by A. J. Cross
Judd felt her interest quicken. ‘Did she ever talk about those callers to you?’
Josephs let his arms drop. ‘In passing.’
‘Did she mention any names?’
‘No, never.’
‘What did she say about them?’
He lowered his voice, leant towards her. ‘She described one as “mad for sex”, her words, that he wouldn’t leave her alone. Another one she mentioned sounded fairly similar.’
Judd gave him a direct look. ‘The police came here and spoke to you after Ms Barlow disappeared, didn’t they?’
‘Yes, very briefly. They asked me one or two questions.’
An earlier quick look through the Barlow file had shown no reference to the two men Josephs had just described, nor any dating agencies. ‘Where did the police actually talk to you?’
Josephs pointed towards the back of the shop. ‘Staff room. Through that door. Come on, I’ll show you.’
‘No, that’s OK. I was just wondering if you told those officers what you’ve just told me?’
Josephs frowned, looking distracted. ‘You mean about those two guys being mad for sex? I’m not sure whether I did or not. As I said, I was a kid back then and there was no indication that anything bad had happened to Annette. I just assumed she would surface in a few days. If she had and she got to know that I’d given out personal stuff like that to anybody, she wouldn’t have been very pleased, I can tell you.’ He grinned at Judd. ‘Annette had quite a mouth, when she chose to use it.’
Judd eyed him. ‘It wasn’t exactly “anybody” who was requesting that information, Mr Josephs. It was the police.’ Judd had worked out that at the time Annette Barlow disappeared he would have been around twenty-one, older than Judd, yet no way would she refer to herself as a ‘kid’. ‘If the police were concerned enough about Miss Barlow’s welfare to come here and ask you about her, didn’t it occur to you that they needed to know about those men?’
Josephs was looking very uneasy. ‘Oh, dear. Now that you put it like that, I think I assumed that the police would talk to other people who knew her better than I did.’ He ran a hand through his hair again. ‘You’ve started me thinking. I should have told them, but I’d had no contact with the police before that. I was a bit naive.’ He looked downcast. ‘I’m thinking about how nice Annette was, how good to me … Excuse me.’
He stood, turned his back to her. Thinking that her questions had touched a nerve, Judd waited, picking up the soft, steady glug of liquid being poured. He turned back to her, a filled glass in each hand.
She shook her head. ‘Not for me, thanks. I’m on duty and I don’t …’
He placed the glass next to her. ‘It’s as weak as water. I’m finding all this talk about Annette a bit upsetting, to be honest and I don’t like drinking alone.’ He sat. Judd looked at the small glass. This was the first job DI Watts had given her to do. He was under a lot of pressure and she wanted something worthwhile to take back to him. She reached for the glass. Josephs raised his to his lips. She did the same but didn’t drink, merely swallowed for effect. He nodded. ‘See? Like I said, weak as water.’
Judd looked at her notes. ‘Do you know if there were other men in Ms Barlow’s life, not connected to dating agencies?’
‘She never mentioned any. Annette was a private kind of person, actually. A little aloof at times. I put that down to my being so much younger.’
Judd wrote. ‘From what you’ve said, it sounds like she was a very good manager to you.’
He sighed, sipped more wine. ‘She was. Isn’t it sad, how things turn out? She gave me my start, and all these years later it’s still quite upsetting for me thinking about her.’
She looked up at him. He did look upset. ‘Mr Josephs, how about we take a short break? I’ll come back in about half an—’
He was on his feet. ‘Sorry, that’s the phone ringing in the back. I won’t be a minute.’ Judd was thinking that the call had come at a good time. She recalled a criticism levelled at her during training, that her attitude to others tended at times to be ‘cavalier’, which she’d learned meant offhand, dismissive. Had she been too direct in her approach to Josephs? If so, a short break whilst he took the call would hopefully give him a chance to relax and she would go easy with the remainder of her questions. She stayed where she was, noting down a couple more as he walked away from her to the back of the shop.
After a minute or so, she looked up. He was waving to her from the doorway. ‘Come on, Detective Judd! I can see you don’t like the wine. The kettle’s on. How about I make us some coffee?’
Grimacing at the wine, wanting whatever information she might get from him, she got up and walked towards the back of the shop. Coming into the room, she found him organizing mugs and instant coffee. ‘That was a quick phone call.’
He nodded. ‘Wrong number.’ He brought boiling water to the table, gestured to a chair. ‘Have a seat. Milk?’
‘No, thanks.’ She sat, glanced at her watch.
‘Are you in a hurry?’ he asked.
‘Well, I do need to move this interview on.’
He grinned down at her. ‘You know, I’ve never been interviewed by a policewoman before.’
‘Getting back to Ms Barlow, after she disappeared and the police came here to talk to you, like I’m doing—’
‘They weren’t anywhere near as attractive as you.’
She looked up at his smiling face, then away to her list of unanswered questions. ‘I’m interested in hearing whatever you told them about her.’
‘Not a lot, actually. I told them that Annette was something of a mentor to me but that I didn’t know much about her outside of work. That I didn’t know where she was going when she left here that Saturday.’ He fell silent. She looked up to find him still smiling at her. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re very young to be doing this kind of work.’ She opened her mouth. Before she could say anything, he leant towards her, whispered, ‘Actually, I think you’re really cute.’
‘Mr Josephs, I—’
‘Hang on a minute. Somebody has come into the shop. I’ll deal with them and be right back.’ He stood, left the room.
She tracked him to the street door, watched as he talked to a youth in a baseball cap. She looked over her notes, wondering why anybody with the intelligence to go to university hadn’t thought it relevant to tell police officers searching for a missing woman about two men whom the woman had, in her own words, described as ‘mad for sex’. Another glance at her watch, another to see what was happening in the shop and her heart skipped. The young male had gone. Josephs was still at the door, one hand on the lock, the other turning the sign to Closed. On her feet, she watched him coming back, their whole conversation running fast inside her head. He came into the room, pushed the door behind him, leant against it.
‘Relax. Sit down. Give me a few more minutes to search my memories of Annette. You never know, I might come up with something really helpful.’
She reached for her bag. ‘Thanks, but I’ve got everything I need.’
He was still at the door, still smiling at her. ‘Now, that doesn’t sound very friendly.’
She stared at him, the cues she’d had from him since she’d arrived rushing her head. Seemingly insignificant cues she’d missed, so intent had she been on getting as much information as she could. His eyes were now locked on hers, his smile gone. Her heart banging her ribs, she realized how tall he was. Six-one to her five-three.
Keeping her voice low she said, ‘Mr Josephs, I’ll tell you just once: move away from the door.’
He gazed down at her. ‘You sound upset, Detective. What’s wrong?’ He came slowly towards her. ‘I’ve moved, see?’
She backed a couple of steps. ‘Stay away from me.’
He raised his arms, doing jazz hands. ‘Still moving.’ His face was now high above hers, so close she could make out the individual hairs at the edge of his beard, smell the musky odour of him. He touched her hair. She fl
inched.
‘Get away from me.’
He gave her a surprised look. ‘Hey, come on. What’s your problem? We were getting along great.’ He reached for her.
On autopilot, Judd stepped back, one hand grabbing his genitals in a hard squeeze, the outer edge of the other making direct contact with his throat. She saw his face contort, his eyes roll. He sank to the floor, groaning, clutching himself, his voice hoarse. ‘You … bitch.’
Grabbing her notes and bag, she ran to the door, flung it open, ran through the shop, fumbled with the lock of the street door, picking up movement behind her. She threw it wide, stumbled out into fierce heat, her feet pounding the pavement, sun bearing down on her. She ran to where she’d parked her car. Reaching it, she unlocked it, got inside, slammed the door, hit central locking, sweating, breath sobbing in her throat, rubbing the side of her hand, railing at herself for being so bloody stupid! His teasing tone, his references to himself as a kid as he played her, laying the groundwork, introducing sex into the conversation, alcohol, luring her into that room. She pressed herself against the seat, eyes squeezed closed, brushed wetness from her face. She of all people, with all that she’d learned about life and plenty of other stuff, to be taken in like that. She struck the steering wheel with both hands, hard enough to cause more pain. She stared ahead, furious now. When she got back to headquarters, she’d report what just happened. As a serving police officer, she’d make sure he regretted every word he’d said, every intent he’d had inside his head and any other part of his lousy body, the bastard. She closed her eyes. She wouldn’t do it. Couldn’t do it. If she did, it would mean DI Watts knowing all that had just happened. Josephs would doubtless deny everything. Another thought occurred to her. He might accuse her of assault. Which would mean the end of her involvement in the investigation. The end of her career. Panic spiralled inside her chest. She loved her job. She needed it. Couldn’t risk losing it. It took her three attempts to get the key into the ignition. She started the engine, causing it to roar. Several people turned to look as she drove away.
Judd parked the car, walked up to the house, let herself into the big shared entrance hall and on to the two rooms she rented. She couldn’t go to headquarters looking and feeling like this. Unlocking her door, she picked up the envelope the postman had pushed under it, went into her bedroom and sat on the edge of the narrow bed. Opening the envelope, she pulled out her credit card statement, her eyes drifting over the litany of careful living to the amount due. One she could just about afford. She recalled her drive back here, the occasional hesitancy of her car’s engine which she’d noticed a couple of times recently. She had no idea what was causing it and no one to ask. It sounded like it might be expensive. She fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
ELEVEN
Friday 19 August. Seven forty-five a.m.
Watts put down the phone as the door to his office swung open and Traynor came inside, followed soon by Judd. Watts pointed at the phone. ‘Dr Chong’s identified our third victim. His photo and details are coming any minute, plus’ – he looked at Judd – ‘you all right?’
She walked past, not looking at him. ‘Yes.’
‘To bring you up to speed, Judd, a second skull has been located at the scene.’
‘Dr Traynor just told me.’ Watts went to the Smartboard, feeling along its lower edge for the ‘On’ control. Sighing, Judd came over, switched it on.
Watts gave her another glance. ‘You look like your tail’s dragging. What’s up?’
An electronic bleep issued from the Smartboard. She tapped its screen. It lit up, displaying three faces, each with a name and brief details beneath. One they hadn’t seen before: Daniel Broughton, dark-haired, shadow of stubble.
Traynor read aloud the details. ‘Age thirty-eight at time of disappearance. Property developer. Resident of Edgbaston area of city. No family members identified during the initial missing persons investigation. Sub-contractors he employed reported him missing. They were questioned. No information gained as to a reason for his disappearance. Financial status checked. Broughton solvent at the time. Last known sighting, a bookshop approximately one mile from his home. Visited by officers. Nothing gained. Location details of shop supplied.’
Watts was searching all three photographs for something, anything, which might hint at the reason they were destroyed, guessing his two colleagues were doing the same. His eyes drifted over Zoe Roberts’ more recent photograph: smooth blonde hair, large, grey-blue eyes set in an attractive, open face. His gaze shifted to Annette Barlow looking away from her photographer, her dark hair hanging like a curtain either side of her face, its expression … He decided on ‘distant’. Both women of similar age. Barlow looked older. He turned to Judd. ‘How did your first witness interview go at the wine shop yesterday?’
‘No problem, why?’
‘Get anything of interest?’
She shook her head.
‘I still want a detailed write-up of it, soon as you can.’ He pointed at the Smartboard. ‘How about a bit more interview experience. Give this bookshop a ring and—’
‘No.’ They looked at her, exchanged glances. She went to the table and sat, head down.
‘What’s up?’ asked Watts.
‘I don’t feel very well.’
‘Why didn’t you say so when you came in? You don’t look the full ticket. Get yourself off home—’
‘No. I want to be at the briefing.’
Still eyeing her, Watts went to the table, looked down at the data lying on it. ‘I’ve skimmed the victims’ files and the only link I’ve come up with so far is that Barlow and Roberts were of similar age. Which shows how desperate I am.’ He looked at Traynor. ‘What did Barlow’s father have to say?’
‘PC Sharma informed me that he was unwell. I’m waiting to hear whether he’s recovered.’
Watts nodded. ‘By the way, a few of the lads on the team have asked me what you do as a criminologist and what they might expect from you during this investigation. Only Jones and Kumar have prior experience of repeat homicide and that was minimal. Contrary to what most people think, homicides like we’ve got here are a rarity so the whole team is feeling edgy, but they’re all good officers. Quick learners. If you could find the time to knock a few notes together for them, I’d appreciate it.’
‘How about I talk to them directly, as a group?’
‘Even better. Any idea when?’
‘Yes. Now.’
‘You mean, this morning?’
Traynor nodded. ‘Following the briefing.’
Watts looked at his watch. ‘Blimey! Come on.’ He reached for one of the files. ‘Don’t you need to get your ideas together first?’
‘No.’
The buzz of talk faded as they came inside the squad room. Watts dropped the file on the desk. ‘Eight twenty and not a babby in the place washed. Let’s get started. We’ve got ID for the second skull: property developer by the name of Daniel Broughton.’ He went to the whiteboard, securing Broughton’s picture and details next to those of Barlow and Roberts. ‘Dr Chong has offered an observation on the burial of the two skulls. Both “shallow-buried and carefully placed” on that incline. The only reason they lay there for so long is because the chap who farms the land lets it rest. This is now a three-homicide investigation. The chief has agreed to issue a public warning to residents in the area, so expect more press presence, around which we all keep it zipped, clear?’ They nodded. ‘If any of you has any ideas on what we know so far, I want to hear them now.’
A tentative hand rose. ‘If this killer treated the skulls “carefully” like the pathologist says, is it possible he was showing them some kind of … well … respect? Or maybe he’s somebody with a religious thing?’
Amid a quick buzz of talk, Watts sent Traynor a quick glance. Traynor spoke. ‘That’s a reasonable theory to bear in mind at this early stage.’ In the heavy silence Watts’ eyes moved over the faces in front of him. ‘I’m still waiting for
news on a match to the shoeprints found at the scene. The search of Roberts’ car should be finished today. All trace evidence from it will be processed, as will the fibres and hair found on Roberts which you already know about, but don’t anticipate quick results, particularly for the hair.’ He caught a few subdued murmurs. ‘Don’t blame the messenger. It’s holiday time. Forensics are short-staffed and the lab which is analysing the fibres and hair is inundated. CCTV motorway footage should be with us soon.’ He searched faces, found Miller. ‘Anything to report on Gerry Williams, the night-time security guard?’
Miller pointed to the computer next to her. ‘I’m on to it, following the briefing, Sarge.’
‘Quick as you can.’ He looked at each of them. ‘I know some of you are already feeling on the back foot with this investigation. One or two of you have asked me about Dr Traynor’s work and the kind of help he might give us. In the next fifteen minutes, he’s going to tell you.’ Watts turned to him. ‘All yours.’
Traynor stood facing them in the heavy silence. ‘Criminology involves research, the use of sociological and psychological theory to develop an understanding of certain types of criminal behaviour and offences.’
Watts eyed his officers, feeling sudden misgivings at the resistance he was already picking up in response to Traynor’s cool words about theory. Over two-thirds of them were graduates but he knew they responded best to demands for action. Traynor was talking again.
‘That covers what I do. A good use of the remaining thirteen minutes is for you to ask me any questions you have about the type of individual we’re looking for in this investigation.’
Watts’ eyes moved back to the team, looking for signs of engagement, not seeing any. Eventually, a hand rose. Traynor pointed.
‘Ask.’
‘Three linked homicides, two female, one male. No complete body. No evidence of sexual behaviour towards the first victim. Are we still investigating these homicides as having a sexual motivation?’
‘Yes, in the absence of any contra-indications. Sexual expression takes many forms. The majority of repeat killers target either males or females but there are exceptions. One example you may be aware of is a series of homicides of hitchhikers in Australia in the late eighties, early nineties which involved sexual assault of victims of both genders.’ His eyes moved over the officers looking back at him. ‘We’ll stay receptive to other possibilities. Not all repeat homicides are sexually motivated.’