by OMJ Ryan
‘Almost certainly.’
‘Time of death?’ asked Phillips.
‘The cold temperatures make it difficult, but somewhere between 10 p.m. and midnight.’
‘You mentioned the body had been cleaned. What with?’
Chakrabortty sifted through the sheets on the clipboard until she found what she was looking for. ‘We found large traces of benzalkonium chloride all over her body, which is an organic salt used in cleaning agents. If you want its official status, it’s classified as a quaternary ammonium cationic detergent. It’s basically the main ingredient found in most household cleaners.’
‘Which means it’s almost impossible to identify a specific brand,’ said Phillips, sagely.
Chakrabortty nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. However, we did find some dirt embedded in a crack on her right heel that contained small traces of nitrogen, potassium and phosphate.’
Phillips eyes narrowed. ‘And?’
‘I take it you don’t watch Gardener’s World, Jane?’
Phillips scoffed. ‘I barely have time for sleep these days, Tan, never mind TV.’
‘Well, if you did, you’d know that the most common place you’ll find a combination of nitrogen, potassium and phosphate is in a bag of common-or-garden fertiliser. And the good news for you is that not all fertilisers are the same. In fact, many of them are quite bespoke.’
Phillips pursed her lips as she processed the information. ‘In that case, it should be possible to trace it to a specific manufacturer. Can I get a copy of the chemical makeup of the sample?’
Chakrabortty smiled and passed over a printout. ‘Already done for you.’
‘Always one step ahead, aren’t you, Tan?’ Phillips eyes scanned down the long list of the chemicals on the sheet in her hands. ‘Looks like a job for Entwistle.’
‘Rather him than me,’ said Chakrabortty with a chuckle.
‘Was there anything else of note?’
‘She was almost certainly killed, and the body then moved to the final location. As you’d expect, we found mud on the back of the body where she was laid, but the cleaning agent was located on the skin, underneath the mud—’
‘Meaning she was cleaned, then dumped,’ Phillips cut in.
‘Precisely.’
Phillips ran the information over in her mind for a moment, then summarised the evidence she had so far. ‘So, by all accounts, Gillian Galloway meets her date for a drink in the Pig and Whistle in Altrincham at around 8 p.m. An hour later, witnesses see her leaving in the arms of her date, looking worse for wear. The reason being, we now know, was because her drink was likely spiked with rohypnol. Then, sometime within the next three hours, her killer strangles her, strips her naked, cleans her body, and then places it carefully in a cruciform position in Dunham Massey Park.’
‘We see some weird shit in this job, don’t we, Jane?’ said Chakrabortty.
‘Yeah, we really do.’
‘You know I normally leave the policing to you, but do you remember the Suffolk Strangler?’
‘It rings a bell,’ said Phillips.
Chakrabortty continued. ‘The guy’s name was Steve Wright. He killed five sex workers in Ipswich in 2008.’
‘Oh yeah, I remember now.’
‘Well, he used to clean his victims and leave them in the cruciform position. The similarity struck me.’
‘Wright’s still inside though, isn’t he?’ asked Phillips.
‘Oh, yeah. He got a whole life tariff, but the cruciform position reminded me of that case. So I googled it before you arrived. The similarities are evident for all to see.’
‘So, are you suggesting we have a copycat killer?’
Chakrabortty raised her hands in mock defence. ‘Like I say, Jane. I leave the detective work to you. All I’m saying is, there are definite similarities.’
Phillips exhaled loudly. ‘Jesus. That’s all I need – a bloody copycat killer.’
Chakrabortty offered a sympathetic smile.
‘So, is there anything else I need to know?’
‘That’s your lot. She’s all yours,’ said Chakrabortty.
‘Can you email me a copy of the report?’
‘Already done.’
‘Of course it is. What would I do without you?’ said Phillips, standing. ‘Right. Well, I’d better be getting back. I need to debrief Carter on all of this.’
‘Good luck,’ said Chakrabortty as she turned to face the laptop in front of her.
As Phillips reached the door to the office, she turned back to face Chakrabortty. ‘Tan?’
Chakrabortty looked up from the screen. ‘Yes?’
‘If Galloway was knocked out by the rohypnol when he strangled her, would she have known it was happening?’
‘I very much doubt it, Jane, but you can never know for sure in these cases.’
Phillips flashed a thin smile, then stepped out into the corridor. A few minutes later, she strode across the windswept car park towards her car, keen to get back to Ashton House to update the team.
12
Phillips used to dread being summoned to the fifth floor to see her old boss, Chief Superintendent Fox; a woman widely regarded around the headquarters of the Greater Manchester Police as a functioning sociopath. Famous for her unflinching ambition, as chief superintendent she had ruled the Major Crimes team with an iron fist for almost a decade before finally securing her dream of promotion to chief constable. Now she ruled the entire Manchester force with the same iron fist.
Fox had been replaced in MCU by Chief Superintendent Harry Carter, who couldn’t be more different. Suddenly, Phillips found that she quite looked forward to her visits to the fifth floor to talk to her new boss. His style and approach were polar opposites to the previous regime. Gone were the constant dressing downs, the ever-present condescending tone and the total lack of trust – all hallmarks of Fox’s reign – replaced by adult conversations with a down-to-earth copper who knew how to get the best out of Phillips and her team.
As Phillips entered the outer office, Carter’s assistant, Diana Cook, offered a warm smile. ‘Hello, Jane. How are you today?’
The welcome was a stark contrast to those previously dished out by Fox’s assistant, Ms Blair, and just a month or so into the new regime, it still caught Phillips off guard. Consequently, she often found herself offering up far more information than was necessary. ‘I’m good thanks, Di. A bit stressed about our caseload at the minute, but we’ll keep plugging away.’ Today was no different.
Cook stood. ‘The chief super won’t be a minute. He’s just finishing up a call. Can I get you a coffee while you wait?’
‘That would be lovely, thanks.’
Phillips watched on as Cook busied herself at the small coffee machine in the corner of the room. She was petite with dark, well-maintained hair, and smartly dressed with killer heels that seemed to go on forever. They were about the same age, but couldn’t have looked more different. As Phillips cast her eyes down to her dark boots and charcoal grey trousers, she suddenly felt very scruffy.
Cook handed her her coffee and walked elegantly back round to resume her position behind her desk, where she checked the large phone console in front of her. ‘He’s free now. You can go in.’
Phillips took a sip of coffee, then opened the door to Carter’s office and stepped inside.
Chief Superintendent Harry Carter cut a rugged figure, standing behind his desk in uniform with his back to her. He appeared to be gazing at a framed aerial photograph of St James’s Park stadium, home to his beloved Newcastle United. She knew from their conversations over the last few months that he had a season ticket and had been attending games since he was a young boy. Carter was tall, at well over six feet, with an athletic, muscular frame. He had recently turned fifty, but aside from the salt and pepper flecks in his dark, wavy hair, you could easily have mistaken him for closer to forty.
‘Do you miss it?’ asked Phillips.
He turned, and a smile flashed across his hands
ome, chiselled face. ‘What? St James’s?’ His voice was deep and rich, yet soft and unmistakably North East.
‘Actually, I was thinking more about Newcastle as a whole.’
He nodded. ‘I spent my entire career up there. To be honest, I never thought I’d leave.’
‘But the lure of chief superintendent was too strong?’
‘Something like that.’
Carter gestured for her to take a seat opposite his desk as he dropped into his own high-backed leather chair. ‘It’s Fran that’s having the harder time adjusting, being stuck at home with the twins all day in a new city. Twins are hard, but twin boys? They’re a nightmare at times. She keeps reminding me she’s only forty and constantly exhausted, and that if she’s not careful, the best years of her life will be behind her with nothing to show for them. And it doesn’t help that she’s also missing her mum and sisters, who she adores.’ Carter shook his head. ‘As you can imagine, it’s not much fun at home at the minute.’
‘No, I bet it’s not,’ said Phillips. ‘Hopefully things will settle down for you soon, sir.’
Carter leaned forward and linked his fingers on the desk. ‘Anyway, enough about my boring home life. How are you getting on with the care home poisoning?’
‘Still a work in progress, sir. No updates as yet.’
Carter nodded. ‘And how was the Galloway post mortem this morning?’
Life really had changed for the better since Carter had replaced Fox. He seemed constantly aware of everything that was happening in the unit, but still managed to stay far enough out of the way to allow Phillips and her team to get on with their jobs without interruption. He was supportive in a way she had rarely seen in over two decades of policing, and there was little doubt he cared about his people – just as much as getting results, maybe more.
‘The PM was as expected, really. Asphyxiation by strangulation. Chakrabortty reckons the killer used a man’s belt or something similar.’
Carter nodded along.
Phillips continued. ‘There were traces of rohypnol in her system, which could explain why the witnesses from the Pig and Whistle said she appeared to be drunk when she left after only a couple of drinks.’
‘Was she raped, then?’
‘No, she wasn’t.’
‘So why use the rohypnol?’ asked Carter.
‘Well, I guess to incapacitate her. Much easier to strangle someone if they can’t fight back.’
‘True.’
‘And Chakrabortty believes the body was cleaned before it was dumped. So no fingerprints or DNA.’
‘Damn it!’
Phillips smiled. ‘That’s exactly what I said.’
‘So, what do we have?’
‘The position of the body, sir. That appears significant.’
‘The cruciform?’
‘Yeah. When I first saw it, I thought it looked familiar but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Then Chakrabortty mentioned something today, and it came back to me. The position of the body matches the victims of the Suffolk Strangler.’
Carter recoiled slightly. ‘Steve Wright? But he’s still inside, isn’t he?’
‘Yeah. He is, but that doesn’t mean his crimes are.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Well, could we be looking at a copycat?’
Carter frowned. ‘It’s a bit early for that, isn’t it? It’s only one victim.’
‘Maybe, but it’s worth throwing it out there. As we know, all serial killer cases start with one victim, sir.’
They both said nothing for a moment as they considered the possibility someone might be copying murders that had been committed over twelve years ago.
Carter was first to speak. ‘How about CCTV? Anything from the pub or surrounding area?’
‘Nothing, and it’s potentially no accident that our killer picked the Pig and Whistle, for that very reason. The pub doesn’t have any cameras, and the building itself sits in a total blind spot to all council cameras. We have no idea who went into that pub with her, or who helped her out again.’
‘And what about the witnesses in the pub itself?’
Phillips shook her head. ‘They describe her date as a man wearing a wig and thick glasses who, and I quote, “looked like a Thunderbird”.’
Carter let out an ironic chuckle. ‘Hardly something that will excite our friends in CPS.’
‘Exactly.’
‘How about the flatmate? Anything new from her? Any threats or violent relationships?’
‘Nothing,’ Phillips sighed.
‘So, what’s our next move?’
Phillips took a gulp of coffee before speaking. ‘I’ve got the guys looking into Galloway’s background, see if we can dig up anything of significance from her past. They’re also going over the wider CCTV cameras across the town centre, plus ANPR. See if we can get a visual on her through any of those.’
‘Did anything come back on the guy who found her – Cooper wasn’t it?’
Phillips was impressed Carter remembered his name. ‘Nothing. Clean record and an alibi. He was at home with his wife.’
Carter locked eyes with Phillips. ‘Wives lie for their husbands, Jane.’
‘I know that, sir.’
Carter’s expression softened as he sat back in his chair. ‘Unless, of course, they happen to be my first wife—’ A wry smile spread across his face. ‘—who told nothing but lies about me to get custody of the kids and empty my bank account.’
Phillips chuckled. Carter’s references to his demonic ex-wife had littered many of his conversations with her and the team. Always said in jest, and with razor-sharp comic timing, he used them to break the ice or relieve the tension. But, a few times so far, she had caught a flicker of sadness flash in his eyes when he mentioned her.
Carter changed tack. ‘How about the Michael Yates poisoning? Any updates on that?’
‘A total dead end, I’m afraid. We’ve been through the care home, questioned everyone working that night as well as his doctors and support workers, but found nothing. He’d sold his house to pay for his care, no savings, no relatives, and his will leaves what little money he had left to charity.’
‘What about the doctor who treated him? Any chance of breaking her alibi?’
‘’fraid not, sir,’ said Phillips. ‘As much as I’d like to pin Yates’s murder on that stroppy cow, she was nowhere near the care home that night.’
Carter tapped his right index finger on the arm of his chair. ‘It’s a bloody mystery, isn’t it? Who would want to kill a sick old man like that?’
Phillips exhaled loudly. ‘Did I tell you he was my teacher at sixth form?’
Carter’s eyes widened as he sat forwards once more. ‘No, you definitely didn’t.’
‘Yeah, Mr Yates. He was a great guy. Really helped me when I needed some advice that wasn’t my mother’s. In fact, he’s one of the reasons I’m sat here today. He told me to follow my guts and do what I wanted with my life, and all I ever wanted was to be a copper. He helped me realise that dream.’
‘Well, if that’s the case, I have a lot to thank him for,’ said Carter warmly.
Phillips felt herself blush, and was keen to change the subject. ‘I’m hoping to go to the funeral in the next week or so. Would that be ok?’
‘Of course. Whatever you need.’
‘Thank you. My brother’s gonna come too. He was taught by Mr Yates as well.’ Phillips bit her bottom lip. ‘It’s funny, Mr Yates was such a massive influence on my life, and yet I never knew his first name until a few weeks ago.’
‘Are you ok with all this, Jane?’ Carter’s voice was laced with concern. ‘If it’s too close to home, I can give the Yates case to someone else, you know. Let you focus on Galloway.’
Phillips straightened in her chair. ‘I’m fine, sir. If anything, I owe it to him to find his killer. Otherwise all his help back then will have been for nothing.’
Carter scoffed. ‘Come on, Jane, that’s not fair. You’re one o
f the most successful detectives in the history of the GMP.’
Phillips nodded. ‘Yeah, well. You’re only as good as your last case, sir, so with that in mind, I’d better get back downstairs and see what the guys have come up with.’
‘She warned me about you, you know?’
Phillips felt herself recoil. ‘Sir?’
‘Fox. When I was offered the job, she told me how you operate. “Relentless” I think was the word she used,’ said Carter.
‘And is that a bad thing for a murder detective?’
Carter shook his head. ‘No, it’s not, Jane. But take it from someone who’s been there once and is in danger of making the same mistakes for a second time: make sure you make time for you and what’s important outside of Ashton House. Burning yourself out won’t help the victims or their families.’
Phillips nodded, but said nothing, the atmosphere suddenly awkward.
Carter glanced at his watch. ‘Ok, well, I need to prepare for my weekly update with Fox.’
‘How are you finding her?’
‘Relentless,’ he said, with a chuckle and a glint in his eye, which diffused the tension instantly.
A wry smile spread across Phillips’s face. ‘I have to say, I don’t miss reporting directly to her.’
‘No. I don’t imagine you do,’ said Carter.
Phillips stood. ‘Right, well, I’ll leave you to the joys of police politics,’ she said, then made her way to the door.
13
Back downstairs on the third floor, Phillips entered the MCU offices carrying a cardboard tray containing hot drinks for herself and each of her core team, Jones, Bovalino and Entwistle, who all appeared focused on their tasks as she approached. She laid the tray down and began handing out the cardboard cups.
‘How was Carter?’ asked Jones, as he accepted his usual peppermint tea.
‘Fine,’ said Phillips, then took a seat at the spare desk. ‘Keen to know how we’re getting on with the Galloway and Yates cases. Any updates for me?’
‘I’m going through the CCTV across the town centre, but so far nothing on Galloway,’ said Jones.
Bovalino took a tentative sip of his steaming black coffee, then turned his computer monitor to face Phillips and activated a video on the screen. ‘Me too. I’ve been looking at the footage the bus company sent over. Here we can see Galloway on the 245 bus heading into Altrincham just before 8 p.m. on the night she died.’ He pressed play on another video. ‘Ten minutes later, we see her walking across the bus terminal towards the Pig and Whistle, where she moves out of shot. That’s the last footage of her we’ve got, so far.’