A Velvet Scream (30 page)

As Korpanski inched the squad car into a parking space she confided in him.

‘I think the girls were drugged,' she said. ‘I need to speak to Matthew.'

Korpanski protested. ‘We're supposed to be having a briefing.'

‘It'd be more use if I got some information out of Matthew,' she said. ‘You take the briefing. You can explain the story about Kayleigh and her father. I'll see you later.'

‘OK,' he said.

She rang Matthew. ‘Hi,' she said when he picked up. ‘Where are you?'

‘At the Path lab. Why?'

‘I want to ask you some questions.'

‘Delighted. We can have a coffee together. OK?'

She found him in the lab, peering down a microscope. For a moment she simply watched him. He was absorbed, quite unconscious of her approach as he fiddled with the focus. His hair flopped over the lens. He was wearing a white coat. She would have watched him for longer but he straightened and saw her. For a moment he simply grinned at her. ‘Hi, Jo,' he said.

She felt her face twist into a huge smile. ‘Hello, you,' she answered.

‘Let's go into my office. We can have a bit of peace.'

‘Great.'

She followed him in and the first thing she saw was the photograph on his desk. It had been taken at a restaurant in Spain the night they had got engaged. She studied it and could already read the doubts and confusion in her face – feelings which were only now beginning to melt away. Matthew followed her gaze.

‘It already seems a long time ago,' he commented, ‘doesn't it?'

‘Yeah.'

‘So  . . .' He sat in his armchair. ‘What can I do for you?'

‘Help me,' she said. ‘The “date rape” drug?'

‘Ah, Rohypnol. Actually I don't know why there was all that fuss about Midazolam – any of the benzodiazepines would have done. And they're more freely available and therefore cheaper.'

‘English, please?'

‘Well –' he drew in a deep breath – ‘the desired effect is sedation with amnesia. So any of that class of drugs would work equally well.'

‘Any of the class of drugs,' she repeated slowly.

Matthew nodded. ‘Diazepam, Lorazepam, Temazepam, as well as the infamous Midazolam or Rohypnol. Understand?'

She nodded. ‘And much more readily available.'

She thought for a while before asking. ‘Did you test Danielle Brixton for benzodiazepines?'

‘Yes and it was positive. But she also had a very high blood alcohol.'

‘What about Kayleigh?'

‘She wasn't tested. But I have to say if it was left to me I'd choose Lorazepam. Short half-life, wears off after four to six hours. And,' he added, ‘it's much more easily available. And then there's ketamine,' he said slowly. ‘Nasty, dangerous stuff. Now if it was that –' He looked at her. ‘It would fit,' he said. ‘Danielle – vomiting; Kayleigh – forgetting.'

‘Were they tested for ketamine?'

He shook his head.

‘And Molly,' she queried.

Matthew looked at her. ‘Oh, shit, Jo,' he said.

TWENTY-ONE

Friday, 10 December. 8.30 a.m.

S
he decided to ring Andrew Downey in case he could add anything to the events they were slowly pulling together. She switched the telephone on to loudspeaker so Mike could listen in. As she'd expected Downey responded cheerfully to the telephone call.

‘You know I'd do anything to help you find that girl,' he said.

‘You think she's still alive, then?'

‘Never say die,' Downey responded.

‘When you were out clubbing with your friends I take it you didn't dance with any of the women?'

‘Nope.'

‘You probably sat and drank – and looked around?'

‘What are you getting at, Inspector?' His voice was silky.

‘Tell me what you saw.'

There was the briefest of pauses before Downey replied. ‘Nothing. If I had seen anything I would have told you.'

‘Did you speak to Molly?'

‘Hardly.' By the inflection in his voice she could tell he was smiling. ‘Do you have any idea of the noise levels in those places? It's no place for a conversation. You dance; you drink. You don't talk – except in the quiet room.'

Joanna decided to try a different tack. ‘If you had to pick out one of your pals,' she said, ‘and charge him with the crime, which one would you pick?'

‘That's an awful question and unfair, I think.'

‘Yeah.' Joanna brushed the objection aside. ‘I can see what your objection is but have a go.'

‘No,' he said.

‘You're a good and loyal friend,' Joanna said. ‘Now, then. If you knew something about one of your pals  . . .?'

She let the sentence waft in the air.

‘I wouldn't grass on a pal,' Downey said, ‘unless he'd done something really bad.'

‘Like murder?'

Downey wasn't to be drawn. ‘Then I'd have no choice.' His words were honourable but Joanna wondered.

‘Let's talk about your mates, then. Gary Pointer first. What do you think of him?'

‘He's a nice guy. Personable.'

‘You know what I'm asking you, Andrew.'

‘I can't answer that,' he said. ‘He's my mate.'

Joanna waited.

And Downey answered. ‘I don't know,' he said. ‘There's no reason he should and I can't believe he would.'

Joanna narrowed her eyes. In her book this was tantamount to a ‘yes'. ‘Thank you,' she said.

As soon as he'd put the phone down she turned to Korpanski. ‘So what do you make of that, Mike?'

‘Interesting. I'm still not quite sure where you're headed, Jo, but I'm a patient man.'

‘We've a few more things to do yet; questions to ask.'

‘Such as? Oh,' he complained, ‘don't pull the old rabbit-out-of-a-hat one with me, Jo. We're supposed to be buddies. Mates. Colleagues.'

She couldn't resist playing with him. ‘So what's
your
version of events, Mike?'

‘Not sure yet.'

‘And neither am I.'

‘The search for Molly  . . .' She nibbled her fingernail. ‘We have done all the usual things, haven't we, Mike?'

‘House-to-house, boards up, checked mobile phones, sightings. Oh, yes,' he said. ‘We've done all the usual things.'

She sat back in her chair. ‘Let's go through things more slowly then because we're missing something, Mike. Molly – or Molly's body – is somewhere.'

‘Yes.'

‘A man is involved – we believe this has a sexual motive.'

‘Yes again.'

‘Our American friends from Patches are, we think, off the hook.'

Korpanski nodded.

‘And Andrew Crispin is not the man that Molly left with. Besides, he was at Patches until well after two.'

Again Korpanski nodded.

‘She danced with lots of guys.'

‘But you seem to be homing in on Hennessey and his buddies.'

‘Well, they were at Lymeys the night Danielle died, at Patches when Kayleigh was raped and again at Patches on the night Molly went missing.'

‘Now that we have a believed sighting of Molly leaving the club we have a vague description. We know her abductor was tall and slim. That lets quite a few potential suspects off the hook.'

‘Yes.'

‘What did you think of Clint Jones?'

‘Clint Jones was not the guy who we're assuming abducted Molly Carraway.'

‘How can you be so sure, Mike?'

‘He doesn't look right. Doesn't walk right. Men who work out and become overweight develop a sort of rolling gait,' he said. ‘I've seen it myself. I think it might be to do with some of the food supplements.'

She smiled. ‘Do you think Clint's mother was a fan of Clint Eastwood?'

‘That too.' Korpanski laughed.

It was Joanna who sobered up first. ‘How can we laugh,' she asked, ‘when that poor girl's body is somewhere?'

Korpanski put his hand on her shoulder. ‘It's just a defence strategy, Jo,' he said. ‘It doesn't mean we're psychos. It's just our way of coping.'

Gary Pointer arrived at midday.

She started off by thanking him for attending, which put him nicely at his ease, and studied him. Out of the pals he was by far the most attractive. Tall, slim, with a bright, sentimental look. There was something gentle about him; something that drew you in.

‘My pleasure,' he responded politely with not a hint of sarcasm.

‘You know we are investigating the disappearance of Molly Carraway?'

He nodded, wariness growing now, but no alarm or apprehension. His conscience appeared clear.

So why was her radar bleeping? Even as she asked her questions she was wondering this. What was alarming her? ‘You know we are linking Molly's disappearance with two other assaults on young girls outside nightclubs.'

‘Yes.' He was still being pleasant. ‘So I understand.'

‘On May the eleventh of this year a young woman died outside a nightclub in Newcastle-under-Lyme. Her name was Danielle Brixton.'

‘Yes?' His face held puzzlement – only that.

‘She had been sexually assaulted. The post mortem showed that she died because she inhaled her own vomit. She had been drinking heavily.' Joanna flipped the photograph of the fresh-faced schoolgirl on the desk. ‘She was sixteen years old,' she finished quietly.

‘How on earth do you think I can help you?' Pointer asked, his eyes just starting to worry.

Joanna ignored his query and continued. ‘On the thirtieth of November another girl was sexually assaulted outside Patches nightclub in Leek.'

Pointer nodded. ‘Kayleigh, I presume.' He was still playing the innocent. ‘I still don't see what it's got to do with me.'

‘Patience, Gary.' Korpanski was watching Pointer, hardly blinking. The stare from his black eyes was as much a blast as the beam of an interrogation light. Joanna noted that Pointer deliberately kept his gaze away from Sergeant Mike Korpanski.

‘Danielle was found dead outside Lymeys back in May. She'd been drinking heavily and had inhaled her own vomit. She was sixteen years old.'

The only sign that Pointer had heard her words was a swift nod.

Joanna continued. ‘Kayleigh, whom you've rightly identified, was abandoned outside Patches, in the snow. She was found by one of your friends, Steve, in the car park the following morning. She was suffering from hypothermia and nearly died. According to the doctors she would have died in less than an hour had your mate –' she used the word sarcastically – ‘not discovered her.' She paused to let her next words take full effect. ‘We are treating the assault on Kayleigh as attempted murder.'

‘And then we get to Molly Carraway who has disappeared, also from Patches nightclub, just a few days later, some time on the night of Friday the third of December or early hours of December the fourth. We believe the three cases are connected.' She leaned forward on her elbows so there would be no mistake. ‘Committed by the same man.'

Was it her imagination? Had Pointer paled? No. His eyes held polite curiosity.

‘We haven't found Molly yet but the search is on. There is another factor in these three cases.'

Instead of carrying straight on, she waited.

Pointer simply regarded her with no sign of unease.

‘We've studied CCTV footage of people leaving Patches between midnight on the Friday and one a.m. on the Saturday. We have picked out a woman we believe to be Molly. She is with a man who fits your description.'

Pointer's eyes flickered but he remained steady.

‘This is where it gets interesting, Gary.'

‘According to Molly's school friend she was having an affair with a married man.'

‘Lets me off the hook then, doesn't it? I'm not married.'

‘No.'

Pointer lifted himself from his chair, as though preparing to leave.

‘Just a minute, please, Mr Pointer.'

He looked mildly surprised.

‘I said that a
friend
had
reported
this, not that it was so.'

Pointer sat down again. ‘Why would a man claim to be married if he wasn't?' He grinned comfortably. ‘Most guys do the opposite: pretend they're single to persuade the girl to have a relationship with them.'

‘Yes,' Joanna agreed mildly. ‘This is true.'

Floating through the air she caught a memory from years ago. Matthew hadn't lied. He never had. And she had known from the first that he was married. He had never deceived her. She laid her hands on the table, looked at the black pearl engagement ring and wondered. ‘There are, of course, other reasons why a man might pretend to be married when he is, in fact, single.'

Pointer blew out a sharp breath but apart from that made no comment.

‘Perhaps to excuse the fact that the relationship had to be kept secret,' Joanna said. ‘Molly is underage – just fifteen years old. Kayleigh is even younger. Fourteen.' Gary Pointer looked upset. ‘This is nothing to do with me,' he said. ‘I don't know these girls. I've had nothing to do with them.'

‘Take me through that Tuesday night: the night Kayleigh was assaulted.'

He pulled his shoulders up. ‘It was just a normal lad's night. Shaun's birthday. A lot of ragging and playing around. None of us was driving so we had a shedful and, well  . . .' He left it to her imagination.

‘Go on, Gary.'

‘Well – we were dancin' and playin' around, foolin' around. I remember the girl in the silver skirt.'

‘On Friday night Molly was wearing a short red dress with high-heeled silver shoes. She had a pair of reindeer antlers on, I believe.' Joanna knew exactly what she was doing – deliberately blurring the two nights in his mind.

‘They were all dressed like that: little Santas.'