by Clare Revell
“Yeah.”
He held up a bag. “Then you won’t need this. He left part of the label this time. I’ll send you the photos anyway.”
Her phone beeped. Isabel checked it. “Thank you. Question. Does the lingerie fit properly? He’s not just guessing at sizes or getting it wrong?”
“Perfect fit each time,” Arend responded. “Kind of creepy if you ask me.”
Isabel scribbled a note to check break-ins.
“There is the same tiny mark on the back of her neck, so no doubt she’s number six. Not that there was anyway. She does have a small cut on her forehead, which would have bled a lot. It’s likely the killer got blood on him.”
“But that’s not what killed her?”
“No. I’m guessing the poison hemlock, but I’ll need the tox screen to confirm that. We’re running tests on the syringe you found now.”
Isabel’s phone rang. “Hello, partner. Are you still parked on the motorway?”
“I’m parked, yes, but not on the M25 fortunately. I’m finally back at the nick. Where are you?”
“At the morgue watching the postmortem.”
“I shall resist the urge to tell you the awful joke that springs to mind. See you there in twenty minutes or so once I’ve checked in and picked up the service car.”
“I’ll be here.” She hung up and turned her attention back to proceedings below.
Fifteen minutes later, Zander joined her. “Oh, that was not fun. Next time you suggest I take my mother home, remind me to say no. Almost seven hours from door to door.”
“At least you weren’t involved in the accident. If you’d left fifteen minutes or so earlier, you might have been.”
He jerked his head. “True. I hadn’t thought of that. And it was a right nasty one as well. What have we got?”
“Lots.” She scanned her notes. “So, the lingerie is a perfect fit for each girl. Every single time. And down to the inch. The question is, how did our killer know their sizes three months before he killed them? I want to check break-ins as far back as February, if not January when we get back.”
“The blue fibres look the same,” Arend said. “Did you get my report on those?”
“No,” Isabel said.
Arend frowned. “I sent it over a week ago.”
“Can you resend it? I’ll give you my personal email this time.”
Arend nodded. “It’s definitely carpet from a car.” He named the manufacturer and grinned up at them. “And Isabel is improving. She hasn’t had to leave the room yet.”
“I’m teaching her well,” Zander said. “What time is your doctor’s appointment?”
Isabel shook her head. She’d totally forgotten about that. “Umm, one, I think. I’ve been so busy today that my feet haven’t touched the ground.”
“You should eat first.” He grinned. “Breakfast was a long, long time ago—well for me anyway. We’ll grab something on the way back to work to check out those break-ins. You can fill me in on the way.”
“Only if you buy lunch. The cups are in your car, I think. We can stop at the coffee shop on the way as the doctor’s surgery is in the precinct.”
“Don’t have my car,” Zander told her. “But sure, I’ll pay for lunch. This time.”
“I’ll send you both the report as soon as it’s typed. But the only difference is the head wound.” Arend turned back to his work.
Zander opened the door for Isabel. “Whilst we’re here I want to check on Gramps real fast.”
“I did it an hour ago, but sure we can do that.” She glanced at her watch. “We’ll get lunch after the doctors. Assuming you won’t die of starvation before then.”
He pressed a hand to his stomach as it growled loudly. “I’ll try my best not to.”
5
Zander sat beside Gramps bed, his hand covering the old man’s cold one. “I drove Mum home yesterday. Ended up helping Dad mend a wall and stayed overnight at the farm in my old bedroom. The place hasn’t changed at all since I left. Oh, I had a right nightmare of a drive back. It took almost seven hours—well over four of that parked on the motorway. They don’t call the M25 the road to hell for nothing.”
He sucked in a deep breath, glancing over the bed at Isabel to include her in the one-sided conversation. “It would have been more appropriate if it were a fence we were mending and not a wall, because it was good. Really good. Dad and I had a long talk about a lot of stuff.”
She smiled. “That’s good.”
“Really talked, you know? We would have done it again over the milking at four o’clock this morning, but he got called out to help the shepherd at two and wasn’t back before I left. I’ll video call him tonight. He was asking about my faith and wanted to know more.”
Isabel beamed. “That’s wonderful.”
His eyes burned, and he rubbed his free hand over them. “Look at me, getting emotional, but it’s honestly something I never, ever imagined I’d say.”
Gramps’ hand moved in his. Zander looked down at the figure in the bed. “Gramps?”
The old man’s eyes fluttered, and the monitors started to chime.
The nurse rose from her position at the foot of the bed. “Dr Steel!” Rounding it sharply, she grabbed Gramps’ wrist.
Dr Steel ran over, yanking the stethoscope from around his neck. “I need to ask you both to step outside for a few minutes.” He cancelled the alarm.
“What’s happening?” Zander asked, not moving.
“Please, just step outside,” the doctor repeated.
Isabel pulled Zander to his feet. “Come on. Let them check him over.”
Zander pulled free. “Not until I know what’s going on.”
“And you will, but we need to give them space to work.” Isabel tugged him away from the bed and into the corridor. She pushed him gently into an empty chair outside the ward.
Why were these things always orange plastic? Was it a standard NHS thing? Zander stared at the wall in the alcove. He wanted to pray, but the words just wouldn’t come, apart from the one word—please—which played over and over in his mind on permanent repeat.
After what seemed like an eternity, but most likely wasn’t any longer than fifteen minutes, the door opened.
Zander rose to his feet, Isabel standing with him. “How is he?” he asked.
Dr Steel crossed the small space, a slight smile on his lips. “He’s awake. He’s asked to see you.”
Zander’s knees threatened to give way and salt burned his eyes. Thank You. Oh, thank You.
“I can only let one of you in for now,” Dr Steel continued.
“I’ll wait here,” Isabel said, retaking her seat.
Zander followed the doctor into the ICU. He cleansed his hands with the antiseptic gel, then heart in mouth, walked the short distance to the bed.
Gramps was propped partly upright against the pillows, still connected to the monitors, yet now the ventilator was gone and an oxygen mask in its place.
Zander smiled as he reached the bed. “Gramps.” He grasped the old man’s hand.
“Still Gramps, and still here.” His voice was husky and quiet.
Zander hugged him, not expecting the swirling emotions that filled him. “Good.” He eased into the chair beside the bed. “You had us all worried.”
“About this moving in idea,” Gramps whispered.
Zander rolled his eyes. The man was incorrigible. He’d been as good as dead, yet his first words were about the move. “You heard all that, huh?”
Gramps inclined his head a little bit. “Every word. Just for a week or two. ’Til I’m back on my feet.”
“Until the council re-houses you,” Zander insisted. “You can’t go back to the seventh floor. It’s not safe. And yes, I’ve been saying that since Grenfell, and I will keep on saying it. We love you too much, and you really scared us this time.”
The nurse came over and checked the monitors. “He really needs to rest.”
“I’ll be back this evening. So
meone from the station will be in to talk to him about the assault.”
“They can have a few minutes later today,” the nurse said.
Zander hugged his grandfather again. “Love you.”
“Love you too.” Gramps swallowed. “Now git to work.”
Zander left the ICU with a much lighter step than when he’d entered. He grinned at Isabel. “He’s OK. He even agreed to move in for a bit. I ought to call Mum.”
“That’s really great, and, yes, you should.” His partner glanced at her watch. “However, I need to get to the doctor’s. You can call her from there.”
He winked. “And what’s wrong with the bus?”
“We have a car.” Isabel set off down the corridor.
He kept pace with her, trying in vain to keep the grin off his face. “We have a car, do we? Shouldn’t that be I do as you can’t drive?”
“The Guv is insisting I learn. He’s arranging some lessons and I’m meant to be organising getting a new licence. I destroyed the old one that expired ages ago.”
“I’ll help with that as soon as we get back to the nick.”
“Thank you.”
As he drove, she briefed him on what had happened that morning. He parked outside the supermarket with the doctor surgery above. “You go on in, and I’ll pay for parking. I’ll ring Mum, and then sit in the waiting room, if I’m done before you.”
“OK.” Isabel undid her seatbelt. “Which doctor do you see? I could make you an appointment about your nosebleeds while I’m here.”
“Not this surgery,” he said quickly. “Now, run or you’ll be late.” He pulled his phone from the glovebox and paid to park using the app. Slightly more expensive than putting coins in the meter, but it did avoid the need to keep eighty pence in loose change in his pocket.
Settling back in the seat, he opened the message app.
Hey Guv. Gramps is awake and can be interviewed. Just taking Isabel to the drs.
He rang his mother. Her mobile went straight to voicemail. Stifling a sigh, Zander left a message. “Hi, Mum. Finally got here, parked on the M25 most of the morning. Guessing you heard about the accident, but I wasn’t involved. Ironic probably only because I stayed to help you with the milking. But that’s not the reason I’m calling. I’m at the hospital. Gramps is awake and talking. I’ll try to catch you later. Bye.”
~*~
Forty-five minutes later, they arrived back at the nick, with a well overdue lunch.
Isabel played with the items on her desktop while she ate. It wasn’t as untidy as it sometimes was, but she needed a place to put the zebra she’d bought several days ago. Finally, she cleared a space and pulled the stuffed toy from the bag. “There you go,” she told it. “You can sit there and guard all my pens and pencils.”
Zander shook his head at her. “I’d forgotten about them.”
“I hadn’t.” Isabel tossed Zander the iguana. “There you go. She can sit on your desk.”
“And where do I put it?”
“Her,” she corrected. “Put her. And you have masses of space on your desk, seeing as how you’re such a neat freak. Simply find a small corner so she can watch you quietly.” She snapped her fingers. “Maybe we should put cameras in them. Use them as nanny-cam type things. See who really dumps letters from the serial killer on my desk.”
“Overkill.” Zander pointing to the wall mounted cameras. “Got those already so we don’t need anymore. Especially ones on our desks spying on our every move.”
DI Holmes strode across the squad room, pausing by their desks. “You’re back. Dane and I are going to interview Zander’s grandfather… What are those?”
Isabel glanced at the sandwich. “It’s tuna and sweetcorn. Zander’s is a BLT. We promise not to get crumbs and grease on the files.”
“No. Those.” He pointed to the stuffed animals.
Isabel grinned. “This is Zander the Zebra and Isabel the Iguana.”
DI Holmes raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
She nodded. “I called mine Zander as a joke and he retaliated.”
“Hmmm. How did it go at the doctor’s?”
Isabel frowned. “Who told you I had an appointment?”
Zander smirked. “I did. No secrets between partners, remember?”
Isabel threw a pen lid at him. “He’s my boss, not my partner.” Then she turned to the Guv. “It went.”
Zander chuckled. “She sulked like a two-year-old all the way back from the chemist. The meds for her ultra-high blood pressure mean she can’t have grapefruit anymore.”
“It’s so unfair,” Isabel muttered. “I love grapefruit.”
“You’ll live,” DI Holmes told her. He glanced back at DS Philips. “Dane, I’ll wait by the car for you. See the rest of you later.”
As the Guv headed out, Isabel turned her attention to her in-box. “I swear, I may as well have all my mail sent here in future.” She smiled at Zander the zebra. She really would get a tiny camera installed inside him. She could sit him facing the inbox, and he’d record everything. Only she wouldn’t tell anyone she’d done it.
She picked up a white envelope and shook it. It jingled. “What’s this?”
“I assume that’s a rhetorical question, or am I really meant to know?” Zander asked.
“And there I was thinking you were psychic,” she quipped.
Austin laughed as he crossed the room. “Psychotic, maybe. So, we got the labs back on your notebook, you remember the one you managed to lose.”
“I didn’t lose it,” she said. “How many times do I have to say this?”
“Notebook and your flat,” Austin continued. “Want to guess whose prints we found?”
Isabel tossed the white envelope back to her in-tray, no longer caring what it contained. “Mine and Zander’s, I imagine,” she muttered. “Just like on every postcard the Slayer has sent and every single envelope.”
“And Farrell Vixen’s. On both notebooks, and in your flat. Along with a partial that isn’t on the database.”
She frowned. “Farrell’s?”
“We’d already guessed he’d nicked it when the pages turned up in his possession,” Zander said. “The question is when.”
“Must have been the night we went to the theatre. Which would tie in with the veiled references I got. But my flat wasn’t trashed. If that’s where it was taken from, they’d have to have known where it was.”
Zander snorted. “Oh, come on, Is. I know where you keep your notebook.”
Austin laughed. “Handbag. It’s easy. Women keep everything in their handbags—up to and including the proverbial kitchen sink. Anything else that’s important goes in the knicker drawer.”
DS Philips rose. “Sounds like my wife. I told her that isn’t safe, but she won’t have it any other way. And speaking of my wife, if she rings while I’m gone, text me.”
Isabel nodded. “Will do.” She tapped her fingers on the desk. “The thing is, I changed all the locks after Farrell and I broke up. There’s only one key now and that’s on my…” She broke off, stomach sinking to the soles of her shoes.
“What?” Zander asked.
“Gran had a spare key. There were no keys in the few possessions I got from the fire department. Guess I’m changing my locks again.” She grabbed a pen and wrote on the back of her hand to remind herself. “Austin, did you get anywhere with the finances for Leaney Holdings?”
“Yes.” Austin consulted the papers in his hand. “Esther Leaney has been skimming money off the company for years. Hence all the artwork she’d bought. There’s still no sign of George Harmon forward slash Patrick Villiers or whatever he’s calling himself today. I’ve put out a forces wide alert as well as on all ferry terminals and airports.”
Zander brought over a mug of coffee and set it on Isabel’s desk with one of the currant-filled biscuits.
She pulled a face. “Thanks for the drink, but you can have that other thing back.” She pushed the biscuit away. “In fact…” She rose and s
trode to the white board. Grabbing a pen, she shot the men a grin. “Gran always said the eleventh commandment was ‘thou shalt not get caught’.” She added it to the board.
Zander and Austin roared with laughter.
“And the twelfth,” Isabel continued, “is ‘thou shalt not buy weird and nasty biscuits’. Otherwise there will be consequences. And no, that’s not a threat or a promise. Tis a statement of fact.” She added it to the board. “That includes your fly cemeteries.”
“I happen to like these ones.” Zander bit it in half and chewed noisily. “Maybe you should just bring your own.”
“Oh, I will,” she assured him. “I will buy my own biscuits. Ginger ones, and they will live in my desk, and they will be my biscuits. All mine.”
Zander nodded to the board. “Rather than calling them eleven and twelve, make them Isabel’s Commandment one and two.”
She laughed and scrawled I.C.1 and I.C.2 in front of her additions. She gave the board a final once over, then returned to her desk.
“Did Mr. T ever turn up last night?” Zander asked.
Isabel shook her head. “Nope.” She finished her sandwich and tossed the rubbish into the bin. She cleaned her hands on a wipe and tossed that as well. “So, next job is my in-tray. Before I get moaned at for it overflowing again.” As was practice now she donned a pair of gloves before she picked up the white envelope that had jingled earlier. “It’s not like him to just vanish. Especially since the fire, he hardly goes anywhere.” She tipped the contents of the envelope onto her desk.
A round circle of fluorescent yellow landed on the black surface. The bell jingled. The tag caught the light.
Breath caught in Isabel’s throat. Her stomach twisted and sank. She reached out trembling fingers to pick up the small cat collar. “It’s his,” she managed.
Zander stared. “Are you sure?”
Her fingers ran over the tag. The name Mr. T and her mobile number were engraved in tiny letters. Salt burned her eyes. “I’m sure.”
Her partner shoved his chair back and rose to his feet. He tugged open a desk drawer. “Austin, pull up the footage from those cameras.”
“On it.”
Zander held out two evidence bags. “Put the collar in one, and the envelope in the other, Is.”