by OMJ Ryan
‘A murdering couple, maybe?’ ventured Bovalino.
‘Maybe, Bov. Maybe. It would certainly explain how the body was carried a hundred yards across the building site.’
At that moment, Phillips’s phone began to ring in her trouser pocket. She pulled it out. Chakrabortty. ‘Tan?’ she said, and walked towards her office.
‘Hi, Jane. I’m working on the building site body PM. One of the guys has found a match on her fingerprints. I know this is urgent, so I wanted you to know immediately.’
‘Who is she?’
‘Her name’s Wiktoria Szymańska. She’s a Polish national.’
‘How are you spelling that?’
Chakrabortty dictated the letters.
‘Do you know why she’s on the system?’ asked Phillips, when she was finished writing it down.
‘A theft of some kind. I didn’t ask my assistant the details, just the name.’
‘I really appreciate this, Tan. It’s a massive help.’
‘Look, I’ll be finished in a couple of hours, so I can give you the full picture then, but what I can tell you so far is that she was hit with considerable force to the back of the head with a lump of breeze block, and that the killer left some DNA on the bite mark. We’re testing it as a priority.’
A ripple of excitement surged through Phillips’s body. If the killer was in the system, they’d have him. ‘Thank you, Tan. When will you have the results?’
‘Twenty-four to forty-eight hours. I’ve explained how urgent it is,’ said Chakrabortty. ‘We’re also taking a cast of the bite marks. That should help in identifying the killer, too.’
‘Amazing,’ said Phillips.
‘I’d better go.’
‘Yeah, of course. Speak to you later.’
After the call ended, Phillips took a moment, daring to hope they would soon have a DNA profile and maybe even the name of the killer. Re-energised, she strode back to the team, unable to hide the wide grin on her face as she approached. ‘The building site victim’s real name is Wiktoria Szymańska, a Polish national already in the system.’
Jones’s eyes widened. ‘Wow, that was fast.’
‘That’s why it pays to be nice to the chief pathologist,’ Phillips handed her spelling of Szymańska to Entwistle. ‘Can you pull up her details?’
Entwistle carefully typed the name into his laptop.
Phillips continued. ‘And even better, the killer left behind their DNA on the bite mark and enough of an imprint to get a cast from their teeth. We should have the results in the next couple of days.’
Bovalino clapped his hands together. ‘Result!’
Just then, Jones’s desk phone rang. ‘DS Jones,’ he said, picking up the receiver. Then, ‘Hello Andy.’ He listened intently for about a minute before speaking again. ‘So it’s a definite match?’
Phillips and the rest of the team watched him expectantly until he finished the call and replaced the receiver.
‘That was Evans. We have a match on the van tyres from the previous two murders,’ he said triumphantly.
‘Get in!’ shouted Bovalino.
For Phillips, the relief was palpable. ‘And he’s sure?’
‘One hundred per cent, Guv. It’s the same vehicle.’
‘Which means it looks like the same killer,’ said Phillips.
‘Or killers,’ Jones countered.
Entwistle cut in. ‘I’ve found Szymańska.’
Phillips moved to his shoulder.
‘Wiktoria Szymańska. Arrested in 2015 for shoplifting. She was given a fine and community service. Her address is 39 Haverley Way, Benchill. Says here she was reported missing by her husband, Petr Szymański, on Friday.’
Staring at the mugshot on the screen brought home the urgency of the case. It was easy to see the victims as simply bodies after death, but this was a young girl, couldn’t have been much more than a teenager at the time, smiling at the camera. If they didn’t catch her killer soon, they would almost certainly strike again. ‘Jones. Come with me. Let’s go and break the news to her husband,’ said Phillips.
‘Ok, Guv.’
She turned to Bovalino and Entwistle. ‘You two, find out whatever you can about Wiktoria Szymańska. Family, friends, ex-boyfriends, girlfriends, work, bank accounts, social media posts, the lot.’
Both men nodded as Jones stood and pulled his coat from the back of his chair.
‘You’re driving,’ said Phillips, throwing him the car keys, which he caught expertly in one hand. ‘Come on, there’s no time to waste.’
26
Petr Szymański's eyes were red and puffy as he answered the door an hour later. He couldn’t have been more than thirty years old, but seemed almost twice his age, his face ravaged by fear.
Phillips spoke softly. ‘Mr Szymański?'
He nodded.
‘DCI Phillips and DS Jones,’ she said, presenting her credentials.
‘Is it about Wiktoria? Have you found her?’ His voice trembled. The accent was Polish, the English perfect.
‘May we come in? It’ll be better if we talk inside,’ said Phillips.
Terror oozed from Szymański's tear-stained eyes. Leaving the door open behind him, he turned and made his way into the small lounge and took a seat on the edge of an armchair.
Phillips and Jones had been in this position so many times she had lost count, but it still didn’t make it any easier as they took seats opposite him. From experience, she knew the best thing to do was to get to the point quickly. ‘I’m sorry to tell you this, Mr Szymański, but your wife has passed away.’
Like so many before, Petr Szymański appeared to crumble in front of them as the news he had been dreading for days was delivered. Dropping his head into his hands, he began to wail like a small child overwhelmed by distress.
Phillips and Jones’s eyes met. Neither of them wanted to be here right now, but they had a job to do. A job that could potentially save more families from having to go through such an horrific ordeal.
Szymański lifted his head eventually. ‘How did she die?’
‘I’m afraid she was murdered,’ said Phillips as gently as she could.
Szymański's bloodshot eyes bulged. ‘Murdered? Why would someone want to kill Wiktoria?’
‘We don’t know, at this stage.’
‘Where did it happen?’
Phillips released a long, silent breath. ‘It’s still early days in the investigation, but her body was found on a building site in Moston.’
‘Moston? What was she doing in Moston?’ asked Szymański.
‘We were hoping you might be able to tell us,’ Phillips replied.
‘She’s never even been to Moston. It’s on the other side of the city. There is nothing there for her.’
Despite Szymański's obvious distress, Phillips pressed on. ‘When did you last see your wife?’
‘Thursday morning, when I left for work. She was in bed.’
‘And what time was that?’
‘Around 7 a.m.’
‘And where do you work?’ Phillips asked.
‘Wythenshawe Hospital. Most people round here work there.’
‘You last saw your wife on Thursday morning, but only reported her missing on Friday. Why did you wait so long?’
‘Because she was working late Thursday night and I went to bed before she was due home. I woke up Friday morning and she wasn’t there. I tried ringing her, but her phone was going to voicemail. I called the police straight away.’
‘Could you talk us through what you did on Thursday night?
‘I came home from work just after five. Cooked dinner, watched TV, then went to bed about eleven.’
Jones scribbled the details in his pad.
‘Did you see or speak to anyone that night?’ asked Phillips.
‘No. Nobody.’
‘What did your wife do for work?’ Jones cut in.
‘She was a cleaner,’ Szymański nodded.
‘Business, or private?’
&
nbsp; ‘Business. Always business, through an agency. They’re local, called A1 Domestics.’
Jones made a note in his pad. ‘And what types of businesses did she clean?’
‘Sometimes offices, but care homes, mainly. No one wants to clean up old people’s piss and shit, so she always had lots of work.’
Phillips’s interest was piqued. Fishing her notepad from her pocket, she flicked through the pages until she found what she was looking for. ‘Did Wiktoria ever clean at the Cedar Pines Residential Care Home in Longsight?’
Szymański said nothing for a long moment, appearing deep in thought. ‘Maybe,’ he said eventually. ‘She did have work in Longsight from time to time. Her boss Stefan will know. The office is just round the corner, on the main road.’
Phillips chose her words carefully now. ‘Mr Szymański, your wife was convicted of shoplifting in 2015…’
Szymański nodded. ‘She made a mistake. She was young and broke.’
‘…did she have any other brushes with the law?’
‘No. Never.’
‘And you’re sure of that?’
‘Positive.’
Phillips changed tack. ‘Did she mention anybody new in her life, recently?’
Szymański's eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Anyone at work who she talked about? Any unwanted attention from a man, perhaps?’
‘Do you mean was she having an affair?’ snarled Szymański.
Phillips shook her head gently. ‘No. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m thinking more of anyone who might have shown an interest that she could have rebuked, potentially upset.’
‘Wiktoria worked alone most nights, and Stefan only hires women. He says men are too lazy to do cleaning.’
‘I see,’ said Phillips. ‘And how was your relationship with your wife?’
‘I loved my wife, very much.’
‘I don’t doubt that, but did you perhaps have any serious problems or arguments, lately?’
‘No. We never argued. We loved each other.’ Szymański began to sob again.
Phillips glanced at Jones. His expression matched the feeling in her gut; Szymański was unlikely to be involved. He needed time to process what had happened, and they’d already pushed a grieving husband hard enough.
Szymański swallowed hard as he averted his eyes.
‘Do you have any family, or friends, who can come and stay for a few days?’ asked Phillips.
‘My brother, Maric. He lives close by.’
‘That’s good,’ said Phillips. ‘We’ll arrange for a family liaison officer to come and see you too. They’ll be able to support you through the investigation.’
Szymański didn’t respond as he stared into the distance.
Phillips stood, and Jones followed suit. ‘We’re very sorry, Mr Szymański. We really are,’ she said, then made her way to the front door, along with Jones.
‘Will you catch this man?’ Szymański shouted after her.
Phillips turned and held his gaze. ‘We’ll do everything we can. I promise you that, Mr Szymański.’
Szymański nodded, then turned away as Phillips and Jones stepped outside.
After a quick Google search, Phillips and Jones located the offices of A1 Domestic Cleaners, just a five-minute walk from the Szymański family home. Frustratingly, the office was closed for the night.
‘Call them first thing,’ said Phillips as they walked back to the car. ‘I’ve got a horrible feeling Wiktoria was a cleaner at Cedar Pines, and if she was, her death could well be connected to Michael Yates’s. That’s four murders in just over a week.’
‘Jesus, Guv. What have we stumbled into?’
‘I dunno, Jonesy, I really don’t. But we need to get a handle on these cases ASAP, or more people are gonna die.’
Jones nodded sagely as he deactivated the central locking on the car, causing the lights to flash.
Phillips opened the passenger door. ‘Can you drop me off at home?’
‘Sure,’ said Jones.
‘And I need you to pick me up in the morning at 8. It’s time to take another look at Cedar Pines.’
‘No problem,’ replied Jones. He opened the driver’s door and jumped in.
27
Friday, March 5th
The following morning, despite Jones arriving on time to pick up Phillips at 8, they arrived at Cedar Pines just after 9 a.m. thanks to a glut of rush hour traffic. Before heading inside, Phillips called Stefan at A1 Domestics, who – after taking a moment to process the fact that Wiktoria was dead –confirmed she had indeed worked at Cedar Pines one evening each week. Usually a Wednesday – including the 3rd of February, the night Michael Yates had been poisoned. Armed with this information, they had made their way inside and requested a list of contractors the care home employed from Dianna Kirby.
Kirby retook her seat behind her desk and handed the list of names across. ‘That’s everyone we have on the books at the minute.’
Phillips cast her eyes down the page in silence.
‘Is this about Michael Yates’s death?’ asked Kirby.
‘In a way, yes,’ said Phillips, without looking up.
‘Do you know how he died, yet?’
‘Poisoned,’ said Jones, flatly.
Kirby’s jaw dropped. ‘Poisoned? What with? How?’
‘I’m afraid we can’t tell you that,’ said Jones.
Phillips returned her gaze to Kirby. ‘Do you know if any of the contractors drive a Ford transit van?’
Kirby let out a nervous chuckle. ‘I’m afraid I don’t. I’m hopeless with cars. I could just about tell you the colour of my own, but not much else.’
‘Ok, how about a dark green or blue van? Any of them use one of those?’
Kirby’s brow wrinkled for a moment. ‘I don’t think so, but then I don’t get out to the delivery area much. I’m either in here or out there.’ She pointed behind their heads towards the residents’ rooms. ‘Your best bet is to speak to Mark Holloway, our caretaker. He looks after deliveries and services, etc.’
Phillips pulled her phone from her pocket and opened up a photo of Wiktoria, taken from her Facebook profile. She presented it to Kirby. ‘Do you recognise this woman?’
Kirby nodded. ‘That’s Tori, she’s one of the cleaners here. Nice girl.’
‘We understand she worked for you on a Wednesday evening each week.’
‘That’s right, yes.’
‘Did she have access to the residents’ private rooms?’
‘Of course. That’s where most of the cleaning gets done. Why do you ask?’
‘I’m afraid she’s dead, Miss Kirby.’
Kirby was incredulous. ‘Dead?’
‘Yes.’
‘How?’
‘We believe she was murdered,’ said Phillips.
‘Oh my God. When?’
‘Last Thursday.’
Kirby shook her head. ‘I can’t believe it. I only saw her last week.’
Phillips pressed on. ‘We’ve spoken to her boss and he confirmed she was working on the 3rd of February – the night Michael Yates died. Do you recall seeing her in his room at all?’
‘Er, no, but then I usually leave about 6.30, and her shift ran until 10. You don’t think she had anything to do with Mr Yates’s death, do you?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out,’ said Jones.
‘Do you know if Wiktoria was close to any of the men working here?’ asked Phillips.
‘I know she was a smoker and a sociable girl. I can imagine she would chat to whoever was outside when she went for a cigarette, but I couldn’t say one way or another whether she was particularly close to anyone. Like I say, I only ever saw her in passing each week.’
Phillips nodded. ‘You mentioned the caretaker, Mark Holloway. Is he in this morning?’
‘Yes, he started at 7.’ She checked her watch. ‘He’s probably on his break in his room out back. I’ll take you over there.’
A few minutes la
ter, Kirby knocked on the open door marked Caretaker and stood in the doorway. ‘Mark, the police would like to talk to you.’
Holloway was sitting in a battered old armchair inside what appeared to be a large cupboard. He looked up from his morning paper, a steaming mug in his right hand. He seemed non-plussed at having his break interrupted. He had close-cropped ginger hair and wore a grey hoodie and black workwear trousers. Phillips put him in his forties.
‘Well. I’ll leave you to it,’ said Kirby, before hurrying away.
Phillips stepped inside the small room. ‘Mr Holloway. I’m DCI Phillips and this is DS Jones from the Major Crimes Unit.’
Holloway, remaining seated, put down his drink and folded his newspaper. ‘What can I do for you?’
Phillips handed him the list of contractors. ‘Do you know if any of your suppliers use a dark green, or perhaps blue, Ford transit van?’
Holloway glanced at the names for a moment, then shook his head. ‘Not that I recall.’
Jones pulled up an image of an old Mark II transit on his phone and passed it across. ‘It would look like this.’
Holloway examined the image. ‘Doesn’t look familiar, but then we get a lot of vans in and out of here. That said, most of our guys are bringing in sterile or specialist kit, and that looks a bit old to be handling stuff like that.’
‘I see,’ Phillips presented the photo of Wiktoria. ‘Do you recognise her?’
‘Of course. That’s Tori, one of our cleaners.’
‘When did you last see her?’ asked Jones.
‘Why? Has she done something wrong?’
‘No.’
‘Well, why do you want to know?’
‘Because she’s dead.’ Phillips studied Holloway’s face to gauge his reaction.
His eyes widened and he said nothing for a long moment. ‘How?’
‘We think she was murdered last Thursday night. I’m afraid we can’t tell you any more than that,’ said Phillips.
‘The poor thing,’ Holloway mumbled. ‘Her husband will be devastated.’
‘Do you know him?’ asked Jones.
‘No, no. But she talked about him a lot. Childhood sweethearts, apparently.’