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  To the backdrop of colourful music, he transformed her lips to a fairy-tale red. Eyebrows, lashes, fingernails and toenails… every inch of her body received his full attention. He bent to inhale the scent of her skin and was rewarded with a pungent chemical smell. It equated to goodness, purity. It was his dream that his art would be picked up by the nationals and broadcast on TV. His fellow man could take comfort that even the dirtiest of street urchins might be transformed into something good and pure. Sacrifices would have to be made. But nobody said life was easy. He watched as her chest rose and fell from underneath the blue waffle blanket. Was she dreaming? Perhaps, in her world, she could sense the change. And he was almost ready to let her go.

  The costume was quite extravagant, but he could afford the cost. He admired the cut of the long yellow dress as it hung from the wall, complete with a blue bolero top and a starched white collar. Red shoes matched the bow on the hairband yet to be placed on the crown of her head. But she was not ready to be dressed. Everything had to be timed to perfection in order to make his fairy-tale work of art complete. He had allocated three days for this particular creation and mapped his plans with precision. Day one was the stripping of the layers – a removal of the grime-infused outside world. Day two was when the detailed work took place: sizing her up for her outfit and bringing her back to life. It was one last parting moment for her to enjoy before death claimed her. Day three involved invasive surgery, those finishing touches which brought authenticity to his work. Just as in the fairy tale, his art would be both cruel and beautiful in its bidding. But this story did not come with a happy ending. Brothers Grimm folklore was more fitting for the modern world.

  He snapped out of his thoughts as the woman stirred. It was almost time to draw her from the recesses of her coma. A full-length mirror stood at the end of the bed, ready to show her what she had become.

  Chapter Six

  The musty smell wafting from the corner of the interview room suggested that Danny Smedley had not washed in several days. He ran a dirty finger around the neck of his custody tracksuit, emitting another blast of body odour into the box-sized interview room.

  Danny’s lack of personal hygiene was one of the reasons why Ruby had managed to persuade DCI Worrow to bring forward the arrest. There was still a possibility he carried Lisa’s DNA and, given Danny’s fingerprint, which they had obtained from the stolen jewellery, it was just cause. Upon entry into custody, Danny was requested to take part in a forensic examination, including penis swabs. Such a process was driven by consent, but if he disagreed to the examination, then an inference might be drawn, which meant people could wonder what he had to hide. Danny knew this because it was not the first time he’d been accused of rape. He had waved away the request, casting himself in a bad light by refusing to comply. Ruby was furious at how quickly he reoffended since his release from prison – so much for rehabilitation. She could only assume Nathan was right: there was no proper motive for it, other than Danny was stupid as hell and the opportunity had presented itself. Had it not been Lisa Caldwell it would have been another girl, maybe even Cathy. The thoughts made her flesh crawl. Ruby had always worked hard to bring offenders to justice but having a daughter of the same age made it personal.

  She glared at Danny as he leaned back in the cheap plastic chair. She hated every fibre of his being, and every second of his sorry life that turned him into the person he was today. She had at least obtained some satisfaction that they had conducted gait analysis as he entered custody. Another one of her suggestions DCI Worrow seemed happy to take credit for. Given that Danny was bow-legged, it was too good an opportunity to miss, and Ruby was aware of other cases in which such analysis had helped convict. Sometimes it wasn’t one huge surmounting piece of evidence but lots of little seeds of doubt during an investigation that meant justice could prevail.

  DC Ash Baker also had a daughter around the same age as the victim but that was not why he sat beside Ruby as she ran through the introductions. It was his years of experience in dealing with such cases that earned him the right to be there. Ash Baker gained the most detections in her team, and Ruby wanted this wrapped up quickly. As they ran through the spiel that precluded every interview, Ruby kept her focus solely on the man in front of her. With dishevelled greasy hair and bloodshot eyes, personal hygiene appeared way down on his list of priorities. The duty solicitor sat next to him, a tall, stick-thin man, his suit a size too big for his bony frame. Glasses perched on the end of his nose, he shuffled the set of papers on his lap, having sped through a thirty-minute pre-interview consultation with his client. Ruby had dealt with him once before, and he had not given her too much grief then.

  Her first question was open, designed to encourage the suspect to give a rundown of his day. Tell, explain, and describe were the words that precluded the open questions necessary to help her suspect confess – or lie, depending on what way you looked at it. Ruby laced her fingers together as she leant across the interview table. ‘Tell me, what you were doing on the night of the 23rd November.’

  ‘No comment,’ Danny replied.

  To the untrained person, an answer of ‘no comment’ may have seemed like a step backwards but to police, it was just another example of where an inference could be drawn. He had been given an opportunity but failed to explain his movements on the night of the murder. Danny may have thought he was smart, but, to Ruby, it was an indication of guilt or something very close to it.

  The duty solicitor looked wholly disinterested. It pleased Ruby, although he was the last person she would want representing her if she got into trouble. Not that she would ever have to worry about that; Nathan Crosby had long since promised that he would look after her if she found herself on the wrong side of the law.

  Such was not the case for the man before her. His solicitor had just travelled from a police station twenty miles away due to lack of cover and looked thoroughly exhausted. His advice to his client to respond with ‘no comment’ was something he seemed to recommend for those who were guilty or too thick to be trusted to provide a reasonable account. Ruby knew that if she prodded Danny enough, she would get a few words out of him before the interview was over. She took a deep breath, ready to burrow into the brain of the man before her.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Do you understand why you’ve been arrested?’ Ruby said, opening a Manila folder and placing it on the coffee-ringed table. It was more than just a sturdy piece of furniture, it was a barrier which provided time to react, should her suspect take exception to her line of questioning.

  ‘No comment,’ Danny replied, rocking back in his chair.

  ‘I refer to exhibit AB01, which is a printout of a photo of the victim, Lisa Caldwell.’

  She slid the picture across the table in the interview room. Danny’s gaze fell on the image of the young girl, the face of someone who had everything to live for.

  ‘Do you know this woman?’

  ‘No comment.’ His eyes still rested on the picture but he had withdrawn into himself, the upward curl of his lip suggesting he was reliving their last moments together.

  Ruby snatched back the photo, unwilling to afford him the memory. All she could see in his face was arrogance and stupidity but it was something she was willing to take advantage of if she could prise some words from his sneering mouth.

  ‘I refer to exhibit AB02. This is CCTV footage of the path before the cut through to Shoreditch Park at 10 p.m. that night.’ Ruby turned the laptop to face him. ‘I’ve provided a map with my disclosure, if you’d like to take another look at the area.’

  His solicitor glanced up from his paperwork, pushing his glasses back up his face. He slipped his copy of the map Ruby had provided onto the desk.

  Danny Smedley barely acknowledged it.

  The CCTV footage displayed the black and white image of a young woman. Wearing a denim skirt and white T-shirt, she held onto a drawstring carrier bag. Her long blonde hair fell all the way down her back, and an image of t
he same girl flashed in Ruby’s memory; the same blonde hair splayed around her on the frosted grass. She inhaled a soft breath, drawing strength from the intensity of her emotions.

  She pointed to the screen. ‘Here’s footage of Lisa leaving the leisure centre. I’m just going to forward it a few minutes. . .’ She clicked the image as a male figure came into view. It was as good an image as that camera could afford, given it was under cover of street lights, but not good enough to clearly identify him.

  ‘This male was seen acting suspiciously, hanging around the park. It’s my opinion that he was following Lisa. What can you tell me about that?’

  Danny shrugged. He was so full of cockiness it warmed Ruby’s heart but she would not allow him to know that. Her facial expression showed mild annoyance. It was a game she played only with those foolish enough to swallow it.

  ‘For the benefit of the recording, Danny has shrugged.’ Ruby needed to clarify every response in case the interview was played in court later. She dared not look at Ash, who was taking notes. The next few moments were crucial, and she could not break concentration.

  ‘Do you know this person?’ Ruby pointed at the still of the male. Head bowed, his hoodie was covering most of his features, although the shading on his jawbone suggested a thick growth of stubble akin to the facial hair Danny was sporting in the interview today.

  ‘No comment,’ Danny said, his tone flat.

  ‘Is this you?’ Ruby fired back.

  ‘No comment.’

  Ruby returned her attention to the screen. ‘Now, why do you think someone would be following Lisa into the park like that? A young girl minding her own business.’

  Danny sneered. ‘She hardly minded her own business dressed like that.’

  Ruby could have torn a strip off him, but, instead, she looked at him blankly. ‘Like what? I don’t understand.’

  ‘These girls with their short skirts and flimsy tops. . .’

  ‘It was pretty cold that night. . .’ Ruby said, her voice trailing away.

  ‘Too right. What do they expect, walking around with their tits on show? And then it’s all over the newspapers, innocent this, and innocent that… Innocent, my arse!’

  Ruby nodded, waiting for him to fill the silence. She could not reel him in anymore. The last thing she wanted was the court to think that she had any sympathy for this scumbag. ‘So what happened? When you bumped into her, I mean.’

  The words were nonchalant but the solicitor raised his gaze from his paperwork, his voice droll. ‘My client has been advised to answer no comment.’

  ‘I’d rather hear that from him,’ Ruby said, annoyed at the break in momentum.

  Danny folded his arms, confusion flashing across his face. It was as if he had just realised he was in a police interview room and not his local boozer. ‘No comment.’ He exhaled the words in sullen weariness.

  But Ruby refused to allow his non-committal response to get in her way. ‘What did you mean when you said Lisa had her breasts on display?’ The fact the young girl had changed quickly from her swimsuit and not bothered to put her bra back on was not public knowledge. Ruby only knew it because a friend of Lisa’s had mentioned her complaining about the underwire as she stuffed it into her bag in the changing room that night. Danny’s comments gave scope for another inference to be drawn: a tiny one, but an inference just the same.

  ‘I. . . I meant she probably dressed the same as most young women these days,’ Danny said, forgetting his earlier advice of keeping shtum.

  Ruby stared without blinking until he shifted under the weight of her gaze. ‘So you’re telling me this isn’t you?’ she clarified, waiting for his solicitor to complain that she was labouring the point.

  He opened his hands wide in a gesture of innocence. ‘It ain’t me. I was at the hostel, in bed. I got in at around seven and stayed there until the next day. I left around twelve.’

  ‘Yet nobody’s seen you in all that time.’

  Danny’s shoulders jerked upwards in another shrug. ‘I keep to meself. I watched some documentary on the telly from eight to nine, and then I fell asleep.’

  It would not have been difficult for him to find out what was on TV, and he’d had time to get his story straight, although Ruby was grateful nobody had been stupid enough to provide him with an alibi. She allowed him to give a potted account of his movements before allowing Ash to follow up with extra questions, referring to his notes.

  ‘You said you were in your room at the hostel from 7 p.m. until twelve the next morning. Is that correct?’

  ‘That’s what I told ya.’ Danny nodded, tucking his hands under his sweat-stained armpits as he folded his arms across his chest.

  ‘So how did your fingerprint get on what has been identified as Lisa Caldwell’s jewellery?’ Ash produced the exhibit, referencing it for the purpose of the recording.

  ‘No idea,’ Danny said with a shrug.

  ‘Did you attend Buster Turner’s Jewellery Emporium on the night of the murder?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you try to pawn jewellery that night?’

  ‘I told ya, I was in my room.’

  Good, Ruby thought, paying close attention as Danny dug himself into a bigger hole. Ash finished up his questions before passing the baton back to Ruby. They had pre-arranged their interview questions and worked in harmony with one mutual goal. Ash had prepped their suspect and allowed him to lie. Now it was time for Ruby to move in for the kill. She cleared her throat as she inhaled the stench of fresh sweat rising from Danny’s direction.

  ‘You refused to allow police to take intimate samples when you entered custody. Can you tell me why?’ They were an hour into the interview, and she itched to escape for a cigarette.

  ‘I don’t want no filthy copper touching my knob.’

  Ruby almost laughed at the irony, but kept her amusement in check. ‘It was the force medical examiner but you would have known that. It’s not the first time you’ve found yourself in this situation, is it, Danny?’

  He snorted in response, his face devoid of remorse.

  Bad character was something Ruby would ask Ash to draw upon at the end of the interview; he’d read through Danny’s past police history for the benefit of the recording. ‘Thankfully, we don’t need permission for other methods of analysis. You’ve got quite a distinctive walk, haven’t you?’

  Ruby was referring to his bow legs and the John Wayne type saunter that accompanied it.

  ‘I’ve ’ad it since I was a kid, nothing I can do about it.’

  ‘And it’s relatively rare, isn’t it? It usually stems from having rickets as a child.’ She was all too aware of his deprived childhood. ‘I requested a gait analysis when you came into custody. It’s where experts analyse your walk against other footage and find a match. Much like this walk here,’ she said, pressing ‘play’ on the laptop.

  Danny paled as it displayed an image of his signature loping gait.

  ‘As I said, being bow-legged is an unusual condition these days. I’m confident we’ll come up with a match between your entrance into custody and the footage here. So, I’ll ask you again. Is this you on the CCTV?’

  Danny folded his arms, shrinking back from the screen. ‘No comment.’

  The duty solicitor peered over his glasses at the footage before sliding a sideways glance at him.

  Ruby continued. ‘I know we can’t see your face here, but it’s quite clear on CCTV when you ventured to Buster Turner’s Jewellery Emporium on Bethnal Green Road to sell Lisa Caldwell’s jewellery. The pawnbroker provided us with a statement, by the way. It contains an excellent description, by all accounts, matching the clothing seen on our CCTV.’ Ruby pointed to the laptop with the tip of her pen. ‘Black sweatshirt, baseball cap, torn jeans and boots. Oh, and the black rucksack on your back. The same black rucksack you had when you left prison. We’ve also obtained a further statement from an independent witness stating that a man fitting your description was hanging around that night.’
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  The witness had been the manager of the leisure centre. Ruby wished he had voiced his concerns at the time, in the form of a phone call to the police, instead of a statement the next day. But her colleagues were stretched thin, and it was doubtful they could have spared a chance to conduct a drive by in time anyway.

  Ruby’s heart lit like a furnace as she watched the arrogance drop from her suspect’s face.

  ‘I want to talk to my solicitor – in private,’ Danny said, his hands dropping to the sides of his seat.

  Ruby bit back her grin. She had him by the balls and was clenching them tighter by the second.

  Chapter Eight

  Danny nodded as Ruby checked his understanding of the murder charge she had just recited at the custody desk. His shoulders slumped, his head hung low, he was wearing the expression of a man who knew when he was banged to rights. The last twenty-four hours had been one result after another, and the small swell of pride she felt for her team was only marred by the pointless loss of a young life.

  Thanks to her visit to Buster Turner, he had positively identified Danny Smedley as the person who sold him the stolen jewellery. As well as the positive fingerprint, Danny’s bow-legged gait also proved to be his downfall. It was more than a coincidence that his clothing description along with his gait matched that of the person on CCTV, putting him at the scene moments after Lisa took a shortcut through the park. He could have used the excuse that he found the jewellery, just as DI Downes had warned, but the fact that Ruby had questioned Danny’s whereabouts so early in the interview meant she had given him the perfect opportunity to lie. Had she provided full pre-interview disclosure about the evidence they had gathered it might have been a different story. Ruby had inhaled the stale smell of accelerant as his clothes were seized in custody and requested the helicopter go up a second time, confident they would discover the remains of a fire, where he disposed of Lisa’s clothes. Because yes, Danny was that stupid, and stupid people usually got caught.