Blood Axe (20 page)

46

Ian was worn
out by the time he arrived back at York station. The train journey had passed without any delay in either direction, but travelling was still tiring and uncomfortable. There was never sufficient room for legs as long as his. Tempted to go straight home and soak his aching body in a bath, he drove to the police station instead. There was still time to do a few hours' work before grabbing a takeaway on his way home. Bev was in Kent for the weekend, so he had no reason to go home early. First he wanted to relax over a cup of tea before getting stuck into writing his report on Beryl's husband. It was a depressing task. The trip to London had taken up most of the day without moving the investigation forward. Besides that, he always felt miserable after talking to the bereaved, especially if he was the one to break the news. The highlight of his day had been meeting Geraldine for lunch, but even that left him feeling sad. He didn't know when he would see her again.

Ted was in the canteen, sitting alone with a mug of hot chocolate. Ian joined him. While evidence gathering and report writing was crucial, it was important to make time for mulling over ideas as well. Geraldine had made a few suggestions he and Ted could usefully consider. Ian enquired first whether there had been any developments since he had left for London that morning. Ted looked pleased to see him and told him the post mortem on Beryl's corpse had been completed that afternoon. The sergeant had been waiting for Ian to return before going to speak to the pathologist.

‘Come on, then,' Ian said. ‘What are we waiting for?'

Without pausing to finish his tea, he jumped to his feet. Casting a rueful glance at his half drunk mug of chocolate, Ted followed him. As they drove to the mortuary, Ian ran through what Mr Morrison had told him. So far it added nothing to their store of information. Ian was keen to check out Beryl's son in Leeds, but first they wanted to see what the post mortem had revealed. Arriving at the mortuary, Ian was pleased when Avril, the young blonde anatomical pathology technician, opened the door for them.

‘I thought you'd forgotten all about me,' she scolded him playfully.

‘As if any man could forget you! Do you know Ted?'

‘Of course. How's it going?'

Pleasantries over, they put on their protective gear and followed her. Jonah glanced up when they entered the room.

‘Aha, the cavalry have arrived,' he greeted them with a wave of his scalpel. ‘Too late to save this poor soldier, I'm afraid.'

From behind his mask Ted sounded puzzled. ‘Soldier?'

‘Oh never mind. It was just a manner of speaking. She was no more a soldier than you or I. In fact, she doesn't look as though she's ever done a day's marching in her life. A soft life, by the looks of things. Privileged. Even apart from her expensive clothes, just look.'

He held up one of the dead woman's hands to display perfectly manicured polished nails.

‘She didn't put up much of a fight,' Ian remarked, noticing the absence of defence wounds.

‘No, she was clinging to the steering wheel of her car before he pulled her off. She was holding on so tightly, a fine layer of skin on the underside of her fingers has been scraped away. SOCOs found her skin cells on the steering wheel of her car, more than you'd expect just from driving, although you wouldn't know it just by looking at her fingers.'

‘But there's nothing else on her hands?' Ian asked urgently.

Jonah sighed. Had Beryl let go of the wheel to hit out at her attacker he might have fallen back, giving her time to slam her car door shut and drive off. Failing that, she could at least have scratched his face, leaving a few particles of his skin under nails to be discovered at her post mortem. As it was, her body told them nothing about her killer, other than that he had slashed her body with a long sharp blade.

Ian gazed at the bloodless gash on the dead woman's chest. It looked fake, like a wound effect created for a film.

‘She has one deep wound, made with a very sharp heavy weapon. The blade cut across her at a slight angle, presumably because she was half in and half out of the car. It looks as though he was holding her hair with one hand, attempting to yank her out of the car. Her head was forced backwards, obstructing her windpipe and causing her to choke. She was struggling against his tugging, still hanging on to the steering wheel for some reason, probably panic. She would have done better to have let go and tried to fight back, but I don't suppose it would have made any difference. A few tufts of hair have been pulled out and most of the hair has been pulled out of place.' He flicked the dead woman's hair. ‘You can see she had some sort of gel or spray holding her hair in position in a certain style, most of which has been messed up. She was killed at around nine o'clock last night. Now I can't say for certain, but she could have been killed by the same weapon that was used on your other two recent victims. So this could well be the third person killed with the same axe.' He looked up at Ian, his expression more serious than Ian had seen before. ‘I think it's time you brought this to an end, Ian. God knows I like to be busy, but this is getting out of hand. Three people viciously attacked in less than two weeks. Are any of us safe? What does the profiler say about it? Does he think it's the same killer?'

Ian inclined his head without speaking. He didn't need Jonah, or anyone else, telling him he needed to find this killer urgently. And at the back of his mind he could hear Geraldine's voice. ‘She's the third victim we know about.'

Even if the death toll so far didn't exceed the three victims they knew about, until the killer was caught there could still be more to come.

‘Is there anything to suggest why she stopped?' Ted asked.

‘Yes,' Ian chimed in, ‘we were wondering why she would have stopped the car.'

Jonah shook his head. ‘Examining her here tells the story of how and when she died, it doesn't offer any explanation as to why. And it tells us nothing about her killer.'

‘But she must have been killed by someone pretty strong?' Ian suggested.

‘Or by someone wielding a very, very sharp axe.'

‘Would using a blade to inflict injuries like this blunt an axe?'

‘Yes.'

‘So he must have a way of keeping his axe sharp.'

It wasn't much to go on, but they couldn't afford to overlook even the slightest shred of potential evidence. As they drove away, Ian asked Ted to look into sales of whetstones and knife sharpeners. Somewhere in York a man with a razor-sharp axe was hiding his weapon. He had to be maintaining it somehow.

‘Get going on that first thing tomorrow,' he said as they reached the police station car park. ‘I'm off.'

Too tired to stop for a takeaway he drove straight home and poured himself a large bowl of cornflakes. As he chomped, he tried Bev's phone. She didn't answer. He was dozing on the sofa, thinking that he really ought to get to bed, when she phoned back having noticed his missed call. It was difficult to hear what she was saying. There seemed to be noise in the background.

‘Where are you?'

‘What?'

‘What's all that noise?'

‘Oh that, I'm out with my sister. What did you want?'

‘What?'

‘Did you call for a reason? I had a missed call.'

‘No reason, just wanted to see how you're doing.'

‘Fine. How's your investigation going?'

‘Slowly.'

‘Look, I've got a really bad signal here. Shall we talk later?'

‘OK.'

He didn't mind. He was tired. ‘Let's talk tomorrow. I just wanted to know you're all right, that's all. I miss you.'

‘Miss you too,' she said, and she rang off.

Ian went to bed. Even though he was tired, he didn't sleep well. He missed his wife.

47

After a restless
night, Ian woke up late feeling out of sorts. It was unusual for him to oversleep when he was on a case. He had a vague memory that he had been dreaming about chasing a group of women. His wife had been there, fleeing from him along with the other women. Unsettled, he reached for his phone.

‘Hello?' Bev sounded sleepy.

‘I miss you.'

‘Is that you, Ian?'

‘Who else would it be?'

‘At this time in the morning, you're right.'

He glanced at his watch. It was ten past eight. He was going to be late for work. ‘When are you coming home?'

‘Give me a chance, I've only just got here. I'm staying a few days, at least. How's your case going?'

He couldn't say they had made any real progress.

‘Well, let me know how you get on.' She paused. ‘I miss you too.'

‘Let me know when you're coming back and I'll meet you at the station.'

Her thanks sounded formal. He had failed to honour such undertakings before, more than once.

He drove to work and had a full fry-up: eggs, sausages, bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes, fried bread, the works. After that, he felt ready for the day, and set off to speak to Beryl's son. The streets of York were always congested but, once he was out of the city, he was able to put his foot down. He had eaten a good breakfast, the sun was shining, the road was fast, and his beautiful wife would be home soon. Life could be worse. Pulling up outside a small house on a residential estate in Leeds, he hurried up the path and rang the bell. A short fat woman came to the door. Once she knew who Ian was, she gestured to him to follow her along a narrow hallway.

‘It's the police again, Luke,' she called out.

Somewhere in the house a baby began to cry. The fat woman waddled past Ian and clambered up the stairs as a tall thin man appeared in the hall.

‘Have you caught him?' he asked.

Huge boney hands hung limply at his sides, his shoulders were slightly rounded, and he gazed at his visitor with a wretched expression.

‘Have you caught my mother's murderer?' he repeated in a quiet voice. He had a slight lisp.

‘We're following several lines of enquiry.'

‘I don't know what that means,' Beryl's son replied with an unexpected flash of anger. ‘Find out who killed her and lock the bastard up. Prison's too good for him.'

His temper appeared to subside almost as soon as it erupted, as though he lacked energy to sustain his anger.

‘Mr Morrison, I'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind. It might help us with our enquiry. We're keen to discover who committed this crime as quickly as we can. Not only are we concerned to see your mother's killer brought to justice, but we want to make sure he can no longer pose a threat to anyone else.'

‘Is he likely to kill again?'

Ian hesitated. ‘There's nothing to suggest he might, but you can never be sure.'

‘I knew it,' Luke muttered. ‘It's the same one, isn't it, the killer they're calling the axe murderer. It was him, wasn't it? He killed my mother.'

Ian hesitated again, but there was nothing to be gained from concealing the truth.

‘We think so,' he admitted. ‘It's looking likely. And he has to be caught before he can attack anyone else.'

Luke glared at Ian for a moment before ushering him into a small living room.

‘If you'd caught him before this, my mother would still be alive,' Luke said when they were both seated.

Ian didn't answer straight away. There was nothing he could say to lessen the other man's grief. Luke struck him as a bit dim, so Ian spoke slowly.

‘We're doing our best to catch him. I'd like to ask you a few questions.'

According to her son, Beryl had no enemies. She had lived an exemplary life, doing voluntary work to support local charities, attending church, and looking after her family.

‘Can you think of anyone at all who might have held a grudge against your mother, for any reason at all?'

Luke gave a short bark of laughter. ‘You think someone might have held a grudge against my mother? Enough to want to kill her? If you'd ever met her, you'd know how stupid that sounds. My mother was as nice a woman as you could ever wish to meet.'

According to Luke, his mother had lived a saintly life. He spoke of her in such reverential tones that Ian wondered if he was talking to the right person. Perhaps Beryl's tubby daughter-in-law would have a different opinion of the woman Luke seemed to idolise.

‘You seem very certain she had no enemies.'

‘That's because I knew my mother. In any case, you said yourself it's the axe murderer who killed her, and he's already killed other people, hasn't he? Is he supposed to have held a personal grudge against them all, enough to make him want to kill them all?'

With a shrug, Ian pressed on. ‘There is just one other question, Mr Morrison. Where were you at around nine o'clock on Thursday evening?'

Luke had been at work until half past five and had then taken a bus home, arriving back at around six. At around nine he thought he had been in the local supermarket picking up some beer.

‘And where do you work?'

After noting down the names of Luke's employers, Ian asked to speak to his wife. She too had nothing but praise for her mother-in-law.

‘She was very generous to us,' she added.

‘Generous?'

‘Yes, she bought so much for the baby, and don't tell Luke I told you this, but she helped us with the house. We could never have managed it by ourselves. We had to sell the car. I'm not sure what's going to happen now. His mother's always looked after him, but his father's a stingy old bastard.'

Although it was logistically feasible for Luke or his wife to have borrowed or hired a car and driven out of Leeds to meet his mother on the road, they certainly had no motive for wanting her dead. On the contrary, they had a vested interest in protecting her, as she gave them financial support. Ian thanked them both for their help and left, after expressing his condolences once again for their loss. There was nothing to be gained from staying there any longer.