by OMJ Ryan
‘How well did you know her?’ Phillips asked.
Holloway shrugged. ‘Not very well to be honest. Just someone to talk to over a fag, but I always thought she was lovely. Really lovely. Just a nice person with a big smile for someone doing such shitty work.’
Phillips continued. ‘Do you know if any of the other staff spent much time with her?’
‘I don’t. She was only in once a week, so I’m guessing not.’
‘Did you notice any of the male staff showing an interest in her on the nights she was working?’ said Jones.
Holloway scoffed. ‘What male staff? I’m the only bloke in here. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but there aren’t many blokes in the care home business.’
‘Where were you last Thursday night?’ Phillips cut in.
Holloway frowned. ‘What? You think I had something to do with it?’
‘Just trying to rule out anyone with an alibi,’ said Phillips. ‘Standard procedure. I’m sure you understand.’
Holloway folded his arms across his chest. ‘I play five-a-side with the lads on a Thursday, then we go for beers and a curry.’
Jones made a note in his pad. ‘And your mates will vouch for you, will they?’
‘Yeah,’ said Holloway, stony-faced.
Phillips didn’t respond, allowing an uncomfortable silence to linger. ‘Could I have that list of contractors back, please?’ she asked finally, with an outstretched hand.
Holloway obliged, but remained silent.
‘Thank you,’ said Phillips. ‘You’ve been very helpful. We’ll be in touch if we need to speak to you further.’
‘What about?’
‘Just whatever comes up, Mr Holloway,’ said Phillips, as Jones made for the door.
Back in the car, they debriefed. ‘Do you think he’s telling the truth, Guv?’ Jones asked.
‘He seemed genuine enough, and appeared shocked when he found out she was dead—’
‘But?’
‘But there’s something about him I don’t like. I don’t know what it is, but I get a sense he’s hiding something,’ said Phillips.
‘I know what you mean. I thought that too.’
Phillips pulled up Entwistle’s number on the in-car system and dialled.
‘Guv?’ he said, answering after a few rings.
‘It looks like our Moston victim, Wiktoria Szymańska, was a cleaner at the Cedar Pines Care Home, where Michael Yates was poisoned—’
‘No way!’
‘Yes way. Not only that, but she was also working the night he was killed.’
‘Do you think the deaths are connected?’ asked Entwistle.
‘Potentially. It’s too much of a coincidence otherwise, so I want you to look into historical cases involving serial killers who used poison, specifically strychnine.’
‘Ok, Guv.’
‘And tell Bovalino I want a full background check on Mark Holloway, who works as a caretaker at Cedar Pines.’
Entwistle scribbled on a pad at the other end. ‘Will do.’
‘We’re heading back to base now, so I want that info as quick as you can, ok?’
‘Consider it done, boss.’
With that, Phillips rang off. ‘Is it too early for a drink?’ she asked.
‘Well, it’s five o’clock somewhere,’ chuckled Jones.
Phillips chortled. ‘I wish it was bloody five o’clock here.’
Jones started the engine. ‘Come on, Guv. Let’s get back. I’ll treat you to a coffee from the canteen instead.’
‘You spoil me, you do,’ said Phillips sarcastically.
‘I do my best.’ Jones slipped the car into reverse and pulled out of the parking spot. After slowing nudging forward and out into the mid-morning traffic, he gunned the engine and set off back to Ashton House.
28
‘So, what have you found?’ said Phillips, as Jones passed round hot drinks for the team.
Bovalino jumped in first. ‘I’ve run a quick background on Holloway and he’s got form.’
‘Really? What for?’ Phillips took a mouthful of coffee.
‘ABH, back in 1991 when he was a teenager. Seems he was a member of the Red Army, Man. United’s hooligan firm. He and a load of his mates beat up a bunch of locals in Leeds after a game. He did six months of a twelve-month sentence in Armley. Nothing else since then.’
‘How long’s he been working at Cedar Pines?’ asked Phillips.
‘About five years. Prior to that, he was a hospital porter for ten years at Wythenshawe Hospital.’
‘Is he married?’ Jones asked.
‘Yeah. For the third time, and he’s got four kids. One with his current wife, who’s quite a bit younger than him, one with the previous, and two with the first Mrs Holloway.’
‘Any known associates?’ said Phillips.
‘Nothing on file, and looking at his social media, he doesn’t appear to have many mates outside of the five-a-side team – the Red Devils.’ Bovalino handed over a printout of various Facebook photos of Holloway. ‘It’s just pictures of him and the football team.’
Phillips examined the photos for a long moment before looking back up. ‘I don’t know what it is about this guy, but something doesn’t sit right.’
‘Well, as far as I can see, Guv, so far, so clean,’ said Bov.
Phillips passed the printout back. ‘Ok, well, let’s not discount him just yet. See what else you can find.’
Bovalino nodded.
Phillips turned her attention to Entwistle. ‘How you getting on with the historical poisonings?’
‘Have you ever heard of Graham Young?’
‘Can’t say I have,’ said Phillips.
‘He was nicknamed The Teacup Poisoner, and is probably the most recent British serial killer to use strychnine, back in the sixties and seventies. After that, forensics got more sophisticated, so it was easier to trace. He ended up in Broadmoor Hospital in 1962 after poisoning several members of his family and killing his stepmother when he was just fifteen. He was released in 1971 and, believe it or not, got a job working as quartermaster at John Hadland Laboratories, where he was given complete access to a whole host of chemicals each day. He went on to poison seven more people at work, killing two. He was eventually caught and sent to Parkhurst Prison, where he died of a heart attack in 1990.’
‘Sounds like a total nut-job,’ said Jones.
Entwistle produced an A4 back and white printout and held it up for everyone to see. ‘Look familiar?’
Phillips stared at the image of a contorted, twisted dead body on the page.
‘It’s exactly the same as Michael Yates’s body.’
‘Young’s first victim, his step-mother,’ said Entwistle. ‘This was taken at the crime scene.’
‘Oh, shit,’ said Phillips, dropping her head into her hands.
‘Looks like copycat number four,’ said Entwistle.
Phillips took a moment before looking up again. ‘Jesus. How come we get all the easy cases, hey?’
‘How on earth are an elderly ex-teacher, a nurse, a runaway gay teenager, and a Polish cleaner all connected?’ asked Jones. ‘It just doesn’t make sense.’
Phillips sighed heavily. ‘Bov, you said Mark Holloway was a porter at Wythenshawe Hospital before Cedar Pines?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Gillian Galloway was a nurse there,’ Phillips said. ‘Maybe that’s a connection?’
‘Plus Wiktoria’s husband, Petr, works there, too,’ added Jones.
Phillips continued. ‘And Wiktoria is connected to Michael Yates through Cedar Pines.’
‘So where does Sean Hamilton fit into all this?’ asked Entwistle.
‘He used the same doctors’ surgery as Yates,’ said Jones.
‘But not the same doctor,’ Phillips added.
The team fell silent for a moment as they considered the latest information.
‘We’re onto something here, I can feel it,’ said Phillips, ‘Exactly what, though, I’m n
ot sure.’ Phillips pulled out her phone and called Chakrabortty.
‘Hello, Jane. You’ve just caught me. I was about to start my next PM.’
‘It’s just a quick one.’
‘Ok.’
‘Could Michael Yates have been poisoned with strychnine over a period of time? Days, or weeks, even.’
‘No, not with strychnine. It’s way too corrosive. Even the smallest amount would have a serious impact within a few hours.’
‘Right. So it had to have been administered the night he died?’
‘Absolutely, and most likely within two to three hours of the time of death.’
Phillips took a moment to think. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got anything back on the DNA found on Szymańska, have you?’
‘Not yet, but I’m expecting the results back within the next twenty-four hours.’
‘Let me know as soon as you get them, won’t you?’
‘Of course.’ There was a pause on the line. ‘Is that it, Jane?’
‘For now, yeah. Thanks, Tan,’ said Phillips, and ended the call. ‘Chakrabortty reckons Yates was given a single dose of strychnine, just a few hours before he died. His killer had to be someone who knew what it would do and had access to his room around the time he died.’
‘We know Wiktoria Szymańska was working at Cedar Pines that night. Could she have administered the poison?’ asked Jones.
Phillips felt her face wrinkle. ‘Maybe, but why? Aside from shoplifting in her teens, her record is clean, and everyone who knew her liked her. I just don’t see her suddenly turning into Harold Shipman all of a sudden.’
‘Maybe she saw the killer do it, and that’s why she was targeted?’ suggested Entwistle.
‘That’s plausible,’ Jones said.
Phillips tapped her pen against her teeth. ‘So the big question is, who had access to Yates’s room that night?’
‘Dr Goodwin?’ said Bovalino.
Jones shook his head. ‘Cast-iron alibi, Bov. She was on stage in front of a hundred or more doctors, with time-stamped video of the event to prove it.’
‘The caretaker, Holloway?’ said Entwistle.
‘He certainly would have access, but why would he want to kill a dying man in care?’ mused Phillips.
At that moment, the door to MCU opened. Phillips and the team turned to see Chief Superintendent Carter striding towards Phillip’s office’s, a rolled-up newspaper in his right hand. ‘Can I have a word, Jane?’ he said, before stepping inside.
‘Of course, sir,’ Phillips got up from her chair, followed him in and closed the door, They both remained standing. ‘Everything all right, sir?’
‘Have you seen this?’ He handed her the newspaper. ‘They’ve got wind of the body on the building site.’
Phillips scanned the story for a moment. ‘It’s to be expected. They did a small piece on Galloway’s body being found at Dunham Massey, but somehow missed Hamilton on the fire. At least they’ve not connected the murders, sir.’
‘Maybe not, but if he keeps going, it’s only a matter of time.’
‘I doubt it, sir. Each of the victims died in a totally different way, and without the kind of information we’re getting from forensics and pathology, it’d take one hell of an eagle eye to make the connection.’
‘Even so, this many murders in such a short space of time does not look good, Jane,’ said Carter firmly.
‘I understand, sir, and I can promise you, we’re working flat out to get a breakthrough.’
Carter seemed to soften slightly. ‘How did you get on at the care home this morning? Anything on the building site victim?’
Phillips had debriefed him on her way home the previous evening. ‘We can’t say for sure, but we suspect our killer may have also poisoned Michael Yates at Cedar Pines.’
‘You’re kidding?’
‘I wish I was. His case is very reminiscent of Graham Young in the sixties and seventies, aka The Teacup Poisoner, who was jailed for three murders over a ten-year period. In fact, Yates’s distorted body looks identical to that of Young’s first victim, his stepmother.’.’
The colour seemed to drain from Carter’s face. ‘The press can’t get hold of this. Fox will go mental.’
Phillips knew only too well how the rising body count, and the possibility of a copycat serial killer, would be received by the chief constable, who only ever wanted good news.
‘We have to stop this guy, Jane. Right now!’ said Carter, his soft Geordie tone replaced by almost primal panic.
‘We’re working on it, sir, I promise you, but from what we can see, there’s no discernible pattern. We should have DNA from the bite mark on Szymańska in the next twenty-four hours, which will hopefully give us a name.’
Carter remained quiet for a moment, apparently deep in thought. ‘Have you ever used psychological profiling?’
‘Not really. DCI Brown claimed to be an expert in it, but the only profiling I ever saw him do was looking at himself in the mirror.’ Phillips allowed herself a chuckle.
The joke seemed to be lost on Carter. Either that, or he wasn’t listening. ‘I used a profiler a few times in Newcastle and it really helped. I’d like to bring one into MCU to help us figure out what we’re up against.’
‘Sure,’ said Phillips. ‘Anyone I know?’
‘I doubt it. She only practices in the North East. Her name’s Dr Siobhan Harris. She can start straight away.’
‘You’ve already spoken to her?’
‘Yes, about ten minutes ago.’
Phillips was taken aback. Bringing in outsiders without consulting her was the kind of stunt Fox would pull, not Carter. She had been sure he trusted her – until now.
‘Is that ok with you?’
Phillips adopted her best poker face. ‘Yes. Of course, sir.’
‘Good. She’ll be here at ten, Monday morning,’ said Carter, then left the room.
With her back to the team, Phillips moved across to the window and stared down at the car park as she bit her top lip. Her head awash with theories, her gut twisted with fear of what the killer might do next. But most of all, she was thoroughly pissed off at being undermined by Carter. She knew bringing in a profiler was probably a good idea, and she welcomed all the help she could get, but it was her investigation, her team out there on the ground doing the grunt work, and her job to catch this guy. Which was exactly what she was going to do. Turning on her heels, she headed back out to the team. The stakes had just got higher.
29
Monday, March 8th
Phillips had been at her desk for almost three hours by the time Carter led Dr Harris into MCU and made a beeline for her office. The door was open, so they walked straight in.
‘Jane, this is Dr Harris.’
Petite and strikingly beautiful, Harris had thick brown hair and sparkling green eyes, and was smartly dressed in a pencil skirt, white blouse and killer heels. She smiled and offered her hand, which Phillips shook firmly. ‘Please, call me Siobhan. It’s good to meet you.’ Her voice was soft and refined, with just a hint of a Newcastle accent. ‘I’ve heard so much about you from Harry.’
Harry? thought Phillips. All very cosy.
Carter, slightly uncomfortable for the first time since Phillips had started working with him, resembled a bashful teenager. ‘Shall we meet the team,’ he mumbled awkwardly.
‘Sure. Come through.’ Phillips stepped out from behind her desk and led them out into the incident room.
‘Guys, I’d like you to meet Dr Harris. She’s the profiler I mentioned to you last night.’
A chorus of ‘hello’s followed.
‘Please, call me Siobhan, or Doc if you prefer.’
Phillips continued with the introductions, gesturing to Jones. ‘This is my 2IC, DS Jones. The man-mountain in the corner is DC Bovalino—’
‘Wow, that’s an unusual name,’ said Harris.
Bov smiled widely. ‘Yeah, Doc, it’s Italian.’
‘No shit, Sherlock!’ chuckled
Jones, drawing laughter from the room.
Bovalino flicked the Vs, pretending to be offended, then chuckled. ‘Bloody Cockney.’
‘And this, here…’ She placed her hand on his shoulder. ‘…is our research and tech expert, DC Entwistle.’
‘He’s Irish-Caribbean, aren’t you mate?’ teased Bovalino.
It was Entwistle’s turn to laugh and flick the Vs.
‘I’ve allocated you the spare desk here with the guys, but if it’s too noisy, I can organise an office farther down the corridor,’ said Phillips.
‘This will be fine,’ said Harris, setting her large leather bag down on the desk.
Carter clapped his hands together. ‘Right, well, I’ll leave you guys to get acquainted. I have a meeting with the chief constable.’
‘Give her our love, sir,’ joked Bovalino.
Carter smiled politely before leaving the room.
‘Shall we get started?’ asked Harris.
Phillips forced a smile. ‘Absolutely.’
‘Great. Chief Superintendent Carter tells me you believe each of your current murders is a copycat of a historical case.’
‘That’s correct,’ said Phillips, wondering what else Carter had shared with the doctor as she handed over a copy of her dossier.
Harris flicked through the pages slowly, the team watching on. She nodded. ‘Impressive, very detailed work indeed. I know time is of the essence in this case, so why don’t you guys bring me up to speed on the similarities between the old cases and the current murders.’
Phillips nodded. ‘It makes sense to run through them in chronological order.’ She turned to Entwistle. ‘If we assume for now that Michael Yates was the first victim, then why don’t you start with him?’
Harris took a seat.
Entwistle opened his file at the relevant section. ‘The method of Yates’s murder – the use of strychnine – is a dead-ringer for the first committed in 1962 by Graham Young, aka The Teacup Poisoner. He was convicted of murdering his stepmother the same year, and was committed to Broadmoor Mental Hospital. The judge ruled that he should serve a minimum of fifteen years, but he was released after just eight.’