Perfect Remains Page 7

  ‘Going somewhere?’ she asked.

  ‘I assumed you’d …’ he stuttered, trying to stop the words before he looked even more foolish than he already did.

  ‘That I’d what? Oh my God, you thought I’d left?’ Ava laughed, a big belly laugh that contained not the slightest hint of malice or mean spiritedness. Callanach glanced at the large glass of red in his hand and wished furiously for a time machine to start the evening again. ‘You can go if you like, but I’m off duty and I have no intention of ruining my evening by flouncing off anywhere. I went to the bar, as you can see. Thought I’d give you a moment to decide if you wanted to join in the conversation or just carry on sitting there like a lemon.’

  ‘Un citron?’ Callanach’s translation skills weren’t bad but that phrase made no sense at all.

  Ava laughed again, more softly this time. Callanach gave up, took a long sip of wine and forced himself to sit back and at least pretend to relax. Perhaps that was what was required to start a new life. Perhaps the best he could do was pretend that he could still act normally around people. Maybe in time he’d get more convincing at it. He took a breath and forced himself to share the sort of confidences he once wouldn’t have thought twice about.

  ‘We lived in Scotland until my father died. I was four years old. After that my mother found it hard to cope, so we moved to France near her family. She had to work long hours to support us and I learned to fend for myself. I got tough very quickly, always fast with a smart mouth, getting in trouble, fighting with the local boys. To them I wasn’t properly French, didn’t fit in. I suppose I turned myself into the sort of arrogant jerk everyone assumed I was when they saw me. By university I was bedding any woman I wanted, partying constantly. My mother called them my dark years. I almost never went home, was egotistic and unlikeable. Then I met someone and it changed everything. For six months I managed to behave like a decent human being, my grades improved, I was content.’

  ‘You split up?’ Ava asked.

  ‘We had a petty row. I went out, got drunk and she found me later that night in her best friend’s bed. She left and did not return. I never saw her or spoke to her again.’

  ‘And that changed you forever into the much improved human you are today?’ Ava teased.

  ‘Unfortunately not. I was making extra cash modelling so I threw myself into that world, avoiding the university crowd. It was exploitative, drug-fuelled and toxic. Everyone was out for themselves. I spent my weekends travelling with a bunch of crazy thrill-seekers. If we weren’t drunk or high, we were skiing, scuba diving, sailing or skydiving.’

  ‘Sounds awful.’ Ava raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Everything was excessive which meant, after a while, that it all became commonplace. It’s one of the many things I regret – not being sober enough to appreciate how lucky I was. Then the bubble burst. I got arrested for drunk driving. The police officer was female. I was horribly rude about her looks when she was booking me in at the police station and she slapped my face, hard.’ He rubbed one hand across his cheek at the memory. ‘The officer changed her mind about arresting me. Instead, she put me in a car and drove me two hundred miles back to my mother where she made me stand and listen, sober by then, to the words I’d said to her. For the first time in years, I was truly ashamed. My mother cried with embarrassment. I was at a crossroads, and that police officer sent me the right way. Had it been anyone else who’d arrested me, I would not be here now.’

  ‘She’s the reason you joined up?’ Ava asked.

  ‘She was a part of it,’ he said. ‘It was simplistic, but at the time it made sense. I served in the French police force until I was thirty, then transferred to Interpol where I’ve been for the last five years.’

  ‘So what made you leave?’ Ava asked. Her phone buzzed and she paused to read a text, frowning fiercely and muttering under her breath.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Another baby has been left in the same park, still alive and on its way to the hospital but the paramedics don’t expect it to survive. How can it be happening again? I’m sorry, Luc, I’ve got to go. I feel bad for leaving mid-conversation.’

  ‘Don’t,’ he replied, ‘at least I found somewhere that cooks steak properly.’

  She smiled. ‘Nice to know what your priorities are.’ Ava put a companionable hand on his shoulder as she walked past him. He jerked away instantaneously, hoped she hadn’t felt it but saw the question in her face. ‘See you tomorrow, Luc. You take care.’

  Ava left him staring at the books, globes and brass lamps adorning the walls. It was as good a place as any to drink wine and not think. He ordered another large glass of red and watched life go by until time was called.

  The next day began too early. It was the first night he’d slept properly in weeks and the awakening beep of his phone was unwelcome. It was Tripp.

  ‘Not sure if it’s relevant, but I’ve been going through Jayne Magee’s neighbours’ statements. One of them saw a man at about the time we think she was taken, going round the corner at the end of the street pulling a large wheelie suitcase. I know it’s unlikely but …’

  ‘I’ll be half an hour,’ Callanach said.

  He was there in twenty minutes, uncharacteristically dishevelled, shirt unironed, socks not even distantly related. Tripp stared as Callanach walked in clutching a steaming cup of coffee without noticing that a substantial amount of it was dripping down his jacket.

  ‘Morning, sir. Everything all right?’

  ‘Show me the statement and cross-reference it with a map.’

  Tripp rummaged through a box of files then laid out documents on Callanach’s desk. ‘Jayne Magee’s house is here.’ He pointed at a red mark on a large scale map of the street. ‘And here,’ he pointed again, ‘about two hundred yards away, is where the neighbour saw the male. Mrs Yale who saw him was walking her dog, coming back into Ravelston Park as the male was exiting onto Ravelston Dykes. She didn’t see where he went after that. You think it’s our man?’

  Callanach was silent. He started scrabbling through desk drawers.

  ‘Er … need any help, sir?’

  ‘No, I have it.’ Callanach held up a tape measure. ‘Lie down on the floor, on your side, tuck your legs and head in as tightly as you can.’

  Tripp looked towards the doorway, mouth open, jiggling from one foot to the other.

  ‘Pour l’amour de Dieu, Tripp, I’m going to measure you, not kill you. Lie down.’

  Tripp assumed the position and held still while Callanach stuck tape to the floor in a rough rectangle.

  ‘Move your feet in a bit,’ Callanach said. ‘And your elbows. Surely you can make yourself more compact than that!’

  ‘I can’t, if I move one limb another sticks out.’

  ‘C’est des conneries!’ Callanach muttered, throwing the measuring tape to the floor. ‘How tall is Jayne Magee?’

  ‘Five foot three,’ Tripp answered, giving up and rolling onto his back, arms outstretched as Callanach made for the door.

  ‘Salter!’ Callanach yelled towards the briefing room.

  Footsteps approached at a pace and she burst through the door.

  ‘What, sir?’

  ‘Tripp will explain. We need to measure you.’ He threw the tape at them as he logged on to his computer. ‘Make yourself small, we must assume she was bound.’

  They finished contorting, taping and measuring just as Callanach found what he’d been looking for on the internet. ‘The largest wheelie case available is thirty-four inches long. Is it feasible?’

  ‘Depends on the depth,’ Tripp said as Salter recovered. ‘But I’d say it’s possible.’

  ‘Salter, go to the shops,’ Callanach handed her a wad of notes, ‘and bring back a thirty-four-inch case, the deepest you can find, strong wheels. Tripp, we’re going to Ravelston Park.’

  They got out of the squad car at the corner where the witness had spotted the male.

  ‘Two street lights, both the opposite sid
e of the pavement from where he was walking,’ Callanach commented. ‘Many trees and high bushes. There would have been little light from the surrounding houses, they’re all situated well back from the road.’

  ‘He must have been turning west though, or he’d have crossed over before the corner,’ Tripp said. ‘So he either parked his car within walking distance from her house or he lives close by.’

  ‘He wouldn’t risk having witnesses to his route home,’ Callanach said. ‘There could easily have been more than one dog walker. The key to this is the vehicle. Have uniformed officers carry out door-to-doors within a quarter-mile radius, checking if anyone saw a man with a case getting into a car, van or truck. We should see if the witness walking the dog can tell us any more.’

  Mrs Yale could be heard before she was seen, yelling at her husband to let Callanach and Tripp in, as she controlled an Airedale Terrier who appeared more hungry than friendly. She was large, in her late seventies and obviously excited by the attention.

  ‘Don’t mind Archie,’ she fluttered. ‘Sit yourselves down. Michael will fetch us tea, won’t you, dear?’ Her husband shuffled dutifully away.

  ‘Mrs Yale,’ Callanach began.

  ‘Isabel,’ she said. ‘Would you like biscuits with your tea?’

  ‘No, thank you. You saw a man leaving the road with a case. Can you describe him again?’ Callanach asked.

  ‘There wasn’t much to see, I’m afraid. It was dark and cold. He was wearing a long coat, grey or black, a woolly hat and a scarf right up over his mouth. He was all shadows, my darlin’.’

  ‘You noticed a case?’ he prompted

  ‘Yes, a big thing. I hate the sound those wheels make.’

  ‘Can you describe it in more detail?’ Tripp asked, taking a tea cup from the tray.

  ‘It was soft, like a giant rucksack rather than one of those hard ones. Heavy too, by the look of him pulling it. It was black, with lots of zips. Didn’t see any labels, I’m afraid.’

  ‘You seem to remember more about the case than the man, if you don’t mind my saying,’ Tripp commented.

  ‘That’s because I was closer to it. I was bending down as the man came past me, bagging Archie’s doings. My first thought was what shiny shoes the man had. You don’t see many gentlemen that bother these days. Black lace-ups. Not really the best thing in this weather.’

  ‘Anything else, Mrs Yale? Anything at all?’ Callanach said.

  ‘I hadn’t realised I’d seen anything of note.’ She fussed over biscuit crumbs. ‘But there was a faint smell about him. I don’t suppose many would recognise it nowadays, but I’m sure it was mothballs.’

  ‘Mothballs?’ Callanach asked Tripp, not recognising the word.

  ‘You hang them in closets to stop moths from eating your clothes. Not very common any more.’

  ‘L’antimite. You’re sure?’ Callanach double-checked with Mrs Yale as she fed crumbs to the ravenous Archie.

  ‘It was the smell of my childhood, Mother swore by them. We couldn’t afford new clothes during the war, dearie, so we jolly well looked after those we had.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Dr King was nervous. It was ridiculous. He was in his own home. He’d brought these women here through sheer force of will for a higher purpose and he was about to have his first proper conversation with the woman he would mentor into their new life together. She might even bring the still-rebellious Elaine into the fold.

  Jayne would be free of the drugs by now. She’d need food, drink and an explanation. With her extraordinary faith, perhaps she would be more circumspect about how she’d been delivered into his hands. If there was a God, then maybe Jayne had been chosen for him. He put the tray down and unlocked the door. Inside, occupying two beds, were the women who would change his life.

  He’d only planned to take one, researching both to find the most suitable. Always have a backup, that was the thing. Jayne Magee had been his. He’d not anticipated taking them both, not until Elaine had proved so unruly. The reverend would be more docile and able to adapt. He’d felt it when he’d placed her on the bed, taking care not to hurt her whilst restraining her wrists and ankles. Human nature dictated that a prisoner would always struggle hardest when they first woke up. Jayne would rise above it though, he was sure.

  On entering the room, he was assaulted by the most repulsive odour. He gagged, doubling over, tray crashing to the floor, splattering him with melon flavoured protein smoothie. His clothes were ruined.

  ‘I dressed especially smartly to meet you,’ he shouted. ‘Which one of you has done that? Which one … let me see!’ He marched over, glutinous pink liquid aglow from the colour raging in his cheeks as it dripped down his face. He ripped Elaine’s covers back. He had expected, actually wanted, it to have been Elaine but she was in her usual cretinous state, rocking to and fro with her eyes jammed shut.

  It was Jayne then. He pulled her blanket away more gingerly and the stench was unbearable. He ran to a cupboard, grabbed an electric fan and dragged it to her bed. For a moment he questioned his choice to have the room windowless, but it had been the only way. He snapped on gloves from under the sink and began the clean-up operation. She was awake and he knew it, although her head was rolled away from him and she wasn’t speaking. Better that they didn’t communicate until this was over. He had to forgive her. After all, she didn’t yet know who he was, what his plans were. He could be anybody, any lunatic planning to do unspeakable things to her. It would be better when she discovered the truth and could put his actions into context. King finished up, showered, made a fresh tray of food and went back to introduce himself properly.

  The Reverend Jayne Magee’s face was still turned away so he pulled up a chair.

  ‘Jayne, I’m Dr King, Reginald, but perhaps we should remain on formal terms until we’ve progressed. I won’t hurt you, I want you to know that straight away.’

  Jayne was chanting beneath her breath.

  ‘What’s that you’re saying? I can’t hear.’ He leaned over her, trying to see her lips but she strained her face further away. It took him some minutes before he recognised the words. Jayne was reciting the Lord’s Prayer.

  ‘That’s what we’re here to debate. The existence and nature of God. It’s one of the reasons I chose you. I read the thesis you wrote during your time at Oxford and I think you’ll find I have some interesting responses for you.’ Still she wouldn’t respond, even after he’d displayed his genuine interest in her. It was becoming tiresome. ‘Turn your head, please. It’s terribly bad manners not to look at someone who’s speaking to you.’ Nothing.

  King had no wish to chastise Jayne so soon after her arrival. It would put her off completely. Having previously thought that Elaine had rendered herself expendable, he realised she might have a new use, one that could speed things along much faster.

  ‘Jayne, you comprehend the fragile quality of human life and how little time we have to spare. I wish to begin a conversation with you’ – the muttered prayer continued – ‘so I shall make you responsible for your companion’s fate. I’m obliged to maintain discipline, Reverend, and I have many ways of doing so.’

  He unlocked the cupboard above the sink, took a needle from the medical kit and walked over to Elaine. She’d been listening, pretending to be in her own world, but listening all the same and she knew something was about to happen. She screamed when he picked up her hand.

  ‘It’s a sterilised needle, so there’s really no need for all this fuss. There won’t be any lasting damage.’ He stuck it slowly beneath the nail of her middle finger, pushing down firmly as she struggled, wondering how it was possible to scream and gurgle at the same time. It was as if she was drowning in the pain.

  ‘Stop it!’ Jayne screeched. ‘Just stop, please.’

  ‘You’re talking to me now, are you?’ he asked, not withdrawing the needle from Elaine’s nail, not until he’d really made his point.

  ‘Yes, I’ll talk, I will,’ she shouted.

  ‘
What do you think, Elaine? Have you had enough?’ Elaine spluttered a yes, nodding wildly at him, imploring Jayne to help.

  King allowed himself one more jab into Elaine’s nail bed, gratified by a final shriek to ensure compliance, then withdrew the needle.

  ‘Do you remember what happened?’ he asked Jayne. She shook her head.

  ‘My lips are sore,’ she said, ‘and my neck aches.’

  ‘Chloroform is a bit hard on the skin, I’m afraid, and then I had to sedate you with ketamine while I went to work in case you became distressed and injured yourself. It’s a wonderful drug. It altered your conscious state but allowed me to issue you directions which you were able to follow. You may find you have strange dreams for a few days. And you’ll be dehydrated.’ He collected the tray. ‘Here, drink this.’ She jerked her head away as he held the cup. ‘You need to drink and I’m not so primitive as to want to drug you constantly. The whole point of you being here is for us to engage with one another. I don’t want to have to be any more persuasive today. It’s hardly fair on Elaine.’

  Elaine started to squeal and thrash on the bed. Jayne took the straw between her lips, sipping cautiously.

  ‘That’s better,’ King congratulated her.

  ‘What are you going to do to me?’ Jayne asked. It was said remarkably plainly in the circumstances, he thought admiringly.