Too Close For Comfort (10 page)

“It's awkward,
guv.”

“I know it's
awkward, Knight. Serial killers aren't exactly fluffy bastard
bunnies. I want professionalism and cooperation or I want you out,
got it?”

“Got it.”

As they
re-entered the room, Culverhouse barked his commentary back at the
tape.

“Wendy? Is it
true? Did you find this knife in my house?”

“Yes.”

“But...
how?”

Culverhouse
interrupted. “Because you didn't hide it very well, Mr
Ludford.”

“I didn't hide
it at all! It wasn't me!”

“Do you live
alone, Mr Ludford?”

“Well,
yes.”

“Then who do
you suppose put it there?”

“Well, no-one
could have. I don't even really have visitors. That is, apart from
Wendy.”

“For the
benefit of the tape, Mr Ludford is referring to DS Knight. The
particulars are covered within the case file. Mr Ludford, let me
get this right. You form a relationship with a police officer in
order to find out information about how close they are to finding
out that you're going around killing young, innocent women. You
ensure that she's the only other person allowed in your flat so
when you're finally caught you can claim she's fitted you up. Is
this starting to make sense?”

“No! None of
that is true at all!”

“Tell me about
the knots, Ludford.”

“The
knots?”

“The
knots.”

Wendy's
confidence had returned. “When I was at your flat you had two books
open on the coffee table in your living room detailing the specific
types of knot which were used to kill each of the murdered
girls.”

“I... I told
you why I had those books open.”

“For the
benefit of the tape, Mr Ludford told me he was looking something up
for a friend.”

“Yes. That's
right.”

“Which
friend?”

“I can't
say.”

“We can always
add obstruction of justice to your growing list of charges, if you
wish.”

“Alright,
alright. It was an old Army friend of mine.”

“Army friend?
You never told me you were in the Army.”

Culverhouse
interrupted again. “Why did you leave the Army, Mr Ludford?”

Robert Ludford
let out a loud laugh, his shoulders bouncing rhythmically.

“You wouldn't
believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“I got sick of
death.”

“If you'll
forgive me, Mr Ludford, all the evidence points to the contrary.
What was your friend's name?”

“Geoff
Casey.”

“And where does
Mr Casey live?”

“In a town
called Woodend.”

“Would you care
to enlighten us as to where that is?”

“Just outside
Christchurch.”

“Christchurch
in New Zealand?”

“Yes. There's
no way Geoff Casey is your murderer, if that's what you're
thinking. As unlikely as it sounds, it's a horrible coincidence,
Inspector. Bowline knots aren't exactly rare, but Geoff remembered
that I was quite adept with them during our Army days and asked me
how to tie one. He lives near the coast and had landed himself a
day's sailing with a potential lady friend. He's the same silly old
sod he always used to be – didn't have a clue how to tie a bowline
knot, never mind how to steer the boat. I couldn't help him with
that bit, of course.”

“An admirable
story. Mr Ludford. Do you have one for how the blood-stained murder
weapon miraculously appeared in your drawer yet?”

“No.”

“Well that's a
shame. For you, at least.”

Wendy spoke up.
“How about your reaction to the mention of Nicole Bryant on the
television the other night? You wouldn't discuss her case at all,
despite being quite interested in the other victims.”

“Some might say
too
interested.” Culverhouse said.

“This isn't
going to look good at all, I'm afraid.”

“None of it's
looking particularly good right now, Mr Ludford.”

“Look, I did
something very bad and very foolish but I certainly didn't kill
anyone. A couple of months before I met you, Wendy, I was
approached by Nicole Bryant in a bar in town. She was there with a
few friends and they were all pretty drunk. By the end of the night
her friends had gone off and left her so I offered to walk her home
to make sure she was safe and didn't get hurt. I didn't see any
harm in it. When we got back to hers, she grabbed me on the
doorstep and tried to kiss me. I pulled away and she told me she
wanted to have sex. I told her I couldn't as I didn't know her and
I had half a feeling she wasn't even an adult. The next day she was
waiting for me when I got home from work. I have no idea how she
found out where I lived. She told me that if I didn't give her £250
in cash, she'd go to the police and say I'd raped her. That isn't
something someone in my profession can risk, and I just panicked. I
gave her the cash and hoped she'd disappear. A few days later she
sent me a page torn out of a jeweller's catalogue with a hideously
expensive bracelet circled in black marker pen.”

“And you bought
it for her?”

“Yes. I just
wanted her to leave me alone. I couldn't risk her going to the
police, even though I was innocent. I know what the law is like in
cases like that and I couldn't risk it. I guess today just goes to
prove it.”

“It proves
nothing, Mr Ludford. Why didn't you go to the police?”

“Look. I didn't
know what to do. She kept blackmailing me, wanting more money and
more expensive gifts.”

“So you decided
to kill her?” Culverhouse asked.

“No! I haven't
killed anybody!”

“So who
did?”

“I don't know.
I had mixed emotions when I heard that Nicole had been killed. On
one hand, I hated her for what she did to me and how she was so
prepared to ruin an innocent man's life and I was glad she was out
of my way. On the other hand, of course, two parents just lost a
daughter. You have to believe me. I did not kill Nicole
Bryant.”

“And what about
Grace Norris?”

“No. I haven't
killed anyone, Inspector.”

As Ludford sat
stewing in his cell, Wendy and Culverhouse planned their next move.
Step one would have to be to ring Ludford's friend in New Zealand
in order to confirm his story. As they were buried deep in thought,
Culverhouse's phone rang.

“Yes? Ah-ha.
Right. I see. And you're absolutely certain of that? Right. OK. No,
no, that's fine. Thank you.”

Wendy cocked
her head to the side and waited for Culverhouse to explain.

“That was
forensics. They've checked the fingerprints on the knife.”

“And?”

“Ludford's
aren't on it.”

“So I'm free to
go, Inspector?”

“Not quite,
no.”

“But I thought
you said my fingerprints weren't on it?”

“They aren't.
But that doesn't mean you weren't wearing gloves.”

“Oh, for
heaven's sake!”

“Besides, you
still need to explain why the knife was found in your flat.”

“I've already
told you – I don't know why! I didn't bloody put it there!”

“Listen,
Ludford. Your prints not being on the knife don't get you out of
trouble quite that easily. We've got a lot to pin on you so you've
got some explaining to do if you want to wriggle out of this one.
Now, where were you on the night Ella Barrington was killed?”

“Jesus, I don't
know! I didn't exactly bring my diary down here with me, Inspector.
All I know is that I haven't killed anyone.”

“Well, you're
going to need alibis for the dates of the murders, Mr Ludford, or
it's not looking very good for you at all. Maybe we'll try a more
recent one. Where were you on the night Grace Norris was
killed?”

“Jesus...
probably either at work or at home. I don't know. I'd have to check
my diary. Probably at home, though. Work has been quiet
recently.”

A sudden
realisation hit Wendy. She knew
exactly
where Ludford had
been the night Grace Norris was killed.
He had been with
her!
It all came flooding back now; she kicked herself for
being so reckless and not spotting it sooner but she had found
herself so wrapped up in coming to terms with Ludford as a suspect
that she... Shit! It couldn't be him!

“Guv, can I
have a quick word outside, please?”

As they stepped
outside the interview room, Wendy was quite unsure as to how
Culverhouse would react to her new development. She was pretty sure
she knew, though.

“Guv, I know
where Ludford was the night Grace Norris was killed. I was at his
flat. All evening.”

“You were at
his flat? All evening? And you've only just bloody remembered
this?”

“I'm sorry,
guv. I got caught up in everything that was going on and I didn't
realise the connection between the dates.”

“You're going
to have to get used to being caught up in things going on if you
want to make a CID copper, DS Knight. What time did you leave
Ludford's that night?”

“I didn't. I
was there until the morning.”

“And you were
with him all the time?”

“Yes.”

“How can you be
sure he didn't leave the house during the night?”

“Let's just say
we weren't exactly asleep.”

“Too much
information, Knight. Too much – fucking – information.”

“You
asked!”

“A simple
yes I'm sure
would have sufficed. So what does that prove
anyway? So he didn't kill Grace Norris. That doesn't mean he's
clear of all the others. And if that's the case, it certainly
doesn't mean that little slag Bryant is any less the hooker I
always thought she was.”

“Guv! Listen to
me! You know as well as I do that these murders were all carried
out by the same person. Forensics have said as much. Nicole Bryant
was not a prostitute and the same person who killed Grace Norris
killed all the other girls too. And that person couldn't have been
Robert Ludford.”

“I'm going to
need more convincing than that, Knight.”

“For Christ's
sake! Why do you always get a bee in your bonnet about these
things?
Ludford is not the killer!
We can't keep him under
arrest any longer without infringing what human rights the poor man
has left.”

“You listen to
me, DS Knight. I've been in the police force a bloody long time and
I know when I'm right about something. Hell, I've not been wrong
yet. My instinct is my biggest virtue and I'm telling you now that
I am not letting that man go until I've pinned every single bloody
one of those murders on him.”

At that moment,
a young female Constable with long, blonde flowing hair jogged down
the corridor towards them, being careful not to trip over in her
short heels.

“DCI
Culverhouse, we've had a call come through. There's been another
murder. It's the same as all the others. Thing is, the guy reckons
he saw the killer running off from the scene about fifteen minutes
ago. The body's still warm.”

Wendy glanced
sideways at Culverhouse with a wry smile.

An hour later,
the SOCO team had confirmed without a doubt that the new body had
been dead no longer than an hour or two, thereby proving that
Robert Ludford could not have been the killer. Wendy did not know
what to feel: a torrid mix of private relief and elation mixed with
professional anger and desperation washed over her.

The anger and
desperation had spread elsewhere in Mildenheath, although the
family of Barbara North could not be said to have experienced the
relief and elation in tandem. Wendy sat and flicked through the
manila file as she read the forensic report on Barbara, barely
thirty-six years old, and the savage way in which her life had been
cut short. She noted something rather odd about this one, though.
The forensics report stated, quite clearly at the bottom of the
third page: EARLOBES AND EXTERNAL EAR FLAPS NOT PRESENT. BITE MARKS
APPARENT – CONFIRMED HUMAN. MISSING PIECES NOT PRESENT.
Jesus
Christ! He'd bitten off and eaten her ears!
As she turned to
the next page, the words burned into her eyes: NO TRAIL OF BLOOD
APPARENT. MURDER AND REMOVAL OF EARS ASSUMED TO HAVE TAKEN PLACE AT
THE SCENE.
He'd killed her and eaten her ears in broad
daylight!
The very fact that the dog walker had found Barbara's
body just after the murder had taken place went to show just what
lengths the killer was now going to and what risks he was willing
to take to ensure he got away with murder.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE

Wendy collapsed
with hysterical sobs as Michael comforted her. Her body heaved
under the pressure of her rhythmic convulsions as she tried to
explain the source of her desperation.

“It's OK, Wend.
Just calm down and catch your breath. Then you can try and tell me
what's wrong.”

Wendy took a
few moments until she was sure she could speak without interjecting
with squeaks and Michael Jackson-esque yowls.

“It... it isn't
Robert. He's not the killer, Michael!”

“He's not? Wow.
Well, surely that must be a good thing, then!”

“It is! It
is!”

“So what's the
matter, Wend?” Michael's old self had come out in a way that almost
took Wendy by surprise. She couldn't remember how long it had been
since she had seen him not under the influence of narcotics.

“Now we're back
at square one! We have no idea who the killer is or where to even
start looking. There's no pattern whatsoever other than the way
they were killed and he's killing more and more often. All this
rests on my shoulders and my stupid idea that Robert might have
been involved. If it wasn't for me, we might have caught the killer
earlier and saved Barbara North from being killed!”

“But you said
yourself that you had no idea who it might have been other than
Robert so you would have been no further along if you hadn't
arrested him, surely?”