprised. If all you did was work long hours within the same four walls, with the same people, day after day, dealing with impossibly rich clients and their impossible demands, you would start to lose touch with reality.

  ‘If the killer is specifically targeting my year, we need to get hold of a list of everyone who attended the academy from 2009 to 2011, then find out whethe
r they went on to practise, and if so, where and in what field.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll get Drake on it.’

  ‘No problem. I want to do anything I can to help catch this animal.’

  Carver smiled at her spirit. ‘Watch your back, Ms Kramer. Stay around people as much as possible. Take well-lit routes at night. Trust no one.’

  ‘Thanks for the warning, but I’ll be fine.’

  That’s what they all say, thought Carver. ‘I’ll be in touch.’ He hung up, filled Drake in on Maddy’s theory.

  ‘She’s a smart cookie, isn’t she?’ Drake observed. Carver said nothing, just smiled to himself. ‘As soon as we get back to the station,’ Drake continued, ‘I’ll give the academy a call. Get them to email the list ASAP. What did you make of Stirling and his wife?’

  ‘They were both holding back. And she covered for him, though Lord knows why. She clearly knows he’s been cheating on her left, right and centre. We need to keep a close eye on him. Whether he’s our man I can’t say, but there’s something not right about him. Or her for that matter.’

  ***

  ‘I’m going over to Gran’s this evening.’ Later that same Saturday, Maddy walked into the living room with two mugs of tea. She handed one to Paul, then sat down beside him, Atticus purring contentedly at her feet. Rose lived alone in Barnes, an affluent suburb of south-west London. She was eighty-five, but remained as bright as a button. She was Maddy’s anchor, and right now, her granddaughter needed her.

  ‘She okay?’

  ‘Yeah, she’s fine. Worried sick about me, though.’

  ‘She’s not the only one.’

  ‘It was good to speak to her on the phone. But I feel like I need to see her.’

  ‘What time will you be back?’

  Maddy curled her legs to one side and blew on her tea. ‘I think I’m going to stay over. It takes forever trekking back from west London. Plus, I don’t fancy coming back in the dark the way things are.’

  ‘Understandable. In fact, I was going to suggest you stay over. Much safer.’ Paul smiled cheekily. ‘I have an ulterior motive, of course.’

  Maddy looked puzzled. Then, as she studied his face, the penny dropped. ‘You’ve met someone?’