a thirty-four-inch case, the deepest you can find, strong wheels. Tripp, we’re going to Ravelston Park.’
They got out of the squad car at the corner where the witness had spotted the male.
‘Two street lights, both the opposite side of the pavement from where he was walking,’ Callanach commented. ‘Many trees and high bushes. There would have been little light from the surrounding houses, they’re all situated well back from the road.’
‘He must have been turning west though, or he’d have crossed over before the corner,’ Tripp said. ‘So he either parked his car within walking distance from her house or he lives close by.’
‘He wouldn’t risk having witnesses to his route home,’ Callanach said. ‘There could easily have been more than one dog walker. The key to this is the vehicle. Have uniformed officers carry out door-to-doors within a quarter-mile radius, checking if anyone saw a man with a case getting into a car, van or truck. We should see if the witness walking the dog can tell us any more.’
Mrs Yale could be heard before she was seen, yelling at her husband to let Callanach and Tripp in, as she controlled an Airedale Terrier who appeared more hungry than friendly. She was large, in her late seventies and obviously excited by the attention.
‘Don’t mind Archie,’ she fluttered. ‘Sit yourselves down. Michael will fetch us tea, won’t you, dear?’ Her husband shuffled dutifully away.
‘Mrs Yale,’ Callanach began.
‘Isabel,’ she said. ‘Would you like biscuits with your tea?’
‘No, thank you. You saw a man leaving the road with a case. Can you describe him again?’ Callanach asked.
‘There wasn’t much to see, I’m afraid. It was dark and cold. He was wearing a long coat, grey or black, a woolly hat and a scarf right up over his mouth. He was all shadows, my darlin’.’
‘You noticed a case?’ he prompted
‘Yes, a big thing. I hate the sound those wheels make.’
‘Can you describe it in more detail?’ Tripp asked, taking a tea cup from the tray.
‘It was soft, like a giant rucksack rather than one of those hard ones. Heavy too, by the look of him pulling it. It was black, with lots of zips. Didn’t see any labels, I’m afraid.’
‘You seem to remember more about the case than the man, if you don’t mind my saying,’ Tripp commented.
‘That’s because I was closer to it. I was bending down as the man came past me, bagging Archie’s doings. My first thought was what shiny shoes the man had. You don’t see many gentlemen that bother these days. Black lace-ups. Not really the best thing in this weather.’
‘Anything else, Mrs Yale? Anything at all?’ Callanach said.
‘I hadn’t realised I’d seen anything of note.’ She fussed over biscuit crumbs. ‘But there was a faint smell about him. I don’t suppose many would recognise it nowadays, but I’m sure it was mothballs.’
‘Mothballs?’ Callanach asked Tripp, not recognising the word.
‘You hang them in closets to stop moths from eating your clothes. Not very common any more.’
‘L’antimite. You’re sure?’ Callanach double-checked with Mrs Yale as she fed crumbs to the ravenous Archie.
‘It was the smell of my childhood, Mother swore by them. We couldn’t afford new clothes during the war, dearie, so we jolly well looked after those we had.’
Dr King was nervous. It was ridiculous. He was in his own home. He’d brought these women here through sheer force of will for a higher purpose and he was about to have his first proper conversation with the woman he would mentor into their new life together. She might even bring the still-rebellious Elaine into the fold.
Jayne would be free of the drugs by now. She’d need food, drink and an explanation. With her extraordinary faith, perhaps she would be more circumspect about how she’d been delivered into his hands. If there was a God, then maybe Jayne had been chosen for him. He put the tray down and unlocked the door. Inside, occupying two beds, were the women who would change his life.
He’d only planned to take one, researching both to find the most suitable. Always have a backup, that was the thing. Jayne Magee had been his. He’d not anticipated taking them both, not until Elaine had proved so unruly. The reverend would be more docile and able to adapt. He’d felt it when he’d placed her on the bed, taking care not to hurt her whilst restraining her wrists and ankles. Human nature dictated that a prisoner would always struggle hardest when they first woke up. Jayne would rise above it though, he was sure.
On entering the room, he was assaulted by the most repulsive odour. He gagged, doubling over, tray crashing to the floor, splattering him with melon flavoured protein smoothie. His clothes were ruined.
‘I dressed especially smartly to meet you,’ he shouted. ‘Which one of you has done that? Which one … let me see!’ He marched over, glutinous pink liquid aglow from the colour raging in his cheeks as it dripped down his face. He ripped Elaine’s covers back. He had expected, actually wanted, it to have been Elaine but she was in her usual cretinous state, rocking to and fro with her eyes jammed shut.
It was Jayne then. He pulled her blanket away more gingerly and the stench was unbearable. He ran to a cupboard, grabbed an electric fan and dragged it to her bed. For a moment he questioned his choice to have the room windowless, but it had been the only way. He snapped on gloves from under the sink and began the clean-up operation. She was awake and he knew it, although her head was rolled away from him and she wasn’t speaking. Better that they didn’t communicate until this was over. He had to forgive her. After all, she didn’t yet know who he was, what his plans were. He could be anybody, any lunatic planning to do unspeakable things to her. It would be better when she discovered the truth and could put his actions into context. King finished up, showered, made a fresh tray of food and went back to introduce himself properly.
The Reverend Jayne Magee’s face was still turned away so he pulled up a chair.
‘Jayne, I’m Dr King, Reginald, but perhaps we should remain on formal terms until we’ve progressed. I won’t hurt you, I want you to know that straight away.’
Jayne was chanting beneath her breath.
‘What’s that you’re saying? I can’t hear.’ He leaned over her, trying to see her lips but she strained her face further away. It took him some minutes before he recognised the words. Jayne was reciting the Lord’s Prayer.
‘That’s what we’re here to debate. The existence and nature of God. It’s one of the reasons I chose you. I read the thesis you wrote during your time at Oxford and I think you’ll find I have some interesting responses for you.’ Still she wouldn’t respond, even after he’d displayed his genuine interest in her. It was becoming tiresome. ‘Turn your head, please. It’s terribly bad manners not to look at someone who’s speaking to you.’ Nothing.
King had no wish to chastise Jayne so soon after her arrival. It
