by Carol Wyer
‘Motorbikes are noisy. Surely, the killer would have wanted a more discreet mode of transport? An engine roaring away from a scene of a crime would attract attention,’ said Morgan.
Kate groaned. He was like a dog with a bone, but Jamie twisted around to face him. ‘No, mate. It’s down to the size of the muffler. All bikes can be kept quiet, especially larger models, and the larger the engine, the deeper the tone. You’d hear no more than a quiet rumble. They’re also easier to hide out of sight than a car.’
Morgan grunted and returned to his work.
The two independent sightings of a black motorbike were certainly promising. If the biker had been smoking, as one witness had claimed, there was a chance he’d left behind a cigarette stub. Kate had rung Forensics only to discover Ervin was out. Rather than leave a message about it, she was in the process of sending him an email.
‘You busy?’ asked Emma.
‘Not any more,’ said Kate, pressing the send key.
Emma placed a printout on Kate’s desk.
‘What’s this?’
‘A list of thirty-eight martial arts studios, academies, clubs and training centres in Staffordshire.’
‘How did you find time to come up with this?’
‘I didn’t. My brother has been helping me out and he sent the list across. He knows every place in the area and besides, he’s friends with many of the owners.’ It made sense. Greg would want to know about any local competition.
‘Great.’ She glanced down at the names.
‘I’ve already checked those with a cross beside them. That still leaves twenty-six.’
‘Okay. Do what you can. Maybe Olivia will be able to give us a description of her attacker.’
‘That would certainly make my life easier. I’ll plough on. By the way, Tilly’s doing really well. I think she could handle herself in a difficult situation. Thought you’d like to know.’
Kate smiled. ‘It’s a weight off my mind.’
Time passed at speed, yet by five o’clock, the team had made no further progress. Morgan stood up and bashed the side of the flickering strip light.
‘When is somebody going to fix this fucking thing?’
‘When hell freezes over,’ said Emma.
‘I’m going to put in a complaint to maintenance,’ he replied.
Emma placed her hands behind her head and yawned noisily. ‘This is fucking hopeless. I’ve no idea how many old cases I’ve trawled through so far.’
Kate considered she might have to admit defeat on the matter, yet the possibility that another victim would be attacked and killed today spurred her onwards. However hopeless a task it might seem, there was a chance it would lead them closer to identifying the perpetrator.
‘At the risk of repeating myself, we have to exhaust every avenue.’ It was beginning to sound like a tired refrain, even to Kate’s own ears. ‘Can we not trace that pay-as-you-go phone that was in contact with Heather’s?’
Morgan answered. ‘It’s no longer operational.’
‘I tried one of my techie contacts in Manchester,’ said Emma. ‘Ours are too busy to deal with any more requests. He’s trying to track historical activity on the number, which could lead us to the owner.’
Kate stuck a large map of the county she’d been examining on the board. ‘I’m sure the perpetrator lives somewhere on our patch, not outside it. He’d need to live close enough to monitor his victims’ movements. I’ve circled each of their homes and drawn connecting lines between them.’ The result was a scalene triangle of almost equal lengths that she proceeded to shade lightly with a red pen. ‘I wonder if this area is where he lives and operates.’
‘If not within the triangle, close to it,’ said Jamie.
‘Have there been any rape cases reported in this area over the last few years?’ she asked Emma.
‘Let me check.’
Kate rolled her shoulders to ease the tension caused by the knowledge she was clutching at straws. At the same time, her mind butterfly-hopped. ‘Who spoke to the staff at the retirement home?’
‘Me,’ said Jamie.
‘How long had Olivia worked there?’
‘Only nine months.’
‘Okay.’ An idea bubbled in her brain but wouldn’t surface. Emma came back with an answer.
‘No cases reported from anywhere within that triangle.’
‘What about stalkers? Have there been any incidents reported of stalking?’
‘How far back do I go? Ten years?’
‘Yes. Go back further if you don’t find anything.’ Kate returned to her desk where she stared at an identical regional map, and began searching for locations: clubs, pubs, petrol stations, anywhere the killer might have first set eyes on his victims. The list soon became exhaustive and her neck sore from bending over it.
She sat back and clicked her ballpoint repeatedly, stopping only when a text message caught her eye. Bradley wanted her to ring him immediately. She gathered up her phone and hot-footed it out of the building to her car. The digital dashboard display lit up, reminding her it would soon be evening. There was every chance the killer would strike again and another woman would be attacked. The thought was unbearable and anxiety gnawed at her innards as she remonstrated with herself. Unless she got her shit together quickly, there would be another death. And it would be on her.
She ought not to be breaking off to deal with what was a personal matter and an illegal investigation. At the same time, she couldn’t ignore Bradley’s message. To do so might mean losing Chris completely. His voice would only remain strong if she continued to pursue this avenue. Bradley wouldn’t have asked her to ring him if he didn’t have vital information concerning Cooper’s death. She cast a glance at Dickson’s office window. There was no sign of anyone standing there so she made the call.
A gruff voice answered almost immediately. ‘We need to meet.’
‘Can’t you tell me now, over the phone?’
‘No.’
She let out a lengthy sigh. She shouldn’t go, not with a killer on the loose. However, if she was quick and kept her mobile switched on, it would take no longer than stepping out for something to eat. ‘Same place as last time?’
‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘Tonight. At seven.’
‘I’ll be there.’
He’d rung off before she could say any more.
‘Chris?’
No reply was forthcoming and she dropped her head into her hands. How much longer could she keep this investigation into Dickson a secret? If he had managed to have Cooper killed, then he might also have eyes on her. She was getting out of her depth. Running an illegal investigation into her superior, at best, would result in suspension, and, if she was right about Dickson, at worst – death. She let out a groan. She had no choice other than to continue her one-woman crusade. To drop it now would mean to lose Chris. Squaring her shoulders, she sat up. She had a team to lead.
Things had shifted a gear in the short time she’d been outside. There was speculation upstairs over a new picture on the whiteboard, of a thick-set man in his thirties, with a shaven head and neck tattoos.
‘Who do we have here?’ she asked.
Morgan answered. ‘Alan Smallwood. In 2017, he was sentenced for six months and a level 5 fine for stalking one of his work colleagues. He reportedly put his hands around her throat and threatened to strangle her. He’s a roadside technician for White Knight Road Recovery, which is like the AA or RAC, but more local, covering Staffordshire and Derbyshire. We couldn’t find out if any of our victims were signed up members, so Jamie and I are heading to Brocton to interview him. Emma’s gone to check out gyms and clubs again.’
Although it might come to nothing she was willing to let them follow it up. ‘Keep me in the loop.’
With the office to herself, Kate rested her hands behind her head and urged the universe to send them a lucky break. Her eyes alighted on the wall clock. She couldn’t ignore the nagging voice in
her head, reminding her another victim would be taken, and with sudden urgency sat up straight to take over reading through the list of alleged stalking offences. Her gut was telling her their killer had offended before. Leaning closer to the screen, she began the laborious process of checking through the details, acutely aware of the moving clock hands, reminding her that time was running out.
Kate didn’t converse with Chris on her journey to meet Bradley. Her mind was occupied with concerns that no new leads had been uncovered. The man found guilty of stalking had been working both nights of the murders and, in spite of her efforts, Kate had not found any other potential suspects.
Her husband’s voice was temporarily muted, unable to offer any suggestions or advice, that was until she began the descent to the reservoir and was drawn to its shimmering surface. A pair of swans glided alongside each other, heads bowed in unison.
‘They only have one partner and bond for life, you know?’ he said. ‘If one of them dies, the other one can die of a broken heart.’
She jumped slightly at the sound of his voice. Last time she’d tried to speak to him, he’d not answered. A lump in her throat rendered her unable to respond. Some days she felt she couldn’t continue existing without Chris. These make-believe conversations made life easier because, for a while, she could convince herself he was still by her side, even though she was fully aware she was playing with fire. Every conversation she had with him strengthened the belief he was somehow alive and in spite of all the reasoning, she couldn’t break the habit.
Since Tilly had arrived, there’d been fewer chats. She understood full well why that was the case; Tilly was filling the void. While this was a positive, it also frightened Kate. If Tilly were to move back as she intended, it would probably mean Chris would fade away for good. Soon she would have to accept that reality and she wasn’t sure she could.
She turned into the gravelled car park and followed the dirt track alongside the reservoir to a secluded spot where her car was not visible from the road. There were no other vehicles in sight and she waited, eyes anchored on the fields the other side of the water, rather than seek out the swans. This spot afforded her a sense of serenity and a chance to order her thoughts. Bradley must have news for her. What news, would dictate her actions.
‘What’s more important, the investigation or trapping Dickson?’ said Chris.
‘They’re both as important as each other.’
‘Nah. You know that isn’t the case.’
She dropped the conversation. It was only serving to create self-doubt. She would handle both. A Range Rover appeared, crawled past her car and came to a halt even further down the track. She stepped outside to meet the driver, who wandered directly across to the water, a camera slung around his neck.
‘Didn’t have you down as a twitcher,’ she said.
‘The art of deflection. A man with a camera dressed in a drab outfit doesn’t attract attention. Here. Aim those over there.’
He passed her a pair of binoculars, and she pointed them at a group of fine-looking Holstein cows, peacefully meandering down the hillside close to Blithfield Hall. ‘What do you have for me?’
‘Jack says they were ordered to return to their cells five minutes after they’d been let out. The official line was that staff were following sudden information about hidden drugs and wanted to conduct cell checks, but he thinks that was bullshit. There were no drugs.’
‘It’s only hearsay though, isn’t it? Not enough for me to use.’
‘Ah, well, that’s where you’re wrong because Jack had a name for me – Warren Gates, one of the kitchen hands who’d been let out of his cell early to prepare breakfast. He saw Cooper head towards the shower followed by a guard, Tom Champion.’
‘Could Jack get Warren to talk to me?’
He sucked his teeth. ‘I don’t know. Warren’s only nineteen and too frightened to speak out. He’s due for release in four months and wants to keep his head down until then. Besides, Champion has a reputation of being an utter bastard. If he got wind Warren blabbed, heaven knows what he’d do to the kid.’
‘What did Cooper use to slit his throat?’ she asked.
‘Razor blade.’
‘They’d be locked away, wouldn’t they?’
‘Rumour is, he either stole it or bought it from a fellow inmate. According to Jack, that’s more bullshit. No one is admitting to selling him a blade.’ Bradley glanced over at a car crossing the causeway. ‘And, supposing Cooper had been determined to commit suicide, he’d have done it in his cell while his cellmate was asleep. He wouldn’t have run the risk of being stopped in the act. None of this adds up.’
‘I take it the authorities haven’t held an internal investigation into how this happened?’
‘No, they haven’t. The governor is sticking to the suicide line. As far as they’re concerned, it’s an open-and-shut case.’
‘Any luck getting a second post-mortem?’
His face looked like he’d sucked on a lemon. ‘They’re stalling us. All the same, we’re pushing for a second report and I’m not going to let it drop. I’ve got Sierra’s back on this. What do you think you’ll do next?’
‘Honestly, I don’t know. I’m not going to be able to get a confession from Tom Champion or interview Warren Gates, not without rousing suspicions.’
‘You might not be able to get Champion to speak, but I could.’
Although in his early sixties, Bradley was muscular and fit. His regular training had kept him lithe, and darkness glittered in his eyes.
‘No doubt your methods would be illegal?’
‘Illegal but effective. You have a problem with that?’
The swans had glided across the water and were almost directly in front of Kate, their pristine white feathers shining in the evening light. One lowered its head and the other copied its movements, their beaks touching for a second as if kissing. Bonded forever. ‘Do it,’ she said.
Kate hunted in the fridge for something edible, settled on a piece of cheddar and an overripe tomato, and sat at the table, glass of wine in her hand. ‘Soldier’s Poem’ by Muse played loudly on the sound system, mournful notes drifting throughout the kitchen. The lyrics, about there being no justice in the world, echoed in her head, and once the song was finished she aimed the control unit at the speaker and pressed replay. She raised her glass to her lips, let the liquid warm her throat, and then waited for it to blur the edges of her day. There’d been little justice for Chris and, as things stood, none for Cooper. How many others had she failed in her career, all the while believing she was doing good, yet at the same time officers like Dickson were playing by different rules? The thought soured the wine and she pushed the glass to one side. It made a farce of her vocation, the one thing she’d believed in. The music was replaced by ‘Exogenesis: Symphony, Part 1: Overture’, the tempo rising and crashing like her beating heart imprisoned in her chest. Farcical. She was little more than a puppet, her strings pulled by Dickson and others like him. Chris’s file had startled her. It had contained faces she’d known for years: faces of people she’d trusted.
She nibbled at the cheese with no appetite and got to her feet once more. She should ring Tilly. She hadn’t intended to neglect her all day but one thing had led to another and there’d been little time to chat to her stepsister. The food in the bird feeder had been eaten and it swung in the breeze. She crossed to the cupboard and grabbed the bag of bird seed and headed outside. It was imperative it remained full.
When she returned, it was to a missed call. She redialled Tilly’s number. Her stepsister sounded cheerful.
‘Hey. Hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time,’ Tilly said.
‘No. I was actually about to ring you.’
‘Then you’ve got time for a quick chat?’
‘Sure.’
‘I went on a date this evening.’ She followed it with a small giggle, reminding Kate of the teenaged Tilly.
‘With Ryan?’
‘No! I
wouldn’t date Ryan. If we went out together, it’d only be as friends. We’ve both been quite clear about that. He suggested meeting tonight, but I’d already arranged to meet Henry. Henry’s the guy who came to fix my telly.’
‘Did you have a good time?’
‘Uh-huh. We went to an Italian restaurant. Very posh.’
‘Are you going to see him again?’
‘No. He’s not into kids. He didn’t realise I had a little boy.’
‘How could he have missed Daniel?’
‘I guess he was too dazzled by me.’ She sniggered again. ‘Daniel was playing with the boy next door when he came around to mend the television, so I didn’t actually tell him until after the meal. I suppose it was a bit mean of me.’
Kate shook her head in mock dismay at the phone. This was exactly like the old Tilly, the girl who’d go out with and drop boys on a whim.
‘I don’t want anything serious – the odd night out. Light-hearted conversation. You understand, don’t you? I feel I deserve it.’
‘Yeah. I get it. Take care though, Tilly.’
‘I’m not fourteen any more, Kate.’
‘You know what I mean. You’re vulnerable. You’re still coming to terms with what happened with Jordan and you’re in a country you’re not over-familiar with. Things have changed since you left and there are bad people out there.’
The voice was softer now. ‘Yes. I know. I deserve some me-time and fun, though.’
‘I know.’
‘I’m meeting a guy from the gym tomorrow, for a lunchtime drink. Emma knows him.’
‘What about Daniel? Have you got a sitter for him, or do you need me to look after him?’