Blood Axe (26 page)

61

The forensic team
were making slow progress, partly because the killer's hiding place was out of doors in a waterlogged ditch at the bottom of a muddy slope, and partly because the axe itself had been smothered in Andrea's blood. There had been a flurry of excitement when a trace of someone else's blood had been discovered on the handle. It had turned out to be Beryl's. The axe had evidently been thoroughly cleaned after each murder and sharpened as well, removing most of the earlier blood stains. Ian sat at his desk fiddling around with files, rereading statements, thinking about his pregnant wife. It was tempting to jump on a train down to Kent. He would have to change in London but he could be in Tunbridge Wells in under four hours. The trouble was, if anything new came up it could take him a lot longer to get back, depending on the times of the trains. If he was needed after the last train had gone, he would have to drive home and that could take up to six hours, depending on the traffic. He couldn't really afford to be so far away in the middle of a case. Far better to persuade Bev to come home. He wanted her with him. He picked up his phone.

‘Bev, it's me. Please call me when you get this.'

He wasn't sure what he was going to say to her when she called back. He was excited at the idea of becoming a father, if scared, and prepared to cut her as much slack as possible. In spite of his determination to be tolerant, he didn't relish the prospect of a hormonal wife dragging him along on an emotional roller coaster. Bev could be difficult to deal with at the best of times. He wasn't thinking about her any more when she rang later that afternoon.

‘Ian, it's me. We need to talk, face to face. That's why I've come home. But I'm not staying.'

‘What?'

‘I'm at home. Can you come home and talk? I'm not staying long.'

It was hardly an encouraging start, but at least she was home. He promised to be there within the hour.

‘My wife's not feeling too well,' he explained to Ted. It wasn't too far from the truth. ‘She's pregnant,' he added, feeling he needed to excuse his absence at such a critical time.

‘Congratulations! Why didn't you say something?'

‘It's early days so I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone just yet.'

‘Sure. It's not my news to tell anyway.'

‘So can you and Naomi hold the fort while I'm away? I know Eileen's off at a meeting all afternoon and won't be back until tomorrow, but I'll just be at home if you need me.'

‘Naomi went to talk to Sophie. It was Eileen's suggestion. Sophie might know something without realising it, and Eileen thought she'd be more likely to talk to Naomi than any of us. Both being young women and all that. But don't worry. It's not as if there's a lot going on right now. Apart from the waiting.'

Ian thanked his sergeant and dashed off home. Bev was waiting for him in the kitchen. She was pale and there were grey pouches under her eyes. He could tell she had been crying. At the same time, he registered her raised chin, and the determined expression on her face. Despite her miserable expression, she had lost the hangdog air he had grown accustomed to since their relocation. Before he had a chance to greet her, she blurted out that she was leaving him.

‘What?'

‘I'm leaving you.'

‘You've only just got back.'

‘No, I'm leaving you. For good. I'm not coming back. It's over between us.'

‘Bev, what's got into you? Sit down. We need to talk about how you're feeling right now.'

‘There's nothing to talk about. I just came back to tell you that I'm leaving you.' She dropped her head in her hands and began to cry. ‘I couldn't tell you over the phone, could I?'

‘Sit down.'

She sat, and he drew a chair up to the table beside her.

‘Bev, I don't know why you're talking like this. Whatever's making you unhappy, we can sort it out. We've had difficult times before but we've always worked things out. You can't talk about leaving me, not now, not ever.'

He leaned to put his arm round her shoulders but she drew back.

‘It's not yours.'

‘What?'

She looked at the floor, her hands fidgeting in her lap. ‘The baby. It's not yours.'

Ian sat up and stared at her in disbelief. Close up he could see her cheeks and lips were unhealthily pale, and her eyes were bloodshot. She must have been crying a lot. Pushing the thought from his mind he spoke very calmly and quietly. Only his years of training enabled him to retain his self-control.

‘What do you mean, it's not mine?'

Her words cut like a razor. ‘I've been having an affair. The baby's not yours. That's why I'm leaving. I can't make it any clearer. I don't know what more I can say. I'm really sorry it's worked out like this. I never meant for it to end like this. Please don't make it any harder for me than it already is.'

‘Hard for
you
…?'

He turned away to hide his bitterness. Just a few seconds ago he had been looking forward to becoming a father, now he had lost not only the prospect of fatherhood, but his wife as well. He could quite cheerfully have strangled the life out of the man who had been screwing Bev.

‘Who is he?'

‘You don't know him.'

‘It's the manager where you used to work, isn't it?'

‘What difference does it make?'

While he was struggling for words, his phone rang. Bev laughed, her eyes bright with fury.

‘Go on, answer it. You know you want to.'

He shook his head, pleading. ‘Bev, don't do this. We can work it out.'

She stood up. ‘It's too late, Ian. I'm leaving.' She was crying so hard he could barely understand what she was saying. ‘Let's not have a scene. We can be civilised about this.'

‘No!'

He tried to take her arm but she shook herself free. Helplessly, he watched her walk out of the room.

62

As Bev disappeared
, Ian jumped to his feet. He flung open the kitchen door. Ignoring the muffled ringing of the phone in his pocket, he ran after her and caught up with her at the front door.

‘Bev! Wait! We can work this out.'

He put his hand against the door to prevent her from opening it. In his pocket his phone kept ringing.

‘It's too late, Ian. I don't want to stay here any more. It's over. I'm sorry.'

Sobbing, she ducked under his arm, wrenched the door open and shot past him. Stopping only to grab his keys, he ran after her in time to see her opening the door of a taxi that was waiting for her. As though paralysed, he watched her through the taxi window, gliding away from him. He ran to his car, intent on following her to the station. His phone rang again.

‘I can't talk now,' he gabbled, before he realised it wasn't Ted but someone from the forensic lab.

‘You wanted us to call you with any updates. Well, first of all, the axe head is made of iron, with an edge welded on made of EN42 steel that has been sharpened more than once. But that's not all. We discovered female DNA at the crime scene. To begin with we assumed it belonged to the victim. Well, we've tested it, and it's definitely not hers. We found the exact same DNA on the axe-sharpening materials, the file and the rags and the polish and so on that you found in a ditch by the river. It's identical, so we think we have the killer's DNA. We'll be sending a report, but you said you wanted to be notified straight away if we found anything.'

Ian felt his spirits lift. At last they had come up with something. Even if they didn't have a match yet, finding the DNA was certainly a move in the right direction. It could only be a matter of time now before they had the killer behind bars.

‘That's great. Thanks for letting me know.'

‘It's certainly a step forward.'

‘You say you haven't found a match?'

‘No, we're working on it but there's nothing yet. We'd love to be able to give you the killer's identity, but we just don't have it.'

‘So what
can
you tell us about the killer?'

‘Other than that she's a woman, you mean?'

‘A woman?'

The scientist had mentioned finding female DNA at the crime scene. Distracted by Bev's departure, he hadn't realised the significance of the information straight away. The killer was a woman. Ian's thoughts raced. One woman had appeared fascinated by the case all along. Sophie had deliberately lied about Frank to lead the investigating team astray. Ian had thought she was affecting an interest in the case as an excuse to see him. It now appeared that her interest might have had a different motive. She had been checking on his progress to find out if he suspected her. He needed to report his suspicions to Eileen urgently. But first he had to get to the station before Bev and persuade her not to leave York. As he pulled away from the kerb, he remembered something Ted had said.

Naomi had gone to talk to Sophie on the off chance that Sophie might know more about the killer without realising it. Only now it seemed that Sophie not only knew a lot more about the elusive killer than anyone else, she could be the axe murderer herself. Although it was hard to believe that such a delicate-looking girl could be responsible for so many brutal murders, at the same time it made sense. Jonah had told them a woman could have slashed the victims, given a sharp enough blade. The murder weapon had been regularly sharpened. The more Ian thought about it, the more convinced he became that Sophie was the killer they had been looking for.

He tried Naomi's number. There was no response. He called Ted who answered straight away.

‘Where's Naomi?'

‘I thought I already told you she went to question Sophie. She went a while ago but she's not back so she must have gone home after seeing the witness. I think she did mention she wanted to get to the shops later. Something about friends coming for dinner at the weekend.'

‘Has she called in a report?'

‘No, not yet, but I'm sure she's working on it.'

Ted was evidently anxious to cover up for his colleague who had gone off without phoning in to say where she was. Ian had a far more serious worry concerning the constable's whereabouts.

‘Did she go to speak to her at Jorvik?' he asked.

Nothing too drastic could happen to Naomi at the museum in front of other people. If there had been an incident, a report would have reached Ian by now. Ted said he would check, and Ian set off in pursuit of Bev. Before he reached the station, Ted called back. It seemed Naomi had gone to the museum but Sophie wasn't at work that day. After turning up and asking for her, Naomi had left Jorvik without telling anyone where she was going. Ted supposed she had gone to Sophie's home address.

This was no time for talk. Ian spun his wheel.

‘Meet me at Sophie's flat,' he told Ted. ‘I'm going there now. I think Sophie's the killer.'

‘What?'

As briefly as he could, Ian explained what he had learned from the forensic lab. It would be easy enough to check whether the DNA found at the crime scene matched Sophie's. She could be quickly eliminated, if Ian had jumped to the wrong conclusion. But first they had to find her, and check that Naomi was all right.

‘She knows how to take care of herself,' Ted said.

He didn't sound very confident. The best trained officer could be overpowered if they were taken completely unawares. Naomi was going to question Sophie as a potential witness, not a suspect. There was no reason why the constable would enter the property prepared to defend herself against a violent attack. Although she no longer had an axe, if Sophie
was
the killer, she might have other potential weapons to hand, kitchen knives and scissors, if nothing else. In the wrong hands, ordinary household items could become lethal weapons.

‘I'll be there in five minutes,' Ian barked. ‘Join me as soon as you can, and alert any patrol cars in the vicinity. We need to get there as quickly as possible. Go now!'

Ian put his foot down.

63

With Biter he had
been in control of his life. Without his trusted weapon, he was vulnerable. He struggled to know what was happening. He needed to understand why the police woman had come to see him. She was only a woman, but she looked strong enough to put up a fight. He was nervous. This was not his normal way of working, not least because she had come to him. He didn't like that. Out on the street, in the dark, he had the benefit of surprise on his side. Here, the police woman was watching him. There was no way he could creep up on her unawares.

He smiled at her standing on his doorstep. He didn't want her to suspect he was afraid. Hiding his fear, he smiled and allowed her to enter. There wasn't much else he could do after she had invited herself in. At the same time he was wondering what she was really doing there. She couldn't possibly have seen through his disguise. He had been so careful. The police had been to Jorvik several times, and he had seen this detective constable before so he knew who she was, even before she introduced herself. He wanted to yell at her to get the fuck out of his home. Instead he led her into the kitchen and invited her to sit down.

Outwardly calm, he offered her a cup of tea, pretending he wasn't bothered by her unexpected appearance at his front door. He had no idea what she was thinking, but she didn't know what was in his mind either. Biter was merely his instrument. He was the killer. The wolf in his head panted to tear her flesh.

‘How can I help you?' he asked, ever so politely, when they were both seated on kitchen stools.

She had refused a cup of tea. Just as well, as he had run out of milk. He dropped his eyes to the floor under the intensity of her gaze. When he looked up again, she was looking down at the floor. In the instant before she raised her head, his eyes flicked to the knife rack beside the sink. He weighed up his options. If it was necessary to silence her, the opportunity would arise. A warrior never hesitated. But he had to be clever as well as bold. The trouble was, if he struck her with a knife, her blood would spray all around the kitchen in the flat where he lived. It would be impossible to clean up completely. The police were bound to redouble their efforts to find him if he killed one of their own. He would have to find a way to get rid of her without spilling a drop of her blood. It wouldn't be easy, but he had never been one to shy away from difficulty.

‘How can I help you?' he repeated, trying to keep his voice steady so he wouldn't betray his feelings.

Beneath the mask people were animals, able to sense fear.

‘We've narrowed our search down,' she replied. ‘We're pretty sure now that the killer we're looking for works at the Jorvik museum.'

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? What makes you think that?'

She was lying. She had to be. The police couldn't possibly know where he worked. He had been far too careful for that, covering his tracks so that no one could find him. The river had offered him escape and protection. Even their dogs couldn't follow him across the water. Somehow she knew more than she was letting on. He didn't understand what trickery this was. He bitterly regretted having let her in. He took a deep breath. He needed to think clearly. If he panicked, he was lost. She had no idea who he was, or she would never have turned up alone. Growling, the wolf in his head hunkered down. All he had to do was negotiate his way around her questions and she would leave, no wiser than she had been when she arrived.

‘I wish I could help you,' he lied.

She returned his smile. The stupid bitch had no idea who he was. He burned to reveal himself, but this was not the place for such a display. He would have to content himself with imagining her surprise if she could see his true identity. He tried to focus on her words as she reiterated that the police suspected the axe murderer could be connected with Jorvik.

‘We're questioning everyone who works there to see if anyone can offer us any further information at all. Anything you can tell us might be useful. Anything at all. Nothing is too small to be of potential interest to us.'

She enquired whether he had noticed anything unusual in any of his colleagues, any strange patterns of behaviour, flaring tempers or signs of stress. He shook his head, thinking, wondering when this was going to end. She seemed to have been sitting in his kitchen bombarding him with questions for hours, when they were interrupted by her phone ringing.

The wolf growled. He couldn't control it. Her eyebrows rose a fraction at the rumbling in his throat. He coughed and her features relaxed.

‘Frog in my throat,' he muttered.

He struggled to control the beast.

‘Can I get you some water?'

‘No, no, I'm fine, really. Thank you. I'm fine but actually I'm not feeling too well. Is there anything else I can help you with?'

It was her hint to leave. As she stood up, her phone rang again. She reached into her bag for it. As she listened, her expression altered. Her eyes met his. In that instant he understood. She had been sent in advance to keep him talking so he didn't leave, and he had fallen into the trap. The police were outside waiting for her to open the door. The phone call had been her signal that all was ready. The flat was surrounded by police officers poised to rush in and capture him as soon as she opened the front door. But first she had to reach it.

With a snarl, the wolf leapt.