by BIBA PEARCE
“Inside her vagina,” he clarified.
A soft, collective gasp sucked the air out of the room.
“I know — it’s shocking, but this puts a different spin on things. We need to consider that the man responsible has a deep-seated grudge against this woman. That it was personal, that this was a message. So, I want you to look into her past associates, ex-boyfriends, anyone who might have resented her relationship with Justin King.”
“What about his ex-girlfriends?” asked Jenny Bird from the back of the room.
“Good point,” said Rob, who’d been getting to that. “We’re going to need to talk to Justin King again.”
“We’ve decided to keep this back from the press for now,” interjected Lawrence in his gravelly voice, gazing out over the room. “If anything about a ring turns up in the Daily Mail tomorrow, I’ll know it was one of you lot. So, mum’s the word. Is that clear?”
They all nodded.
Rob cleared his throat. “Mallory has an update from Julie’s workplace.” He nodded to Mallory, who stood up.
“I interviewed her colleagues at the National Archives, and she did mention a stalker. Two of the women in her office clearly remember her telling them about it about a week before she was attacked. We don’t have a description, unfortunately, other than a tall, creepy guy in a hoodie, but at least this backs up the police report and the guy we saw on CCTV outside the archives the day she was murdered.”
“What about the friend? The one she met for lunch?” asked Rob.
“Natasha Wakefield. Julie met her for lunch in Chiswick last Sunday. They went to Annie’s restaurant on Thames Road.”
“Right—” Rob directed his voice to Celeste and the other two detectives covering the CCTV footage — “can we look for any evidence of a tall, creepy man in a hoodie following her in Chiswick, please? We really need to get a decent shot of this guy. If he’s been stalking her as regularly as it seems, he should be easy enough to spot on some camera somewhere.”
“We think we may have the stalker outside her flat earlier in the week,” Celeste replied. She was standing on her toes so she could see him above the heads of the others. “I was about to come and find you,” she added, when she saw the look on his face.
“I’m on my way,” he barked. “Thanks, guys, that’s it for now.”
“Don’t forget the press conference in an hour.” Lawrence gave a thin smile. “Have you spoken to Vicky yet?”
“Not yet.” Where was he supposed to find the time? He’d just have to wing it. How hard could a press statement be?
“I’ll get her down here,” said Lawrence. “Meet me in my office in ten minutes.” His tone didn’t warrant arguing with.
Rob glanced at the clock on the squad room wall, then marched through to the video studio. “Can I see it?”
Celeste nodded to the screen on the right. “The time stamp is 7.53 on Wednesday morning before Julie left for work.” Rob watched as a dark figure in a plain hoodie appeared in the bottom-left corner of the screen. The shot was from the back, but he looked to be peering through the steel security fence that surrounded her apartment block.
“He’s waiting for her to leave,” said Celeste.
“Turn around, you bastard,” Rob muttered to the figure on the screen.
“There’s Julie.” Celeste pointed as a petite brunette walked out of the front entrance and turned right towards Kew Bridge. She appeared much smaller in the video than she had lying in the bushes. Five foot four, the pathologist had said. A big man like the stalker would have had no trouble subduing her. Rob pictured the bruises on her slender neck and then looked at the stalker’s hands. Easy.
Julie didn’t notice the man watching her, nor did she see him follow her as she walked across the bridge. He stayed at least a hundred metres behind her and kept to the opposite side of the bridge, invisible among the morning crowd. He made sure to keep his face angled downwards, so it was always in shadow.
“Shit, we still can’t get an ID on him.” Rob exhaled noisily. “This guy knows what he’s doing.” He watched until they disappeared off the screen. “Then what?” he asked Celeste.
She sighed. “The next camera is at the wrong angle, and the one after that only covers her side of the bridge.”
“What about the river path?”
“Nothing on there until you get to the Old Ship, which is past the path leading to the archives.”
Rob reined in his disappointment. “Okay, thanks.” As an afterthought, he added, “Good work, Celeste. We’re getting closer.”
It was essential to keep morale up. He’d been part of murder squads before where the SIO had got grumpy and frustrated, and it put a damper on the whole team. He wanted his people alert and motivated.
Lawrence was waiting in his office with the press officer, Vicky Bainbridge, as promised. Rob had noticed Vicky around, but they’d never met. She was an attractive woman in her thirties, dressed like she’d stepped out of a magazine article on power dressing in the boardroom. Her dark hair was scraped back into a no-nonsense bun and her make-up was meticulously applied, right down to the strawberry-coloured gloss that coated her lips. Everything about her screamed marketability and efficiency. She had a lovely smile, though, and enormous caramel-brown eyes that gave him a thorough once-over as he walked through the door.
“Anything on the CCTV?” Lawrence asked before Rob could say hello.
“Nope, not yet.” He didn’t go into detail. When they had something definite, then he’d let the DCI know.
“Okay, now I know this is your first press conference, so Vicky here is going to go through it with you. There are certain things we can and can’t say. Impartiality and integrity, and all that.”
Rob smiled at Vicky and held out his hand. “Rob Miller,” he said.
“Vicky Bainbridge, press liaison.” She ate him up with her eyes.
Rob was momentarily thrown. It had been a while since anyone had looked at him like that. It wasn’t that he was interested, just flattered. All Yvette seemed to do was scowl at him these days.
Rob tried to stay focused as she outlined the important aspects of giving a press statement. Dealing with the media was not his forte. He knew it was an important part of the job, and the higher you got in the force, the more you had to do it, but right now he was preoccupied with catching a killer.
They went through it for the remainder of the hour, and contrary to what he’d thought going in, he felt a lot more confident about addressing the media going out.
“I’ll take you downstairs,” said Vicky. “They’re waiting for you outside.”
He shot a look at his DCI.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be there too,” Lawrence said. “To make sure you don’t fuck up.”
* * *
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Detective Inspector Rob Miller and I’m the senior investigating officer on this case. The body of a local woman was discovered on the river towpath near Kew shortly after six thirty last night. I can now confirm that her name was Julie Andrews, aged twenty-six, from Brentford. It is believed she was walking home from work when she was attacked.”
“Was there any sign of sexual assault?” A female journalist in the front row jumped the gun. Rob was always amazed at how quickly news got around. Or maybe that was the first question people asked when a woman was murdered.
He glanced at Lawrence, who gave a barely discernible nod.
“Yes, she was raped and strangled.”
A ripple went through the group, then they all started talking at once.
“Do you know who the rapist was?”
“How close are you to apprehending the murderer?”
“Do you have any suspects in custody?”
“Should we be worried? Is there a serial killer on the loose?”
Rob felt like a deer in headlights, but he somehow managed to maintain his composure. He lifted his hand and did what he’d seen Lawrence do on several occasions. Raise h
is voice and talk over everyone. “We are currently pursuing all avenues of enquiry. That’s it for now. Thank you.”
“Christ, did you hear that question about a serial killer?” Lawrence asked stony-faced as they marched back upstairs. “That’s all we bloody need.”
“Given the nature of the attack and where we found the ring, it’s more likely to be personal, in my opinion,” said Rob. “A one-off.”
Vicky nodded in agreement. “I’d put my money on a jealous ex-boyfriend.”
“I hope to God you’re right.” Lawrence headed straight for his office. “Keep me updated, Rob.”
“Good job, by the way.” Vicky paused outside the incident room. “That wasn’t bad for your first press conference.”
“I kept it short and sweet.” Rob grinned at her. “Just like you said.”
She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “You’re a fast learner, DI Miller. I like that in a man.” And she disappeared down the corridor to her office.
Chapter 5
Rob left work at six and drove home via Julie Andrews’s apartment. He wanted to talk to her fiancé again. The wrought iron gates were open, so he drove in and parked in a visitor’s bay. A shiver ran down his spine as he stared up at the stark high-rise. Had Julie’s stalker parked here too and watched as she came and went? Got to know her routine?
He took the lift up to the third-floor flat. Mallory had called ahead so Justin was expecting him.
“I’m sorry to bother you again,” Rob began, when Justin opened the door, “but we’re following a certain line of enquiry and I wanted to ask you a few more questions. Would that be okay?”
Justin gave a blank nod and stood back to let him in. They walked through to the living room, which hadn’t been tidied since his last visit. Justin sank down into a well-worn armchair. The TV remote lay on the scuffed coffee table, along with a cup of coffee that, judging by the layer of congealed milk on top, looked like it had been there for some time. He gestured for Rob to take a seat.
Rob eased his tall frame onto the leather sofa. “This might seem like a strange question, but do you know of anyone who may have wanted to harm Julie?”
Justin’s eyes widened. “No, of course not. Everybody loved Julie. She was a great girl. Why do you ask?”
“Like I said, it’s just a line of enquiry. What about ex-boyfriends or anyone she may have dated in the past?”
“We’ve been together for two years,” Justin said. “As far as I know, she hasn’t kept in touch with anyone she dated before me.”
Rob’s heart sank. “What about on social media?” He was grasping at straws.
“I don’t know.” Justin hung his head. He looked awful. Dark shadows were etched under his eyes and he had a yellow pallor, suggesting lack of sleep and poor diet. “Maybe.”
“Okay, not to worry.” He already had someone working on her social media profiles, looking for evidence of harassment or aggressive behaviour. “What about you? Any ex-girlfriends who might be upset that you’d got engaged to Julie?”
“What? No. Nothing like that.” He frowned. “Like I said, we’d been together for two years. Before that, I was at university up in Edinburgh and there was no one serious.”
Rob sighed. Another dead end. So much for the jealous-ex theory. He got up with a tired creak of the couch. “Thanks for talking to me.”
Justin nodded, eyes fixed on a photograph of Julie in a silver frame on the mantelpiece beside a half-melted candle and a vase of dead flowers.
Rob hesitated. “Do you have anyone you can stay with for a bit? Or someone who can come here? I don’t think you should be alone right now.”
Justin’s shoulders sank and he pulled his gaze from the photograph. “I’m going to my parents’ in Berkshire tomorrow. It’s too depressing staying here. I can’t get away from her. She’s everywhere, you know?” His eyes filled with tears.
Rob nodded. “I know.”
He didn’t. Thankfully he’d never been in Justin’s position, but he could imagine. The lad needed support. He’d tell Becca to check in on him as well, just in case. “Don’t get up. I can see myself out.”
He was walking to the front door when a thought struck him. He poked his head back into the lounge. “Do you have security cameras in this building?”
Justin gave him a vacant look. “I don’t know. It’s possible. You’d have to speak to the management company.”
“You got their details?”
Justin heaved himself out of the chair like an eighty-year-old. Every movement seemed an effort. “Gimme a sec.” He came back five minutes later with a letter about residents’ parking.
“It’s on that.” He pointed to the top. “You can keep it.”
Rob thanked him and left. On the way to his car, he took a good look at the security set-up around the building. There was a camera positioned above the communal entrance, just outside the lobby. It was pointing downwards so it would pick up whoever was buzzing for entry. It wouldn’t detect anyone outside the perimeter. He walked around the corner of the building and looked up.
Bingo. At first-floor level, another camera pointed towards the gate. In that one image, the stalker had been standing roughly twenty metres to the left of the gate, so it may well have picked him up.
His pulse shot up a notch. If they were lucky, they might have a facial shot.
Next, he inspected the gate mechanism. There was no automatic apparatus, which meant they were probably open permanently. To the right of the gate was steel fencing, through which the stalker had been watching. It ran for almost a full city block, past the Brentford water tower, all the way to the traffic intersection.
On the other side was a six-foot brick wall, which merged with the shops on the high street further along. There were lots of vantage points if you wanted to survey the building. He flicked the paper containing the management company’s number. First thing tomorrow, he’d get hold of them and request any camera footage they had. There was still a chance they could identify the stalker from that.
* * *
Yvette was out when Rob got home. He wasn’t surprised, it was Saturday night. Yvette liked to unwind after her frenetic shift ended. It wasn’t unusual for her to go out with her work colleagues. There were a handful of them who liked to go clubbing. She used to invite him, but he always declined — clubbing wasn’t his thing. He had no natural rhythm and couldn’t see the point of dancing all night without talking. The music was always too loud for any meaningful conversation. Give him a pub over a club any day. She didn’t bother asking him anymore.
Rob had a shower and made himself a sandwich, then took a beer out of the fridge and sat down in his favourite armchair to eat and think. He was still sitting there two hours later when Yvette got home. He knew she was drunk before she’d even come into the house, from how many times it took her to get her key into the lock. Then she’d stumbled past the lounge, seen the light on and poked her head around the door.
“Oh, what a surprise.” She laughed scornfully. “You home before me.”
They hadn’t gone clubbing then. If they had, it would have been closer to 4 a.m. when she’d stumbled in. He stood up and moved towards her.
“I saw you on television tonight.” Her eyes were glazed and off-focus. “You never told me about that girl.”
“I haven’t had a chance to.” He was tempted to pull her into his arms, but her frosty stance made him hesitate. “I’ve barely seen you since it happened.”
“Everybody was asking me about it tonight and I couldn’t tell them anything because I didn’t know.” She tottered on her heels. “The first I heard was on the TV.”
“I would have told you.” He gave in and reached for her. “As soon as we had a chance to talk.”
“Talk?” She laughed and stepped away, just out of his reach. “You have to spend time with someone to talk to them.”
“I know. Listen, this case is a big one. Once it’s over, we’ll spend some quality time together. I promis
e.”
She raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow but didn’t reply.
The silence dragged out. How did she always manage to make him feel so shit?
With a little sigh, she turned to go upstairs. “I’m tired. I want to go to bed.”
He took her arm to help her up the stairs. She shrugged him off. “I’m okay.” She clearly wasn’t, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.
He locked up and turned off all the lights. When he got upstairs, she’d collapsed on top of the duvet and was fast asleep. He climbed in next to her, but she didn’t stir. It always amazed him that no matter how inebriated she got, she always managed to take her make-up off before falling into bed. He gazed at her freshly scrubbed face and marvelled at her model bone structure, clear skin and long, dark eyelashes. She was a beautiful woman and when she was in a good mood, she made the world seem so much brighter. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be very often these days.
She slept on her stomach, the oversized T-shirt she wore to bed riding up around her waist, displaying long, tanned legs and a perfectly shaped derrière, as she called it. There was a reason she’d been a lingerie model. He’d never met anyone with a body to rival hers.
After the day he’d had, he longed to take her in his arms and make love to her, wipe out the image of Julie lying on the slab, the horror of her murder and the sickness of the man they were trying to find. He’d have to live with his demons for a while longer. He turned over, switched off the bedside lamp and tried to fall asleep.
Chapter 6
The stalker watched as a young woman left a house in Queens Road in her running gear. She was a new target, and he was still getting to know her. He shivered with anticipation. It was always like this at the beginning of a new project.
Julie Andrews had been a long time coming. Two years, in fact, but he’d had to let the dust settle after the last one. That Yorkshire bitch had managed to scratch him. How was he supposed to know that she’d been a junior judo champ? It had taken ten minutes of hard wrestling before he’d managed to punch her hard enough to knock her out.
Now the police had his DNA on file. That was unfortunate. It meant he had to be even more careful. But he wasn’t on any police record and hadn’t had any run-ins with the cops, not since his alcoholic father had beaten him to a pulp as a kid and social services were called.