Frozen (21 page)

She was tempted to ask one of the many other prostitutes she passed as she drove round the red light area. But Eileen was the one she really wanted. Eileen was, as Costello had whispered on the way to the interview room, the oldest tart on the beat; the one most likely to have the knowledge Megan needed.

Suddenly she caught sight of something that made her pull into the kerb and execute a speedy three-point turn. A flash of ginger under a street lamp – was it her?

Megan drew level with the woman walking down the road. At the sound of the slowing car Eileen Bunce instinctively turned her head. Megan wound down the passenger window.

‘You want business, love?' Eileen called as she walked towards the car. Before Megan could say anything she saw the expression on the woman's face change to one of disgust. ‘Oh! It's you! What the bloody hell do you want this time?'

‘I need to talk to you, that's all.' Megan paused, fishing her purse from her bag. ‘I'll pay for your time, of course.'

Eileen stared at her with a look of utter disdain, then, with a quick glance up and down the street, opened the passenger door and climbed in.

‘Thirty quid and you can buy me a burger while you're at it,' she said, when Megan explained what it was she wanted.

It turned out to be the worst thirty pounds Megan had ever spent. They sat in the car park of a MacDonalds and while Eileen stuffed her face, Megan recited the list of forty-three names of male caterers, cleaners and security guards who worked at BTV.

‘Sorry, love,' Eileen said, smearing lipstick on a paper serviette as she wiped her mouth.

Megan sighed. ‘Are you absolutely sure? I mean, I hope you're not taking the piss. Someone's life could be at stake here.' She looked Eileen straight in the eye. ‘Yours, maybe.'

Eileen Bunce raised her eyebrows insouciantly. ‘Don't come that one. They charged whatshisface yet, have they? Don't s'pose they'd let him loose even if they haven't.'

‘If you're talking about Sergeant Donalsen, he's being held for questioning but no one's been charged with anything yet,' Megan replied. ‘Were you on your way to your patch when I stopped you?'

‘Yeah. Why'd you ask?'

‘I'll drop you off there.' Megan started up the engine. ‘I want you to show me exactly where Maria Fellowes used to stand.'

Eileen Bunce's patch was literally round the corner from Inkerman Place, the dump site for Donna Fieldhouse's body. Eileen said she had seen Donna on the beat many times but had never seen any sign of a pimp.

‘That's where Maria used to stand, poor cow.' She jerked her thumb towards a tyre-fitting workshop a few hundred yards along the road. ‘Did the bastard really cut her feet off?'

Megan nodded. She caught the flash of headlights in the rearview mirror. A car was pulling in behind them. Eileen craned her neck round the headrest. ‘Christ – bloody Vice car!' She grunted a laugh. ‘Like to see the bleeders try charging me for this!'

Megan wound down the window. The face of PC Costello was inches from hers, a look of astonishment on his face. ‘I'm sorry, ma'am. Didn't recognise your car.' He glanced at Eileen before straightening up. From the corner of her eye, Megan saw her wink at him.

‘Lovely lad,' Eileen leered at him as he walked back to his car. ‘If I was twenty years younger…'

‘Listen,' Megan snapped as Eileen reached for the door handle, ‘I'll give you another tenner if you'll go through what you told me this morning one more time.' The woman gave Megan the sort of pitying look she might have given a halfwit. Megan took another note from her purse and held it out.

‘Go on then.' Eileen snatched it out of her hand and tucked it in her money belt.

‘Right,' Megan said. ‘I want you to tell me exactly where you went after you saw Sergeant Donalsen and Maria having sex in the squad car.'

‘Back to the beat, where'd you think?' Eileen was giving her that pitying look again. ‘Like I told you, this punter picked me up just after I seen Donalsen go off with Maria. We pulled into Prole Street but when the silly bugger caught sight of the Vice car he changed his mind and made me get out. So then I had to walk back to the beat. Why you asking me all this, anyway?'

‘I have to know exactly when Maria Fellowes disappeared. Are you sure you went straight back after you saw Sergeant Donalsen with Maria?'

‘Course I'm sure! I wasn't going to hang around after that stupid bastard kicked me out – cost me at least thirty quid in lost business, that did.'

‘What happened when you got back to the beat?'

‘I was lucky. I got a punter really quick. Only had to wait about five minutes.'

‘And how long were you with him?'

‘Longer than normal. He wanted the lot so I took him back to my place. I suppose it lasted about three quarters of an hour. Fifty quid I got for that.'

‘What happened after that? Did you go back to the beat?'

‘Yeah. I did one last punter then I called it a night.'

Megan thought for a moment. ‘So in theory, Maria Fellowes could have gone back to the beat after having sex with Sergeant Donalsen and you wouldn't necessarily have seen her?'

Eileen Bunce pursed her lips. ‘I s'pose so, yeah.'

‘What time did she usually go home?'

‘It varied. Depended on how much business she'd done.'

‘And presumably she'd have been losing business while she was with the sergeant?'

‘Too right. It wasn't the first time, you know. I've seen him pick her up before. And it's not as if she was the only one.'

‘And what about you, Eileen?' Megan asked. ‘Did he ever ask you for sex?'

The woman gave a throaty cackle. ‘Not me, love, thank God. He only liked the young ones.'

‘And why didn't you report him before? I mean, if it was common knowledge that he was abusing his position, why didn't you or one of the other women make an official complaint?'

‘Who to?' Eileen stared at Megan defiantly. ‘Who the hell's going to listen to the likes of me? That's why he did it – 'cos he knew he could get away with it.'

‘But when you heard Maria was dead, you decided to do it anyway?'

Eileen nodded.

Megan studied the woman's face, wondering if she could be believed. There had obviously been no love lost between Eileen Bunce and Maria Fellowes. What was it that had led Eileen to approach PC Costello? Sympathy? Self-preservation? Or something else?

At the moment Megan had no choice but to take her at face value. ‘Listen,' she said. ‘Just one more thing before you go. Is there anyone else around here that might have seen Maria if she returned to the beat that night?'

Eileen Bunce shook her head. ‘No.' She gestured at the dark buildings and barbed wire fences lining the street. ‘Look around you. This place is dead at night.'

‘What about the people on the soup run?'

‘No. Thursdays and Saturdays – that's when they come.'

*   *   *

Megan thought about what Eileen Bunce had told her as she drove back through the city centre. He'd killed two women within a very short space of time. And in such an organised way. No sign of frenzy. She shivered. This man was not going to stop unless they caught him. And if her instincts were right, they were no bloody closer than they'd ever been.

She had to go home and pack a bag before going to Ceri's. The street was full of cars and she had to park some way from the house. Her bag had fallen off the passenger seat and half its contents were strewn across the floor. With a sigh of frustration she switched on the interior light and began scooping things into the bag. As she shifted it back onto the seat she noticed the two Christmas cards, still unopened, that she had taken from her pigeonhole the previous night.

The first one was from the police chief she had worked with in Scotland at the end of the summer. The second one was in a red envelope and she noticed it had no stamp. No address either, just ‘Dr Megan Rhys' handwritten on the front. It was a picture of the BTV building inside a border of holly. Inside, in gold embossed script, were the words ‘Season's Greetings from everyone at BTV'. When Megan saw what was scrawled underneath she went cold.

Hope you liked the chicken – can't wait to give you your real present.

Megan felt sick. Her first instinct was to rip the card into tiny pieces and fling them in the gutter. Instead she slid it carefully back into the envelope. She grabbed her mobile phone and rummaged in her bag for her filofax.

‘Hello, Eric?' She took a breath, her heart pounding.

‘Doctor Rhys?' He sounded as if he was eating something and she could hear the television in the background.

‘Sorry to ring you at home but I've had a rather odd Christmas card.' She paused, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. ‘I want to find out who sent it. It must have been hand-delivered yesterday because it didn't have a stamp.'

‘Do you mean the one in the red envelope?'

‘Yes. Do you know who brought it in?'

‘One of the cleaners found it in the gents' toilets yesterday afternoon.'

‘Oh … That's odd.' Her mind was racing. The
toilets
? Why put it there? ‘Did you see anyone who could have left it? I mean was there anyone other than students or staff in the building yesterday?'

‘Not that I know of; mind you I was out for most of the afternoon at the doctor's. Alf was on duty, not me.'

‘Do you have his home number?'

‘Yes, but you won't get him. He's gone to Sheffield for Christmas. He won't be back until after New Year.'

Megan bit her lip. ‘Okay, thanks anyway, Eric. Have a good Christmas. Bye.'

Shivering, she climbed out of the car. She had told no one about the putrid chicken. Whoever sent that card had been inside her house. She stood on the pavement, fear making her stomach churn. She didn't want to go in. This is mad, she told herself. Someone's trying to scare you. You can't let them win.

She walked purposefully along the street, taking deep breaths of the chilly night air. Then she saw something that made her stop in her tracks.

The hall light was on.

Surely she hadn't left it on this morning? Perhaps Patrick had switched it on and forgotten to turn it off again when he left.

Swallowing hard, she crept up to the door. She could hear the television. Patrick would never have left that on. Someone was in the living room. As she peered through the pane of glass, a face appeared. She clutched the door handle, faint with shock.

‘Megan!'

It was Tony. Striding towards the door with a cigarette in his hand, looking for all the world as if he'd never left. He opened the door and she pushed past. ‘What on earth are you doing here? You scared me to death!'

‘Come on, Meg, where's your festive spirit? I only called in to wish you a merry Christmas.'

‘Well, you needn't have bothered,' Megan replied, wishing she'd had the locks changed. ‘Shouldn't you be with Clare? I gather she's about to drop.'

Tony paused for a moment, dragging on his cigarette. Megan wondered if she'd stolen his thunder. Perhaps that had been the purpose of his visit; to inform her of his imminent fatherhood. If it was, his timing was appalling.

‘You know about the baby then?' He looked like a schoolboy caught snogging behind the bike sheds.

‘Yes – I've known for ages.' Megan kept her voice as cold and calm as she could make it. ‘You didn't really think you could keep something like that a secret, did you?'

‘I suppose Neil told you. Thought he might.'

‘No, he didn't, actually.'

‘Oh?'

Megan wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of hearing how she had found out. ‘Is that all you came for?' She took off her coat and walked towards the stairs. ‘Only I've got a suitcase to pack – I'm going away for Christmas.'

‘Oh,' he said again, reminding Megan of a goldfish. ‘Who with?'

‘None of your damn business, really, is it?' She picked his coat from the peg on the wall and thrust it into his free hand.

‘Meg, wait. Can't we sit down and talk for a minute?'

‘What about? Shouldn't you be at home doing breathing exercises or something?'

‘That's just the trouble. I don't want to be there right now.'

She hesitated. ‘What on earth are you talking about?'

‘That's why I came round to see you. I need to talk to you, Megan. It's all too much – Clare's changed – I'm not even sure I can handle being a father…' He walked back into the living room and slumped onto the sofa. He stubbed out his cigarette and immediately lit another.

Megan stood stock still in the hall, wondering if she had heard right.

‘Meg!' It was almost a wail. ‘Come and talk to me, Meg – please!'

Shaking her head, Megan stormed in. ‘You selfish bastard! You complete bloody coward, you! Coming here, two days before Christmas, with your girlfriend about to give birth, whining on about not being able to handle your responsibilities. What the hell were you expecting me to do? Welcome you back with open arms crying, “Come back, Tony, all is forgiven”?'

‘Look, Meg, I can understand you being upset about the baby…'

‘Upset? I'll tell you what – I feel sorry for the poor little bastard having you for a father!' She grabbed his arm, pulling him off the sofa, and pushed him towards the door. ‘Go on, get out! Get back to your girlfriend and start facing up to your responsibilities!'

‘But Meg, it's you I want. I can see that now. The problems we had – I should have been more understanding.'

He turned towards her but she pushed him away. Flinging the front door open she stood with her arm outstretched, pointing to the street. ‘Go on, get out! And don't you dare come back here – ever – you pathetic wimp!'