‘I don’t know!’ Maggie James was close to tears. ‘She said to Fathieh that she was nipping out for ibuprofen.’
The CSW at the adjacent desk stared straight at her screen, fingers motionless above her keyboard.
‘When was this?’ barked Ransford.
‘An hour ago?’ She gasped. ‘No more.’
The DCI turned to the room and lifted both hands up, even though every single person was already watching him. ‘Everyone! Katie May. The CSW who sits here. Has anyone seen her in the last sixty minutes?’
A female detective at the far end of the room spoke up. ‘I passed her outside the women’s changing rooms. That must have been less than an hour ago.’
‘Was she on her way in, or out?’
‘In.’
‘We’ll go,’ Magda said, grabbing Sean’s sleeve.
‘Wait!’ Ransford said. ‘I want you with back-up. We don’t know what she’ll do. DI Levine, take two other people. Get CS gas, batons, cuffs: the lot. Colin? Call down to the front desk; I don’t want her leaving this building.’
As they hurried towards the doors, Sean could hear Ransford spewing more orders.
‘Maggie, we need her records! Right back to whenever she first applied to work here. I also want her address and car registration. Shit!’
Jogging down the stairs to the female changing area, Sean didn’t want to believe what Eales had said. But with every step he took, things became clearer. He felt sick. She’d visited him in his mum’s house. Helped him pack boxes. Asked him about Janet. And checked with him exactly how the investigation was progressing. She’d played him. She’d played everyone.
‘Scorpie,’ Magda spat. ‘Everything we did, she knew about it.’
Sean cast about for an alternative explanation. It had to be her. It was the only way all the events from the last few days fitted together.
‘I don’t get this,’ DI Levine said from behind them. ‘Ransford thinks this person is somehow involved in these murders?’
‘It could be worse,’ Sean said. ‘She might be the murderer.’
Magda fired him a shocked glance. ‘We don’t know that. You can’t say that.’
‘It’s only been her we’ve spotted at all the murder scenes, Magda. I’m really starting to think—’
‘You’re jumping the gun.’
He couldn’t muster the will to even smile. ‘Nick McGhee,’ he stated. ‘She was on holiday, remember? For that week. Said she’d spent it in Scarborough.’
‘Her tan,’ Magda replied. ‘She said it was fake. Christ.’
As they emerged in the ground-floor corridor, Sean remembered the conversation with Ron Taylor, the probation officer. Someone had met Hughes when he came out of prison; had been in contact with him before his release. How far back did her plan go?
The door to the changing area began to open and a woman in civilian clothing stepped out. She looked confused. Annoyed.
Magda came to a stop before her. ‘Is anyone else in there?’
She glanced over her shoulder. ‘No. No one’s in there. But someone has forced my locker. The door was open.’
Magda looked past the woman. ‘Your locker?’
‘What’s missing?’ Sean asked.
She ran a hand through her shoulder-length brown hair. ‘Just my uniform, I think.’
He clamped a hand on Magda’s arm. ‘Carl Parker. She knows the location of Carl Parker. He’s the last one on the list.’
A hiss came from Carl Parker’s tightly pursed lips as she dragged him over the back of the sofa. His eyes were shut, tears squeezing from the angry red wrinkles of flesh. Snot was emerging from both nostrils as his mucus membranes reacted to the chemical she’d blasted at his face.
The sofa suddenly tipped and they both crashed against the carpet. Now she was beneath him. She felt the small of his back pressing against her pubic bone and she tucked her face tight behind his shoulder to protect it from scratching nails. As expected, a hand soon sought her out. Fingers began to dig at her nostrils. She opened her mouth and bit down on them, felt the flesh tear, cartilage begin to crunch.
His other hand was trying to get under the crook of her forearm, clawing blindly as he sought to break the chokehold that had robbed him of the ability to breathe. She clamped her legs round his waist, hooking one ankle over the other. Strands of his hair were getting in her mouth. She could taste his blood.
Just hold on, Danni. You’ve got this. She retrieved memories of the cage. Keeping up the pressure until her opponent tapped out or passed out.
As his struggles began to grow weaker, it let her increase the tightness on his windpipe. Bit by bit, his limbs grew more floppy. She opened her mouth and released his fingers. His limp hand fell away. She spat blood into his hair. ‘Remember being on top of me before?’ she whispered, hoping he could still hear. ‘Remember that?’
After a couple more seconds, she rolled his sack-like form off her and ripped his shirt off. There was the shitty little M18. So all of them had got it done. The sad little rulers of a sad little kingdom. She secured his hands with the plastic tie and set off for the bathroom.
Knowing she didn’t have long, her fingers worked the bath’s taps, turning both to full.
He started to regain consciousness in the doorway. That was fine. She wanted him to feel everything. His legs started to kick about, feet seeking some kind of purchase, some way of stopping the slide of his body across the smooth tiles.
‘Stop,’ he began to gasp. ‘Stop!’
She brought him alongside the bath and yanked him up onto his knees. One hand stayed on his bound wrists, the other clamped the back of his neck. ‘Open your eyes.’
‘I can’t open my fucking eyes. You pepper-sprayed—’
She palmed water from the bath into his face. ‘Open your eyes!’
She knew he’d seen how deep it was when he tried to arch his back. ‘No, no. Not this. For God’s sake, no—’
His words cut off as she raised his arms up and away from his body, forcing his head lower. ‘That lovely boy. That sweet fucking boy. You had to do it, didn’t you? Poisonous shits.’
‘Danni? It’s you, isn’t it, Danni? We were kids, we didn’t know … please, we didn’t …’
She dug her fingers into the sides of his neck, watched the drool swinging from the tip of his nose. Then she looked up to the ceiling. ‘Benjamin? This is the last of them, you hear me? You rest in peace, my little angel.’
She levered Carl’s arms higher, felt the creak and pop of his shoulders as the ligaments and gristle began to tear. His shriek of pain cut off as water enveloped his head.