Page 59 of The Girls in the Lake
As she looked out onto the lake at the boats in the distance, she thought about Leah, Julia and now Tamara. Three blonde beauties who had all died far too young. It hit Beth hard and she whispered to the lake: ‘Three deaths makes you a serial killer. Are you aware of this, or do you not care? Leah’s and Julia’s deaths looked like accidents on the surface. What happened to make you push Tamara off the boat in a crowd? You like the excitement. You’re getting brave and taking risks. So, does that make you clever, or a coward?’
A low rumble in the distance broke her thoughts. The storm was approaching. Turning, she rushed towards the house to fire up her computer.
Sixty-Seven
He watched as Chloe drained the last drops of champagne from her glass.
‘I could get used to drinking this.’
‘Do you want some more, or would you prefer to go back to mine where we can relax? I have lots more back home.’
She paused to think about it. ‘I think I would like to go to your boat.’
‘Why? I mean you can, of course we can, but I would have thought you’d prefer to keep on dry land.’
‘I’m feeling sad for my friend Leah. She died on there. I would like to say goodbye, to raise a toast to her.’
James laughed. ‘I like a girl who knows what she wants.’ He leant across and touched a wisp of her hair which had come loose. Stroking it, he pushed it behind her ear.
‘The boat it is then.’ He was glad the police had released it as a crime scene and returned the keys to him. There was something potent about her. She set his soul on fire and he suddenly wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any other woman. He phoned a taxi, definitely over the limit by now, and even though traffic police weren’t around these parts very often he didn’t want to risk it and get caught. Not when he had too many beautiful girls to attend to. Some people had notches on their bedposts, but he preferred taking a personal keepsake from his girls: the smallest snippet of their hair – a tiny lock he would tie with a piece of silk and hide away in his bedside drawer. Sometimes, if he was lonely, he would take them out to stroke them, each small piece reminding him of the girls he’d loved or lusted over. Some men liked silk stockings; he liked silky, soft hair. He’d had his fair share of redheads and brunettes over the years, but there was something special about a girl with blonde hair.
They went outside where the taxi was already waiting. He opened the door for her, and Chloe slid inside; he followed. ‘Slow night?’
‘You can say that again. Where to?’
‘Glebe Road, the marina please.’
As the car sped off, he reached out and began to stroke Chloe’s leg. Her hand reached over to him and caressed the ever-growing bulge in the front of his trousers. He had to stifle the groan which was threatening to erupt.
‘There’s a thunderstorm coming,’ said the taxi driver.
That’s not the only thing coming, James thought to himself…
Sixty-Eight
The Internet was running unbelievably slowly. Another loud rumble in the distance echoed around the house and she wondered if the imminent storm was affecting it. Google loaded and she typed in ‘Drowning Lake Windermere since 2011’. The first page of searches told her that, apart from the recent deaths she had dealt with, all of them female, it was only men who had drowned in the lake, so she continued searching. What did it mean? She sat back. So apart from Leah, Julia and Tamara it was very rare, if not unheard of, for a woman to drown in the lake. Cold fingers of unease crept along her spine as she read on.
After a couple of pages, she saw the headline:
Last Picture of School Friends Before One Drowned
Clicking on it, she watched as the fuzzy image taken from a tabloid newspaper article began to focus. She realised it was different to the one she’d read earlier. This one had more information and it named the boys. In the photo, a group of nine teenage boys were laughing at something. Zooming in to look at their faces, she thought she spotted one who was vaguely familiar: his face was rounder, but showing traits of the handsome young man he would become. How sad and tragic, she thought, as she wondered how much their lives had changed that day. Fifteen was a young, impressionable age to undergo such a traumatic experience. Was it traumatic enough to turn you into a cold-blooded killer though?
Her phone rang and she was relieved to see Josh’s name. ‘Hi, you.’
‘Sorry, Beth, it’s been a bit crazy here.’
‘Paul said at the post-mortem you had three people in for interview. How did you get on?’
‘Not as good as I’d hoped. The last one has just walked out of the station with his solicitor. We have nothing apart from the fact all three of them were present when or before two of the three victims went into the water.’
‘Was James Marshall one of them?’
‘Yes, along with Marcus Johnson and Ethan Scales. Why do you ask?’
‘Those names are familiar. I think one of them might be a serial killer.’ She paused.
‘Go on.’
