The Chosen Ones

‘I’m sorry.’ Verity looked at Ed apologetically. ‘As I say, it was the journalist speaking.’

Ed realized she’d overreacted. They’d long since established their working boundaries. She softened her voice.

‘Journalist and friend.’ Ed paused, then raised her glass and inclined it towards her friend.

Verity reciprocated and both women drank enough to warrant a top-up.

‘Would you like to stay here or shall we go for supper at Gino’s?’

‘Gino’s,’ Ed replied without hesitation. ‘Pasta with some of their Sangiovese is just what I need.’

‘I’ll ask them to hold a table and open a bottle.’

As Verity called the restaurant, Ed’s work mobile buzzed.

‘DI Ogborne.’ She listened for a few moments. ‘Right, get Jenny. Tell her she’s coming with me. I’ll be at the Station in ten minutes.’ As she spoke Ed looked across the table, waving a finger and shaking her head. ‘Sorry, I’ve got to go.’

Verity muttered, ‘Just a moment,’ into her mobile and her look of surprise became a questioning frown. ‘What? Why?’

‘It’s work. A young woman’s been found dead in Dover. She appears to have been alone in her flat.’

Before Verity could reply, Ed was on her feet and walking between tables to the exit. She had no doubt the editor would use her contacts to get a reporter to the scene well before other journalists got wind of the incident.

17

Gina’s chin dropped onto her chest, waking her with a start. She was slumped on the floor in the hallway of her flat. For a moment she was disorientated, then the horror flooded back. She scrambled to her feet and began pulling frantically at the lock on the front door. It wouldn’t budge. In desperation, she grabbed her keys from the floor and tried each one again. None of them worked. The lock wouldn’t turn.

‘No! No! No!’ Gina beat on the door with her fists, screaming uncontrollably.

A chair scraped against the kitchen floor. Gina froze. She heard footsteps coming into the hall. The cold tension between her shoulder blades returned.

‘You’re wasting your time. Nobody will hear you. Your neighbours are on holiday.’ The voice was getting closer. ‘Please don’t be alarmed. Come, let’s take it slowly … let’s talk it through.’

The telephone … the policeman. No, not the policeman. She turned to face the voice. Three feet away stood Colin Smith, Decorart. His thin, childlike body and choirboy face did nothing to lessen the threat Gina felt. She took a half-step backwards and then something snapped inside her. With a cry of rage, Gina launched herself at Colin with the blind intention of beating her tormentor to the ground.

‘Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!’ she screamed, her fists raised to attack him.

Despite his slight build, Colin held her wrists easily and waited until her shouting became pleading and the adrenalin-fuelled rush of strength left her body. Gina sagged and he lowered her to the floor.

‘I’ll leave you to appreciate the situation. There’s no escape. Take your time. There’s no hurry. I’m here. I’ll be waiting.’

Once more slumped against the wall, Gina felt numb. Her mind and body were devoid of strength. Overwhelmed by an immobilising sense of helplessness, she appeared impassive despite the thoughts raging in her head. The only sign of movement came from the tears that escaped her eyes and dripped steadily onto her crumpled shirt.

18

Glum faces stared from cars in a tailback from the ferry terminal in central Dover. The grey evening was not an ideal start to a summer holiday, but for DI Ogborne and DC Eastham, unexplained deaths came in all weathers. When they reached the far side of town, Jenny parked behind a line of police vehicles near the entrance to Maxton House, an unremarkable block of flats just off the Folkestone Road. Together they approached the uniformed officer guarding the door and showed their Warrant Cards.

‘Who found her?’ asked Ed.

‘Parents, Ma’am. They’re in the van with a WPC.’

‘And the body?’

‘Second-floor flat, two flights up and turn right.’

The two detectives became aware of the smell on reaching the second floor. It was far from overpowering; nevertheless, the WPC standing with her back to the door of the flat had a handkerchief held to her nose. Barely glancing at their Warrant Cards, she lowered the handkerchief to indicate fresh coveralls, overshoes, face masks and latex gloves, housed in bags leaning against the opposite wall. Despite the presence of a senior officer she was unable to hide her distress.

‘Your first?’ asked Ed as she pulled on the protective clothing. ‘I guess it’s not pleasant.’

‘I don’t know, Ma’am, I’ve not been inside.’

‘Probably for the best.’ Ed nodded to Jenny. ‘Ready?’

The full force of the smell hit them as they opened the door and stepped inside. Ed heard Jenny gasp and knew she’d immediately wish she hadn’t. Touching the DC’s arm Ed said, ‘If someone had told me she’d been dead for days, I’d have brought my Vicks. Remember next time.’

It was a small one-bedroom flat, with a few pieces of cheap pine furniture and a notable absence of lampshades. Blonde artificial wood flooring and dull off-white paintwork completed the decoration. There were no ornaments and no pictures on the walls. Through an open bedroom doorway Ed could see a pathologist leaning over a small double bed, examining the discoloured body of a young woman. The dead woman was lying on her side wearing a T-shirt and knee-length skirt. A duvet was folded on the floor at the foot of the bed.

‘DI Ed Ogborne and DC Jenny Eastham, Canterbury CID. What have we got?’

‘Dorling, Buckland Hospital. I’ve just about finished. You’ve got a young woman in her early twenties. Like many these days she’s above average weight for her height. I estimate she’s been dead some six to ten days. When I get her back to the lab, potassium levels in the vitreous humour of the eye might provide a more precise estimate, but I’m doubtful; putrefaction has already started. I’ve found no superficial signs of injury. My initial impression is SCD, Sudden Cardiac Death. Given her age it’s likely she was congenitally predisposed.’

‘Anything unusual?’ asked Ed.

‘Almost certainly she’s been moved after death. The discolouration due to putrefaction is strong, but from what I can see of the livor mortis pattern, I’d say she died on her back and was turned onto her side two or three hours later. I’ll need to confirm that at the post-mortem.’

‘Any chance of fingerprints?’

‘A week or so after death shouldn’t be a problem. When can we have the body?’

‘Forensics will arrange it.’

As the pathologist gathered his things and left, Ed turned to Jenny.

‘If the body was moved, that means somebody was here a few hours after she died. The question is: was the same person here when she died? Either way, why didn’t they call the emergency services?’ Ed indicated the body. ‘Why leave the poor girl to decompose in a locked flat?’

Jenny, who was standing further from the bed, kept her eyes on Ed’s face. ‘I can’t imagine anyone being so callous.’

Sensitive to her young DC’s discomfort, Ed sent Jenny to look at the rest of the flat while she stayed in the bedroom. Apparently oblivious to the smell and horror of the discoloured body, Ed bent close to examine the victim before standing back to study the position of the dead woman on the bed. After a quick glance around the sparsely furnished bedroom, Ed called Jenny to join her.

‘What do you make of this bed?’

Jenny came closer for a quick look and stepped back.

‘The sheet’s not new, but it doesn’t look slept on. Apart from the marks made by escaping body fluids, it’s actually very clean, just like everything in the main room and bathroom.’

‘Same in here: not only the room and the bedding, but also the head and foot of the bed appear to have been thoroughly cleaned.’

‘We need to speak to the parents. Go down to the van and have an initial chat with them. I’ll stay here until forensics arrive.’

With a look of relief, Jenny turned to go.

‘Oh, and Jenny, check the doors for any signs of forced entry.’

19

Gina opened her eyes. She was still slumped against the wall near the door to her flat. Her back ached and her joints were stiff, but these, and other sensations, were overridden by a debilitating sense of listlessness. After fitful hours of weeping, she no longer had the strength to struggle or scream for help. He was right. No one had come. No one could hear her. She was on her own.

There were noises from the kitchen. It sounded as if he were eating. Gina felt sick at the thought of food and then became aware she was terribly thirsty. The glass of champagne was still near her feet. Without thinking, she reached and took a sip. Too late she realized it might be drugged.

‘Ah, Ms Hamilton, you’re awake. I’m pleased to see you’ve decided to try the champagne. That glass must be flat. Let me get you a fresh one.’

‘I want you to leave.’

It was more a weary plea than a demand. Gina felt helpless and too exhausted to insist. The terror she’d experienced as she fumbled with her keys, the horror she’d felt when she grasped she was imprisoned and at his mercy, those extreme emotions had left her body; she could acknowledge them in her head but she lacked the energy to experience their intensity. Physically, her body had shut down.

‘Please go, go and leave me alone.’

‘Let’s not repeat ourselves. Accept the situation. If I wanted to hurt you, I could have done it when you arrived. I could have done it any time since. I could do it now, but I have no intention of hurting you.’

Despite her weary detachment, Gina was aware his manner, in keeping with his unimposing appearance, showed no immediate sign of threat. She felt she should do something, but a total lack of physical strength left her body inert.

‘I’ve taken the liberty of getting myself something to eat. All food I’ve paid for, I hasten to add. I brought it with me when I arrived this afternoon. At the moment I’m eating smoked salmon with cream cheese and bagels. They go well with the champagne. May I get you some?’

With what seemed like an immense effort she forced herself to speak. ‘I’d like you to go. Just go and leave me alone.’

‘Georgina …’ he replied, reprovingly.

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘Perhaps you’ll have some later. How about some champagne?’

‘No.’ Suddenly, Gina had an idea and felt revitalized. ‘No. No, thank you. I need the bathroom.’

She forced herself to her feet and took her bag from the hall table. As she turned to close the bathroom door, she saw him smile from his position in the hall. Her hand moved to the lock. The bastard! He’d removed the mechanism. Gina tipped her flat champagne into the basin, ran the cold tap and filled her glass. Drinking the water with one hand, she fumbled in her bag with the other and retrieved her mobile phone. It was off. Puzzled, she switched it on. Nothing. Her phone was dead. Gina opened it to find that the battery and SIM card had been removed. Stepping back into the hall, she waved the mobile phone at him.

‘What have you done with my battery and SIM?’

‘Gina,’ he said with a look of mock disappointment, ‘surely you didn’t expect me to leave you free to contact the outside world. Don’t worry. Your battery and SIM are in a safe place, together with the charger and battery from your laptop.’

Gina felt an ominous sense of foreboding. His calm assurance was becoming as frightening as the thought of what he might do to her.

‘If I don’t contact my friends they’ll—’

‘Sadly, you don’t seem to be in regular contact with any friends.’

‘What? How?’

‘This last week I’ve had plenty of time to hack into your laptop while you’ve been at work.’

Gina’s sense of isolation increased. She stepped back into the bathroom to think. Feeling weak, she leant against the washbasin for support. Determined to be rational, she forced herself to take stock. Normal access to the world had been taken from her. House keys, landline, mobile and computer; all were useless. If the people in the flat next door were away, she had little chance of attracting attention. Her flat was on the third floor. The external windows were at the side of the building facing thick leafy treetops. Even if she could get a window open, her cries for help were unlikely to be heard. The lock had gone from the bathroom door, leaving her exposed and defenceless. Gina’s legs began to shake and she tightened her grip on the basin.

Staring sightlessly at her face in the bathroom mirror, Gina struggled to think clearly. Building logical thoughts was like trying to run waist-deep in a swimming pool. Her breathing was laboured and her mouth gaped with the effort. For the moment he had the upper hand. She was at his mercy. There was little choice but to play along, see what developed and look for a way to escape.

He was right; if he’d wanted to hurt her he could have done so already. Slowly a new thought struggled to the surface: he hadn’t done so already but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t harm her, even kill her, sometime in the future. Gina’s knees buckled and she clung to the rim of the basin. Physically she felt weak, but her mental strength was returning. She splashed her face with cold water. This man wouldn’t get the better of her. She didn’t know how, but she would find a way. She straightened and refilled her glass with water from the tap, determined he wouldn’t win.

‘There’s mineral water in the fridge.’ The voice drew attention to his presence, watching her from the hall. Gina shuddered.

‘Tap water’s fine.’ She forced herself to look at him. ‘I know I can’t get out, but you said we should take it slowly. I’m tired. I need to rest. Just tell me what you want and we’ll talk about it later.’

He looked at her carefully. Contrived or not, he appeared innocent, almost boyish.

‘It’s very simple. I want you. I want you to give yourself to me.’

Gina gasped. He’d spoken so calmly, as if his wish was the most natural thing in the world. But why was she so surprised? It had to be sex; why else would a man break into a single woman’s home?

‘If you want sex why haven’t you done it already?’

A brief look of shock appeared on his face and he spoke quickly.

‘No, you misunderstand. I don’t want sex, that is, I don’t just want sex. I don’t want to force you. I don’t want you to submit, to surrender yourself. Your willingness won’t be enough. I want the gift of your love more than I want the act itself, but your desire to give must match my desire for the giving. You must want me as much as I want you.’

He stopped speaking as abruptly as he’d started.

Gina looked at him aghast. The man was deranged. ‘Love you?’ She took a step back. ‘Never!’

‘You’re shocked, surprised, you’re thinking it won’t happen. You’re wrong, Gina. All we need is time.’

She had to get away. She couldn’t get out of the flat, but anywhere would do as long as it was away from this madman. Doing her best to adopt a professional manner, Gina stepped into the hall and faced him directly.

‘I’m going to rest on my bed. Promise me that you won’t come into my room.’

‘We’ll talk again when you’re feeling better. Leave your door open, I’ll not wake you.’

Gina moved past him towards her room. The moment he was behind her, the cold tension returned between her shoulder blades. Quickly, she walked into her bedroom. There was no lock on the door so she did as he’d said and left it half open. She kicked off her shoes, climbed onto the bed without undressing and pulled the duvet tightly around her shoulders. Despite the cover, her body felt like ice.

Why me? Why? Why me?

20

When they’d left Dover and were on the A2 back to Canterbury, Ed asked Jenny what she’d managed to get from the dead woman’s parents.

‘Very little. The husband, Tony Jenkins, did most of the talking. I didn’t push Pat, the mother; she was very upset. Actually, Tony’s the stepfather.’

‘And the daughter …?’

‘Kayleigh Robson, 23, an only child. They’re not from around here; they come from Strood.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘Part of the Medway Towns – it’s across the river from Rochester.’

‘So, what was Kayleigh doing in Dover?’

‘She moved out of the family home when her mother remarried. According to the stepfather, they hadn’t seen Kayleigh for three or four years.’

Ed waited while Jenny negotiated a roundabout.

‘If they’d lost touch with the daughter, what were they doing at her flat in Dover?’

‘They had an arrangement. Ever since Kayleigh left home, her mother has paid for a mobile contract. In return, Kayleigh promised she would always call between 5 and 6 p.m. on the 21st of every month. When she hadn’t called by 6.30 today, the mother tried to call her, but she couldn’t get through to Kayleigh’s phone. This had never happened before. She got increasingly worried and finally insisted Tony drive with her to Dover. They had a key to the flat, let themselves in and found Kayleigh dead.’

‘Poor woman – to find your child like that must be an unimaginable experience,’ said Ed.

The two detectives drove in silence, each with their own thoughts, until Ed added, ‘We’ll know more when we get the post-mortem report and hear from forensics.’

21

Gina tried to turn over in bed but couldn’t; something was holding her right arm. She pulled. It tightened round her wrist. Now fully awake, she opened her eyes in time to see the Decorart man loop a cord around her other wrist and pull it towards the head of the bed.

‘What the … You bastard!’

Anger, not fear, rose within her. Colin was standing by the bed. She kicked out, but he stood back and her struggles tightened the cords at her wrists.

‘Gently. Don’t mark your skin. The cords are velvet-covered but even so you’ll not want them too tight. Struggling is pointless. You’ll not escape.’

‘You bastard. Let me go. You promised not to come in here.’

‘I said I wouldn’t wake you. I’m sorry that I did. Please don’t struggle. I don’t want you to hurt yourself. You must see that it’s pointless to struggle.’

Gina saw this only too well. The man who called himself Colin Smith stood at the foot of the bed with two more cords. Unless she could talk him out of it she would soon be spread-eagled, arms and legs stretched to the four corners of her bed.

‘I know I’m in your power. You don’t need to tie me down.’

‘Ah, but I’m afraid I do.’

‘Why? I accept that you’re stronger. I know I can’t escape. You said you didn’t want to hurt me. I trusted you, but now you’re doing this!’

‘More to the point, Georgina, how can I trust you? I may be stronger, but I need to sleep. You must see that it would be foolish for me to leave you unrestrained while I slept.’

He bent, swiftly looped a cord round her ankle and secured her right leg to the foot of the bed. Moments later, her left leg was also tied.

‘Don’t struggle or you really will hurt yourself. I’m going for a short walk to clear my head. Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon to get some rest. I suggest you do the same.’

Gina heard him walk to the outer door. A key turned; the door opened and closed. She pulled at her bonds. They were secure. Her fear returned. Left alone in the flat she felt more afraid than when he was with her. What if he didn’t come back? She’d starve or die of thirst.

Immediately, Gina felt very thirsty. Her mouth was dry. She turned her head to look at the bedside table. The near-empty glass of water was still there, but it was impossible to reach. She closed her eyes, trying to put water from her mind. The dryness in her mouth intensified. With her body stretched to the four corners of the bed, her arms and legs began to ache. She longed to turn on her side, to pull up her legs and wrap her arms around her knees.

Eventually, Gina heard him return and she feigned sleep. The dryness and thirst had disappeared. His footsteps came to the bedroom door, paused and moved through to the sitting room. Despite her bonds, she felt reassured now that he was back. She was no longer alone. He would come if she called.

Although she felt safer with Colin in the apartment, Gina was still struggling to come to terms with the horror of her position. Screaming and shouting for help had achieved nothing; he’d calmly waited for her to stop. Clearly, he was confident that no one would hear her cries. With no one immediately likely to come to her aid, and no one who would raise the alarm for at least a fortnight, she had to do something. To do nothing left Colin in control. Do nothing and any change would come from him. To improve her position, she had to know what best to do. Despite her ambivalent feelings of safety and threat in his presence she must get him talking. She needed to ask questions and use his answers to formulate a plan.

Tomorrow morning she’d make a start. She’d try talking with him at length. How did he know so much about her? How did he organize getting into her home? Despite her desperate situation, part of her really wanted to know and she was certain he’d enjoy revealing how clever he’d been. Her interest would flatter his ego. She must steel herself to play a game, act a role, gain his confidence and find a weakness, a weakness that would offer a means of escape.

Tied to the bed, half dozing, half planning, it slowly dawned on Gina that her best chance of escape, probably her only chance, would involve submitting to his desires. She cringed at the thought of him touching her. Her mind recoiled at the idea of submission. Nausea threatened to overwhelm her as she fought to keep images of the likely scenario from her mind. She knew she could disengage during the physical act, but the horror of the experience would remain. In taking her, possessing her, he would rob her of her self-esteem. She might choose submission as her safest option, but it wasn’t a genuine choice. The choice had been his. By engineering this situation, he was forcing her to do something her whole being screamed against.

Gina’s prime wish was self-preservation, but her mind recoiled at the prospect of what survival might entail. What had he said? He didn’t just want sex; her submission wouldn’t satisfy him. Surrendering and giving herself wouldn’t be enough. He wouldn’t be content until he was sure she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

Impossible! Gina shrank in revulsion from the prospect. She could not let this man take possession of her. She would not let this man own her. There had to be another way, but what that other way might be she couldn’t think. Only by getting him to talk could she find out. She must overcome her feelings and engage with him tomorrow.

These thoughts repeated in her head, at first logically, but then in abbreviated snatches of ideas, each swirling after the other in a sequence that became increasingly random. There was no progression, no developing argument, just brief flashes of horror and hope, until she slipped from consciousness to a troubled night of dreams.

22

Summoned to Chief Superintendent Karen Addler’s office at 08.30, Ed had spent all of three minutes briefing her line manager on the discovery of Kayleigh Robson’s body when the Super reached for her fat fountain pen and terminated the meeting with a brusque request to be kept informed.

Earlier, Ed had asked Jenny and Mike Potts to re-interview Kayleigh’s parents in Strood. From Jenny’s questioning the previous evening it appeared Kayleigh had moved out of the family home as soon as her stepfather had moved in. Consequently, Ed wasn’t expecting any new revelations, but the follow-up interview had to be done. It would also show the police were actively pursuing an investigation. When Ed returned to the CID Room, Mike and Jenny had left and only DC Nat Borrowdale remained in the office. He looked up as she crossed to her desk.