Death Track

by Sally Rigby

  Feeling a little apprehensive, she stepped out of the car and made her way to the entrance.

  ‘George.’ She heard her name as soon as she was inside. She hadn’t been there before, but it was a typical country pub and restaurant, with low beams and a convivial atmosphere.

  Ross walked over to where she was standing. He looked different out of his uniform. She’d forgotten how tall he was. Definitely over six foot, which meant he wouldn’t feel intimidated by her height, as many men did.

  ‘Hello, Ross.’ She held out her hand to shake his, and he looked at it and laughed.

  ‘I don’t think we need to be that formal,’ he said, leaning in and kissing her on the cheek. ‘I’ve booked us a table. The restaurant’s through there.’ He pointed to a room off the main bar.

  Once in there, they were shown to a table. It was already busy, which she assumed meant they’d made a good choice of venue.

  ‘Would you like to sit here?’ Ross asked, pointing to the chair facing outwards, so she could see what was going on. Stephen wouldn’t have done that, as he always wanted to face the action. She hadn’t minded, but the fact was he’d never given her a choice of where to sit. He’d just assumed she’d be fine where she’d ended up.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll get us a drink while we’re waiting to be served. What would you like?’

  ‘A beer would be good, especially if they have any real ale.’ Should she have asked for wine? Something more appropriate. No. That was a ridiculous thought. She wasn’t trying to impress.

  His eyes widened. ‘You like real ale?’

  His reaction was so typical.

  ‘It’s my favourite.’

  ‘Mine, too. Not many women drink it.’

  ‘Agreed. Most people are surprised when they find out I like it.’ She smiled at him. Perhaps it wasn’t going to be too bad. At least they could talk about beer.

  ‘Right, I’ll go grab us a pint. I assume it’s a pint you want.’

  ‘Yes, please. But only one, as I’m driving.’

  ‘Me, too.’

  She scrutinised him as he headed towards the bar. He wasn’t too skinny, which suited her, as she much preferred well-built men. She also loved the way his fair hair curled so attractively around his ears.

  While sitting alone, she reflected on the case, hoping they’d be able to make some progress before a second murder occurred. She’d had a little time to research what had been reported about the earlier cases. It seemed the murderer had no specific type of victim. In fact, in terms of victimology, there was no pattern at all. It really was just happenstance the young boy had been chosen.

  The fact the killer was prepared to murder a child made her sick to the stomach. Hugo was the youngest victim so far. The rest had been a mix, ranging from people in their twenties to people in their sixties and seventies. To murder a child took it to a different level.

  Ross came back to the table holding two pints, and he placed one in front of her.

  ‘No real ale, I’m afraid, but this is the next best thing. I thought you wouldn’t mind.’

  She took a sip. ‘Hmmm. Not too bad.’

  ‘So, Dr Georgina Cavendish. All I know about you is what I’ve learned from your business card. You’re a senior lecturer at Lenchester University in the forensic psychology department. What else can you tell me?’ He smiled, lighting up his clear, blue eyes.

  She hated when people wanted to know all about her, as she never knew what to say or how much to tell them. Once they found out who her parents were, they inevitably made a judgement. In his favour, he’d already met her parents, but she didn’t know whether he’d been told who they were. But seeing as the owner was such a huge fan of her father, she guessed that he probably had been.

  ‘You go first, as you already know something about me. All I know about you is at the weekend you work as a waiter. Is that your full-time job?’

  ‘I only work there sometimes, as a favour to the owner.’

  He knew the owner, and the owner knew her father. That answered her question.

  ‘How do you know him?’

  ‘I know his wife better, as she bought a piece from me. She happened to find out I’d been trained in silver service while I was at university, so I help them out when they’re short staffed.’

  ‘A piece?’ Did he make jewellery? Paint?

  ‘I’m a sculptor.’

  ‘Fascinating. Apart from the most famous examples, I’m not familiar with many sculptures. What led you into sculpting?’

  ‘I started when I was at school. I also enjoyed art and couldn’t make up my mind what to study. Eventually, I decided to go to Edinburgh University, as it had the best sculpting course.’

  ‘And what sort of sculpting do you do?’ she asked, assuming there were different types and feeling rather inadequate for not knowing more. Not a position she was used to being in.

  ‘My work is what’s known as figurative realism. Which means it depicts realistic figures. You might have heard of the sculpture Boy by the Australian, Ron Mueck. It’s a five-metre depiction of a crouching boy.’

  ‘Yes, I have. It’s in Denmark, isn’t it?’ she said, relieved to have seen it, and now not feeling so out of her depth.

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Have you exhibited in any of the prestigious galleries?’

  His face clouded over. ‘Not for the want of trying.’

  She could’ve kicked herself, as typically she’d said the wrong thing and touched a nerve. ‘Do you have anything in local galleries?’

  ‘I have an exhibition coming up in two months, in Oxford.’

  ‘I’d like to see it,’ she said. ‘Tell me something else about you.’ She wanted to keep the conversation off herself for as long as possible.

  ‘Not a lot to tell. I come from a small village north of Dublin. My parents still live there. I have a younger sister who’s a journalist in London. I’m thirty-six-years old, single, and never been married. And that’s me.’ He shrugged.

  ‘What brought you to Oxford?’

  ‘I followed a girl here after university. That didn’t work out, but I stayed, as I liked it so much. Right. Enough about me, now it’s your turn.’ He flashed a disarming smile.

  ‘Are you ready to order?’ The waiter’s intervention was timely.

  ‘Can you give us a few moments? We haven’t yet decided,’ Ross said.

  He handed George the menu, which she gratefully took, happy for the reprieve. She studied it in silence.

  ‘I’ll have one of the specials, please. Crumbed fish with home-made chunky fries and salad,’ she said after a few minutes.

  ‘I’ll join you,’ Ross said. He beckoned for the waiter to come over, and he took their order. ‘Back to you,’ Ross said, once they were alone.

  She drew in a breath. ‘Okay. I’m thirty-four, soon to be thirty-five. I’m a forensic psychologist, although my initial career choice was medicine, like my father.’

  ‘I remember your father,’ he said, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘I’m sorry how he treated you. He’s always the same, but that aside, he’s a genius when it comes to surgery. One of the best in the country.’ Why on earth had she felt the need to praise her father, as if his behaviour could be excused?

  ‘So why didn’t you pursue medicine?’

  ‘I got accepted at med school, but it turned out I couldn’t handle blood. The sight of it made me vomit.’ It had taken several years before she’d been able to discuss it so dispassionately.

  ‘That’s a good enough reason.’

  ‘But I’m glad, as I discovered forensic psychology, which is my passion. I also spend a portion of my time with the Lenchester CID, helping them on murder cases.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that sometimes involve blood?’

  ‘I’ve got it under control now. After many hours in a hypnotherapist’s chair, I can handle most things blood related.’

  ‘Tell me about your family.’

  �
�I have a younger brother, who’s following in my father’s footsteps, and my mother’s an international human rights lawyer.’

  ‘A highflying family, that’s for sure.’

  ‘What about your parents?’ she asked, wanting to pass the discussion back to him.

  ‘My dad’s an electrician and has worked for the same company for the last thirty years, and my mum is a doctor’s receptionist.’

  She could imagine her father’s response if he knew that. He was such a snob. Her mother wasn’t so bad, but he more than made up for her.

  ‘Yet both you and your sister work in England.’

  ‘There are more career opportunities here. I get back to Ireland as often as I can to see my parents, especially as they’re not getting any younger.’

  ‘That’s good of you. I only see my parents twice a year: June, and December, for Christmas lunch.’

  ‘That’s very regimented.’

  ‘It works for us, as we’re all very busy.’

  Not to mention she wouldn’t want to see them any more than that. People might think that callous. She called it self-preservation.

  ‘What about hobbies? Do you have any, other than real ale?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t have time for any, apart from doing jigsaws, and I do those as they help me think. They enable me to compartmentalise, especially when we’re working on a case.’ Could she sound any more boring? Why couldn’t she be interesting, like Whitney? Did she really mean that? She didn’t know. It wasn’t something she’d considered in the past.

  ‘What have you worked on recently?’

  She wasn’t meant to discuss a current case, and Whitney would be livid if she did. But she should be fine mentioning one from the past, especially as it would likely be published in her research. ‘The most recent one involved men who’d had their genitals removed before being murdered as retribution for grooming young girls for sex.’

  ‘I remember those murders. It seems to me they got what they deserved.’

  ‘A lot of people would agree with you, but vigilantes can’t be allowed to take matters into their own hands. We have a legal system for a reason, and nobody should be above it.’

  ‘Are you working with the police at the moment?’

  ‘I am, but I can’t discuss the case.’

  ‘What about your colleagues at the university? How do they feel about you working with the police? Especially as Lenchester University is well known for its affectations?’

  How did he know that?

  ‘They’re happy in respect of the research outputs, but it did affect my promotion prospects. I was up for Associate Professor a few months ago but got passed over.’ She could talk about it now without getting too annoyed. But it surprised her how easily she’d blurted it out, considering he was a virtual stranger.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Don’t be, it’s water under the bridge. I’m happy doing what I do.’

  ‘Let’s change the subject,’ he suggested. ‘Favourite film of all time.’

  She flashed him a smile, grateful to be moving on. ‘That’s easy. La Dolce Vita. Have you seen it?’

  ‘Hasn’t everyone? It’s one of my favourites, too. I’d say it has more cultural influence than most current films. Even though it was released in 1960, it tells us a lot about celebrity and can be applied to life today.’

  A film buff. That surprised her. Not many people enjoyed the types of films she did. She’d assumed he was going to be the same. If anything, he seemed more knowledgeable about them than she was.

  ‘I couldn’t agree more. What other films do you like?’ she asked, feeling a lot more comfortable now the focus was off her.

  ‘Art house films are my favourite. Have you seen The Rules of the Game?’

  ‘No, but it’s on my list.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. It’s about the idle rich in France. It doesn’t only take an ironic look at their pretentions, it also shows the hypocrisy going on in Europe at the time. When it’s next showing locally, I’ll take you.’

  Was he asking her on another date already?

  For a while they sat in silence. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. She already liked that he didn’t feel the need to fill every moment with conversation.

  After the meal arrived, Ross discussed his work and the processes involved in its production. It was fascinating. When she glanced at her watch it was already ten-thirty.

  ‘I have to go. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow, and a half hour drive to get home. Thank you for a lovely evening.’

  ‘It’s my pleasure.’

  When he returned from paying the bill, they walked back through the pub, which wasn’t as busy as it had been earlier, and out into the car park.

  ‘Nice car.’ He nodded appreciatively when they’d reached where she’d parked.

  ‘Thanks. I love driving and fast cars.’

  ‘A petrol head and real ale drinker. I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.’ He laughed.

  She wasn’t quite sure what he meant but wasn’t going to question him. ‘Thank you, again, for a lovely evening.’

  He leaned in and gently kissed her on the lips. It was like a bolt of electricity shot through her. She pulled back.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’ Guilt was etched across his face.

  ‘You didn’t. It just took me by surprise.’

  ‘Can I see you again?’ he asked.

  Did she want to? Yes, she believed she did.

  ‘You have my card. Give me a call.’

  Chapter Nine

  Tuesday, 11 June

  Whitney was peering over Frank’s shoulder looking at some CCTV footage, when the door opened and George walked in. She headed over to her.

  ‘Good morning, George,’ she said, unable to hide the smirk on her face. She was desperate to find out how the date had gone.

  ‘How’s it going?’ George asked as they walked towards the board.

  ‘We’ve got some witnesses coming in to be interviewed following the press conference. But what I really want to know is how it went last night.’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell. I went out for a meal with Ross, and we had a nice time.’

  ‘Are you seeing him again?’ She was frustrated at the woman’s inability to spill the beans.

  ‘He did ask me if I’d see him again, and I said yes.’

  ‘That’s great. So, you’re dating.’

  ‘No. I’m just seeing him again.’

  ‘Come on, George. Admit it. Tell me what’s he’s like.’

  ‘He’s tall, with fair hair, and blue eyes.’

  She shook her head. ‘And that’s it, is it? What does he do? Where does he live? How old is he? Give me the details.’

  ‘I’ll tell you later. This isn’t the time. We’re too busy.’

  Whitney rolled her eyes. George could be such hard work sometimes. Even if she was right about them needing to get on with their work, it wouldn’t have hurt if she could’ve gone into a little more detail.

  ‘Okay. Let’s start with the briefing. Attention, everyone. Get me up to speed on where we are.’

  ‘I haven’t yet got a complete list of people who paid for tickets using a credit card, as I’m waiting for the other stations to give me the details,’ Ellie said. ‘Also, some passengers paid cash, so I’ve asked the stations to send me their CCTV footage from the ticket offices. We have the times when the cash tickets were purchased, which will help when we look through it.’

  ‘Good work. What about people who contacted us following the press conference?’ She scanned the rest of the team.

  ‘Only four people got in touch. One lives in Coventry, one lives in Banbury, and two are from Lenchester. We’ll be interviewing them today,’ Matt said.

  ‘Doug, where are we on the background checks of all of the employees at the different stations?’

  ‘It’s in progress. There are a lot of staff, especially in Newcastle and Leeds.’

  ‘T
he Super has been in touch with the RF. The use of chloroform, the random selection of the victim, and the fact the murder took place on an older train, has led them to believe this is the work of the serial killer they’ve been looking for in connection with twelve murders across the country over the last two years. They’ve sent us their files, as have the forces where the other murders took place. The RF is also going to send two officers to assist us.’

  A massive groan echoed around the room.

  ‘Typical of them wanting to take over,’ Frank said. He could always be relied on to say what everyone else was thinking.

  ‘Well, they’re not coming just yet, so we’ll get on with solving this before they arrive. But remember, when they do arrive, we’ll extend them the same courtesy we do all of our visitors.’ Whitney couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth, especially as she knew she’d find it difficult to work alongside them.

  ‘Do we know who’s coming?’ Doug asked. ‘I’ve got a friend who works there.’

  ‘No idea. Okay, carry on with what you’re doing. George and I are going to go through the files from the previous murders, that have been sent from the other forces and the RF, to see if anything stands out which could assist us.’

  Whitney took George back to her office. The files were piled up on her desk.

  ‘How did you get everything so quickly?’ George asked.

  ‘The files were emailed in, and I had one of the admin staff print everything out for us. I figured we could go through them while waiting for the witness statements.’

  There was a knock at the door and Matt popped his head in. ‘I’m just about to interview a Mrs Zena Bratt who was on the train the entire journey, sitting in the second to last carriage. Do you want to come with?’

  ‘Good idea,’ Whitney said.

  ‘Do you need me as well?’ George asked.

  ‘No. You stay here and go through the files. Your time’s better spent looking into the previous cases.’

  Whitney and Matt left the office and made their way to the interview room, where the woman had been left.