M. Arlidge: The Doll's House

She shivered. She was scared half to death and cold to the bone. Her eyes alighted on the cooker. It was an old gas one, with two ovens and four hobs. She was suddenly seized with the thought of turning it on. The four hobs would warm the place up and brighten it a little too. She turned the dial and pressed the ignition. Nothing. Ruby tried the next, then the next. Still nothing.

She walked round the cooker to check out the back. She didn’t know the first thing about cookers, but perhaps there was something obvious?

It wasn’t connected. There were no pipes at the back connecting it to a gas supply. It was just for show. Ruby slumped to the ground. Tears came fast now, as her confusion collided with fear.

What was this place? Why was she here? Questions spun round Ruby’s head, as she tried to process this strange reality. She was slipping fast into despair, tears rolling off her chin on to the floor.

Then suddenly a noise nearby made her look up.

What was it? Was it upstairs or down here?

There it was again. Footsteps. Definitely footsteps. They were coming closer. Stopping outside the door. Ruby jumped to her feet, alive to the danger.

Silence. Then suddenly a wicket hatch in the door slid open and a pair of eyes filled the slit. Ruby stumbled backwards, pressing herself into the corner of the room – she wanted to be as far away from the door as possible.

The sound of bolts being unlocked.

‘HELP!’ Ruby screamed.

But she didn’t get any further. The door swung open, flooding the room with light. Ruby clamped her eyes shut, blinded by the sudden burst of illumination. Then slowly, cautiously, she opened them again.

A tall figure stood in the doorway. Silhouetted by the light behind him, she couldn’t make out his features. He was just a shadow – hovering, watching.

Then as suddenly as it had opened, the heavy door slammed shut again. They were together in darkness now.

Ruby covered her face with her hands and prayed to a God she didn’t believe in, pleading with him to have mercy on her. But for all her praying, she couldn’t block out the sound of the footsteps approaching her.

The wind buffeted DI Helen Grace as she sped along the coastal road. She hadn’t been down this isolated spit of land before and she liked what she saw. The wildness, the isolation – it was her kind of place. With the road open before her, she ratcheted up her speed, pushing hard against the strong headwind.

Soon the crime scene came into view and she eased off on the throttle, bringing her Kawasaki’s progress down to a respectable 30 mph. DS Lloyd Fortune was waiting for her by the fluttering police tape. Young, smart, the poster boy for ethnic-minority policing in Southampton, Lloyd was destined for great things. Helen had always liked and respected him, yet still it felt odd having him as her number two. Charlie had been temporarily promoted to DS during their pursuit of Ella Matthews, but her elevation had never been made permanent. And as soon as Charlie had announced her pregnancy, it became academic – she would remain at her former rank of DC for the foreseeable future. It wasn’t fair, but that was the way it worked, the odds forever stacked against working mums.

The old team was breaking up. Tony Bridges had left the Force for good, DC Grounds was due to retire shortly and Charlie was on maternity leave, a few weeks shy of giving birth. Lloyd was the new DS, they had two new DCs – the Major Incident Team had a very different feel now. If she was honest, it made Helen uncomfortable. She hadn’t got a handle on the new personalities, was yet to establish an easy rhythm with the freshly assembled team. But the only way to do that was to go through fire together.

‘What have you got for me, Lloyd?’

They were already making their way under the police cordon and across the sand towards the trench.

‘Young female. Buried about three feet down. Found by a couple of kids an hour or so ago. They’re over there with their parents.’

Lloyd indicated the family of four, huddled in police blankets, giving their statements to a uniformed officer.

‘Any connection to the victim?’

‘No, they come here most weekends. Usually have the place to themselves.’

‘Anybody live near here?’

‘No. The nearest houses are three miles away.’

‘Does it pick up anything from the lighthouse at night?’

‘It’s too far round.’

‘Making this a pretty good deposition site.’

They walked in silence to the lip of the trench. Meredith Walker, Southampton Central’s Chief Forensics Officer, was at the bottom, carefully excavating the body. Helen took in the scene, the white-suited Forensics Officer crouching sinisterly over a woman who looked completely at peace, despite the wet sand that stuck to her hair, eyes and lips.

The woman’s face, shoulders, upper torso and arms had been revealed. Her limbs were painfully thin and the skin very pale, which made her single tattoo stand out even more. Despite the partial decomposition, she was a strangely beautiful sight, her black hair still framing those vivid blue eyes. It reminded Helen of the Grimms’ fairy tales, of gothic damsels awaiting love’s true kiss.

‘How long has she been down there?’ Helen asked.

‘Hard to say,’ replied Meredith. ‘The sand at this depth is cold and wet – ideal conditions to preserve the body. There are no animals or insects to get to her here either. But it’s not recent. Given the levels of decomposition, I would say two, three years – Jim Grieves will be able tell you more once he gets her back to the mortuary.’

‘I’ll need the Crime Scene Photos tonight if possible,’ Helen replied.

‘Will do. Though I’m not sure how much help they’ll be. Whoever did this has been careful. Her earrings and nose studs have been removed. The fingernails have been cut. And you can guess what time and tide have done to any residual forensic evidence.’

Helen thanked Meredith and walked down to the water’s edge to get a better view of the scene. Already her nerves were jangling. This was a careful, premeditated disposal by someone who knew exactly what they were doing. This wasn’t the work of an amateur. Which strongly suggested to Helen that their killer had done this before.

‘Stay away. Don’t come near me.’

Ruby was backed into a corner of the room. She held out her arms to ward off attack, but knew immediately that it was an empty gesture.

Click. A powerful torch beam fired straight at her. Her heart raced as she watched the torch beam run the rule over her, creeping down from her face, over her chest to her thighs and then her feet. Despite her determination to appear strong, her composure abandoned her now and she started to sob.

‘Don’t be frightened.’

His voice was measured and steady. She didn’t recognize it, though the Southampton accent came through clearly.

‘Please let me go,’ she gushed through tears. ‘I won’t tell anyone. I -’

‘Are you cold?’

‘Please. I just want to go home.’

‘If you’re cold, I can get you an extra blanket. I want you to be comfortable.’

His calm pragmatism was crushing. He was speaking as if nothing unusual had happened. As if this were normal .

‘Are you hungry?’

‘I want to go home, you motherfucker. Stop… stop talking to me. Just… take me home. The police will be looking for me -’

‘Nobody’s looking for you, Ruby.’

‘My parents are expecting me. My mum’s coming round today -’

‘Your parents don’t love you.’

‘What?’

‘They never have.’

‘Why are you say-’

‘I’ve seen the way they treat you. What they say about you when you’re not around. They want rid of you.’