The Doll's House (32 page)

P
hil stepped over the threshold, on to the boat. Focused. Processed. Assessed the situation.

A mess. A dead body in the middle of it. But more than that.

Before he went any further, he spoke to one of the two anoraked women standing on the jetty. Both of them looked drained. ‘Which one of you found the body?'

They looked at each other. One wanted to speak more than the other. ‘DC Pam Chapman,' she said. ‘We both did.'

‘Has he got a name?'

‘Scott Sheriff,' she replied. ‘He was on the list of local violent sex offenders. We were checking him out.'

‘I'll bet he'll be the last call you make today.'

She smiled slightly.

Phil thanked her and went inside, crossing to Jo Howe, the FSI team leader. ‘What have we got, then?'

‘White male, short, stocky, bit paunchy. Looks like an attack.' She pointed to the body. ‘Or a sex game that went wrong. Look.'

Phil looked. The man's jeans and underwear were down round his ankles. A leather belt was pulled tight round his neck. It looked like he had been attacked, half his face resembling raw mince. The eye that wasn't swollen shut was bulging, face turning purple. His fingers were at his neck.

‘Leave the body for Esme,' said Phil. ‘See what she makes of it. What about the rest of the place, what have you got?'

‘Well,' said Jo, ‘looks like he lived alone. And looks like he let his attacker in. No sign of a forced entry. The area of struggle was here' – she indicated the main living area – ‘nothing on the kitchen, bathroom, anywhere else. Localised.'

‘That should help,' said Phil. He thanked her, turned to the shelves. Scanned the book spines. Mostly non-fiction. True crime. Life stories of famous serial killers. A couple of encyclopedias, a dictionary.
Wanted to better himself
, he thought. Then looked at the serial killer books again.
Maybe not better himself. But he might have had an ambition
for something.

He scanned further, gently removing tattered magazines with his gloved fingers. Extreme bondage. Mainly gay. Looked well read. He went back up to the top of the shelf, picked off a serial killer book at random. It was about Ted Bundy. The spine was heavily creased. He allowed it to open naturally. He looked at the page. It was heavily annotated. Notes in the margins, passages underlined. The section dealt with Bundy stalking and selecting victims. The notes questioned his techniques, offering variations, suggesting improvements. One comment said quite simply:
More rope. Bigger KNIFE.
The last word underlined so heavily the pen had gone through the paper.

Phil put the book back, took down another one. The same thing. He got the picture. Felt a prickling on the back of his scalp.

He looked round the room again. Something caught his eye. A doll's house, lying on its side, furniture spilled out. Curious, he knelt, examined it. It was old, well-used, made of cheap, heavy plastic. It had been cleaned up, the felt-tip pen marks scrubbed away, the dirt erased, but it would never look good again. The furniture was in a similar condition.

Then he saw the doll.

Lying beside the man's head, blonde, smiling. It looked familiar. Or the clothes looked familiar. He had seen someone wearing something similar recently… He placed it. It looked like Glenn McGowan. Or rather Amanda. In the DVDs, in the flesh.

The prickling disappeared. He felt a fizzing inside him. He was on to something. He pushed the doll's house back with a gloved finger, looked underneath. There were two other dolls there. Different to the first one. One was a male doll with its legs cut off. The other was similar to the first, female, blonde, but this one looked like it had been stabbed repeatedly. Frenziedly.

He replaced the house, stood up. Thought. Something jarred about those two dolls. Something very specific. He closed his eyes. It was fairly recent…

He opened them again, feeling like he had just had an electric shock. He took out his phone, called Sperring. Waited for the man to answer.

‘Phil Brennan,' he said. ‘Listen. That double murder in Edgbaston you're working. Tell me about it.'

‘What d'you want to know?' Sperring couldn't have sounded more reluctant if he'd had his tongue removed.

‘Victims. Details. What they looked like, what they had done to them, that kind of thing.'

A sigh. ‘Keith Burkiss. Male. Mid forties. Lost both legs to diabetes, had stage four cancer —'

‘What did you say?'

‘Stage four cancer.'

‘The bit before. Lost both legs to diabetes?'

‘That's right.'

‘How was he killed?'

‘Smothered with a pillow, it looked like.'

‘And the other one?'

‘His wife. Well, estranged wife. Kelly Burkiss. She was a right mess.'

‘Was she cut?'

‘Yeah. Loads of times. Whoever did it didn't like her.'

‘Thanks.'

‘What's this about?'

‘Tell you when I see you.' He hung up. Looked back at the dolls. Then round at the room again. ‘Have the cupboards been gone through?' he asked Jo Howe.

‘Not yet,' she said.

‘Fine.' He crossed to a small chest of drawers placed up against one wall. Began pulling them out in order. The top two contained clothes, but the ones nearer the bottom didn't. Restraints. Dildos. Big black ones. Whips. Nothing wrong with that, thought Phil, not in and of itself. And not proof of anything. He pulled open the next drawer. Smiled. A knife.

‘A big knife,' he said aloud. ‘Bigger than Ted Bundy's.'

He knew better than to touch it. He tried another drawer. His smile got wider. A black wig and moustache. Identical to the ones in the video.

‘Gotcha,' said Phil.

There was one more thing he had to check. He crossed to the body, knelt beside it. Pulled back its right sleeve.

‘Careful,' said Jo Howe. ‘Leave that for Esme.'

‘Oh I'm being careful, don't you worry,' said Phil. He peeled back the sleeve a little more. And there it was. A double helix tattoo.

He let the sleeve drop back into place, stood up. Or as much as the cramped interior would allow him to.

‘I think we've got our man,' he said. Then looked round the room again, taking everything in one more time. The books, the doll's house, the wig, the knife… Perfect.

Or at least that's what someone wants us to think
…
 

M
addy walked up the pathway to Hugo Gwilym's front door, trying to remember all the things Ben had told her she should be. Strong. No bullshit. In charge. She kept trying, saying those words over and over in her head like a mantra, but other thoughts kept creeping in, getting in the way.

The way Ben had behaved in front of Marina. The way he had made her behave. She had felt useless when Marina left, pathetic and weak. She had also felt like she had done the wrong thing. Or been persuaded to do the wrong thing. And she disliked herself because of it.

But Ben had talked her round. ‘Don't listen to her,' he had said. ‘We don't need her. I've got it all sorted out. It'll be fine.' He had taken her face in his hands then, turned it up so she had no choice but to look at him. It was the first time she'd realised just how strong his grip was. He had smiled. ‘You just do as I say, and everything will work out for the best. OK?'

And Maddy had nodded and agreed.

But now she felt anything but OK. Doubts were hammering at the certainty Ben had tried to instil in her. She thought she should listen to them. Even act on them, maybe. But as she approached Gwilym's front door and felt her hand go towards the bell, she realised she wasn't going to. It was easier to do what Ben wanted. Less trouble. Safer. For her.

She kept her hand on the bell. He could ignore it at first, but if she was insistent, he would have to come down and see who was there. He did so. Opened the door wearing his dressing gown and an angry expression. Which changed to shock and bewilderment when he saw who it was.

‘Maddy? What are —'

She didn't give him time to finish, just swept past him, down the hall and into the living room.

‘Maddy, you can't just…' He followed her in.

She stood in the centre of the room, turned to him. ‘I need to talk to you, Hugo. Urgently. Now.'

He looked round. His hair was unkempt, his stubble a little more than designer, coming in very grey. His eyes dark-rimmed, sunken.
He looks old
, she thought.
What did I see in such an old man?

‘Maddy, it's… it's not convenient right now. Come back… Look, why don't we —'

‘Not convenient?' she said, finding the strength to go with her words. ‘You mean you've got someone here, is that it? Didn't take you long.'

He began to make a half-hearted protest but soon stopped.

‘Now, Hugo. It has to be right now. Say no and you'll be sorry. Very sorry.'

He saw something in her eyes, her manner, and knew he would have to do what she said. ‘Give me… give me a minute.'

He left the room, going back upstairs. Maddy went into the hall, unlocked the front door, left it on the latch, went back into the living room where she had been standing. She heard voices from upstairs, a woman's raised, his placating. Soon, a young woman came hurrying down the stairs, still fastening her clothes. She looked into the living room, saw Maddy. Wasn't happy.

‘You're well out of it,' said Maddy.

The young woman grabbed her coat and left, slamming the door behind her.

Gwilym re-entered the room. ‘This better be good.'

‘Oh it is, Hugo.' She knew what she had to say next. Ben had rehearsed her. ‘I'm going to go to the police, Hugo.'

‘The police? Why?'

‘Tell them you raped me.'

‘Oh Maddy, that's just rubbish. There's no need to do that.'

‘Yes there is, Hugo.'

‘Look…' He crossed towards her, smile in place, arms outstretched. ‘Let's talk about this. It ended badly, I know, but —'

‘I've got proof,' she said, cutting him off.

His mood changed suddenly. ‘Proof? What kind of proof?'

She smiled. She enjoyed seeing his reaction. Enjoyed having the upper hand with him for once. ‘Proof that you were the father of our child.'

‘You can't prove that. It's… it's gone.'

She remembered the lines she had rehearsed. ‘It's not, Hugo. I couldn't go through with it.'

Gwilym's face had drained of colour. He looked like he had aged ten years in as many seconds. ‘What d'you mean?'

‘I kept it, Hugo.'

‘You're… you're lying.'

‘No I'm not.' She rubbed her stomach, advanced towards him. ‘Here it is, Hugo, here's your child… Want to feel?'

He backed away from her, letting out a moan that sounded like the final breath of a wounded animal.

‘A simple DNA test,' she said, still advancing. ‘That's all it'll take. I'll show them the marks on my wrist. I'll tell them that you raped me.'

Gwilym looked round frantically, like he was trapped.

‘And I wasn't the first, was I, Hugo? You like to do this. Take a young woman, seduce her to get her pregnant, or worse…' Maddy kept advancing. She could feel anger rising within her. Rage at what he had done to her, at how she had been so stupid as to let him. She wanted to lash out, hit him. Hurt him.

‘What… what are you going to do?' he said. ‘What d'you want from me?' His voice small and pathetic. Defeated. ‘What d'you want me to do?'

‘Hand over all your research about deviant personalities for that book you've been working on,' said a male voice.

M
arina drove. She had her iPhone set for hands-free, and called Anni. It went to voicemail.

‘Hi, Anni, listen, it's me. I know you're on your way but I just wanted to get the ball rolling. I didn't want to sit around waiting and do nothing, it would have driven me mad. So I decided to pay a call on Maddy Mingella, another of Hugo Gwilym's… I don't know, victims? I could be polite and say girlfriends or conquests, but, you know. Anyway. Long story short, she wanted to help but her boyfriend didn't. Said they had something already in place. I didn't like him, Anni. Got a very bad vibe from him. So I stuck around afterwards. Just in case.' She laughed. ‘You taught me well. Always follow a hunch. So I'm following them. And he's driving a very unstudenty car, which makes me even more suspicious of him. No one I was at college with drove a Lexus four-by-four. I'm rambling again and I'm sure this is going to cut me off, so, to the point. Judging from the route they're taking, they're on their way to Gwilym's place. I'm going after them. We can't let them mess things up, or tip him off. So. I know you're on the way. I'll meet you at his. I'll text you the postcode when I'm there and you can stick it in your sat nav. See you soon…'

She hung up. Kept driving.

G
wilym turned. The voice had come from the doorway to the living room. Ben was standing there, leaning against the door frame. He smiled. Maddy thought she should have been glad to see him, but she didn't feel that way. She thought this would have gone better if he hadn't been there. Or even if Marina had been here.

‘Hand over… what?'

Ben detached himself from the frame, walked into the room. ‘Every copy. Every note. Every laptop, every memory stick. All of it. The whole lot. So you're not left with the slightest trace.'

‘Why?'

‘Because I want it,' said Ben.

Gwilym's expression changed. ‘Who are you, anyway?'

Ben smiled. It wasn't pleasant. ‘Who am I? Don't you recognise me?'

‘Should I?'

‘Evidently not. Let's just say I'm with her.'

Gwilym looked between the two of them. ‘Well,' he said, getting angry now, ‘you're not having it. Definitely not. No. You're not going to pass my work off as your own. Not after all the effort I've put into that. No way.'

‘Work? Effort?
Your
effort?' Ben moved nearer to him. ‘My effort, you mean.'

Gwilym frowned. Confused.

‘Yes, my effort. If you'd recognised me, you'd remember. I was one of your unpaid researchers. Though it was more than that, wasn't it? We did all the work for you. Everything. Then you stepped in, gathered it all up, took the credit. We don't even get a mention. And you, I don't know, get another best-seller, win another award.' He looked over at the mantelpiece. A heavy black obelisk, inscribed with gold lettering, sat on one corner. ‘Awards like this one.' He picked it up, read it. ‘Popular Science Book of the Year. I didn't even know there was an award for that.'

‘There's an award for everything now,' Gwilym said, weakly.

‘Clearly. But d'you think that's fair? We do all the work, you get…' he held the award up, ‘this.'

‘That's… that's not how it is.'

‘Oh yes it is,' said Ben. ‘And we can't have that. Can we?'

‘So that's… that's what this is all about? You want… you want my book.'

Ben laughed. ‘Oh no. It's about so much more than that. Now hand everything over, or we go to the police. Right now.'

Maddy looked at Ben, confused. Surely that was the idea all along? That was what they had agreed. And all this bit about the book, that was just a side issue, not important. This wasn't going the way they had planned it.

She looked at Ben, tried to catch his eye. He ignored her.

‘Go get it,' he said to Gwilym.

Gwilym, seeing he had no choice, left the room.

Ben stood by the mantelpiece, admiring the award. Maddy crossed over to him. ‘What's going on? This wasn't what we agreed.'

‘Slight change of plan,' he said without looking up. ‘This way's better.'

‘But Ben, we —'

He turned to her. ‘Shut up. Just shut up.' His eyes were blazing, mouth snarling. Maddy stepped back. She wished she had never listened to him. Never met him. Either of them.

Gwilym returned to the room, a briefcase under one arm. He put it down on a chair. ‘Here it is,' he said. ‘Everything. Notes, laptop, the lot.' He stared at it, eyes full of sadness, like he was saying goodbye to his only child.

‘Good,' said Ben. Then he strode across the floor, lifted up the award he was holding and brought it down heavily on Gwilym's head.

Maddy stared, too shocked to scream. Gwilym hit the floor hard, blood haloing out around his head. Maddy looked at Ben. Open-mouthed, in shock.

‘What… what did you do that for? That wasn't —'

‘Here,' he said, ‘catch.'

He threw the award at her. She caught it instinctively. Then, realising what she had done, let it drop to the floor. She looked back at him. And noticed for the first time that he was wearing latex gloves.

‘What's going on, Ben? I want to go home.' She could feel herself starting to panic. ‘This isn't what we planned…'

Ben advanced towards her. As he did so, he pulled out a knife from his jacket pocket. That smile again.

‘On the contrary,' he said, ‘this is exactly what I planned…'