Perfect Girls: An absolutely gripping page-turning crime thriller Read online

  But as for the ‘enquiry’; if they’ve spoken to Beauty Blogger and know she’s fine, it’s not going to be a matter of any urgency. They’ll wait until she gets back to town before taking things further: that’s only common sense.

  On her Instagram she’s just posted a cheesy airport selfie (of course) from Portland International: Woohoo – flying back to Beantown. Can’t wait to get home. See you in a few hours! She doesn’t come across in the least bit upset or worried, which is in my favour. If she’s not worried, then she’ll come back here on her own.

  I start to look around the apartment for something to use. There’s a brass candlestick on the fireplace that caught my eye when I first arrived. I pick it up, testing the weight of it in my hand.

  Heavy enough.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  ‘What do you think?’

  Rachel stood looking out of the window from twenty-one floors up in the Loews Hotel. Beneath her, as though glimpsed from an aeroplane, was the pale sweep of the San Francisco Bay. The twin russet towers of the bridge surged through the thin layer of white mist, bold and solid. The combination of the dizzying height and yet another time zone was making her lightheaded. It had taken five hours to fly from North Carolina, but having gained three hours in the time shift from east to west, it was now some time in the middle of the afternoon. Immaterial, given that her body still thought it was in London, where it was now the middle of the night.

  Rob came and stood behind her, placing his hands lightly on her waist.

  ‘This place is amazing,’ Rachel said. ‘But we seem to be one room short. I’m not about to start sharing now.’

  He raised his hands on her shoulders and spun her round to face him. ‘It’s okay, you can relax. They only had one room available for tonight, but the views from this place are so spectacular I thought you’d be happy to trade two so-so rooms somewhere else for one great one here.’

  Rachel suppressed irritation at being manipulated. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘And we have two queens.’ He indicated the generously appointed space with its pair of huge beds. ‘Really, it’s okay, I got the message last night. We can stick to our own side of the room.’

  ‘Okay then,’ Rachel nodded reluctantly. She disliked sharing her space at the best of times. Her brain worked better in solitude, and she liked her own routine. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Besides –’ Rob gave her his most charming smile – ‘is the prospect of spending a night in the same room as me really so terrible?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, it’s just… the time difference… I’m really tired.’

  ‘Go ahead and take a nap. I’ll be quiet as a mouse, I promise.’

  * * *

  When she opened her eyes again, Rob was asleep on the other bed, breathing quietly. She eased herself up and tiptoed to the window. The shades were still open, and to her dismay an inky night sky looked back at her, the lights of Marin County twinkling in the distance. She glanced at the bedside clock. It was 7.45 p.m.

  Rob stirred. She walked over and prodded one of his feet. ‘Hey – we’ve overslept!’

  He rolled onto his side and checked his phone. ‘I guess jetlag is catching.’

  ‘Rob, this isn’t a joke! We were supposed to go to CasaMia.’

  ‘So we can go first thing tomorrow. It’s not going to make a real difference if we leave things another twelve hours.’

  ‘Try telling that to our killer!’ Rachel snapped as she reached for her shirt. ‘Sorry,’ she added, seeing the expression on Rob’s face. ‘It’s because I’m hyper-aware of the clock ticking. I can’t afford delays when I only have…’ she counted her fingers ‘Eight full days including tomorrow.’

  ‘So extend your trip. Stay longer.’

  ‘I can’t. I have to be back for a job interview. A promotion.’

  Rob sat up. ‘Okay, but for God’s sake don’t start beating yourself up. You only got here yesterday morning and look how much we’ve done. Give yourself a break.’

  He climbed off his bed and went into the bathroom. ‘Let’s clean ourselves up and go for a nice dinner. A friend of mine owns a great oyster bar on Sacramento Street. It’s just around the corner.’ He grinned at her as he closed the door. ‘And you know what they say about oysters…’

  ‘That they give you food poisoning,’ offered Rachel, but the noise of the shower drowned her out.

  Rob’s phone bleeped with a message, lighting up the home screen. Rachel glanced over at it, then picked it up. The wallpaper was a photo of two cute blonde children. One boy, one girl. A reminder flashed up on the phone as she held it in her hand: ‘ANNIE BIRTHDAY’. She placed it onto the bedside table again, and to distract herself from her discomfiture, checked her own phone. There was a cheery text from Joe – mostly about Sophie – but Brickall still hadn’t replied. Not even to give updates about the HMIC inspection. It made her uneasy.

  When Rachel had taken her turn in the shower, she came out to find Rob dressed in a white button-down shirt and tweed jacket. ‘If you’re expecting me to put on a dress,’ she said, keeping her tone light, ‘you’ll be sorely disappointed.’

  ‘No problem; I just thought I’d scrub up a little for our date.’

  Rachel walked over to him, first making sure that the expensively fluffy white towel was secured tightly around her. She put her hands on his shoulders and looked straight into his eyes. ‘Rob, this isn’t a date. We’re going out to get dinner.’

  He looked straight back at her. ‘Right. That’s a dinner date.’

  ‘No it’s not.’ She stuck out her chin stubbornly. ‘Because we’re not dating. We’re not sleeping together. We’re working on a case. And solving this case – or at least doing everything within my power to solve it – is all that matters.’

  Rob pulled his arm up into a salute. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘And I’m not eating oysters either. I’m under far too much time pressure to spend two days staring down the bowl of a toilet.’

  * * *

  It was strange to be back on the yellow sofas in CasaMia’s Brannan Street lobby. Even stranger to be greeted like a long-lost friend by Paulie Greenaway, who was wearing bright green dungarees and had her hair twisted up in a shocking-pink scarf-cum-turban arrangement.

  ‘Detective Prince!’ she swept Rachel into a hug. ‘So good to see you. Although I guess you being here means you have bad news for me.’ She ushered them into one of the adult soft-play areas and organised coffee for them. ‘Now, tell me what we can do to help.’

  ‘I’m afraid there’s been another homicide.’ She handed Paulie a printed copy of the information they had on Melissa Downey.

  ‘So you’re just going to need me to get you the client account details like before,’ said Paulie hopefully.

  ‘To start with, yes.’

  After Paulie had disappeared to find the relevant information, Rachel turned to Rob. ‘Surely now we can make a case for them suspending the site, or at least going public with the potential dangers?’

  Rob rubbed his chin. ‘Problem is, there’s an issue of jurisdiction here.’

  ‘Not if it’s a nationwide issue, surely.’

  ‘No, I mean…’ He squeezed her hand. ‘I need to come clean about something.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I’m not here officially. I mean I’m not officially on the case. I can’t be: it’s not an Interpol matter. I took time off to be here, to do this. Just like you did.’

  Rachel stared at him.

  ‘As far as the Department of Justice are concerned, I took some time off to visit family. Because I want to find the person who’s doing this. Just like you do.’ Rob smiled. ‘And yes – I admit it – because I wanted to get to spend more time with you. But it does affect what we can get done now. We can ask them to do it, but we’re not empowered to order.’

  ‘I see,’ Rachel tried to quell her frustration.

  Paulie came back and handed them a printout. ‘This was the home sharer who book
ed Melissa Downey’s apartment for those dates.’

  The profile photo was not the same one used for Heather Kennedy or Stacey Gunnarson’s accounts. This time the girl – still young and attractive – was a redhead. Nicole Maher.

  ‘Was this the only reservation under that name?’ asked Rob.

  Paulie nodded.

  ‘Damn.’ Rob read the details again. ‘And this credit card? Was a payment processed?’

  ‘Same story as before. When it was time to charge the customer at the start of the reservation period, we received notification that the credit card account had been closed and the payment had bounced.’

  ‘Miss XX isn’t stupid. Quite the opposite. She’s going to use as many fake names and cards as she needs.’ Rachel addressed Paulie. ‘Okay, this is what we need you to do. I know it’s a lot of work, but there are potentially more lives at risk. You need to try and pull out all your hosts who are in the target group. That’s Caucasian women over the whole of the USA –’

  ‘And Canada,’ Rob interjected

  ‘– and who are under the age of thirty-five and blonde.’

  ‘But we have around half a million hosts in this country, and probably thousands in that demographic,’ protested Paulie. ‘Tens of thousands even.’

  ‘Under thirty then,’ conceded Rob. ‘And leave out Canada for now. Your IT guys must be able to create an algorithm that will pull up a filtered list. Then you have to suspend those accounts from making any un-vetted reservations.’

  ‘Okay,’ Paulie sighed. ‘This is going to take a ton of work though. And a ton of time.’

  ‘Please try and get it done as quickly as you can,’ said Rachel. She realised she sounded starchy, and added an ingratiating smile. ‘But the first priority needs to be searching on this profile photo,’ she waved Nicole Maher’s details, ‘and making sure it doesn’t crop up again under a different name.’

  ‘And pass on everything you have on Melissa Downey to Wake County Police Department in North Carolina.’ Rob flashed Paulie a winning smile. ‘Please.’

  ‘Do you guys want to wait here?’ asked Paulie as she reached the door. ‘If so, feel free to jump on to the Wi-Fi and help yourself to goodies from the snack room. We have matcha cookies and vegan cinnamon buns.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ muttered Rachel, sotto voce.

  Rob caught her eye and grinned. ‘We could go back to the hotel for an hour. Have some breakfast? Real breakfast: bacon, eggs and pancakes. With gluten.’

  She shook her head firmly. ‘I’m going nowhere. Not till this is done.’

  * * *

  Paulie came to find them about forty minutes later. She had been running and was red in the face, which sent a thrill of alarm shooting down Rachel’s spine. She jumped up. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘We found this,’ Paulie panted. ‘Oh God, this is really scary.’ She collapsed on a bean bag, thrusting a piece of paper at Rachel. Rob leaned over her and they read it together.

  There was Nicole Maher’s face, only this time she was using the name ‘Kelly Castellano’. The words ‘ACTIVE RESERVATION’ leapt out at her, above an address in Boston.

  ‘Hold on, that started Tuesday…’ said Rob.

  ‘… and ends today.’ Rachel looked up at Paulie, already knowing at least part of the answer to her next question. ‘Whose apartment is this?’

  Her hand shaking, Paulie held out another piece of paper. The profile page of one Talia Schull.

  Young. Pretty. Blonde.

  ‘I already tried calling her cell number, but there was no reply.’

  Rob had his phone out in an instant. ‘I’ve got a counterpart at the DoJ in Boston; I work with him a lot. I’ll ask him to get someone from the US Marshals Service to the address as a matter of urgency.’

  ‘Oh Jesus,’ wailed Paulie. ‘What should I do? I think we need to pass this on to Legal & External Affairs.’

  ‘Forget that; just keep trying Talia’s number,’ Rachel told her sternly. ‘And don’t stop until she picks up.’

  Rob hung up his call, as Paulie obediently dialled, redialled, redialled again. ‘A couple of marshals are heading over there now, and they’ll feed back to me as soon as they know anything.’

  An agonising ten minutes passed, the silence in the room punctuated only by the repeated tapping of the buttons on Paulie’s phone. Then she abruptly twitched into life.

  ‘Talia? Am I speaking with Talia Schull?’

  Paulie promptly burst into tears. Rachel wrestled the phone from her.

  ‘Talia, my name’s Detective Prince. I’m from the police. Can you tell me where you are right now?’

  A bemused voice said, ‘I’m at my mom’s house. Why are you calling me?’

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Um, I’m fine. I just flew in from a conference in Portland and I stopped at my mom’s on the way back from Logan to pick up my dog. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Can you please just stay at your mother’s for a while longer. Don’t go back to your apartment. Not until we’ve had a chance to check something out: it’s really, really important – you could be at risk. I’m afraid I can’t tell you any more than that, but someone will get back to you right away, I promise.’

  ‘Well, okay. I guess…’ Talia sounded irritated. But alive, thought Rachel. That’s what matters.

  ‘She’s fine.’ She told the others.

  Paulie started crying again, but Rachel barely noticed. One life saved, she was thinking, but how many more are at risk?

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Her flight must have landed by now. I wait for her to arrive, but nothing happens.

  I pass the time by searching for my next assignment. As ever, the process is painstaking and the possibilities limited. I hear a car draw up outside. Maybe this is her. I look out of the bedroom window to the small parking lot at the rear. The car belongs to the county sheriff. The doors open and the officers haul themselves out, hands on holsters. There’s a guy in US Marshal body armour with them too.

  I stare for a split second, then leap into action. I run out onto the landing and call the elevator. It’s a small building so there’s only one. When it arrives, I jam open the door with a book, so nobody will be able to call it. Once they press the button several times and eventually realise it’s not working, they’ll have to take the stairs. But that’s only going to detain them about ten minutes, maximum.

  Back in the apartment I look around, forcing myself to be thorough, methodical. My Los Angeles key ring, my San Diego cap and my North Carolina photo are all still arranged where I can see them. I scoop them into my bag, along with the clothes I was wearing when I arrived. I also grab Talia’s toothbrush and hairbrush, since I’ve used them both, and my favourite among her shoe collection: the burgundy Valentino T-bars. My cleaning stuff is still in the bag, because I’d only have needed it after she got here. I grab a sani-wipe and wipe down the computer mouse, the key fob and any other obvious surface, but there simply isn’t time to do everything.

  I run into the bedroom, wrench the sheets from the bed, grab the towels from the bathroom and hurl the whole lot into the washing machine with detergent and bleach and switch on a hot wash. Then I take my bag, pull out the book wedged in the elevator door and press the button for the lobby, just as pounding footsteps reach the top of the fire stairs.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  ‘Surely we get forensics involved?’

  Rachel and Rob were back in their room at the Loews Hotel. The official check-out time had been and gone, so they were gathering their belongings with efficiency if not outright haste.

  Rob shook his head. ‘The county sheriff went round there, accompanied by the marshal, and they say they found nothing amiss. When they got up to Talia’s apartment it was empty; there’d been no robbery or criminal activity. Everything was quite in order. No crime: no need for a forensics team to be deployed.’

  ‘But it looked like the apartment sub-letter had left in a hurry, isn’t that what you
said? So she could have left something behind this time.’

  Rob placed himself between her and her suitcase. ‘Rachel, there’s nothing more we can do. We did the right thing intercepting Talia like that; that’s something we can be proud of. We could even have saved her life. Probably we did.’

  Rachel turned away from him, screwing up a sweater and thrusting it roughly into her bag.

  ‘This is a huge country.’ Rob went on. ‘And our perpetrator is quite happy to criss-cross it at will. She knows how to stay one step ahead.’

  Rachel stomped into the bathroom, grabbed toothbrush, toothpaste and face cream and hurled them into her bag.

  ‘So she probably knows to lay low for a while now,’ Rob went on. ‘In fact, she might even stop now…’

  The underwear on the floor was scooped up briskly and scrunched into a pocket of space in her case.

  ‘… and we still have no knowledge of who she really is. You can’t identify someone who has no identity.’

  ‘She has many identities.’ Rachel grabbed her trainers from the side of the bed and pushed them down the sides of her bag.

  ‘It amounts to the same thing. We have to face it: we’ve done all we can. And CasaMia are on the case now.’

  Rachel clenched her jaw and tossed her make-up bag on top of her case.

  ‘I tell you what – how about this? I’ve got a buddy at the Washington Post. I’ll get him to run a piece on the CasaMia murders, without mentioning me as a source. That’ll spook our killer; keep her away from the site.’

  Rachel zipped her case and turned to face him. ‘You mean you’ll leak the story?’

  ‘Exactly. Although you could argue that it’s in the public interest.’

  ‘I suppose that would be a result of sorts. Even if it’s not how I envisaged this ending.’ Rachel took one last admiring look at the Golden Gate Bridge, then turned and asked, ‘Are you going to go back to DC?’