“By the path,” Fry pointed with a smile. “I’ll head up to the café,” she told me. “See about getting footage from the camera.”
I nodded. “Thanks, Fry.”
She gave me a smile and wandered off, heading back the way we had walked before. I headed down, grabbing our cups. Crowe and her team had gone, Hana Miyara with them, and SOCO still meandered around, gathering what they could.
I waved an officer down, and she jogged over with a nod.
“I hear your SIO whilst Thatcher’s recovering.”
“You hear correct,” I answered.
“Congrats, sir.”
“Thanks. Got anything?” I asked.
“Bits and pieces. A few blood spatters around the body, but it’s been a bust on fingerprints.”
He must have worn gloves.
“Alright,” I sighed. “Let me know if anything comes up.”
“Will do, sir,” she said, returning to her team.
I turned and began walking up the path, missing the usual glowering lump beside me. As if he knew, my phone rang. I balanced one cup on the other and pulled it from my pocket, his name on the screen, and answered.
“Sir.”
“What’s the news?” He asked, his voice echoey.
“Are you still in the hospital?” I asked.
“For now. They’re letting me go once they’ve checked some results. I am cleared for desk work,” he told me irritably. “What have you got?”
“Another girl, but it’s not right,” I said. “I don’t think it’s him, just someone who wanted it to look like him.”
“Any mark on the foot?”
“Nope. And we have her bag, her keys, her phone; it was all left behind.”
“That’s not his style,” Thatcher muttered, falling quiet.
“We’re getting CCTV from the café; hope we might see her or someone else on the path.”
“Good plan,” he answered. “Sharp called me, said that CCTV came back from last night and caught most of it. Apparently, it was a nasty hit.”
“Looked it.”
“Anyway, that’s my problem sorted.”
“Other than the cracked ribs,” I said, reaching the café. Fry was waiting outside, and I held out her cup. She reached out, taking it and watched my face as I spoke to Thatcher.
“Other than those, yes. But they don’t hurt that bad.”
“Sure, they don’t. Will we see you at the station?”
“I’ll get there as soon as I can. What about next of kin?”
“We’ve got a contact for her father. I think we’ll call him in, get him to identify the body, and that way you can speak to him too.”
“Sounds good. See you later.”
“See you, sir,” I replied, hanging up and putting my phone away, looking at Fry. “Any luck?”
“They’re sending the footage over.”
I nodded. “Let’s get going then.”
Nineteen
Thatcher
Another woman had been killed. I supposed I shouldn’t be all that surprised, really. It was inevitable that history would repeat itself. Perhaps we should have been more vigilant about it, but there was no way of knowing who his victims were or how he’d pick them, and we couldn’t exactly tell every young woman in the county to stay indoors until we caught the bastard. We didn’t even really know who he was since Dominic Haspel was dead, and none of our other suspects seemed to have names or even be in Yorkshire.
After Mills called, sounding exhausted over the phone, I was even more eager to get out of this forsaken hospital. Last night had been awful; I’d barely slept, just lay on my back, staring up at the ceiling. Anytime I got uncomfortable and wanted to roll onto my side or stomach, the pain in my ribs had me collapsing straight back down, sweating and wincing. Not pleasant.
At least this morning, I could sit myself up and get to the toilet unassisted, which was a bigger relief than I’d ever thought about before. The nurses took some blood samples, and I was given another x-ray to check my innards, and eventually, I was cleared. By this point, I had spoken to Mills again, and his words got me thinking. He said it didn’t look like our killer, that things were off. The woman’s bag and phone were still there, which was definitely unusual, and I wondered if this particular attack had been unplanned. There was only so much wondering I could do, though.
I was sitting on the chair in the hospital corridor, waiting for Liene to come and pick me up and take me to the station. Driving was apparently out of the question, and as I sat there, I realised I didn’t know what had become of my car. Mills had driven me here last night in his car.
Liene arrived in her usual cloud of jasmine, her long coat swishing around her legs. She smiled as she reached me, and I rose to my feet with a wince.
“Hi there,” she greeted me, hopping onto her toes to kiss my cheek. I leant into her, resting my head on her shoulder.
“Hi. Thanks for driving me.”
“Not at all,” she said, taking my hand in hers, our fingers interlacing. “How are you feeling?”
“Not too bad. My head feels better, and these pain killers are helping.”
“You look tired,” Liene said, her eyes tracing my face. “Did you sleep at all?”
“Barely.”
“The hospital?”
I nodded, and she gave me a sympathetic smile, tugging on my hand.
“At least you’ll be in your own bed tonight,” she offered. “You could go home now, you know. Mara wouldn’t mind.”
“The thought has occurred to me.”
“But you won’t.”
“There’s been another one,” I said quietly as we walked past reception and out through the main doors.
Liene swore softly. “Another one?”
I nodded. “I need to go and help Mills, however I can. This is a big case, and we need as many of us on it as we can.”
“So long as it doesn’t kill you,” she said, leading me over to her car. “No more being reckless,” she said, pointing at me over the roof.
“Cross my heart,” I said, climbing into the passenger seat. “Do you by any chance know where my car is?” I asked as she started the engine.
“A constable drove it back for you,” she said. “Said he didn’t realise how tall you are until he sat in your seat. Said he could barely reach the pedals.”
I chuckled, wondering if it was PC Lerch, who was rather small in stature and was always the first to laugh at himself for it.
“I’ll thank him when I see him,” I said, turning to look out of the window as we drove to the station.
Liene pulled over to the side of the road.
“You want me to pick you up later?” She asked.
I shook my head, slipping my seatbelt. “I’ll hitch a lift from Mills. Not sure how late it’ll be.”
Liene scrunched her nose but nodded. “At least you won’t be able to drive yourself anywhere ridiculous,” she said. “Unless you’re getting the bus.”
I grinned at her, leaning over to give her a quick kiss before climbing out of the car.
“Thanks for the lift, love. Have a good afternoon.”
She gave me a little wave and drove off, heading back to the museum. I wandered inside, nodding to the desk sergeant and walked slowly up the stairs, my ribs aching with every step. I got to the top without collapsing and headed straight to Sharp’s office, rattling my knuckles against the door.
“You’re alive then?” she asked as I walked in.
“In one piece.”
“Bloody Lazarus, you are,” she said, waving for me to take a seat. “Mills is downstairs right now, getting Hana Miyara’s father to identify her body.”
I nodded, draping my coat over my knees. “Thanks for not kicking me off the case, ma’am.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t let it come back to bite me, Thatcher. How are you?”
“A bit sore, but I’ll manage.”
She pursed her lips but nodded. “Are those the same c
lothes as yesterday?” She asked with a grimace.
“I have some spares in the office,” I told her. “I’ll change before Mills comes back up.”
“Better go now then,” she said, “I don’t think he’ll be much longer.”
I nodded and stood up, hoping to have enough time for a cup of tea too. As I walked through the door, Sharp called me back.
“Thatcher. I’m glad you’re alright.”
“Me too, ma’am. Me too.”
I flashed her a grin and wandered away into the office, shutting the door behind me. It looked much the same, though I wasn’t sure what I expected to happen in my few hours of absence. I pulled the blinds down and reached for the bag under my desk, grimacing the whole way. Once I had it, I sat with my eyes closed, catching my breath. When I opened them, they landed on the photo of my mother, her face looking back at me. I could imagine what she might say about all this. None of it was very family-friendly, that was for sure.
I managed to change, thank God for buttoned shirts, hurriedly swapping out my underwear and trousers first, and was just pulling my tie into place when the door cracked open, and Mills poked his head in.
“Decent?”
“All good,” I said, stuffing my old clothes into the bag and dropping it on the floor. Mills walked in, looking as tired as I felt. He appraised me quickly and smiled.
“Alright?”
“Right as rain.”
He nodded and walked over, handing me a file. I took it, perching on the edge of my desk and flipped it open as he walked around, pulling the blinds back open.
Photographs of the victim were inside. Another young woman, killed in nature. But Mills was right. This was wrong. Her limbs were all askew, her hair a mess. There was nothing peaceful about it at all.
“And no mark on her foot?” I asked.
“None. Crowe’s checking out the wounds themselves now, but she’s not convinced it’s him either.”
“Interesting,” I muttered. “So, is it an opportunist or someone trying to throw us off the scent?”
Mills shrugged. “We haven’t found anything to connect Hana Miyara to Julia Brook or any of the other victims. She and her father moved here when she was four, just the two of them. She didn’t go to university, didn’t work in a public-facing role until recently…” He trailed off. “She’s random.”
I hummed and put the folder down, tapping my fingers on the desk. That was odd. All the others had been visible, receptionists, tour guides, waitresses. But not Hana Miyara.
“The father?” I asked, my heart going out to the poor man.
“This way,” he said with a nod. I slipped from the desk and followed him out to a desk where Cora O’Flynn and Fry sat with a man, silver lining his black hair.
“Mr Miyara,” Mills called, and the man turned around. His face was blotchy, eyes swollen from tears, but he nodded politely at the sound of his name being called. “This is Detective Chief Inspector Thatcher. Sir, Mr Hiro Miyara.” He stood up to meet me. He was a rather short man, slight, dressed in simple trousers and a jumper, his coat folded on the desk, a pair of glasses resting on the pile.
I shook his hand, offering my sympathies, whatever they were worth. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t here to meet you earlier,” I said. He shook his hand in the air.
“Quite alright, Inspector. Your sergeant here says you were injured?”
“Just a little. Side effects of the trade. Can we get you anything?” I asked. “Cup of coffee or tea?”
“Tea, please.”
“Builder’s tea, alright?” Fry asked, rising from her chair and offering it to me.
“Lovely. Thank you.” He offered her a warm smile as she walked off, and I settled down onto her chair.
“What is it you do, Mr Miyara?” I asked.
“I translate books,” he said. “From a few languages,” he added humbly.
“Quite the work. And Hana worked for an allotment?”
He blinked back a few tears at her name but nodded. “She used to work in an office Auditing. But it sapped the life from her, so she changed. She loves it there, out in nature.”
I smiled at that. “When did you last see her?”
“The day before yesterday,” he said. “She comes home every few days for tea and a chat. Sometimes dinner.”
“And how did she seem?”
He thought about the question for a bit. “She seemed fine, Inspector. Same as always, happy little Hana.”
“Can we ask what her relationships were like?” Cora asked. “And friends, romantic partners?”
“She had a few friends back in the office, but she didn’t really stay in touch. Nobody romantic,” he said with utter certainty.
“Nobody that she might have kept from you?” Mills asked.
“Oh no,” Mr Miyara shook his head. “My Hana didn’t keep secrets. And she was never interested in relationships.”
Cora and I shared a look, wondering if a protective, hopeful father had his opinion slightly skewed, then he said.
“Hana was asexual and aromantic.” He shrugged. “She liked to say she just wasn’t bothered,” he chuckled. “I said, we better find her a long-living lizard then.” A few fresh tears fell, and he turned his head, sobbing gently. Cora handed him a box of tissues.
Fry returned then, a tray of tea in hand and placed one in front of him, sliding a mug to the rest of us. I gave her a thankful nod, taking a tentative sip as we waited for Mr Miyara to settle.
“Sorry,” he offered, taking his tea with trembling hands.
“Nothing to apologise for,” Cora insisted.
“Mr Miyara, do you know what route she would have taken to get home from work?” I asked.
He nodded. “We walked it together a few times. She’d leave the allotment, go down through the residential area and up the main roads. Always stuck to the busy areas,” he added proudly.
Except last night, it seemed.
“What about Rowntree Park? Did she like it there?”
Another nod. “I used to take her to feed the ducks. I didn’t think she’d walk there in the dark, though,” he said with a frown. “That’s not like Hana.” He sipped his tea, his thick black brows drawn together.
“It would be a shortcut,” Mills said, looking thoughtful. “Faster for her to get home. Maybe she was in a rush,” he offered supportively.
Fry nodded. “Maybe she didn’t want to miss something on TV or her food to go cold.”
Her food to go cold. That was a thought. I shared a look with Mills, and he nodded minutely.
“I think that’s all the questions we have for you right now, Mr Miyara,” I said. “We’ll leave you with O’Flynn here, but please don’t hesitate to get in touch with us.”
He stood with me, shaking my hand with both of his, bowing his head a little. “Thank you, Inspector. Sergeant.”
We smiled at him and returned to the office, leaving him with Cora and Leila.
I shut the office door and turned to Mills. “You have her bag?”
He grabbed it from his desk, handing it over. I put my mug down and took it, turning it upside down so that the contents dropped gently onto my desk. Her purse fell out, along with a lip balm, a book, a packet of mints, a few loose coins and some crumbled receipts.
I picked the receipts up and started flattening them out, getting rid of the ones that were so old that the ink faded. I grabbed one, loosely scrunched from when she dropped it in there, and unfolded the creases.
It was a receipt from a restaurant, an order of food to takeaway, from last night. 17.42 pm. Mills looked down at it, his eyes widening at the name of the resultant on the top of the receipt.
L’agneau.
“She was there,” Mills muttered.
“So much for them staying closed,” I replied. “I think we should speak to Harris. See what she’s managed to pull together.”
“What about going to the restaurant?” Mills asked. “Asking them?”
“I imagine they�
�d have as much to tell us about Hana as they did about Julia, less even. They could paint this as a coincidence. But if Harris has something to stick on them, we could get away with surveying the place.”
“Her informant,” Mills snapped his fingers. “If we can get a solid answer from him, we can get the warrant we need to keep an eye on the place, maybe even search it properly.”
I grinned but handed him the receipt. “Your call, SIO.”
He rolled his eyes, taking the receipt. “I’m not doing any of this without you, sir.”
“You might have to,” I said. “All this sitting down and standing up, tiring business.”
“I always knew you were an old man,” he teased. “All that grumping and grousing.”
I glared at him, and he grinned back, waving the receipt in the air.
“I’ll give Harris a call, see if she can come to join us.”
“I’ll sit here for a bit and drink my tea,” I answered, lowering myself onto my chair. Mills chuckled, walking to the door.
“Would you like a footrest?” He asked. “Or a toffee, gramps?”
“I will be better one day,” I called after him, “And you will regret that.”
Though I had to admit, both of those things sounded rather nice. Mills just laughed again and paused in the doorway, looking back.
“The press will pick up on this,” he warned me.
“We’d better be faster than them, then.”
Twenty
Thatcher
Sergeant Harris was more than happy to jump back onto the case and appeared not long after Mills called her with her box of files that she dumped on his desk. Fry had joined us, Mr Miyara having made his departure, and she was sitting there when Harris dropped the box.
“So, then, team,” Harris began, her hands propped on her hips. “What’s this about wanting to meet with my informant?”
“We think the restaurant is definitely in play,” I told her. “But we need a solid piece of information to have enough reason to check it out properly. Going and talking to them isn’t going to do all that much anymore.”
Vicious Cycle (A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crimes Book 9) Page 16