“Good God, what must she have gone through?”
He looked up at her with an expression that was part anguish, part need. Like with all relatives in these awful situations, once the worst has been confirmed, Daniel had hoped for a swift conviction and a clear, understandable explanation. A domestic incident. A crime of passion. A hit-and-run. But to imagine your daughter as the victim—the plaything—of a serial killer... that was too much for anyone to take on board.
“What did he do to them?”
Helen noted how he talked about “them,” as if in his mind the new bodies on the beach were somehow divorced from Pippa’s case. She didn’t blame him for that—she’d do exactly the same in his shoes—but to her it was clear that all three women had fallen prey to a prolific and practiced killer. The circumstances of their burials, the careful way they had been stripped of all identifying features and, most disturbingly, the bluebird tattoo that they’d found on all three corpses—it was the same guy.
“We’re still looking into that,” Helen replied, avoiding all mention of mortuaries and postmortems. “But there’s no sign he inflicted violence upon them and it doesn’t appear he was sexually motivated—”
“So, what—he just starved them to death?”
“I don’t know, Daniel, but we’ll find out.”
Daniel took this in, but said nothing, staring at his feet. Instinctively Helen tried to climb inside his head, imagining the awful situations that were playing out for Daniel—his daughter, alone and scared, facing a slow, lingering death. Hoping against hope that the only person who really loved her—her daddy—would rescueher from a living nightmare. When did she realize that no one was coming?
“You will catch him, won’t you?” he said finally, his voice breaking even as he did so.
“I gave you my word. Pippa will have justice.”
He looked up at her, his eyes full of tears. Taking her hand in his, he simply said:
“Bless you, Helen. Bless you.”
75
He laid out his haul on the bed. It was like an Aladdin’s cave of cheap cosmetics and looked exotic and glamorous in the dingy basement. He couldn’t help a feeling of quiet satisfaction. She had asked him for something and he had delivered more than she could have dreamed of.
She was grinning from ear to ear. Singing his praises, showering him with compliments. How foolish their petty disagreements and squabbling seemed now. Why had he ever been worried? She just needed a bit of breaking in. But the effort was worth the reward and he basked now in the warm glow of her approbation.
“I wasn’t quite sure what you wanted, so I bought a job lot. Mascara, lipstick, eyelash curlers, nail stuff.”
He loved all the colors—the gold tubes, the deep red lipsticks, theshocking pink nail varnish. The femininity of it all thrilled him and aroused him.
“Thank you.”
“If you like these, then we could think about other things too. Some new clothes, perhaps some underwear...”
He said this last bit quickly, not wanting to appear embarrassed in front of her, before listing other luxuries and trinkets that she might like. All the while he could feel his erection growing. The thought of her as his little piece of heaven, hidden away from the world, was too much.
He excused himself and hurried out. Once the heavy door was locked and bolted behind him, he leaned against the cold metal, enjoying its soothing feel. He had been through so much, suffered so horribly, but finally everything was going to be okay. She washisnow.
76
What the fuck was he doing out there?
Ruby sat on the bed, her body rigid with tension. Her captor had shut and locked the door, so why wasn’t he going anywhere? Her eyes were fixed on the wicket hatch—any moment she expected it to snap open. The full claustrophobia of her situation suddenly hit home. She had no control here.
Still no sound, no movement. Had she misjudged the situation? Did he not trust her? She looked at the spread of cosmetics on the bed. Ridiculous baubles to tart up a gruesome reality. She had assumed their purchase signaled something—a willingness to trust her—but now she wasn’t so sure. She had built this up in her head too much for it to fall at the first hurdle.
Then footsteps walking softly away. Finally disappearingaltogether. Still, Ruby sat stock-still. Not quite believing it. Not wanting to rush things, in case he suddenly returned.
But the silence remained undisturbed, so she quickly reached down and snatched up the eyelash curlers. She tested and probed them with her fingers—as she’d hoped they were the cheap high street kind, rather than anything professional. Seizing the curved shaper head, she pushed and pulled, trying to loosen it. But it wouldn’t break. Cursing, Ruby lifted the iron leg of the bedstead and pushed it down firmly onto the shaper head, pinning it to the floor, before pulling the rest of the shaper back hard. With a satisfying snap it came free. Lifting the bed once more, she took out the shaper head and pressed down on it with her heel. Gently at first, but then with greater force, stamping down on the small piece of metal. The hard, dusty floor produced only a dull thud, and oddly Ruby felt totally safe from detection. Adrenaline was making her reckless.
She paused now, wiping the sheen of sweat from her brow. Lifting her foot, she saw that the curved piece of metal was now flat.
Scooping it up, she heaved the sheets, blanket and eventually the mattress off the iron bed frame. Time was of the essence now. Crouching down, she examined the exposed bed frame. It was a heavy, metal frame—four legs, a bedstead and a headboard. The bedstead was connected to the headboard by two metal screws. They had been screwed very tight and had proved immovable thus far, but now Ruby set to work on them, jamming the flattened shaper into the slot of the screw and turning it as hard as she could.
Nothing. No give at all. Already Ruby could feel tears creeping up on her. She renewed her efforts. A few seconds later, she relented, cursing. Surely all this hadn’t been for nothing?
