by BIBA PEARCE
There were a few nods and murmurs. They knew what was coming.
“For those of you not on CCTV duty, please can you look into Julie and Sara’s wedding arrangements? We need to find similarities between them, like whether they both used the same wedding planner, dressmaker or booked the same venue — all that stuff. Look for links between the girls, anything that will help us connect them together. Got it?”
Nods all round.
Rob continued. “I’ve got some more information on Sara’s movements this last week. It turns out she told her fiancé that she thought someone was following her and, you guessed it, he was tall and wearing a hoodie. According to her fiancé, she never got a good look at his face.”
Murmurs of frustration.
“He may also be growing some facial hair. Now, I know this guy’s good at keeping himself hidden, but don’t give up, we’ll get him eventually. It’s just a matter of time. Some camera somewhere will pick him up. It has to. We just have to find it.”
“Sara Bakshi had lunch with a friend in King’s Road near Sloane Square last Saturday. I’m afraid we don’t know where. It was the day after Julie was murdered, so our killer didn’t waste any time selecting his next victim,” Mallory added. A horrified silence ensued.
“CCTV team, you know what you have to do,” said Rob, breaking the atmosphere. “Anything along the King’s Road on Saturday from eleven onwards. Apparently, she walked to Knightsbridge, then took the tube back to Richmond, where she spotted him again outside her apartment. Her address is on the board. Also, if you can ping her phone location, it might back up her route — provided, of course, that she had it switched on. Luke, will you look into that?”
“I’ll get right on it.”
“Thanks. Okay, that’s it for now.”
They filed out in silence. Rob wasn’t sure if it was down to sheer tiredness or waning enthusiasm. He hoped the former, but it was probably both. They weren’t getting any closer to the killer, and the bodies were piling up. The killer was escalating, getting greedy. Two bodies in two weeks. As much as it pained him to admit it, he very much feared it wouldn’t be long before they had another one on their hands.
He turned to Mallory. “We’ve got to stop this guy. There’s a link between these two girls. Somehow, we’ve got to find it.”
“I managed to get hold of the newspaper,” Mallory said.
Rob blinked, momentarily thrown, then he remembered. The trip to Manchester seemed like eons ago. They were juggling so many balls. “Ah, yes. The rag Greta Ansley worked for.” He was impressed Mallory had remembered to follow up on that.
His sergeant nodded. “The article was never finished, but Moorcroft was right, it was on wedding venues around the country. He didn’t keep a copy and her laptop was seized as evidence. Shall I request it be sent down so our tech guys can have a look at it? It might still be on there.”
Rob frowned. The team already had so much work to do and morale was sagging. Still, he didn’t want to miss out on a potential lead. “Yeah, let’s take a look. You never know.”
* * *
The post-mortem was conducted that afternoon at precisely three o’clock, but it was gone half past by the time Rob got there. It was the same guy as before. Gowan.
“Sorry I’m late,” called Rob from the viewing gallery. He wasn’t going down for this one, there wasn’t time. The body of Sara Bakshi lay on the metal table, sliced open from sternum to stomach, her insides on display. Rob focused on the doctor’s face, rather than the corpse. “What have I missed?”
“I started with an internal inspection, considering she was raped,” said the pathologist, looking up to the gallery through floor-to-ceiling windows. The speaking switch was activated so they could converse easily, although it made their voices sound tinny. “It’s exactly the same as Julie Andrews. The ring was lodged inside her.” He nodded to a kidney-shaped bowl on the table behind him. Even from up in the gallery, Rob could make out the dull sparkle. Four carats.
“It’s definitely the same guy, then,” confirmed Rob, feeling an odd sense of relief that the ring was there. Had it not been, it would have cast doubt on their entire theory. This guy was consistent, if nothing else. Patterns, as Tony had said.
“I would assume so. She’s got dried blood and bruising on her inner thighs and some internal damage. I’ve taken swabs, but I wouldn’t hold out much hope of any DNA.”
“Condom?” asked Rob.
The pathologist nodded. “Yes, I can smell the lubricant on the latex. I’m sorry.”
“What about her fingernails? Or on the tape?”
“The samples have already gone to the lab. If he’s left any DNA on that duct tape, we’ll get it.”
“Fingers crossed,” said Rob.
* * *
“What goes into planning a wedding?” Rob asked Yvette later that night. They were sitting in the lounge finishing off a bottle of red when he popped the question.
Amusement flickered across her face. “You want to start planning our wedding? But we don’t even have a date yet.”
He laughed. “No, although we should pick a date soon. I’m asking because of this case. Both girls were engaged to be married, and I think that’s how he’s finding them.”
The amusement turned to irritation and then to fear. “You mean the Surrey Stalker?”
Rob paused. “The Surrey Stalker? Christ, is that what they’re calling him?”
She nodded. “It’s in all the papers.”
Tension clutched at his neck. Trust the media to label him, now he’s probably gloating over his nickname. Well, hopefully it’ll make him more reckless, more prone to mistakes.
Yvette bit her lip. “This stalker, this killer . . . he’s targeting engaged girls?”
“Yeah.” That information had been kept back from the press release, along with the rings. “Don’t mention it to anyone, okay? It’s not common knowledge.”
She stared at him. “How does he know they’re engaged?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “So, you want to know what goes into planning a wedding? There’s the dress, obviously. That’s the most important thing. A lot of thought goes into choosing it, because it must be perfect. Then there are the shoes, the hair, the accessories . . .” She dropped her voice. “The wedding night lingerie.”
Rob knew she was trying to provoke him, but he forced his mind to stay on the conversation. “What about a wedding planner?”
She shrugged. “Not everyone has a wedding planner. Some people prefer to arrange it themselves. It’s easy enough to book a venue, arrange catering and invite the guests.” She reached forward to grab her cigarette packet off the table. “If you’re not doing anything too flamboyant.”
Rob got the impression that’s exactly the kind of wedding Yvette would want. Something simple and elegant, not too flamboyant. Despite her glamorous, formative job, she didn’t need to be the centre of attention, preferring to command the attention of one person rather than a whole room. That’s what had drawn him to her. Her ability to make him feel like the only man in the room.
He was taking mental notes. “Okay, what else?”
“There would be the flower arrangements — the bridal bouquet and the flowers in the church or wherever.” She lit a cigarette. Rob watched the smoke escape from her mouth and felt an irresistible urge so do the same. One cigarette. How bad could that be? Yvette, sensing his craving, held the pack out to him. He almost took one, then shook his head. If he caved, he’d owe Luke fifty quid.
She shrugged as if to say, Your loss, and carried on talking. “Of course, there is the wedding cake, which would be made by a professional baker and to order. The catering for the reception, the band or DJ.”
Rob rubbed his forehead. “Christ, there’s a lot to it, isn’t there?” He’d never pondered the depths of wedding arrangements before. No wonder people hired a planner. There were so many people to investigate, so many pos
sibilities, for both the girls. Perhaps the information on their laptops would shed some light, narrow down their options.
She smirked and let out another stream of smoke. “Of course.”
Chapter 13
“What about the rings?” Rob asked Mallory the next morning. He’d come in early and was standing beside the coffee machine waiting for the painfully slow drip feed to fill up his pint-sized coffee mug. He brought his own in because he finished the paper cups within three large gulps. It was shit coffee, but at least this way he got a decent caffeine hit, which didn’t make it a completely useless endeavour.
“What about them?”
“Well, they must have been bought from somewhere. Do we know which jewellers they used?”
Mallory finally cottoned on. “I’ll find out,” he said. He looked better than yesterday, but that wasn’t saying much. Rob doubted any of them would feel completely normal until this case was over. The sun hadn’t yet risen, but outside the window a couple of early birds were tweeting furiously. Only a handful of the team were in, including the boss, who always seemed to arrive before anyone else, unless he had a meeting off-site.
Rob finally retrieved his coffee mug from the overheated machine and went back to his desk.
“It’s not the wedding planner.” Luke marched over to Rob with a document in his hand. His jaw was clenched, and he seemed to be grinding his teeth. The hand holding the paper was shaking ever so slightly.
“Are you okay?” asked Rob.
“Withdrawals. I went from twenty a day to zero. I’m not sure this is good for my health.”
“I hear you. I nearly caved yesterday, and this bloody case doesn’t help.” It was getting harder and harder to resist. This investigation was pushing them hard, the phone never stopped ringing, and the press were still camped out across the road. On top of it all, the DCI wanted results and the deputy commissioner was breathing down their necks.
“Why isn’t it the wedding planner?”
“Because Julie Andrews didn’t have one. She was arranging the whole thing herself. Her fiancé said they’d reserved a room above a pub in Kew for the reception. The Greyhound, I believe it was. The ceremony was going to be held in the local church, and they were going to go to Scotland for their honeymoon.”
“We can rule that out, then. What about the wedding dress? Any joy there?”
Luke pursed his lips. “I couldn’t find any link to the dress on Sara’s laptop, but Julie had bought an off-the-shelf number from a wedding shop in South Kensington and was having alterations done.”
“A low-key affair, by all accounts,” mused Rob. Julie and Justin were young, only a few years out of university — they didn’t have the funds for an extravagant wedding. Unlike Sara and Gareth.
“Yes, makes you think it was the real deal.”
Rob was inclined to agree, although just because someone had money, didn’t mean they were any less in love. “Maybe Sara’s mother knows, or that friend of hers — Vivian, was it?”
“Yeah, I’ve got their numbers from Mallory. I’ll get back to you on that.”
“Actually, I think I’ll go and see her mother,” said Rob. “She might be able to shed some light on her daughter’s movements.”
“Right, we’ll talk later.” Luke strode off, flicking the piece of paper he was holding against the palm of his hand.
* * *
Mrs Bakshi lived in a small, ex-council block in Surbiton. When her husband had died, she’d moved to the area from Peterborough in order to be nearer her daughter. She was a petite Indian woman in a flowing sari with a smudged red bindi in the middle of her forehead. Once Rob had explained who he was and shown his warrant card, she nodded and beckoned for him to follow her into the apartment. It was cold inside, not made any warmer by the threadbare carpets and lack of heating. Obviously, her daughter’s lucrative alliance hadn’t filtered down to her yet.
“Please, sit.”
Rob took a seat at the dining room table, which took up half the lounge. She waited until he was comfortable then sat herself. “Are you here to talk about my Sara?”
Her eyes were filled with sadness, but there were no tears. Perhaps she’d already cried them all out and there were none left to fall.
“Yes, if you don’t mind?”
She shook her head.
“Thank you.” He composed his thoughts. “Firstly, I was wondering if you knew where Sara was having her wedding dress made?”
Grief flashed across the woman’s face, but then it was gone again. Just the sad eyes remained. “Yes, my friend was making it for her. It was a traditional wedding gown with an Indian twist. At least, that’s what she liked to say. I suppose no one will ever get to wear it now.” Her face fell.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” So, it wasn’t the dressmaker either. One was custom-made, the other an off-the-shelf item. Another dead end. Yet the stalker was still targeting them somehow.
“What other preparations had Sara made for the wedding, do you know?”
Mrs Bakshi thought for a moment. “Well, last month we went to that wedding show at London Olympia. I don’t know if that’s significant? They have various designers there — cakes, people toting venues, that sort of thing. We spent the day there, looking at the different stalls, getting ideas for the wedding.”
A wedding which would now never happen. “Did she engage with anyone, talk to any of the exhibitors?”
Sara’s mother nodded. “Yes, of course. Lots of them. We took brochures. I’ve still got them somewhere, if you’re interested?”
“That would be great.” He felt the sizzle of anticipation. Was the wedding show the link? Could that be how the stalker was selecting his prey? It would be filled with unsuspecting girls searching for ideas for their own wedding. A perfect hunting ground.
He waited while Mrs Bakshi went to get the flyers, then said his thanks and left the apartment block. Outside, he called Luke. While it was ringing, he turned his face up to the weak sun. It felt good after the cold, dark flat.
“There was a wedding show at Kensington Olympia last month. Let’s look into it. It might be how he’s finding them. Can you get a list of the exhibitors? I’ll be back at the office in half an hour.”
A slight pause. Rob knew what he was thinking. There’d be hundreds of them. “Sure, I’m on it.” It was a long shot, granted, but they could start by focusing on the ones Sara and her mother had spoken to. He told Luke to get hold of Justin King and ask him if Julie had gone to the wedding show.
The moment Rob walked into the station, Luke bellowed from across the room, “She did. She bloody did.”
All faces turned to face him.
Rob fist-pumped the air. They’d finally got it. The connection between the two victims. “Meeting!” he yelled.
The team, desperate for a lead, didn’t need asking twice. In a matter of seconds, they’d rallied around him. The air of expectancy was palpable.
“This had better be good,” rasped Lawrence, coming out of his office. He’d been holed up in there most of the day, shouting down the telephone. No one had dared disturb him.
“We’ve found a connection.” Rob looked around at the delighted faces of his team. “It’s the wedding expo at Kensington Olympia last month. Both girls were there, Julie on her own and Sara with her mother. So, someone at that exhibition noticed them, got their details and targeted them. Now, he couldn’t have followed them both home, so I’m thinking they must have given him their details, their email address, phone number, something that he used to track them down at a later date.”
There were several nods of agreement, including the DCI. “Makes sense.”
“This is our first definite lead, so let’s get a list of all those companies who exhibited and start working through it. We need to know which employees were at the fair, whether they took email addresses or phone numbers for marketing purposes and so on.”
“I’ve got the list.” Luke raised his hand in the air.
“Rob, a word.” The DCI nodded towards his office.
Rob followed him in. There was a spring in his step now that they had a connection.
“I’ve spent all day on the phone fielding calls from the press, who, as you know, are particularly apt at putting two and two together. Two girls, two identical murders. We can’t keep it hidden any longer. We’re going to have to issue another statement.
“You mean I’m going to.” Rob met the DCI’s gaze.
Lawrence sighed and rubbed his temples. He looked tired, which was out of character for him. Usually, he worked most of them under the table. Rob frowned, concerned. “Is there something else?”
The DCI nodded. “It’s the deputy commissioner. He’s insisting on sending Lewisham MIT over to assist with the case. I’ve said we can handle it, but they don’t want to hear it.”
At Rob’s stricken look he raised a bushy eyebrow. “Two women, Rob. Two bodies.”
Rob sank into the chair opposite Lawrence’s desk. He supposed it was inevitable, really. A bona fide serial killer on the loose in West London — what did he expect? The case was snowballing, and now it was bigger than him, bigger than his entire department.
“But we’ve just got our first lead.” He realised he sounded like a whinging schoolboy, so he snapped out of it. He wouldn’t get promoted that way. “By the time they get here, we’ll have something definite to give them.”
Lawrence squared his shoulders. “That’s the spirit. The team will be arriving tomorrow morning, so you’ve got until the end of today to find us a name. If we can get surveillance on this guy, it’s only a matter of time before we reel him in. We’ll leave Lewisham MIT with nothing to do except shuffle their paperwork.”