‘Louise? My god, I can't believe it's you! I’m Elizabeth Lane. We went to school together for a couple of years at Northborough High.’
The woman extended her hand and Louise took it, initially confused, until memories of her school days floated back into her consciousness.
‘Busy Lizzy? Oh my god!’ Louise smiled warmly as she remembered her old school colleague from all those years ago. ‘What on earth are you doing here? How long has it been?’
They shook hands firmly and Elizabeth motioned with her hand to the police station.
‘Well believe it or not, I now work here. I’m a detective. Been a police officer for eight years now.’
‘No! Seriously? Busy Lizzy has been busy, hey? Who would have thought?’
‘I know it's crazy isn't it! What about you? What brings you here? I didn't even know you were in London? It's been over 15 years since we spoke.’
‘15 years. Time sure flies, huh? Unfortunately, I wasn't here by choice, I was an unwitting guest,’ Louise replied.
‘Ah, I see.’
The women then heard someone shouting for Elizabeth. Tony Jessop was standing outside the police station, holding the door open with his foot.
‘Elizabeth, phone call. Sounds important. It's the council,’ he shouted.
‘Oh great! I'll be right there!’ Elizabeth shouted back at him.
She turned to Louise: ‘Look, I would love to catch up with you. I’ll be honest, I saw you coming out of the interview room earlier, so I kind of guessed you weren’t here by choice. You don't look that different. Give me a call later, ok, and we'll arrange a get together, if you fancy it?’
Elizabeth reached into her suit pocket and produced a shiny business card with her details.
‘Well, I just might do that. Detective,’ Louise took the card and shook her head. ‘This is surreal.’
Elizabeth frowned not knowing what Louise meant.
‘I have to run. Call me ok?’ and with that Elizabeth turned on her heal and jogged back towards Tony, who was still holding the door open. Louise watched until Elizabeth and Tony disappeared from sight.
Biztalk going down the pan, hallucinations, being arrested and now a blast from the past. What ever next?
Chapter XXIV
Elizabeth thanked the caller on the end of the phone and hung up, smiling widely.
‘Well, my list is almost complete. That was the last borough council to respond to my request. Just got to add the details to my spreadsheet and I'll have a list of all the names of white females that were put into care after experiencing sexual abuse in London and whose date of birth would now make them anywhere between twenty five and thirty five,’ she said to Tony, who was busy scanning witness statements relating to the killings, reviewing evidence, looking for clues that may have been missed.
‘You're putting a lot of faith into a lot of assumptions Elizabeth. I'm pleased you've got all your information but I am not convinced anything will stand out from it. I mean we don't even know the age of the killer, or that she was put in care, sexually abused or that she lived or lives in London.’
‘Yeah I know, but it's one hypothesis of many. Apparently most serial killers begin honing their skills in their mid to late twenties so based on that and the fact that our killer now has two bodies to her name, I’m going to assume she is somewhere in that age bracket. Some assumptions can be deduced from the logical application of psychological probabilities Tone,’ Elizabeth retorted.
‘Just don't pin all your hopes on it, is all I'm saying.’
‘Well thank you for the advice, and don’t worry I won’t. It’s just an idea. I know it may well come to nothing, but it’s something to explore and, by keeping myself busy, I keep out of mischief.’
‘Hmmm, indeed.’ Tony looked up from the papers scattered across his desk. ‘Who was that woman you were talking to earlier?’ he asked.
‘The one outside?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Oh just someone I knew at school. We used to hang out, smoke cigarettes and make fun of the boys. She was only at my school for a couple of years, but we had a lot of fun during that time. Weird actually as we didn't know each other that well in reality but we just ended up larking around together. I haven't seen her in over 15years. The last time I saw her she was 15 or 16 I think.’
‘She was hot.’
‘Yeah, she always was popular with the boys.’
‘You seeing her again are you?’ Tony probed.
‘What's it to you? She could be married for all you know and have a litter of sprogs’
‘Is she and does she?’
‘How should I know?’
‘You'll let me know when you find out won't you?’
‘Jesus Tony, what am I? Your pimp or something?’
‘Just a little friendly favour Elizabeth, that’s all I’m asking,’ Tony winked at her.
‘God I hate it when you do that.’
‘What?’
‘Try and use your charm and good looks on me. I’m impervious you know?’
‘No you’re not, you love it. Go on, just one little favour. You never know, she could be the woman for me.’
‘And there I was thinking that was me. Hmmm… well, if she calls, I'll see what I can find out for you. But, just don't pin all your hopes on it, is all I'm saying,’ Elizabeth replied smugly.
‘Touché Ms Lane.’ The pair laughed and continued laughing as the office door swung open and Greg came sauntering in, followed closely by an officer neither recognised.
‘This is Elizabeth and Tony,’ Greg began, the officers all extended hands and exchanged formalities. ‘And this is Ian. He's come over from the covert unit at headquarters to assist us with the online investigation. I'm just showing him around and filling him in on the investigation thus far,’ Greg said by way of introduction.
Detective Constable Ian Burell was a tall, imposing man in his late 40s. He had peppered grey hair that was cut close to his scalp and this coupled with the cut of his suit rendered him the epitome of distinguished. His eyes were dark and intelligent, his hand shake firm and strong. Elizabeth liked him instantly. He seemed solid and reliable. Tony disliked him immediately. He seemed smug and arrogant.
In Tony’s experience, a lot of officers that worked out of the force headquarters building, especially those involved with the covert side of policing, had over-inflated opinions of themselves, the fact that they frequently brushed shoulders with high-ranking officers in the corridors of power seemingly pandering to their sense of self-importance.
This coupled with the Force’s biased budgetary spending for projects initiated by those working at headquarters, as if somehow working in that building somehow guaranteed that all their proposed projects were marks of genius, served to really get up Tony’s nose.
‘So, this is where the investigation is being run?’ Ian remarked conversationally, his eyes taking in the strewn papers and glowing computer screens.
‘Yes, we set this office up as the incident room. It’s the only one in the building fit for purpose to be honest,’ Tony replied. ‘We don’t have the same luxuries as you guys over at headquarters. There’s a lot less funding over here.’
Elizabeth looked at Tony, surprised at his brusqueness.
‘I think you’ll find that’s the same everywhere. There’s never enough money in the pot, is there?’ Ian replied, failing to be antagonized by Tony’s comment. ‘Is this where I’ll be working?’ Ian addressed his question to Greg.
‘No, you’re going to be upstairs with the computer geeks, on the fourth floor,’ Greg replied.
‘Only fitting that an officer from headquarters be located upstairs above us lowly minions,’ Tony mumbled.
Ian looked at him and said: ‘You get overlooked for a job at FHQ or something? You got something you’d like to share?’
‘No. I just don’t like the way you lot come over here and lord it like you’re some sort of big shot. We have the same rank, we do the same job, you j
ust get all the funding, praise and overtime.’
‘Listen, I know about this investigation, I have been briefed. I know that you have jack shit to go on and this is why your DI requested I come over. I am here by invitation mate so I suggest you get used to it,’ Ian retorted, becoming annoyed.
‘Tony, what has got into you?’ Elizabeth whispered from the corner of her mouth.
His mood had completely changed; two minutes ago they had been sharing a laugh, and now Tony looked as if he was sucking on lemons. The two men stood facing each other in a pose reminiscent of a Mexican stand-off. Who would draw first? The local sheriff, or the stranger that had just wandered into town?
‘Tell you what Ian, let me show you upstairs… ‘ Greg said, diffusing the situation.
‘Good idea,’ Elizabeth concurred. ‘Nice to meet you Ian. Looking forward to working with you on this enquiry and getting some results.’
‘Nice to meet you too. Hopefully the computers will reveal a little gem we can use and give this case a break,’ Ian smiled at her and then followed Greg out of the office.
Elizabeth turned to look at Tony.
‘Tony! What was that all about? You don’t even know the guy!’ Elizabeth demanded.
‘No, but I know his type. Think they’re better than all of us.’
‘What’s up with you? You haven’t been yourself the last couple of days… You blew up in the briefing, you‘re getting all hot and bothered now. Want to tell me what’s going on?’
‘Nothing’s going on, I’m just tired. And I guess a part of me didn’t want FHQ involved in this. You know how it is, they come over here, we get a break in the case and no matter where that break originated from, it’s always down to the FHQ officer’s great work. They all look out for each other over there, little boys club, that’s what it is. I bet they’re all bloody masons! That Ian just seems so… arrogant.’
‘Oh Tone, you are funny sometimes. I thought he was nice. And it doesn’t matter who gets the recognition as long as the job gets done right? We’re all on the same side.’
‘Well you would like to think so but that’s not the way it seems to pan out. In my experience this department always gets overlooked.’
‘Come on, cheer up! Tell you what, how about I buy you a nice cold pint after the briefing this afternoon? Would that make you feel better? Then you can tell me what’s really got you grumbling.’
‘That’s not a bad idea. I could do with a drink.’
‘Perfect. Now will you please get the stick out of your ass and relax a bit?
‘I’ll try,’ Tony said.
‘That’s all I ask,’ Elizabeth smiled and the detectives got stuck back in to their paper work.
************************************************
The room was dimly lit, illuminated solely by the television in the corner of the room. Images from the device scurried across the walls and danced across her pupils as she watched the evening news on mute. She quietly raised a glass of red wine to her lips as she watched, a gamut of emotions thrilling through her at the headline emblazoned across the bottom of the screen, big bold letters proclaiming ‘Breaking News’ and ‘Murder‘. She smiled to herself; this was her work, her vengeance, broadcast to the nation.
Two photos then appeared on the screen of the men she’d killed, smiling and posed, presumably with the reporter providing a brief narrative of their lives as an accompaniment to the images.
Although she was personally more interested in their deaths, she found herself intrigued by what sort of men they might have been in life. Adulterers, weak, idolising. Dead. That much she did know.
She pointed the remote control at the TV and turned up the sound, no longer satisfied to watch the report in silence.
‘…successful and much respected businessman, leaves behind a wife and two children…’
Adulterer, weak, idolising. Dead.
‘The murder of Mr Saunders occurred only five days before the discovery of the body of the second male believed to have been murdered by the same suspect. The second victim has been named as Mr Mark Faversham, and his body was discovered by his flat mate on Monday night, two days after police believe he was in fact murdered. He is believed to have been a single male who worked as an investment banker in the City…’
Ok so not an adulterer, but still weak, idolizing and dead. She nodded her head and raised her glass towards the TV in an insincere apology at incorrectly labelling him an adulterer.
The camera settled back onto the sombre visage of the reporter relaying the story, his eyes wide, hair swarming around his head in the breeze, as he valiantly tried to retain his composure and ignore his unruly mop.
‘…so far no connection has been made between the two victims, it is not known if they were known to each other or why these men were targeted. The murders have been linked, police say, due to consistencies in the MO, the manner in which the men were killed, although they are not prepared to say exactly what that MO is at this stage…’
As the camera panned out, she could see that the reporter was stood amongst a gaggle of jostling journalists and camera crews outside the police station where the case was apparently being investigated. Just as she was starting to get bored of the missive and moved to turn the volume back down, the reporter introduced a police officer who was purportedly in charge of the investigation, retaining her interest.
‘Can you tell us anything else about the victims at this stage?’ the reporter asked.
The camera moved to the right a little and the officer came into view.
His face was round, his hair receding and a small double chin provided evidence of a slightly overweight body beneath his expensive-looking suit and perfectly knotted tie. He had a certain gravitas about him, probably due to his deep voice and she eyed him up curiously; so this was the face of her enemy. This was the man who was leading the hunt to find her.
She felt a sudden jolt of fear, an explosion in her chest as she wondered what he knew about her. Did the police have any leads? Had they worked out how the victims were selected? Had she left any clues behind? She’d been careful at each crime scene, rubbing the bodies with antiseptic gel and carefully wiping the surfaces she may have touched prior to putting on her PVC gloves, effectively scrubbing away any traces of her DNA and fingerprints. But what if she’d missed something?
‘Both the males that were murdered were successful in their chosen fields, they were both described as being popular and well-liked. We do not know at this stage if there is a link between them but we do know they were both killed by the same killer judging by the manner in which the bodies were found and the way they were killed.’
The banner at the bottom of the screen gave the officer’s name as Superintendent Meadows.
‘Are you in a position to elaborate on the way in which the bodies were found? Or even tell us how they were killed?’ a female reporter asked from the throng.
‘Both males died from stab wounds. That is all I am prepared to say at this time.’
Stab wounds! I’ll say!
‘Are you close to identifying the suspect?’ shouted another journalist.
‘We are pursuing a number of leads and are hopeful we will identify the culprit soon. Meanwhile I ask that if anyone knows anything about these murders that they contact us, any information will be treated with the utmost confidence. That’s all for now.’
Superintendent Tim Meadows looked as if he was about to walk away when the reporter piped up.
‘Just one more question please sir, what about the killer? Can you tell us anything at all about the man responsible for this?’ the first reporter shouted out.
Meadows looked at the reporter and paused.
‘I didn’t say we were looking for a man.’
He then turned away from the reporter and strode back towards the police station.
‘Does that mean the suspect isn’t a man? Sir! Sir! Are you looking for a woman then?’
The reporter fired his quest
ions in Meadows’s wake, Meadows choosing to ignore him.
The camera swiftly focused back on the reporter who excitedly began paraphrasing what Meadows had said.
‘…and as you just heard, the police have not said they are looking for a male suspect in this case so the killer could be a woman. I suspect the police may even be suggesting that the murderer is in fact a woman given this observation about gender. This is an interesting development and one which potentially puts a new slant on…’
The reporter continued to speculate as to what exactly Meadows had meant, prattling on and hypothesizing, his voice now annoying her. She returned the TV to mute, wanting silence so she could think.
So they had pieced together that the killer was probably a woman. She wasn’t that surprised as it was only a matter of time and she was actually glad that Meadows had stated this on national TV. Her message would be all the louder to the world now that they suspected a female killer.
Female killer mutilates, emasculates and humiliates male victims. Of course the press didn’t know that yet, but they would soon enough. She was a messenger and she was only just getting started.
************************************************
Elizabeth and Tony were sitting together in a quiet pub drinking cider when the news report came on. The TV was on mute so as not to inconvenience the patrons but the yellow subtitles running across the screen spelt out the reporter’s words all too clearly for them to see. They sat opened mouthed as their boss revealed that the killer was a woman, bewildered and perplexed as to his motives.
‘That can’t have been cleared by the DI,’ Elizabeth stated incredulously.
‘Fuck. What’s he doing? We don’t want the press knowing that!’ Tony said.
‘Give me your phone,’ Elizabeth demanded.
‘Huh?’ Tony continued to look at the TV screen, transfixed.
‘Give me your phone. Mine’s died. The DI needs to know about this.’
Tony handed his mobile to Elizabeth and she furiously searched through his contact list to locate Robert’s number. Finally finding, it she dialled.
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