Perfect Silence Read online

  ‘Not that we’ve found,’ Jonty said. ‘Your murderer wore gloves. They probably washed her just prior to cutting the skin. Obviously the lower legs, arms and face had dirt, dust and foliage on them from crawling up the road, but nothing that will help identify her captor. There’s only one other thing of note. A section of hair has been cut from Zoey’s head. The roots are intact so it wasn’t pulled out. It’s not very much, but it does beg the question why.’

  ‘A trophy?’ Callanach asked.

  ‘He’s got plenty of those,’ Ava said. ‘The killer’s already got her clothes, shoes, whatever jewellery she was wearing, possibly her handbag. Not to mention a large section of her skin. Is there anything else, Dr Spurr? I need to get back and speak to the superintendent.’

  ‘Only that before she was cut, she was kept comfortable. Not injured in any way. She was hydrated and still had food in her stomach. Consciously kept alive and unharmed. No sexual assault as far as I can tell,’ Jonty said. ‘Good luck with this one. Whoever did this to Zoey …’

  ‘Deserves to die,’ Ava said. ‘That’s all there is to it, really. They’d better hope it’s not me who finds them first.’

  ‘I was going to say, is dangerous in the extreme, although I can’t disagree with your sentiment, DCI Turner. There was no anger, no lack of control, no force used. It was seven days between this girl going missing and turning up again. That’s a long time for her killer to be with her, to watch her plead and cry. Hard then to cut her and leave her to die.’

  ‘That’s what psychopaths do,’ Callanach said.

  ‘This is a psychopath with an especially strong stomach and an iron will.’ Jonty stripped off his gloves and turned to go. ‘Take your time.’

  Callanach waited until the pathologist was gone before turning to Ava. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked. ‘I’ve never heard you express the desire to kill anyone before.’

  Ava peeled the sheet back from Zoey’s face. ‘Look at her,’ she said. ‘On the precipice between childhood and adulthood. She lived through violence, but had the strength to get out and seek help, even when her own mother failed to protect her. We know she doesn’t have a criminal record, so in spite of her childhood she kept herself from spiralling downwards. Moving into the shelter should have been the start of a new chapter. She should have been safe. And the cruellest factor in it all was that Zoey was kept alive for a whole week, unhurt. She would have had hope. No matter how dismal it seemed, there would have been a part of her that thought she would go free. Having survived so much, surely it wasn’t possible that she could die tied up and terrified. That’s what she’d have been thinking.’

  ‘You can’t make it personal,’ Callanach said. ‘We have to take a step back and look at this dispassionately. The stepfather has to be the best bet.’

  ‘It’s a hell of a jump from domestic violence, however long-term, to this,’ Ava said.

  ‘Maybe Zoey had decided to prosecute. Maybe the stepfather hated that she’d left and couldn’t handle it. The chances are that this was perpetrated by someone known to her,’ Callanach said.

  Ava pulled the sheet further down to reveal Zoey’s abdomen. The layer of flesh below the missing skin shone greyish-pink in the bright electric lights.

  ‘It’s unreal,’ Ava said. ‘How do you start to conceive a torture so inhumane? Perhaps she did know the person who did this to her, and perhaps she didn’t, but this was personal. Zoey was chosen. It can’t be random because there’s a purpose to it in her murderer’s mind. Some twisted relevance.’

  ‘Do you want me to get straight over to the stepfather’s place now?’ Callanach asked.

  ‘Go to the shelter first,’Ava said. ‘It sounds as if Sandra Tilly, who identified the body, knew a lot about what Zoey had been through. Get everything you can out of her to arm yourself with. When you interview the stepfather I don’t want him to have any wiggle room at all. Speak to the other shelter residents. I want to know if she was still scared, if she thought she was being followed, or aware of any threat. Most of all, I want to know what sort of things the stepfather did to her. Then go through Zoey’s personal items. Communications, diaries, an email address might help.’

  ‘All right,’ Luc said.

  ‘Visit her stepfather, Christopher Myers, after that. Separate him from Zoey’s mother during questioning, if you can. We’ve already got enough for a search of the house. I want it inspected from top to bottom, including any loft space and the garage,’ Ava said.

  ‘What about Zoey’s mother?’ Luc asked.

  ‘I don’t know what to expect from a woman who failed to protect her child against long-term violence. She ought to be grieving. Take it easy on her. I don’t want any complaints jeopardising the investigation, but make sure she knows we have independent evidence about the violence. Perhaps suggest we might charge her with child cruelty,’ Ava said.

  ‘Wouldn’t work without Zoey alive to make the case,’ Callanach said.

  ‘We know that, she doesn’t. Scare the crap out of her off the record if you get the chance. She failed her daughter while she was alive. Perhaps now that Zoey’s dead, her mother can finally be a half-decent parent and tell the truth.’

  ‘You’re telling me to break the rules?’ Callanach asked.

  Ava smiled tenderly at Zoey before covering her once more with the sheet. ‘I’m asking you to do whatever it takes to find the bastard who did this. When you do, I intend to put them in a prison cell and keep them there until their last breath. Even then, justice won’t have been done.’

  Chapter Five

  ‘Brought you a coffee, ma’am. I gather you’ve just got back from the mortuary. Thought you might need a pick-me-up.’ DS Lively walked into Ava’s office and deposited a steaming mug on her desk, closely followed by an unopened packet of rich tea biscuits. Ava inspected the gifts then studied Lively’s face.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Lively, tell me you haven’t killed someone in police custody,’ she said.

  Lively managed to look offended for a few seconds before smiling. ‘The job’s making you cynical. Can’t a lowly sergeant bring his chief inspector a hot drink without you assuming the worst?’

  ‘We’ve worked together how long now?’ Ava asked.

  ‘I believe it’s in the region of a decade, ma’am,’ Lively said, sitting down.

  ‘And in that time, how many hot drinks have you made me?’ Ava continued.

  ‘You’re overthinking it, boss. What’s the news on the girl you found out on Torduff?’ he asked.

  ‘Grim,’ Ava said, ripping open the biscuits. ‘Are you expecting me to share these, only you appear to have made yourself comfortable for no apparent reason.’

  ‘No, they’re all yours. I’ve been hiding them at the back of a drawer to stop the other thieving gits from nicking them.’

  ‘That’s enough. Tell me what you’ve done and how much shit you’ve got MIT in,’ Ava demanded.

  Lively reached over and plucked a biscuit from the packet. ‘It’s Detective Constable Salter. I’m worried about her,’ he said, before stuffing the biscuit into his mouth whole.

  ‘Has something happened, only I wasn’t notified that there was an issue,’ Ava said.

  ‘Without wanting to sound like a paternalistic asshole, it’s too soon. Christie shouldn’t be back on duty yet.’ He looked longingly at the coffee. Ava moved it beyond his reach before he began dunking.

  ‘You got injured quite badly too, on a recent case. I seem to recall you being advised to get surgery on your left shoulder, not that you took any notice. When I questioned your decision to come back to work, you said you knew your own body better than anyone else.’

  ‘This is different and you know it. You can’t compare losing a baby to getting your arm into a fight with a crowbar,’ Lively muttered.

  ‘The doctor declared Salter fit for duty,’ Ava said. ‘I’ve spoken to her. She believes she’s ready and I trust her judgment. What is it you know that no one else does?’

 
Lively brushed crumbs from his lap onto the floor, frowning.

  ‘Come on, Sergeant, you came in here to say something to me. Get it over with.’

  ‘Christie Salter nearly died in my arms, ma’am, on a kitchen floor after some sick fuck had taken her hostage and a dotty old woman misjudged her target and stabbed her. If the paramedics hadn’t been on the scene, we’d have lost her. She was in surgery for hours. Her baby girl died in her womb. You can’t tell me she’s fit to be back out on the streets, not with the sort of crap we deal with every day.’

  ‘Sergeant,’ Ava said gently, ‘you don’t think that perhaps it would be a good idea for me to refer you for some counselling, given what you went through that day? DC Salter wasn’t the only one who suffered a trauma. It must have been an appalling thing for you to have witnessed.’

  ‘Would you fuck off! Oh shite – sorry, ma’am, I forgot who I was talking to,’ he said.

  ‘Forgiven. This isn’t easy. I understand that the prospect of talking to someone about your emotions isn’t natural for the more mature members of the force, but times have changed. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about and no one need know except us,’ Ava said.

  ‘I don’t need a bloody shrink. I need to make sure DC Salter’s safe and right now, as her ranking officer, I’m not convinced she is,’ he replied.

  Ava held out the biscuits as a peace offering. Lively took a handful.

  ‘All right. Your choice. But you can’t make her feel as if she shouldn’t be here, however well-intentioned you are. This is what she needs to help distract herself from her loss. You and I would both do the same in her position.’

  ‘If you’re keeping her in MIT, I want your word you’ll keep Salter off the Torduff Road investigation. It’s too much. I heard what a mess that poor girl’s body was in.’

  ‘I agree with you on that score. You picked up a face slashing, I understand. Probably a dead-end case, but it needs investigating. I’m leaving it with you and Salter. I need every other body on Zoey Cole’s murder, so don’t expect help from anyone else. Wrap it up as quickly as possible, then I’ll review DC Salter’s suitability for another case. This stays between us, all right?’

  Lively stood up, nodding, as Ava’s office door opened.

  ‘Sit your carbohydrate-endowed arse straight back down in that chair, Sergeant,’ Detective Superintendent Overbeck said.

  Lively crossed his arms and remained standing, but stayed where he was.

  ‘Is there a problem, ma’am?’ Ava asked her superior, who was looking stunning in a tight-fitting midnight blue suit and six-inch stilettos, with bright red nails. It was a wonder she could hold a pen or type, Ava thought, wondering if she was aware that all the police under her command called her the Evil Overlord out of her earshot, not entirely unjustly.

  ‘When isn’t there a frigging problem in your team, DCI Turner?’ Overbeck said. ‘I’ve just had the pleasure of being interviewed by some of those do-gooders who occasionally get to come in and visit the prisoners in their cells, just to check we’re providing five-fucking-star care for Edinburgh’s charming criminals.’

  ‘I think the ones in our cells are usually called suspects, ma’am,’ Lively smirked. ‘Something about innocent until proven—’

  ‘Sergeant, if you speak again before I ask you to, I will pour that steaming coffee on the desk all over your balls, get me?’

  Lively winced and Ava did her best not to smirk. Lively was regularly insubordinate to her, and even more so to Luc Callanach. This was the first she’d seen him silenced by a superior officer and it was pleasing to watch.

  ‘Am I to assume there was a slip in our usual standards?’ Ava enquired.

  ‘To be fair, only if you call having an incomprehensible man with half his frigging face hanging off, stuck in our cells instead of being in a hospital – or preferably still on the streets given how badly he was fouling up the custody area – a slip!’ Overbeck hissed. ‘Now,’ she stood directly in front of Lively, ‘as you were the arresting officer, you’d better have the shiniest, most watertight explanation for why this has happened to me on a day when I finally got my husband on a plane for a month-long golfing vacation and was looking forward to a serious amount of alone time without anyone pissing me off.’

  ‘Gone somewhere nice, has he?’ Lively grinned.

  ‘Pass me your coffee, Turner,’ Overbeck said, holding out her hand.

  ‘Don’t you dare, ma’am,’ Lively said. ‘That’s the first cup of coffee I’ve ever made anyone in this police station. I don’t want it wasted!’

  ‘Sergeant, would you please answer DS Overbeck’s question?’ Ava said.

  ‘Only if she says please.’

  ‘Lively, you’re going to get yourself fired.’ Ava shot him an unmistakable look.

  ‘Stay out of this, Detective Chief Inspector,’ Overbeck said. ‘I don’t have any problem at all with your sergeant giving me a reason to fire him.’

  ‘Lively,’ Ava said, getting to her feet and glaring.

  Lively tutted and gave in. ‘He’s a victim of crime, refused an ambulance but we need a statement from him. He’s also homeless and a drug addict. We need to question him, and the only way to stop him from disappearing was to book him as drunk and incapable, and wait it out.’

  ‘So you just made up the drunk charge?’ Overbeck asked. ‘Even though he actually wasn’t?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Lively smiled.

  ‘So you’ve not only broken every procedure we have in terms of custodial care of the seriously injured, you’ve also reported a false charge against him.’

  ‘Aye, that pretty much sums it up,’ Lively said. ‘Was there something else you wanted, or am I free to go and try to extract a statement from our guest?’

  Overbeck stepped closer, her eyes level with Lively’s, their bodies forming strange polar opposite silhouettes against the window, one stick thin and the other seriously paunchy. Ava held her breath while she waited for one or other of them to concede defeat.

  ‘Get him out of my cells, out of this police station and preferably out of this city,’ Overbeck said. ‘Ensure not a single particle of shit is going to hit any proverbial fan, then either retire or make sure I never have cause to speak with you about this again. Do you understand, Detective Sergeant?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Happy to oblige,’ Lively said.

  Callanach and Tripp parked around the corner from the domestic abuse shelter, then phoned ahead to have the back door opened up, the front door being used as little as possible to disguise the nature of the property from any save for those who needed to know. Most of the women inside were running or hiding. The police weren’t always welcome visitors, either. Too many victims had been ignored, told there was insufficient evidence to prosecute, or just plain disbelieved. Modern policing was attempting to bridge the trust gap, but that was a long-term project. There were generations of failings to make up for, Callanach thought, as he rang a silent doorbell and looked into the security camera, holding up his identification for closer viewing. Tripp did the same. Eventually the door buzzed open and they stepped through into a vestibule. A woman appeared behind the glass of an internal door.

  ‘Would you check that the outer door behind you is firmly locked, please?’ she asked. Tripp did so. She unlocked the inner door and let them into a wide hallway. ‘I’m Sandra Tilly, the deputy shelter manager. Would you mind coming into the kitchen to talk, only I don’t want to disturb the women in the lounge.’

  ‘Of course. I’m DI Luc Callanach,’ he said. ‘We don’t want to disturb anyone unnecessarily but it would help if we could see Zoey’s room. I know other officers have already been in there, but it’s useful to get a better idea of who she was.’

  They walked down the corridor and entered a functional room with cupboards marked only with numbers. ‘They correspond with the bedroom numbers upstairs,’ Sandra explained. ‘The women who stay here often don’t use their real names, although Zoey actually did. She said
it was therapeutic for her to feel as if she’d stopped running. Other women use pseudonyms until they feel really safe with each other. If anyone ever does manage to break in, they won’t find it easy to figure out which room they want. Zoey was in number four.’

  ‘Do you mind if we have a look in her kitchen cupboard?’ DC Tripp asked.

  ‘Sure,’ Sandra said, opening it. ‘Have you arrested anyone yet?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Callanach said. ‘Were you aware of anyone harassing Zoey, or trying to contact her? Any letters, emails, texts?’

  ‘Nothing that I was aware of,’ Sandra said. ‘A lot of the women here choose to spend a period of time in the digital dark. They get rid of their old mobile numbers, change email addresses, shut down every form of social media. This shelter isn’t for mild cases of abuse. We have limited places and it’s expensive to run. As horrible as it sounds, we only house women or girls who have suffered long-term, major-impact abuse and who are judged to still be at risk and vulnerable.’

  Tripp took out a few packets and tins, a couple of mugs and a cookbook. ‘Healthy Eating for One,’ he read. ‘Looks like Zoey was trying to take care of herself. No junk food in here. The tins are all vegetables rather than desserts. She was thinking about her long-term future.’

  ‘How much did Zoey tell you about what she’d been through?’ Callanach asked Sandra.

  ‘She shared quite a lot in our group sessions. The girls have a daily meeting to share their experiences, when they feel ready. Zoey kept herself to herself when she first arrived, but gradually she started to talk to the others. She’d suffered violence and psychological abuse. Nothing sexual, at least not that she ever told us about.’

  ‘Her stepfather?’ Callanach checked.

  ‘Yes,’ Sandra said. ‘Christopher Myers. He once broke her nose because she called him Christopher rather than Dad. Seems he couldn’t bear to be reminded that anyone had ruled the family before him. Zoey had a brother, too, although she didn’t talk about him much. Would you like to see her room now? I’m off duty in ten minutes and I can’t leave you in the property.’