Bolton, J. - Now You See Me

‘Waiting for Karen Curtis to arrive,’ said Anderson.

Tulloch nodded. ‘A few hours later, Mrs Richardson said goodbye to her daughter but heard her going upstairs, which was unusual. A short time after that, she heard someone coming back down again and assumed it was Karen leaving the house. It seems safe to say it probably wasn’t.’

‘Whoever it is, she knows these families well,’ said Anderson. ‘She persuaded Geraldine Jones to go to the Brendon Estate late on a Friday night. She found out where Amanda Weston was living and that she was on her own in the house. She may even have known Amanda wasn’t due back at work for a few days. Then she called on Charlotte Benn when she was on her own. Now we find out she knows where Karen Curtis’s mother lives and when Karen visits.’

‘She does her homework,’ said Tulloch. ‘But so would I in her position.’

The door opened and Joesbury came in. Tulloch gave him a half-smile as he settled himself down at the desk opposite mine.

‘What we don’t do is panic,’ Tulloch went on. ‘We know who her next victim is and we have her safe. We can keep Jacqui under armed guard if necessary. And we have time. The Ripper didn’t strike again until 10 November. That’s nearly six weeks away.’

‘She won’t wait that long,’ I said. ‘This isn’t about the Ripper any more.’

Everyone turned to face me. ‘What do you mean?’ asked Tulloch.

‘If it hadn’t been for all the Ripper business,’ I went on, ‘the coincidence of the dates, the letters, the body parts turning up all over London – if it hadn’t been for all that, we might have realized earlier what was going on. Someone might have spotted the connection when Amanda Weston was killed. But the whole of London was on alert for a copycat serial killer and that was exactly what she wanted. It gave her time to get to Charlotte and Karen. It was all just smoke and mirrors.’

Nobody answered me. I couldn’t see anyone about to disagree.

‘She’ll know we’ll have figured it out by now,’ I said. ‘And she’ll have planned for it. She’ll have a way of getting to Jacqui Groves that we haven’t anticipated.’

‘Who’s she, Flint?’ asked Joesbury. ‘Who are you talking about?’

No choice but to look up at him. ‘One of the Llewellyn sisters,’ I said. ‘It’s got to be.’

Joesbury stood up, a tiny smile on his face. ‘Say that again,’ he said.

‘Say what?’

‘The girls’ name.’

‘Llewellyn,’ I repeated, sensing people around us looking puzzled.

‘Now that’s interesting,’ he said. ‘Everybody else in the room is pronouncing the name phonetically, Loo-ell-in.’

‘And?’ I said, my heartbeat picking up.

‘You’re making that odd guttural sound in your throat,’ he said, ‘more like a “cl” than a “l”. You’re saying the name the way the Welsh do.’

I stared at him for a second, conscious of everyone watching us. ‘I’m from Shropshire,’ I said. ‘Last time I checked, it was on the Welsh border.’

‘Yeah, whatever, you two. We need to find them both,’ said Tulloch. ‘Lacey, I’m putting you in charge of interviewing the homeless. If they came to London penniless, they would have lived on the streets for a while. Flint, are you even listening?’

Joesbury and I were still glaring at each other. I turned away and fixed my attention on Tulloch.

‘You can have a team working with you,’ Tulloch went on. You can have some WPCs out of uniform. We also need to get people to Cardiff.’

‘They inherited money,’ said Stenning. ‘They could have got off the streets. And they could be working together. We could be looking for two women.’

‘We can’t rule anything out,’ said Tulloch. ‘We need them both.’

‘I found Cathy this afternoon,’ said Joesbury in a quiet voice.

Silence.

‘Excuse me?’ said Tulloch.

‘An hour ago,’ he repeated. ‘Just after lunch.’

Tulloch looked like he’d slapped her. ‘Why in God’s name didn’t you say anything? I want her brought in. Now.’

‘Hardly possible, I’m afraid.’

‘Why?’

Joesbury was looking at me again now. ‘She’s been dead for nearly a decade.’

68

TULLOCH STOOD, STRODE ACROSS TO THE WINDOW, PUT her hands on the ledge and took a deep breath.

‘Go on,’ she said.

‘I got suspicious when I heard Neil say that Victoria had claimed her grandfather’s inheritance,’ said Joesbury. ‘If he died intestate then his money would be divided equally between his nearest surviving relatives. Victoria would have been given half of it, the rest saved for Cathy when she eventually showed up.’

‘For Victoria to be given it all meant she was the only one left alive,’ said Tulloch. ‘Shit, I should have thought of that.’

‘Cathy Llewellyn died in an accident ten years ago,’ said Joesbury. ‘She left home about six months after the alleged rape. I assume she made her way to London, because the following summer she was living in a semi-derelict houseboat near Deptford Creek. Squatting along with a group of other kids.’

‘Go on,’ said Tulloch.

‘It broke away from its moorings one night and caught fire at the same time. Nobody is entirely sure how many kids were on board, but five bodies were found in the river. One boy survived, a lad called Tye Hammond, and he could only remember another five people.’

‘How do you know all this?’ asked Tulloch.

‘I checked the death register,’ said Joesbury. ‘I found the date of Cathy’s death and checked the coroner’s report and then press archives.’

‘There’s no doubt it was Cathy?’ asked Tulloch. ‘Did they check dental records?’

‘Not that was recorded,’ said Joesbury. ‘But they didn’t need to. The body was identified. It wasn’t badly burned, apparently. She drowned.’

‘Who identified her?’

‘Big sister Victoria. Once the coroner’s inquest was over, she claimed the body and arranged cremation.’

Tulloch closed her eyes. For a few moments we watched her breathing. Then she opened them again.

‘What about Victoria?’ she said.

‘Still nothing,’ said Joesbury. ‘Nothing’s been heard of her since she claimed her grandfather’s money.’

Tulloch raised her head. Her face was drawn and pinched. ‘Well, it makes things simpler,’ she said. ‘Victoria’s the one we want.’

69

Thursday 4 October

THE AFTERNOON OF GERALDINE JONES’S FUNERAL WAS A perfect autumn day. Bright and clear, with just a smattering of leaves in the gutters to remind us that summer was beating its retreat. Most of the MIT went along. Afterwards, Tulloch and Anderson went to a press conference at New Scotland Yard. The rest of us returned to Lewisham.

I spent the afternoon at my desk, pretending to be working. We were notified that Joesbury was following up a lead on the Llewellyns, but we heard nothing from him directly.

Time had picked up speed, it seemed to me. Every clock, every watch in the room was running fast. Options were disappearing like ice on a griddle and I had no idea what to do next.

It was still only twenty-four hours since the body – albeit incomplete – of Karen Curtis had been discovered and the world’s press were having a thoroughly good time with the story. The new Ripper had claimed his fourth victim, he’d managed to stage a double event, and the country was revelling in gleeful outrage.

He was still being referred to as a he .

So far, the public had been told nothing about the alleged rape in a Cardiff park that might just have been the catalyst for everything. The photograph and descriptions of the Llewellyn girls had been sent to every police station in the country and Victoria had temporarily become the most wanted person in the UK. We just hadn’t said why.