moment.” Victoria turned from the main path to a sidetrack, hitching her skirt to step carefully between the undergrowth. “Grown back a bit since last year,” she said. “I should have worn trousers.”
Sean was tempted to take her hand and offer easier balance. Instead he side-stepped in front and trod down the brambles. He observed nice legs, her feet stepping delicately to save her tights. Either side, graves lay amidst tangled creepers that snaked over stone and marble. Nothing lay visible beyond the immediate surroundings. At the path’s end, remnants of a hacked out area gave moveable room around a flat, granite top sarcophagus. Disregarded police tape still marked the crime scene.
“This place is macabre,” he said. “I can’t believe a bright, intelligent girl completing her PhD would run a gauntlet of winos and wankers to come here. Even to meet someone.”
“That’s one of the mysteries and unfortunately, graveyard tossers don’t make voluntary witnesses. We carried out twenty interviews and kept a presence here for a month, undercover cops playing at winos. Everyone disappeared. It really did become a place for the dead. My guess is, she came with someone she trusted. I interviewed all her known male friends, even girl friends I judged bi-sexual or suspicious. All volunteered DNA, none matched her rapist.”
“Maybe she picked someone up,” Sean said, glancing to dark stains discolouring the lichen-spotted stone.
He watched Victoria shake her head, her lips pressed tight.
“She died between 9 a.m. and 11 a.m. She had no known association in this area. Even prostitutes stay out.”
“Maybe an all night party, a one night stand. Let’s do it on a grave before breakfast. Girls are bold these days.”
She grimaced. “Possible, but out of character. Lizzie was a good-looking young lady, but her interests lay solely in gaining a PhD. All her girlfriends, her boyfriends, spoke of her as dedicated. She didn’t smoke, drink, party or go clubbing. Her only relaxation was interactive computer games, but then they were the subject of her thesis.”
“Same as Danielle, my housekeeper,” Sean said. “She’s into the physical stimulation and mental influences imposed by intense concentration. According to Danielle, computer games can be as addictive as drugs.”
“Friends say Lizzie spent thousands of hours on games. She was highly ranked, British South East champion. PKL, the game-makers, even funded a portion of her PhD. She went to head office to collect and made the national papers.”
“These companies have leagues? I didn’t realise.” Sean surreptitiously looked her over but had a sense of reciprocal observation, her eyes on his hair, face, hands. She was weighing him, judging what, if anything had changed. He wondered if she recalled lying beside him in bed when they had played Mr and Mrs undercover, she locked tight in pyjamas, he in a tracksuit. She Miss Cool, he ready to explode as he strained against base instinct.
“They have leagues for everything,” she said. “And before you ask, my investigation into PKL was incomplete, except I found they do minor research for Starways, the American systems provider. Creech closed me down before I got further. Starways probably operate sixty percent of all computer systems worldwide. That makes them ultra clean, and by association, PKL also.”
Sean shrugged. “Still doesn’t answer why she came here.”
“I doubt we’ll ever know.”
“A walk in solitude, like the Suffolk girl. If the place was full of weirdos, it could have been a chance encounter.”
“Again, possible.”
She held herself and he recognised a gesture of self-protection, as if she felt unconsciously threatened. It gave an insight. She was not so detached as she pretended.
“If it was chance, it led to her being raped and butchered,” she said, and paused. “Disembowelled, each organ cut out and placed separately. This guy knew female
Sean was tempted to take her hand and offer easier balance. Instead he side-stepped in front and trod down the brambles. He observed nice legs, her feet stepping delicately to save her tights. Either side, graves lay amidst tangled creepers that snaked over stone and marble. Nothing lay visible beyond the immediate surroundings. At the path’s end, remnants of a hacked out area gave moveable room around a flat, granite top sarcophagus. Disregarded police tape still marked the crime scene.
“This place is macabre,” he said. “I can’t believe a bright, intelligent girl completing her PhD would run a gauntlet of winos and wankers to come here. Even to meet someone.”
“That’s one of the mysteries and unfortunately, graveyard tossers don’t make voluntary witnesses. We carried out twenty interviews and kept a presence here for a month, undercover cops playing at winos. Everyone disappeared. It really did become a place for the dead. My guess is, she came with someone she trusted. I interviewed all her known male friends, even girl friends I judged bi-sexual or suspicious. All volunteered DNA, none matched her rapist.”
“Maybe she picked someone up,” Sean said, glancing to dark stains discolouring the lichen-spotted stone.
He watched Victoria shake her head, her lips pressed tight.
“She died between 9 a.m. and 11 a.m. She had no known association in this area. Even prostitutes stay out.”
“Maybe an all night party, a one night stand. Let’s do it on a grave before breakfast. Girls are bold these days.”
She grimaced. “Possible, but out of character. Lizzie was a good-looking young lady, but her interests lay solely in gaining a PhD. All her girlfriends, her boyfriends, spoke of her as dedicated. She didn’t smoke, drink, party or go clubbing. Her only relaxation was interactive computer games, but then they were the subject of her thesis.”
“Same as Danielle, my housekeeper,” Sean said. “She’s into the physical stimulation and mental influences imposed by intense concentration. According to Danielle, computer games can be as addictive as drugs.”
“Friends say Lizzie spent thousands of hours on games. She was highly ranked, British South East champion. PKL, the game-makers, even funded a portion of her PhD. She went to head office to collect and made the national papers.”
“These companies have leagues? I didn’t realise.” Sean surreptitiously looked her over but had a sense of reciprocal observation, her eyes on his hair, face, hands. She was weighing him, judging what, if anything had changed. He wondered if she recalled lying beside him in bed when they had played Mr and Mrs undercover, she locked tight in pyjamas, he in a tracksuit. She Miss Cool, he ready to explode as he strained against base instinct.
“They have leagues for everything,” she said. “And before you ask, my investigation into PKL was incomplete, except I found they do minor research for Starways, the American systems provider. Creech closed me down before I got further. Starways probably operate sixty percent of all computer systems worldwide. That makes them ultra clean, and by association, PKL also.”
Sean shrugged. “Still doesn’t answer why she came here.”
“I doubt we’ll ever know.”
“A walk in solitude, like the Suffolk girl. If the place was full of weirdos, it could have been a chance encounter.”
“Again, possible.”
She held herself and he recognised a gesture of self-protection, as if she felt unconsciously threatened. It gave an insight. She was not so detached as she pretended.
“If it was chance, it led to her being raped and butchered,” she said, and paused. “Disembowelled, each organ cut out and placed separately. This guy knew female
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