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Ed withdrew her hand and picked up her wine glass. ‘I know of it, of course, one of the Cinque Ports, but I’ve never been.’
‘You’ll love it. We’ll have a leisurely walk or two – Camber Sands is good – and there’s good food to be had in Rye.’
‘Thanks for the offer.’ Ed took an olive. ‘A weekend away sounds good.’
‘So you’ll come.’
‘I’m sorry, Verity, I’ve got a lot on at the moment. May I take a raincheck?’’
‘Of course.’ Her habitual half-smile had disappeared.
Both women busied themselves with their white wine and olives. Verity was the first to speak.
‘How’s the team? I’ve heard your DS Potts has been seen drinking alone in back-street pubs.’
Ed stiffened. ‘My team’s my business. Anyway –’ she indicated Verity’s near-empty glass ‘– Mike’s not the only one who likes a drink after work.’
‘Touché!’
Before Verity could say more, Ed continued. ‘I’ve never seen Mike the worse for wear and it doesn’t affect his work.’
Verity held up her hands. ‘Sorry, it was the journalist—’
‘It’s a non-story.’ Ed held Verity’s eyes. ‘Your work and mine are our own concerns unless something happens that is of public interest.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Verity looked at Ed apologetically. ‘As I say, it was the journalist speaking.’
Ed realized she’d overreacted. They’d long since established their working boundaries. She softened her voice.
‘Journalist and friend.’ Ed paused, then raised her glass and inclined it towards her friend.
Verity reciprocated and both women drank enough to warrant a top-up.
‘Would you like to stay here or shall we go for supper at Gino’s?’
‘Gino’s,’ Ed replied without hesitation. ‘Pasta with some of their Sangiovese is just what I need.’
‘I’ll ask them to hold a table and open a bottle.’
As Verity called the restaurant, Ed’s work mobile buzzed.
‘DI Ogborne.’ She listened for a few moments. ‘Right, get Jenny. Tell her she’s coming with me. I’ll be at the Station in ten minutes.’ As she spoke Ed looked across the table, waving a finger and shaking her head. ‘Sorry, I’ve got to go.’
Verity muttered, ‘Just a moment,’ into her mobile and her look of surprise became a questioning frown. ‘What? Why?’
‘It’s work. A young woman’s been found dead in Dover. She appears to have been alone in her flat.’
Before Verity could reply, Ed was on her feet and walking between tables to the exit. She had no doubt the editor would use her contacts to get a reporter to the scene well before other journalists got wind of the incident.
17 (#ulink_54ca65ee-b8ec-5fbd-8f1c-bc119c7515db)
Gina’s chin dropped onto her chest, waking her with a start. She was slumped on the floor in the hallway of her flat. For a moment she was disorientated, then the horror flooded back. She scrambled to her feet and began pulling frantically at the lock on the front door. It wouldn’t budge. In desperation, she grabbed her keys from the floor and tried each one again. None of them worked. The lock wouldn’t turn.
‘No! No! No!’ Gina beat on the door with her fists, screaming uncontrollably.
A chair scraped against the kitchen floor. Gina froze. She heard footsteps coming into the hall. The cold tension between her shoulder blades returned.
‘You’re wasting your time. Nobody will hear you. Your neighbours are on holiday.’ The voice was getting closer. ‘Please don’t be alarmed. Come, let’s take it slowly … let’s talk it through.’
The telephone … the policeman. No, not the policeman. She turned to face the voice. Three feet away stood Colin Smith, Decorart. His thin, childlike body and choirboy face did nothing to lessen the threat Gina felt. She took a half-step backwards and then something snapped inside her. With a cry of rage, Gina launched herself at Colin with the blind intention of beating her tormentor to the ground.
‘Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!’ she screamed, her fists raised to attack him.
Despite his slight build, Colin held her wrists easily and waited until her shouting became pleading and the adrenalin-fuelled rush of strength left her body. Gina sagged and he lowered her to the floor.
‘I’ll leave you to appreciate the situation. There’s no escape. Take your time. There’s no hurry. I’m here. I’ll be waiting.’
Once more slumped against the wall, Gina felt numb. Her mind and body were devoid of strength. Overwhelmed by an immobilising sense of helplessness, she appeared impassive despite the thoughts raging in her head. The only sign of movement came from the tears that escaped her eyes and dripped steadily onto her crumpled shirt.
18 (#ulink_885d10b5-0620-5bd9-919c-1ca8b77e36f3)
Glum faces stared from cars in a tailback from the ferry terminal in central Dover. The grey evening was not an ideal start to a summer holiday, but for DI Ogborne and DC Eastham, unexplained deaths came in all weathers. When they reached the far side of town, Jenny parked behind a line of police vehicles near the entrance to Maxton House, an unremarkable block of flats just off the Folkestone Road. Together they approached the uniformed officer guarding the door and showed their Warrant Cards.
‘Who found her?’ asked Ed.
‘Parents, Ma’am. They’re in the van with a WPC.’
‘And the body?’
‘Second-floor flat, two flights up and turn right.’
The two detectives became aware of the smell on reaching the second floor. It was far from overpowering; nevertheless, the WPC standing with her back to the door of the flat had a handkerchief held to her nose. Barely glancing at their Warrant Cards, she lowered the handkerchief to indicate fresh coveralls, overshoes, face masks and latex gloves, housed in bags leaning against the opposite wall. Despite the presence of a senior officer she was unable to hide her distress.
‘Your first?’ asked Ed as she pulled on the protective clothing. ‘I guess it’s not pleasant.’
‘I don’t know, Ma’am, I’ve not been inside.’
‘Probably for the best.’ Ed nodded to Jenny. ‘Ready?’
The full force of the smell hit them as they opened the door and stepped inside. Ed heard Jenny gasp and knew she’d immediately wish she hadn’t. Touching the DC’s arm Ed said, ‘If someone had told me she’d been dead for days, I’d have brought my Vicks. Remember next time.’
It was a small one-bedroom flat, with a few pieces of cheap pine furniture and a notable absence of lampshades. Blonde artificial wood flooring and dull off-white paintwork completed the decoration. There were no ornaments and no pictures on the walls. Through an open bedroom doorway Ed could see a pathologist leaning over a small double bed, examining the discoloured body of a young woman. The dead woman was lying on her side wearing a T-shirt and knee-length skirt. A duvet was folded on the floor at the foot of the bed.
‘DI Ed Ogborne and DC Jenny Eastham, Canterbury CID. What have we got?’
‘Dorling, Buckland Hospital. I’ve just about finished. You’ve got a young woman in her early twenties. Like many these days she’s above average weight for her height. I estimate she’s been dead some six to ten days. When I get her back to the lab, potassium levels in the vitreous humour of the eye might provide a more precise estimate, but I’m doubtful; putrefaction has already started. I’ve found no superficial signs of injury. My initial impression is SCD, Sudden Cardiac Death. Given her age it’s likely she was congenitally predisposed.’
‘Anything unusual?’ asked Ed.
‘Almost certainly she’s been moved after death. The discolouration due to putrefaction is strong, but from what I can see of the livor mortis pattern, I’d say she died on her back and was turned onto her side two or three hours later. I’ll need to confirm that at the post-mortem.’
‘Any chance of fingerprints?’
‘A week or so after death shouldn’t be a problem. When can we have the body?’
‘Forensics will arrange it.’
As the pathologist gathered his things and left, Ed turned to Jenny.
‘If the body was moved, that means somebody was here a few hours after she died. The question is: was the same person here when she died? Either way, why didn’t they call the emergency services?’ Ed indicated the body. ‘Why leave the poor girl to decompose in a locked flat?’
Jenny, who was standing further from the bed, kept her eyes on Ed’s face. ‘I can’t imagine anyone being so callous.’
Sensitive to her young DC’s discomfort, Ed sent Jenny to look at the rest of the flat while she stayed in the bedroom. Apparently oblivious to the smell and horror of the discoloured body, Ed bent close to examine the victim before standing back to study the position of the dead woman on the bed. After a quick glance around the sparsely furnished bedroom, Ed called Jenny to join her.
‘What do you make of this bed?’
Jenny came closer for a quick look and stepped back.
‘The sheet’s not new, but it doesn’t look slept on. Apart from the marks made by escaping body fluids, it’s actually very clean, just like everything in the main room and bathroom.’
‘Same in here: not only the room and the bedding, but also the head and foot of the bed appear to have been thoroughly cleaned.’
‘We need to speak to the parents. Go down to the van and have an initial chat with them. I’ll stay here until forensics arrive.’
With a look of relief, Jenny turned to go.
‘Oh, and Jenny, check the doors for any signs of forced entry.’
19 (#ulink_ba339685-ba34-52ad-a33a-c200bdb12710)
Gina opened her eyes. She was still slumped against the wall near the door to her flat. Her back ached and her joints were stiff, but these, and other sensations, were overridden by a debilitating sense of listlessness. After fitful hours of weeping, she no longer had the strength to struggle or scream for help. He was right. No one had come. No one could hear her. She was on her own.
There were noises from the kitchen. It sounded as if he were eating. Gina felt sick at the thought of food and then became aware she was terribly thirsty. The glass of champagne was still near her feet. Without thinking, she reached and took a sip. Too late she realized it might be drugged.
‘Ah, Ms Hamilton, you’re awake. I’m pleased to see you’ve decided to try the champagne. That glass must be flat. Let me get you a fresh one.’
‘I want you to leave.’
It was more a weary plea than a demand. Gina felt helpless and too exhausted to insist. The terror she’d experienced as she fumbled with her keys, the horror she’d felt when she grasped she was imprisoned and at his mercy, those extreme emotions had left her body; she could acknowledge them in her head but she lacked the energy to experience their intensity. Physically, her body had shut down.
‘Please go, go and leave me alone.’
‘Let’s not repeat ourselves. Accept the situation. If I wanted to hurt you, I could have done it when you arrived. I could have done it any time since. I could do it now, but I have no intention of hurting you.’
Despite her weary detachment, Gina was aware his manner, in keeping with his unimposing appearance, showed no immediate sign of threat. She felt she should do something, but a total lack of physical strength left her body inert.
‘I’ve taken the liberty of getting myself something to eat. All food I’ve paid for, I hasten to add. I brought it with me when I arrived this afternoon. At the moment I’m eating smoked salmon with cream cheese and bagels. They go well with the champagne. May I get you some?’
With what seemed like an immense effort she forced herself to speak. ‘I’d like you to go. Just go and leave me alone.’
‘Georgina …’ he replied, reprovingly.
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Perhaps you’ll have some later. How about some champagne?’
‘No.’ Suddenly, Gina had an idea and felt revitalized. ‘No. No, thank you. I need the bathroom.’
She forced herself to her feet and took her bag from the hall table. As she turned to close the bathroom door, she saw him smile from his position in the hall. Her hand moved to the lock. The bastard! He’d removed the mechanism. Gina tipped her flat champagne into the basin, ran the cold tap and filled her glass. Drinking the water with one hand, she fumbled in her bag with the other and retrieved her mobile phone. It was off. Puzzled, she switched it on. Nothing. Her phone was dead. Gina opened it to find that the battery and SIM card had been removed. Stepping back into the hall, she waved the mobile phone at him.
‘What have you done with my battery and SIM?’
‘Gina,’ he said with a look of mock disappointment, ‘surely you didn’t expect me to leave you free to contact the outside world. Don’t worry. Your battery and SIM are in a safe place, together with the charger and battery from your laptop.’
Gina felt an ominous sense of foreboding. His calm assurance was becoming as frightening as the thought of what he might do to her.
‘If I don’t contact my friends they’ll—’
‘Sadly, you don’t seem to be in regular contact with any friends.’
‘What? How?’
‘This last week I’ve had plenty of time to hack into your laptop while you’ve been at work.’
Gina’s sense of isolation increased. She stepped back into the bathroom to think. Feeling weak, she leant against the washbasin for support. Determined to be rational, she forced herself to take stock. Normal access to the world had been taken from her. House keys, landline, mobile and computer; all were useless. If the people in the flat next door were away, she had little chance of attracting attention. Her flat was on the third floor. The external windows were at the side of the building facing thick leafy treetops. Even if she could get a window open, her cries for help were unlikely to be heard. The lock had gone from the bathroom door, leaving her exposed and defenceless. Gina’s legs began to shake and she tightened her grip on the basin.
Staring sightlessly at her face in the bathroom mirror, Gina struggled to think clearly. Building logical thoughts was like trying to run waist-deep in a swimming pool. Her breathing was laboured and her mouth gaped with the effort. For the moment he had the upper hand. She was at his mercy. There was little choice but to play along, see what developed and look for a way to escape.
He was right; if he’d wanted to hurt her he could have done so already. Slowly a new thought struggled to the surface: he hadn’t done so already but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t harm her, even kill her, sometime in the future. Gina’s knees buckled and she clung to the rim of the basin. Physically she felt weak, but her mental strength was returning. She splashed her face with cold water. This man wouldn’t get the better of her. She didn’t know how, but she would find a way. She straightened and refilled her glass with water from the tap, determined he wouldn’t win.
‘There’s mineral water in the fridge.’ The voice drew attention to his presence, watching her from the hall. Gina shuddered.
‘Tap water’s fine.’ She forced herself to look at him. ‘I know I can’t get out, but you said we should take it slowly. I’m tired. I need to rest. Just tell me what you want and we’ll talk about it later.’
He looked at her carefully. Contrived or not, he appeared innocent, almost boyish.
‘It’s very simple. I want you. I want you to give yourself to me.’
Gina gasped. He’d spoken so calmly, as if his wish was the most natural thing in the world. But why was she so surprised? It had to be sex; why else would a man break into a single woman’s home?
‘If you want sex why haven’t you done it already?’
A brief look of shock appeared on his face and he spoke quickly.
‘No, you misunderstand. I don’t want sex, that is, I don’t just want sex. I don’t want to force you. I don’t want you to submit, to surrender yourself. Your willingness won’t be enough. I want the gift of your love more than I want the act itself, but your desire to give must match my desire for the giving. You must want me as much as I want you.’
He stopped speaking as abruptly as he’d started.
