MURDER AMONG FRIENDS a totally gripping crime thriller full of twists Read online

  “I think it was more that Kylie volunteered.”

  “And Bell didn’t discourage her. She put that young woman at risk. I’m going to make damn sure she doesn’t have an opportunity to do that to anyone else. She won’t be masquerading as a police officer again if I have anything to do with it.”

  “You intend to get her dismissed?” Elias said.

  “I’ll do my best. I’ll put a complaint in. That’ll get her a suspension, if nothing else. And it will keep her nose out of our investigation.”

  Steph took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly, watching her breath form a misty white cloud in the freezing night air. She stamped her feet, wishing she could send life-resurrecting tremors through the ground to Kylie Bright’s lifeless body. But Kylie continued to lie, cold and dead, on the glistening Yorkstone setts.

  “I’ve been thinking about Jason Collins,” Elias said. “He watched online videos on picking up women after seeing Mark Ripley modelling how it was done. He wasn’t very successful at putting what he learned into practice, but he didn’t blame anyone but himself for his lack of success. Could we be looking at a more aggressive and embittered version of Collins? Someone who takes rejection and failure very personally and turns his rage on men and women alike? Women when they reject him, and men who succeed where he fails? Both Mark and Ryan were attacked soon after ‘picking up’ a woman. Maybe the perp knew Mark because he had approached him too, just like he approached Jason Collins, claiming he could help him become irresistible to women. But Mark failed him as a coach. Seeing him with an attractive woman like Elle Darrow could have pushed the perp into violence.”

  Steph felt a stab of irritation at Elias’s insight, which was essentially a sort of endorsement of Jane Bell’s theory about a connection.

  She didn’t comment. Instead, she surveyed the surrounding area. Kylie’s body had been discovered on Motherby Hill, a narrow, precipitous footpath, notable in historical terms because it followed the line of the lower walls of the old Roman city walls. It linked the lower part of the city with the upper, ascending steeply from West Parade to Drury Lane. It was reasonably well-lit, but there were some shadowy areas, and it was likely to have been quiet at the time of evening when Kylie set off. The rush hour would have been over, and it was still a bit early for people to be going out. Moreover, it was a Tuesday evening, not the busiest night of the week for socialising.

  “She should have stuck to Spring Hill.” Steph was referring to an alternative route to uphill Lincoln via a reasonably busy main road. “Most people would do that after dark, instead of coming up a lonely lane like this. Perhaps she was running a bit late and favoured the shortcut. My guess is he followed her from the university to the foot of Motherby Hill, then ran up Victoria Street and along the little path leading off Alexandra Terrace. Then, he waited for her here, where the two paths join.” Steph pointed to the spot, a few feet from where they were standing.

  Elias didn’t know the area as well as Steph. She waited while he looked it up on Google Maps to see the lie of the land. “I agree. But he took a bit of a risk.”

  “Because of the houses?” Steph looked around. It was true there were some buildings overlooking the path, but they were set back and separated from it by a high wall. “He could have pushed her against the wall, then forced her head down, repeatedly, onto the cobblestones. I doubt anyone would have been able to see. And he would have been quick. It doesn’t take long to smash someone’s skull against stone.”

  “Mark’s head came into contact with stone too. And according to Jane Bell, Ryan Brown’s attacker bashed his head against a brick wall. Maybe after the perp learned about Mark’s fatal brain bleed, he realised that he’d discovered an effective way of killing. We don’t know if Ryan’s attacker would have killed him if someone hadn’t intervened.” Elias looked at Kylie’s body. “There’s some doubt over whether the perp intended to kill Mark, and whether he intended to kill Ryan. But in Kylie’s case, there’s no doubt about his intention — he meant to kill her. If we’re talking about the same person, it could indicate an escalation.”

  Steph grimaced at the unsavoury possibility. It no longer seemed all that certain that they were trying to join unconnected dots. “We need to look at the report of the assault on this Ryan Brown and interview him if necessary. In particular we need to know if he had any sort of connection with Mark Ripley. Did Bell mention if he had?”

  “Not to me. They’re both students at the same university, so it’s possible that they might have known each other in some way, through their studies, or sporting activities, or clubs, for example.” Less confidently, he added, “Kylie was a student too. It’s possible that she knew Mark Ripley.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Steph snapped. “Can you check the report on Ryan Brown’s assault ASAP?”

  “Yes, boss.” Elias seemed hesitant. “Given that Kylie’s killer could be the same man who harassed her in the restaurant, it’s possible that he could have been stalking her for some time. In that case, he would probably have attacked her or killed her as soon as she rejected his advances. Jane Bell—”

  Steph cut him off. “I know what you’re trying to say, Detective Sergeant. But it still doesn’t let Jane Bell off the hook. It doesn’t matter whether this man already had Kylie in his sights. Bell was still potentially putting her in danger by agreeing to let her find out more about him. And before you say it, yes, I still intend to have her suspended.”

  Elias nodded. “You’re the boss.”

  Yes, I am. Elias’s manner towards her always remained in line with their respective ranks, but Steph had noticed that it was never deferential. She believed that professionally, he saw himself as her equal in all but name. There might come a time when he challenged her outright. She decided not to trust him too far. It was better that way. Trust, like pity, was a weakness.

  Steph remained at the murder scene most of the rest of the night. By the time she got home, it was barely worth going to bed but she was bone weary, even if her mind was still racing. She sprayed her pillow liberally with lavender essence and inhaled deeply, hoping the aroma would induce a sense of calm and help ease her into sleep.

  She awoke, hours later, feeling more rested than she had a right to be after so many disturbed nights, and after working a murder scene only a few hours earlier. Miraculously, Cal had left her alone.

  In the shower, she let the hot water batter her aching neck and shoulders, easing some of the tension. She set off for work without breakfast, or even a cup of coffee. She was surprised to see that Elias was absent from his desk when she arrived. He’d flagged up the report on the assault of Ryan Brown for her to look at.

  The report mentioned that PCS Bell had managed to find an approved translator at short notice. His name was familiar. He’d been present as a translator at previous interviews Steph had conducted with witnesses and suspects, she was sure. She’d had the odd conversation with him. Hadn’t he once told her that his partner had cancer? She even remembered the woman’s name — Yvonne. An image from the previous night popped into her head, the shiny silver balloons spelling out ‘Happy birthday.’ If it was the same Yvonne, that would explain how Bell had managed to magic up a translator in mere minutes. Jan Mazurek must be a friend.

  Elias arrived, bearing coffee. It wasn’t his usual custom.

  “Guessed you might need one of these. Black, one sugar, right?”

  “Yes, thanks. I don’t suppose you grabbed anything to eat, did you?” Elias pulled open his desk drawer and tossed her a bar of chocolate. Dark chocolate with ginger. It was her favourite. How did he know? She eyed the chocolate, then her colleague with suspicion. Elias’s gaze was fixed on his computer screen. Steph was distracted by a call from the duty desk.

  “DI Warwick?”

  “Speaking.”

  “I’ve just taken a call from a Charlotte Purdey. She’s a student at Lincoln University, a friend of the young woman who was murdered last night. Kylie Bright? She wanted to rep
ort Kylie as a missing person. She knocked on Kylie’s door at seven this morning. They were supposed to be going for a run together. There was no answer. Charlotte alerted the warden, who unlocked the door to Kylie’s room. Her bed hadn’t been slept in. Charlotte contacted the restaurant that Kylie said she was going to be working at the previous evening and was told she hadn’t shown up. She was worried because Kylie had definitely set off for work and hadn’t mentioned going anywhere afterwards.”

  “You didn’t tell her what happened to Kylie?” Steph asked.

  “Of course not. I have her contact details. I told her someone would be in touch soon.”

  Steph grabbed a pen. “Good. Thanks.” She scribbled down the details. Elias looked at her expectantly when she came off the phone. “Kylie’s been reported missing by a friend. I’ve got her details. I think we should see her right now.”

  Steph did some research on Charlotte Purdey on the way. “She’s involved in quite a few groups and societies at the uni, and in town. Seems quite politically active. Into feminism, the environment. Probably opinionated.” She noticed the look Elias gave her but merely told him to watch the road.

  Charlotte lived on campus, in a residence consisting of five floors of long corridors of study bedrooms and shared kitchens. Her room was on the top floor. A voice from behind the door asked who was there. “Police.” Steph held her police ID up to the spyhole. The door opened a crack. Eyes viewed them with suspicion. “How did you get in without a pass key?”

  “We collected one from the accommodation office after showing our ID. Is it okay if we talk to you here, or would you rather go somewhere else?”

  “Here’s fine.” Charlotte stood aside to let them enter. Her room was small, there was only one chair and a bean bag. Charlotte sat on the bed, leaving Steph to take the chair. Elias sank down onto the bean bag, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

  “I can’t believe you’re actually taking me seriously. I thought I’d be told that Kylie’s probably just staying with a boyfriend or something. I’ve read that a person has to be missing for days before the police sit up and take notice. So, thanks for coming, I guess.”

  Steph cleared her throat. “Charlotte—”

  “Lottie. No one calls me Charlotte except my mum and dad. Oh, and both my grans.”

  “Lottie, then. I’m sorry but we have some bad news about your friend. Kylie was found dead late last night. We think she’d been murdered. I’m sorry. I know this must be a shock for you.”

  “Oh!” Then she added shakily, “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. She had some ID with her, her driver’s licence and her student card.”

  “I knew something had to be wrong. I knew it. She never misses a run. I only saw her last night. How can she be dead?” She caught her breath and held it for what seemed an alarmingly long time. “Excuse me a moment.” Lottie got up and disappeared through a door into the en-suite bathroom.

  Steph suppressed a sigh of impatience. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel for Lottie but time mattered. Five minutes passed before Lottie reappeared, face blotchy, eyes red-rimmed.

  “If you feel up to it, I’d like to ask you some questions, Lottie. Is that okay?”

  Lottie shrugged. Steph took that to mean that she was ready, and ploughed right in. “How did Kylie seem when you last saw her?”

  “She was happy, pleased about getting the job at the café. The vegan one on Burton Road? Bit nervous because it was her first shift, and she didn’t know what to expect. I told her to text me if she finished really late and didn’t want to go for an early run. She didn’t text.”

  “Okay. What about going back a bit. Has she been herself lately? Was she worrying about anything?”

  Lottie picked at her sleeve. “No, not that she told me, and I think she would have. She tended to confide in me. Kylie got off to a bit of a bad start at uni and I was there for her.”

  “How so?”

  “In freshers’ week. She met this guy.”

  “Go on.”

  “I met Kylie on our first day here. Her room’s across the corridor from mine. She seemed so young, and a bit shy. She was just eighteen the August before she started here. She’d been the youngest in her class all the way through school. I’m twenty — I took a gap year after school. I felt protective of her. We went to Freshers’ Fair together, got chatting to some second-year guys and they invited us to a party. We said no because we’d already arranged to go to another party that evening. They were a bit off about it. Borderline rude, to be honest. Then, a couple of days later, one of them approached Kylie in town and asked her back to his place for coffee.” Steph’s heart sank. “So, you can probably guess what happened next.”

  “I’d like you to tell me. I appreciate it must be difficult to talk about, but it might help us find out who hurt Kylie.”

  “Killed,” Lottie corrected. “You don’t need to use a euphemism.” She gave a shiver and reached for a red hoodie on the cabinet next to her bed. Nerves, Steph knew, not cold, for the room was overheated.

  “So,” Lottie continued, “he kept offering Kylie alcohol, as if he wanted to get her drunk. She thinks she drank about three glasses of wine. He asked her to have sex with him. When she said she didn’t want to, he started mocking her about still being a virgin. He told her she wasn’t that pretty and that she shouldn’t be so choosy, or she’d never get a boyfriend. He said she should be grateful to him for wanting to have sex with her because she probably wouldn’t find anyone else willing to do it with her. That sort of thing. Eventually, she agreed.”

  Steph nodded. It was classic negging, a strategy coined and used by pick-up artists that involved paying a woman a backhanded compliment or insulting her in order to undermine her confidence and make her want to gain her abuser’s approval. She thought of a case at another university where male students had made misogynistic and insulting comments about female students online. It depressed her to think that something similar might have taken place here.

  “If anyone had said stuff like that to me, I’d have told them where to go, or reported them to the police, but as I said, Kylie was shy. She didn’t have a lot of confidence. She took everything he said to heart. Plus, she wasn’t used to drinking alcohol. I spent a long time afterwards getting her to see that he’d manipulated her, bullied her to get her to ‘consent’ to having sex with him. I wanted her to tell someone about it, like student support or her personal tutor, but she wouldn’t. She was too embarrassed. She refused even when I told her he’d keep on getting away with it with other women. I even suggested he might have raped her if she’d not consented.”

  “At least you tried,” Steph said.

  “He sent her a text the following day. It just said ‘one out of ten,’ like he was scoring her, you know?” Lottie’s grief was forgotten in her anger. “Vile, misogynistic bastard. He probably had a good laugh about it with his mates.”

  She looked at Elias as though he represented all that was toxic about the male sex.

  “What was the man’s name?” Elias asked.

  “Mark Ripley.”

  “Lottie, a young man, a student by that name, was murdered a couple of weeks ago,” he said.

  Lottie nodded. “I heard about that.”

  Elias held out his phone to show Lottie an image of Mark Ripley. “Is this the Mark Ripley you met during freshers’ week?”

  “Yes, that’s him.”

  Steph tensed. “What about his friends? The other men he was with that day. Do you know their names?” Have you seen them around the campus since freshers’ week?”

  “Yes. Adam Eades and Phil Lavin. A pair of complete dickheads. The boyfriend of a mate of mine had some dealings with them.”

  “Go on,” Steph said.

  “My mate’s called Ivy Cross. Her boyfriend’s called Tristan Morley. They both live nearby. It’d probably be better if you heard Tristan’s story from him. I have his mobile number if you want it.”

  “Yes, please, L
ottie. That would be a big help.” Sometimes all the buses come at once.

  Steph thanked Lottie for her time, and she and Elias made their way back outside. “I wanted to say to her that not all men have so little respect for women,” Elias said unexpectedly. “I saw her looking at me as though those morons represented my point of view also. I assure you that is not the case.”

  “I never thought it was.” Steph meant what she said. She’d never witnessed Elias showing any signs of disrespect towards his female colleagues.

  “I was brought up by women. My mother and my grandmother. I also have an older sister. They’re all feminists.”

  “What about Daddy?” As soon as she asked, she knew she’d read the situation badly. Elias had opened up to her and she’d rebuffed him.

  His voice stiff, he said, “He was never in the picture.”

  “Right.” Steph didn’t enquire further. She had other things on her mind. She called Tristan. As luck would have it, he was on campus. He gave them directions to his accommodation.

  Tristan — average height, slightly pitted skin, pierced lip — greeted them with the words, “Lottie just called. She explained why you’re here. I can’t believe it. Poor Kylie.” He paused, shaking his head. “Is it okay if my girlfriend Ivy joins us? She knew Kylie too.” Steph agreed.

  Tristan’s fingers flitted over his phone. Within seconds, a door opened further down the corridor and a young woman peered out. Tristan broke the news to her, and they hugged.

  “We can use the kitchen,” Tristan suggested. “There won’t be anyone else there at this time of day. Most of the other students who share our kitchen are scientists and mathematicians. They don’t have as much free time as us.”

  Ivy — raven hair, black lipstick, gimlet eyes heavily lined with kohl — asked them if they’d like a cup of Japanese Sencha tea.

  That’s expensive stuff, Steph thought. For a moment she was tempted, but her gaze strayed to the sink, overflowing with dirty dishes, and she declined. As did Elias.