I felt like bouncing up and down in my chair, but the presence of Akiko inhibited me. And anyway, the fact was that I was no closer to proving anything. Stuart had walked away from the investigation into Grace’s death – he wasn’t even alluded to in the article I’d read, which mainly focused on Grace’s high hopes for her trip, the way the Brumbergers had found out the news and their journey from grief to acceptance.
But now I was absolutely sure I was right.
Akiko hung up the phone and immediately it rang again: reception, downstairs, to tell me that there was a Miss Tacky-something waiting to see me. I gathered up Akiko and my notebook and went to find her.
Takahashi Yumi conformed to the absolute template of a St Martins College fashion student, in that she was so determined
not
to conform. She was wearing lace-up red shoes with exaggerated, curved heels and a platform sole: they looked like an illustration from a fairy tale. Her tights were black but they had been embroidered with white thistles and ivy that snaked up from her anklebone to her thigh. She wore tiny black leather shorts and a big white fluffy jumper that was unravelling at the neck and cuffs. No coat, on a day when the temperature wasn’t likely to rise above seven degrees, but she did have an umbrella with a duck’s head handle. Small and slender, she wasn’t quite pretty but she had dramatic eye make-up and had painted her mouth to match her shoes, creating a 1920s-style Cupid’s bow. I stared at her for a good couple of seconds, taking it all in, before I remembered what I was supposed to be doing.
‘Thank you for coming.’
She nodded. ‘How can I help you?’
Time to be direct. ‘I think Stuart might have harmed some women, but I can’t prove it yet. I need to know if he ever did anything that made you uneasy, or if he hurt you, or if he acted in any way that made you suspicious of him.’
Three or four rapid blinks. Her false eyelashes had tiny hearts glued to the ends, I noticed. I couldn’t begin to imagine how long it took her to get dressed in the morning.
‘There were some things …’ She trailed off.
‘Can we start at the beginning? How did you meet him?’
‘He was my teacher in school.’
‘
Really
?’
‘Yes, but we did not have a relationship then. We were friends.’
‘I see.’
‘I taught him Japanese and he helped me learn English. I wanted to come to London to study but I was very bad student.’
‘So you helped each other.’
‘For a year. And then I finished school and we became more than friends.’
‘You moved in with him.’
She nodded, biting her lip gently. ‘My parents were sad. I was in love with him.’
‘How long did you live together?’
‘Two years, almost. I would not go abroad to study or leave Takayama. I wanted to be with him. I stopped doing everything that made me happy. No fashion, no dressing up. No Internet. No friends. He was everything.’ Her voice broke and she twisted her hands together, striving to keep the tears back.
‘Was he controlling?’
She looked blank. Akiko leaned forward and offered a phrase in Japanese that made her nod. ‘Yes.’
‘He made you follow his rules.’
‘And would not let me speak with my parents.’
‘Was he nice to you?’
‘Yes.’ She looked away. ‘No.’
‘Was he violent?’
Two tears slid down Yumi’s cheeks. ‘Yes. No.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He was but it was what I liked. I thought I liked it. I didn’t know any different.’
Again, Akiko leaned in and said something softly, and Yumi replied to her, the words rapid. When the two of them were in full flow the sound of their voices reminded me of running water or gloved hands clapping. There was no harshness to it at all, no edge despite the subject matter.
Akiko turned to me. ‘There was an element of sadomasochism in their relationship. She says that Stuart was unable to have sexual relations with her properly and only became aroused if he was choking her. He liked her to play dead and then he would masturbate on her.’ There was something very odd about hearing those words come out of Akiko’s mouth but she wasn’t embarrassed. She went on: ‘She says she had come to enjoy it and look forward to surrendering to him, but then on one occasion he choked her until she passed out. When she came round, he was elated, not sorry. She was terrified that the next time he would kill her. She refused to do it any more.’
‘What was his reaction?’
‘He started to go to the nearest city and visit prostitutes. He refused to speak to her. She apologised and told him she would do whatever he wanted.’
‘And?’
Akiko turned to Yumi, who faltered through a few sentences before dissolving into tears.
‘He choked her again and again she fell unconscious, but when she came round her eyes were bruised and swollen. She couldn’t see anything for two days. The doctors were concerned that she could lose her sight but she recovered. After that, she knew he was too dangerous to stay with, and she left him.’
Yumi was crying properly now, a handkerchief pressed to her face. She peeled her eyelashes off and laid them on her knee, where they lay like two dead centipedes. ‘I did not know anything else. I thought he did those things because he loved me. And I loved him.’
‘Are you scared of him?’
She nodded. ‘But he hasn’t tried to contact me. Not since last October.’
Around the time Grace Brumberger died. I thought of Stuart killing her and realising he could make his fantasies a reality. It made me feel sick, but it also made sense.
‘Are you willing to make a statement about Stuart?’
She looked horrified. ‘I don’t want to tell everyone what he did.’
‘You don’t have to be embarrassed,’ I said gently. ‘He was the one who decided to behave that way.’
Yumi muttered something and shook her head.
‘May I?’ Akiko murmured to me.
‘Please.’
I couldn’t guess what the older woman was saying to Yumi, but as she spoke the tears welled up in the fashion student’s eyes again. Akiko kept talking, persuading, cajoling, and at last Yumi nodded.
‘She’ll give you a statement. I will help her,’ Akiko said.
Yumi stood up, wobbly as a newborn fawn. ‘I must go to the bathroom, I think.’
I showed her where to go. Once the door was closed behind her, I turned to Akiko.
‘What did you say to her?’
‘I told her I have a daughter. I told her my daughter is twenty, and very beautiful. I told her I worry about her. I told her the girls Stuart Sinclair killed had parents who loved them very much.’ Akiko smiled, but her eyes were sad. ‘I told her she was lucky.’
Chapter 36
I was pretty good at being a copper, which was lucky because I could never have been a burglar. The flat was empty, and I knew it was empty, but my heart rate was towards the upper limit of survivable. Perspiration was making my gloves slip a little on my hands. I pulled them further up my wrists and blew hair out of my face.
‘Good to go?’
‘Yeah.’ Maitland stood behind me, in a heavy overcoat, with a police radio in one hand and a camera in the other. He looked as tense as if he was going on a picnic, and he grinned at me. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll get plenty of warning if he shows up.’
‘Are you sure that works in here?’ Reception could be patchy. I really didn’t want any surprises because the radio was only getting static.
‘I’ve checked.’ He folded his arms in front of him and looked at me expectantly. ‘But the longer you take, the riskier it gets.’
‘Okay, okay. Don’t hurry me.’
We were standing by the front door in the narrow hallway that ran down the middle of Stuart Sinclair’s flat. It was dark but smelled chemically clean. On my right was a bedroom, with a small bathroom beyond it. On my left, there was a living room and an equally small kitchen.
‘At least you don’t have many rooms to search.’
‘That can be harder.’ I could see telltale signs that he was both neat and a pack rat: an overfull bookcase stood at the end of the hall, with boxes stacked on top of it and piles of magazines underneath, all squared off and organised. Chaos would have been easier to rummage through. ‘If everything is jammed in together, I’ll have to take it all out to see if there’s anything useful.’
‘Go on, Chuckles. What are you waiting for?’
The truth was, I didn’t know. I was waiting for the blinding flash of inspiration that would show me where Sinclair had stashed everything that related to his little hobby. I was also on edge in case he was expecting a visit from the police and had booby-trapped the place accordingly. Under the terms of our search warrant we could go through the place without getting his permission to be there. I had a feeling he wouldn’t grant it, if he was offered the option. I didn’t want to tip him off that we’d been there if we didn’t find anything – we’d need to set up surveillance on him and try to catch him doing something incriminating, which would only work if he was confident our attention was elsewhere. So I was keeping my eyes peeled for stray hairs, black threads or artlessly arranged piles of paper that would give the game away. It was a lot easier to set a trap than to avoid springing it. That was why I’d been sent in on my own, with Maitland for muscle, just in case. The fewer people there were in Stuart Sinclair’s flat, the less chance there was we’d leave a trace.
‘Where are you going to start?’
‘Bedroom.’
‘Not the living room?’
‘It doesn’t look as if he has many visitors, but if he did, that’s where they would go. I’m betting anything dodgy is in here.’
‘On you go.’
I pushed open the bedroom door slowly and slipped inside, straining to see in the dim light. He had dark blue curtains that were still drawn even though it was daylight. I made sure there wasn’t a gap in the middle, then took out my torch and started looking.
The bed was made, the duvet smooth. His shoes were lined up underneath it: many pairs of trainers, two pairs of smart shoes, one pair of desert boots. I checked the soles, quickly, and shook every shoe to check there was nothing inside it. The floor was carpeted and looked clean. I recalled that the killer had been scrupulous about leaving the crime scenes neat and tidy. It really would have been a lot more helpful if he’d been a slob.
I nudged the wardrobe doors open and bit back a gasp.
‘You okay?’ Maitland suddenly loomed in the doorway.
‘Got a shock.’ I swung the doors back so he could see the full-length mirror on one side and the full-length poster Stuart Sinclair had stuck on the other.
‘Is that him?’
‘It certainly is.’ In the picture he was wearing a small pair of shorts and had a deep tan. His muscles were sharply defined, gleaming with oil, and he was posing with his hands on his waist in the best bodybuilder style, biceps bulging. ‘Mr Fitness. I think this is his motivational material.’
‘Twat,’ Maitland said, and snapped a couple of pictures before he retreated. We needed to record anything remotely suspicious where we found it because Sinclair could remove it before we got a chance to come back.
I carried on searching, finding three smart suits with ties and shirts among the more casual clothes. To myself, I murmured, ‘What do you need suits for? You’re a teacher. Go to a lot of funerals?’
Nothing in the bottom of the wardrobe. Nothing on top. The bedside tables were empty. The chest of drawers contained neat piles of folded clothes. The drawers didn’t pull out all the way but I checked the undersides anyway, lying on the floor, and even ran a hand along the back panel of the drawer to make sure there was nothing dangling down behind. I checked under the mattress and found nothing except slats. I checked under the pillow. Inside the pillowcases. Inside the duvet cover.
‘Anything?’
I took the torch out of my mouth, where I’d held it while I was replacing the bedclothes. ‘You’ll be the first to know.’
‘Five minutes.’
‘Got it.’
I did the bathroom in two minutes: whitening toothpaste, hair dye and moisturiser. Expensive shampoo and conditioner. Eye cream. The guy used more products than I did.
The kitchen was tiny and so clean I wondered if he ever used it. The cupboards were full of protein powder and energy bars. The fridge contained egg whites, rice milk, turkey, chicken and cod, and a couple of bags of spinach.
‘Fun,’ I said.
Maitland was pacing up and down the hall like a bear in a zoo. ‘Wish he’d invite me round for dinner.’
I kept searching. No wine or beer. A box of green tea, loose, with a Japanese tea set and little cups without handles. Some rice cakes and noodles.
There was a small freezer in the corner, with three drawers, and I ripped through it. Top drawer: more fish and lean meat. No ice cream. Middle drawer: frozen vegetables. No chips. Bottom drawer: plastic storage boxes opaque with frost. The top two seemed to be mince. A larger, flat one underneath them was far too light when I picked it up. I peeled the lid back and jumped.
‘Whoa.’
‘What’ve you got?’
‘It’s okay.’ I lifted it up very carefully and draped it over my fingertips so it could hang properly. ‘It’s just a wig.’
‘In the
freezer
?’
‘Yep.’ I couldn’t stop smiling. ‘Nice hiding place. The colour matches Angela Poole’s hair. The length and style is the same as hers was. And I bet we’ll be able to match the hair we found on Anna Melville’s body.’
Maitland took some pictures while I detached a couple of hairs and folded them into an evidence envelope. Then I replaced the wig in the box and the box in the freezer.
‘Can I tell them?’ He lifted the radio.
‘Be my guest. I’m going to keep looking, though.’
In the living room I found weights and exercise DVDs, along with four stainless steel knives in a flat holder taped to the underside of the dining table. They were a Japanese make and exceedingly sharp. There was a gap in the middle.
‘He could be carrying a knife.’
‘I’ll let them know.’
More bookcases, more books. I liked a room full of books, but not when I was in a hurry and trying to search with a light touch, because Godley had said to stay wary in case the wig wasn’t a match. There was no way I could go through every book and check there was nothing hidden inside and I chewed my lip, knowing I was missing something.