The Devil Inside Read online

  Seated at her kitchen table, she waited for him to arrive, a gleaming glass of chardonnay in one hand, and a diminishing pile of jigsaw pieces in the other. She watched the puzzle pieces fall through her fingers like dust. Each time she raised a new handful, she would spot another piece, and the New York City skyline gradually took shape. Smiling, she slotted the spire of the Empire State building into place.

  The doorbell rang. Charlotte rose, took one last glance in the mirror to make sure her appearance was up to scratch (and, more importantly, that her wig was straight) then almost skipped down the hallway to open the door.

  Jack stood on the front step, a large bunch of vivid pink roses clutched in his hand, looking like he had stepped straight out of a menswear catalogue. He smiled, sliding the flowers behind her back as he leant in to kiss her cheek. ‘You look beautiful.’

  She embraced him, holding him a little longer than she normally would have. It was the simple things – like hugs – that Charlotte relished since her diagnosis. In some ways, the gloom allowed her to experience some of the more wonderful things in life with absolute clarity, making her cherish them in a way she never had before.

  ‘Likewise, Mr Tolbert.’ She grabbed his taut behind and squeezed. He jumped in surprise at her unexpected affection, his laughter bouncing off the confined surrounds of the entranceway.

  ‘Maybe we should just stay home …’ He nuzzled into her neck. Charlotte’s heart quickened as it did every time they were close – out of excitement from his touch, or fear that he would find out her secret, she wasn’t exactly sure.

  ‘No way! I’m not missing this for the world.’ Charlotte shoved Jack out the open front door. Turning her back to him, she eased the hall-table drawer open and grabbed her shiny black handbag and house keys. As she went to push the drawer closed, she heard a rattle, a noise like a marble scurrying across floorboards. She bent at the waist and peered into the drawer. There, resting on its side, was her gold wedding band, neglected and alone. Until this moment, the memory of the ring’s location had escaped her. Taking a deep breath, she slid the drawer shut, before stepping across the threshold and slamming the door behind her.

  Arm in arm, they strolled to Jack’s car. As usual, it was one she had never set eyes on before. A workaholic like her, Jack had two jobs: part-time personal trainer, and full-time car salesman. His full-time job – his own business – allowed him to take any car off the lot whenever he wanted. It was every kid’s dream, although Charlotte wasn’t as impressed as some women might be. To her, a car was just a means to get from A to B.

  ‘BMW Z4,’ Jack said, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the convertible. ‘You like, Madame?’

  Charlotte nodded, but inside, her heart gave a sickening thud. Eyes wide, her fingers instinctively went to her hair. She simply could not get into that car, as sleek and sexy as it looked. Anything but a convertible. She had no idea what the force of the wind would do to her delicate wig, and the image of it blowing off as they drove down the main street was enough to make her stomach churn.

  ‘Ah … I, uh … like the colour. One thing, though … Can we have the top up?’ she stammered, her face heating up. ‘Everything’s still on the down-low with us, and I’d like to keep it that way for the moment, with all that’s going on, y’know? Just not sure I’m ready to take that step yet.’

  ‘Oh, okay,’ Jack said, looking bewildered, and even a little hurt. ‘No feeling the freedom of the wind through your hair?’

  Charlotte gave another internal shudder. ‘It took me hours to look this good. At least let me get to dinner looking somewhat respectable.’

  To her relief, Jack gave a nod and seemed to recover himself. They climbed in, and he reached into the console and flicked a switch, activating the mechanism to raise the roof. Within seconds it had clicked into place, and Charlotte expelled the breath she’d been holding onto.

  The restaurant squatted on the end of the pier like a pelican, the remnants of a golden sunset leaving a thin apricot line running along the horizon. Both of them knew the owner personally, and they were taken through to a private table as soon as they arrived where they sat overlooking the rolling sea. It was the perfect end to a blistering day, the cooling air tinged with the smell of sea spray, candles and frying food.

  After ordering, Jack poured them both a crisp white wine. The cool liquid soothed Charlotte’s throat as it went down. She was aware she couldn’t have too much or she would puff up like a red balloon – yet another wonderful side effect of the treatment she was on – but as long as she kept it to one or two glasses, she would be fine and Jack would be none the wiser. That was the plan anyway. But even as she had this thought, she knew the time was coming when she would have to tell him the truth.

  ‘So … is it just my paranoia, or have you been playing hard to get lately?’ Jack said, breaking into her thoughts.

  Charlotte giggled, surprised at her girlish reaction. ‘Mmm, I’ve been kinda flat out. Whoever this murderer is obviously hasn’t thought to take me into account. Don’t they know I have a life outside work?’

  ‘Maybe they know you don’t have a life outside work and that’s why they’re doing it – to challenge the best detective in town. It might be personal, you know – have you thought about that?’

  ‘You watch too much TV.’ Charlotte sipped her wine. ‘It’s not CSI: Miami – people kill for a lot of different reasons, but I think it’s safe to say that I wouldn’t be one of them.’

  ‘Well that’s a relief,’ Jack said as he topped up their wineglasses. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask how you’ve been feeling about everything. I know you’ve been doing this for a while, but surely it gets daunting. I can’t fathom how you don’t get overwhelmed by it. I mean, people’s lives are at stake.’

  Charlotte paused mid-sip. ‘It’s not your usual job, obviously, but it’s what I do; what I’ve always done. Some days are better than others, but if I try to keep the victims at the forefront of my mind then I don’t lose focus. And sure, cases can play on my mind, I might struggle to sleep, but so what – I can always catch up on that once the monster is behind bars. Of course, nights like this always release the valve.’ She smiled and reached across the table, resting her fingers on top of Jack’s hand.

  ‘Happy to help any way I can,’ he said, his eyes sparkling. ‘Speaking of which, what’s the latest on these murders then – any inside information?’ Like most people Charlotte talked to, Jack loved hearing about her work – it seemed to appeal to the voyeuristic side in everybody.

  ‘To be honest, we don’t have a lot to go on. We’re pretty sure it’s the same guy, but we’re struggling to come up with a motive or anything on ID. He knows what he’s doing, that’s for sure – DNA at the scenes has been non-existent; no witnesses; no CCTV. We’ve been down all the usual avenues of enquiry – talked to the victims’ families and friends, some workmates. Even been to their workplaces on the off-chance we might spook someone, so far all to no avail. But that’ll change; sometimes these things are sorted out within a day or two, sometimes it takes a while.’

  ‘It must be a local though, right?’

  ‘Well, we presume so, but that’s only really a guess.’

  ‘Anything linking the two women? What’s the nexus?’

  Charlotte laughed at his straight-from-cop-TV language. ‘Funny you should ask, actually. We’ve only just confirmed that the two victims were both members of that new twenty-four-hour gym, so that’ll be our next avenue of enquiry. But that’s pretty much all we’ve got to go on at the moment.’ She ran her finger around the rim of her wine glass as she gathered her thoughts. The seed of doubt that she’d been burying this past week was springing to life now she had a moment to stop and think. She stared across the table at Jack. ‘I’ve been a police officer for twenty years, and a detective for more than a decade. You’d think I might have a little bit more of an idea about what I’m doing.’

  Jack reached across the table and took her hand in his, mas
saging her knuckles with his thumb. ‘Hey, you’ve got this. Besides, maybe I’ll come up with something that smashes the case open – isn’t there some reward for breaking big cases? I could do with some extra cash.’

  ‘Yeah, because you’re sooo destitute. Come and be a detective for a little while, then you’ll see what overworked and underpaid really looks like.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ Jack said, holding his hands up in acknowledgement. ‘But seriously, I’m actually familiar with the Motivation Factory. I get a fair few referrals from them for people who want some extra, more specific training, or who are just sick of being stuck inside exercising when the weather’s perfect right outside the window. Can’t say I blame them. In the cop shows, there’s always a unique signature that ties the murders together. What is it with these ones?’

  For the first time that night, Charlotte felt uncomfortable, and she blushed a little, feeling the wine go to her head. ‘I can’t really say – it’s not for public knowledge, so we can weed out the nutcases from all the phone calls we get from people wanting to confess.’

  Jack leant forward, clearly intrigued. ‘So there is something! C’mon, babe, tell me. I promise I’ll use it for good and not evil. I want to help.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Charlotte muttered. ‘I’ll tell you, but you have to promise to keep it to yourself – cross your heart and hope to die.’

  She watched him lick his index finger and cross his heart, reminding her of the innocence of her schooldays – only this time there was something strangely sexy about it too, which really threw her off guard.

  The waiter appeared, giving Charlotte a momentary reprieve by placing their entrees down before them. She had selected the pan-fried calamari, curled in upon itself and nestled among a vibrant garden salad. She speared a piece with her fork and brought it to her mouth, practically salivating with anticipation. The tough edges of the calamari melted in her mouth and she couldn’t help but think of the parallels between that particular dish and herself – difficult and chewy at its worst, but if treated well, soft and delicious.

  Charlotte finished her mouthful, wiped her lips with the corner of the linen napkin, and looked at Jack, who was tucking into his oysters kilpatrick. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But remember, if I hear this is out in the public domain, I’ll know exactly where it came from, and I can tell you, I won’t be happy.’

  Jack stared back at her with his soulful eyes, held up both hands and crossed his fingers. What more could she ask for?

  ‘At both crime scenes, there was a small piece of paper – notes we’ve since discovered are normally attached to church newsletters. Each note has a piece of scripture printed on it. Now the quotes themselves were produced by the church, so the killer didn’t have any say in the content, but … It’s still very weird and kind of creepy.’

  ‘Creepy – is that a technical term?’

  Charlotte grinned – something she found herself doing a lot of around Jack, even during serious conversations like this one. ‘Fine,’ she said, feigning hurt, ‘I won’t tell you anything next time.’

  Jack went quiet for a moment as he finished the last of his oysters, slurping the final one down as he considered his next words. ‘Have you found out which church it came from?’

  ‘Yes. But that I am keeping a secret.’

  ‘Is it a local parish – one of the ones here in town? Can you tell me that much?’

  Charlotte nodded.

  Jack sat still, his brow furrowed in concentration as he stared into his wineglass. He remained like that for a minute or so, and Charlotte could almost see his brain ticking over like the transparent Swatch watch she’d owned as a teenager. Finally, he spoke.

  ‘I’ve got it,’ he said, reclining back in his chair and crossing his arms behind his head, a look of satisfaction on his features. ‘Easy. It’s the priest.’

  Luckily for Charlotte, she had finished her dish, otherwise she would have propelled calamari out of her mouth and across the table at him. ‘You’re not serious? With no formal training, no experience in the field, no examination of the evidence and no viewing of the photos – let alone the actual crime scenes – you’ve solved the case. Well, the only question left to answer is why didn’t I come to you earlier?’

  They both burst out laughing. Regaining her composure, Charlotte looked at Jack coyly, laughter still lining his cheeks. She hoped he was only joking, but somewhere in the pit of her stomach, unease stirred. Surely he couldn’t be serious?

  But Jack continued, warming to his theory. ‘All those hours watching TV can pay off, you know. The priest is the obvious choice – he had access to the main clue found at both scenes; he’s probably a local who knows the area really well; he’s the last person anyone would suspect; he has plenty of spare time on his hands … the list goes on.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be sure to keep your expert opinion in mind, thanks.’ Charlotte dismissed him with a shake of her head and pushed her unease aside. Jack was oblivious to the fact that the priest he was condemning was her brother, and she wasn’t about to tell him. Until there was evidence pointing directly at Joe, there was no way she would put her brother in the firing line. And besides, the idea that he was the murderer they were searching for was laughable. A thoughtful, kind and considerate priest, and brother to a detective in the same town, out killing innocent women? Not a chance.

  ‘You do that,’ Jack said, amusement still on his face. ‘And when you get that search warrant and find a Bible with pieces of the victims’ hair stuck in it, you’ll know who to thank.’

  Charlotte gave a tight smile as the waiter arrived with the main course. The salmon fillet was perfectly seared and luscious pink. She grabbed her fork and dove in.

  ‘Seriously, though – you must’ve looked at the priest. Who is he?’ Jack asked her as he sliced into his rump steak.

  ‘I’m not telling you anymore – that’s enough talk about work,’ Charlotte said, anxious to shut this down. ‘The reason I agreed to dinner was to get away from all that. But I’ll be sure to pass on your details to whoever puts up the reward money when the time comes, okay? Now, how was your day?’

  Never one to shy away from talking about himself, Jack launched into a story about the businessman who’d come into the dealership earlier that day to buy his mistress a birthday present. And, just like that, they veered away from anything to do with the murdered girls. But, like a splinter in the end of her finger, one thought remained jammed in Charlotte’s mind, buried deep under her skin where she couldn’t shift it.

  Maybe she had let her personal connection get in her way when it came to Joseph. She hadn’t even thought to suspect him, and even now didn’t believe for a second he had anything to do with this. But in reality, she knew that if he wasn’t her brother, she would’ve been pressing him much harder. And perhaps Joseph knew something and didn’t even realise it?

  All good detectives asked the questions that needed to be asked. Charlotte considered herself one of those, but she was also aware that she was only as good as her next result. Police work was difficult enough, but being a woman in this role was even tougher, even in the modern, so-called progressive, world. She had endured being called everything from too hard to too soft, but nothing anyone said or did could match the doubt she carried.

  She needed to step up big time – if not for her own sake, then for the two girls whose bodies still lay cold and flat in the hospital morgue.

  CHAPTER 16

  ‘This is the word of the Lord.’

  ‘Thanks be to God.’ There was a muffled shuffling as the congregation took their seats.

  Joseph replaced the Bible on the altar and returned to his chair. Allowing some time for the lessons of the Gospel to sink in, he took a moment to look out the church’s shimmering windows and appreciate the breathtaking place he was fortunate enough to work in.

  Positioned in a prime location, the church kept watch over the ocean below, where waves crashed and sizzled against jagged green-and-g
rey rocks. Nestled some distance from a smattering of farmhouse properties, it was very much a focal point of the town – not for all, it had to be said, but enough to keep it alive and kicking. The exterior of the building was classically constructed, with a dark-green, weather-beaten pitched roof and exposed wooden beams sealing the roughly rendered cream walls. A sizeable crucifix sprouted from the apex. Picturesque and practical was how Joseph liked to describe it.

  A handmade stone brick wall enclosed the church grounds, its lumpy appearance not solely the result of shoddy workmanship but also a reflection of the environment in which it stood, defiant. In the depths of winter, the wind howled over the lip of the nearby cliffs, assaulting everything it encountered. Years of sporadic abuse from the elements ensured anything that wasn’t nailed down – and even some things that were – would be eroded away, piece by piece. The long grass in the paddocks whistled in the breeze, competing with the murmuring rhythm of the waves below, and the handful of small trees that remained were forced to grow on a sharp angle, buffeted into submission. While the relative calm of summer brought some relief from the battering wind and pounding rain, the relentless heat brought its own problems.

  Still, the congregation came.

  Rising from his chair, Joseph gathered his robes about him. He stood at the lectern and cleared his throat, staring out at the congregation – thirty or forty committed souls; a standard gathering. Most were female and middle-aged or older. He treasured each and every one of them – in many ways, they were his second family.

  ‘Let me thank you all for attending today, in what I’m sure has been a very trying week for each of you. I believe that the events of the past week – as horrible as they were – were sent to test us. An ordeal such as this always throws up more questions than answers, especially for those of us who live a life of devotion to our God.’

  As he continued speaking, Joseph noticed a middle-aged couple in the back corner, the man’s arm draped over the woman’s shoulder, both their faces drawn. It was clear she had been crying; even from a distance, the moisture shone on her reddened cheeks. He recognised them as the parents of Christie Dalgleish – the first victim – and his heart ached. At least they had the belief and strength to come and worship, to make some attempt at seeking answers. The family of the second victim – Janice Farraday – had yet to leave their home. He could understand that too, and when the shock subsided, he would be there to navigate them through the grieving process. Catching Mr Dalgleish’s eyes, he gave a brief smile.