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Chapter 4
Sunday 31st January
Cheltenham Central Police Station
‘I’ve put calls in to Thames Valley, West Midlands, and South Wales Police,’ says Sergeant Gareth Little.
He’s on the phone to the duty inspector, Rob Jones, filling him in about Mary Ellis and her disturbing Christmas gift. Orallegedgift, anyway.
‘No reports of any other mysterious diaries or any death threats being received by anyone in Birmingham or Cardiff to date. And as far as they know in the Lisa Turner investigation in Oxford, she hadn’t mentioned any messages or threats before her murder either. Seems like just this one diary, sent to this Mary Ellis.’
‘Hmmm,’ says Rob. ‘Well, you were right to get it sent straight off to forensics. Bit of a strange one. If it’s genuine though – holy crap. Don’t really want to think about that. What did you make of this Mary Ellis? The name’s familiar for some reason?’
‘She’s a local crime writer,’ says Gareth. He’d got some basic details from Mary herself earlier, but he’d done a little more research after she’d left, curious about her.
‘Not a newspaper reporter though – more of a specialist,’ he explains. ‘She does in-depth interviews for some of the big newspapers and magazines. Victims, families, even perpetrators of high-profile crimes. She moved to Cheltenham from London a few years ago. Works out of a shared office in town and lives in a fancy pad in Montpellier with a friend. The house is worth about a million. And she’s single, no kids.’
‘Ah, yes, I know who she is now. She was the one who did that interview with Stoney Linehan in Wakefield last year, wasn’t she? Pretty impressive, actually. She managed to get him to talk about things he’d never told anyone before. It was grim reading.’
‘Yes, that was her. I read it. Pretty chilling stuff.’
Gareth is silent for a moment, remembering the case of Stoney, who played lead guitar for the chart-topping indie band Pineapple Metal, until he was convicted of multiple child sexual offences spanning at least a decade.
‘Sickening,’ agrees Rob.
‘She’s also the daughter of Gregor Ellis,’ says Gareth. ‘Remember him? The famous American crime novelist? He was huge in the 90s. He wrote a string of bestsellers. A couple of them were even made into movies.’
‘Oh wow, is she? That’s interesting,’ says Rob. ‘Wasn’t he a bit of a recluse? He’s dead, isn’t he?’
‘Yep. I read up on it earlier. He brought her up on his own, as far as I can make out. His wife, Mary’s mother, died of cancer, I think. Gregor pretty much hid away from the world after that, although they moved about a lot. He was always looking for inspiration for his books in new cities and countries, according to Wikipedia. They were living here in the UK when he died, not far away actually – some country mansion in the Cotswolds. There was a fire one night, and Mary escaped with burns, but he was killed. She was only eighteen.’
He pauses, remembering the self-conscious way Mary Ellis had kept pulling the sleeve of her jumper down over the scar on her wrist as she’d sat across the table from him. There’d been something on the side of her face too, but he’d been more interested in looking at her chocolate-brown eyes. Her accent had also intrigued him: a soft mix of American and English.
Mid-Atlantic, was that what they called it?
‘And nowshe’sa crime writer too, of a different kind. Interesting,’ says Rob. ‘Which brings us back to the diary. Do you think it’s genuine?’
Gareth shrugs.
‘I’ve asked her about her whereabouts on the night of the Oxford murder, which we can check out, just in case. But yes, actually. I got the feeling she was quite unnerved by the whole thing.’
Rob nods.
‘I wonder if her occupation is the reason it was sent to her, specifically, then?’ he says. ‘Some sicko who wants their story written? A death threat to a well-known crime writer is certainly one way to grab attention.’
‘Maybe,’ says Gareth. ‘But if the Mary in the diaryisher, she’s not the only one being threatened. There are two more before her. Who are they? And what else do we do now? Wait for forensics, obviously. But anything else, in the meantime?’
There’s a moment’s silence.
‘I kind of hate to say this,’ says Rob slowly. ‘But, as tomorrow is the 1st of February, I think whatwedo is … well, we wait. We wait and see what, if anything, happens in Birmingham. And then in Cardiff. And then, if we have to, we can really start to worry.’
***
Cardiff Central Police Station
‘Well, let’s see if anything kicks off in Birmingham first, before we panic, right? We’re not up until March after all, according to this, and it’s probably all bollocks anyway. I’m off for a coffee – want one?’
Inspector Rhys Williams heaves his not inconsiderable bulk out of his chair and looks questioningly at his colleague.
