Nine Elms (Kate Marshall #1)(110)
“And for resisting arrest and assaulting a police officer.”
Enid leaned back, soaking wet, as she was read her rights and handcuffed. Even though she knew it was all over, she refused to let them see her cry.
67
Two Weeks Later
The churchyard in Chew Magna was beautiful on the crisp November morning. Kate, Tristan, and Jake arrived just as the service began and slipped into a pew at the back of the church. It was completely filled with mourners, and a few journalists and photographers lurked near the exit, standing behind the pews.
Kate could see Sheila and Malcolm in the front row, flanked by their neighbors and friends. Despite the horror, Sheila looked better than she had at their last meeting, when she had sat hooked up to the dialysis machines. Her skin was a pale white with a flush of pink, and she held Malcolm’s hand in both of hers.
Caitlyn’s coffin sat on a plinth by the altar, surrounded by a riot of flowers: roses, lilies, and carnations.
“I can see our bunch of flowers,” whispered Jake in Kate’s ear, and he pointed to the lilies they had sent to the family.
Caitlyn’s remains had been identified from dental records and DNA taken from both Sheila and Malcolm. Kate hadn’t broken the news to Sheila and Malcolm, but she imagined how they must have felt, hearing their daughter had finally been found after twenty years. After all that time, they would finally be able to grieve.
The service was moving for Kate. The final song of the funeral service was “Ave Maria.” Kate wasn’t religious, but as she sat and listened to the beautiful, haunting verse, she understood how important it was for Malcolm and Sheila to have Caitlyn’s remains blessed and for her to be buried under the watchful eye of a higher power.
As the final verse was played, Caitlyn’s coffin was slowly carried back down the aisle and out to the graveyard. Kate wiped a tear away and saw Tristan do the same.
Sheila and Malcolm had asked that they be left for a final private moment with Caitlyn when the coffin was placed to rest, and as the congregation filed out, Kate overheard many of the mourners say the wake would be in the local pub.
They chose to wait for Sheila and Malcolm at the front of the graveyard.
“What happens to him, Peter, now?” asked Jake, breaking the silence.
“He’s in the hospital wing at Great Barwell, but he’s going to make a full recovery,” said Kate. “And he’ll be assessed to see if he’s fit to stand trial for the murder of Dr. Baxter.”
“And hopefully Caitlyn,” said Tristan. Paul Adler had been taken into custody shortly after Caitlyn’s remains were identified. The police had raided both his home and the chemist, and they had found more evidence of his connection with Peter Conway and photos of other young women. The discovery of Caitlyn’s body and the subsequent reporting of the case on TV had led to other women coming forward with stories of abuse. It was a positive development but only the beginning.
“Is Joseph going to be put in the same mental hospital as Peter?” asked Jake.
Had Jake been about to say “Dad” and then stopped himself? No, when they had to talk about him, they referred to him as “Peter.”
“No. There originally were plans to, but the police thought it better that they separate them,” said Kate. She wondered if Joseph Castle-Meads would ever be declared fit enough to stand trial. His family had swooped in with the best lawyers and used their connections. The press wouldn’t get away with such a field day on an establishment figure like Tarquin Castle-Meads and his son.
As they waited by the gate in the churchyard, a man and a woman approached them. They were well dressed and in their fifties. The camera slung around the man’s neck alerted Kate that they were local press.
“Kate Marshall, can we have a moment?” the woman asked, a tiny Dictaphone poised in her hand.
“Sorry, no,” said Kate.
“I’m after a comment, that’s all,” she said. “You may have seen, Tarquin Castle-Meads, QC, and his wife are coming back to the UK to deal with the news that their son is the serial killer of four young women and hatched this bizarre plot to recreate the Nine Elms Cannibal killings. Several news outlets have recalled that Tarquin Castle-Meads criticized your relationship with Peter Conway during the original Nine Elms Cannibal trial. Does it feel like justice for you, that he is now forced to face up to his son being a serial killer?”
She held her Dictaphone up under Kate’s nose, eyes wide and eager. Kate thought back to all the times people had spoken out against her, and she could give this journalist a juicy quote and get even, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to move on.
“No comment,” said Kate.
“How about Enid Conway? The police are struggling to find evidence to charge her with. Do you know how she communicated with Peter in Great Barwell? And how do you feel now that your de facto mother-in-law will probably remain a free woman?”
Kate resisted the urge again to relive the story of how Enid had been fished out of Portsmouth Harbour like a drowned rat. The story had given her great satisfaction and a good laugh, but she chose to take the high road again.
“Sorry. No comment.”
“And finally, how do you feel now that Peter Conway, the Nine Elms Cannibal, lives to fight another day? He’ll soon be discharged from hospital, back into the care of Great Barwell.”