Next Victim

by Helen H. Durrant

  “But why?” Elwyn asked.

  Rachel shrugged. “We don’t know what is going on inside the killer’s mind. We don’t even know who he is yet.”

  “That leaves us back at square one.” Elwyn scratched his head. “What about that piece of land? Does it have anything to do with the murders?”

  “Who knows?” Rachel said. “But I doubt it. Someone went to a lot of trouble to make it look like it did. They even invented a tale about stolen documents, and got Frodsham to watch the place.”

  “But why did Greyson have to die?” asked Elwyn.

  “We were supposed to chalk that one up to McAteer, presume it was him who wanted the land. After what we’ve just learned from Croft, we know that isn’t true. The killer has tried very hard to cover his tracks. We now have to work out just who the intended victim was — Frodsham or Greyson. The Greyson murder sent us down the wrong trail, blaming McAteer and his mob. And I think that was deliberate.”

  “What do we do now, ma’am?” asked Jonny.

  “We go back. We look at Oliver Frodsham’s life again and we tear it apart until we find something.”

  “I thought we’d done that,” Amy said sullenly. “He was just a kid, a gay student doing a bit of moonlighting on the side.”

  “There has to be something, Amy, or he wouldn’t be dead. We also look at Croft. I want a forensic team at his home. I want the neighbours interviewed. Someone may have seen his visitor. We need a description of the man who threatened him that night.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  It had gone horribly wrong. They weren’t supposed to fight back. The last one hadn’t. So much for going easy on the drugs. The man was angry with himself. He could not afford such mistakes with the next victim. That would be his brother and when he did him, it had to go like clockwork.

  He took a last look around the room. There was blood everywhere, even up the walls. Luke had bled like a pig. Served him right. In a tender moment, when he’d made Luke feel sorry for him, the man had slit his carotid artery with a very sharp little knife he kept in his back pocket. The look on Luke’s face had been priceless! Well, he shouldn’t have got him to talk. Putting him through all that angst about the past had been a mistake.

  No time to tidy up. He’d heard noises outside and earlier someone had banged on the door. Fire was not only part of the ritual but it was also a great cleanser, destroying any forensic evidence. A can of petrol was ready in the boot of his car, which was parked up a couple of streets away. His tools were stashed in the sports bag and ready to go. With luck he could have this wrapped up within fifteen minutes or so, and be on his way.

  He was closing the front door when a voice rang out. “You can’t doss down in there, mate. This lot’s coming down tomorrow!”

  Now he’d been seen. Nothing was going right tonight. The man pulled up the hood of his coat and shuffled off without saying a word.

  “Bloody cheek! Get down the hostel on Baltic Street if you want a bed for the night. Come back here and I’ll have you carted off by the law.”

  Why couldn’t people mind their own business? He didn’t ask much. All he wanted was to be left in peace, to get on with what he had to do. He’d no idea this street was patrolled. That must have been what all the noise had been about earlier. He should have thought of that. When he got to a corner, the man risked a look back. The street was empty. Fortunately, the interfering bastard hadn’t gone into the house.

  Soon he was back with the petrol. He was running out of time. There had been calls from home, which he’d ignored. Once inside, he sloshed the fluid about. The last bit in the can he reserved for Luke.

  “Goodbye, old son. Sorry it ended so abruptly. You shouldn’t have crossed me. That way you would have gone in the canal. Too late now. This’ll have to do.”

  He poured the remaining fluid over the lower half of the body, trying to avoid the face. He lit a rag and threw it at the sofa. The place was ablaze in seconds.

  He legged it down the road, but his bad luck persisted. He could hear people shouting after him. He took a quick look back and saw a couple of blokes outside the house, one of them already on his mobile. He hoped that the body was burned to a crisp before the fire brigade got there. It had been a desperate measure. He just hoped he would get away with it.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  It was late, and the team had had enough. Croft had only got so far with the photofit and would return in the morning. She’d arranged with Jason Fox for a team to go to Croft’s house. Now that they had ruled out any connection with Jed, they badly needed a break in the case.

  Rachel made for home. All she wanted was a big glass of wine and a long soak in a hot bath. The last thing she needed was a domestic drama, but that’s what was waiting for her.

  Rachel was hardly through the front door when a tearful Mia greeted her. “Tell him, Mum!” Mia said. “He’s been giving me the third degree. Says I’m not to see him again. Wants his number too. He’ll spoil everything, like he always does.”

  “Calm down,” Rachel said, dumping her briefcase in the hall. Alan was in the kitchen, pacing up and down. Always a bad sign.

  “Before you start, he’s harmless.” she called to him. Not strictly true, but he wouldn’t harm Mia. Megan was sitting at the table looking smug. “Is this down to you?” Rachel challenged. “Is this what I get for tackling those idiots you brought to the house last night?”

  Rachel had had enough. She could do without Alan wading in and asking questions she couldn’t answer. “I’m going upstairs for a bath. It’s been a bad day. This case I’m working on is getting to me and the team, it’s dead end after dead end. It’s late and I’m far too tired to argue with you lot!”

  “There she goes. Things get tricky at home, and she plays the work card. You’re so predictable, Mum,” Megan said.

  “Watch the lip, young lady,” Rachel warned her eldest.

  Finally Alan got a word in. “Come on then, who is he? He takes our daughter out but I’ve never even heard of him. Not from you or from these two, until this week.”

  What a sheltered life Alan led! Most of Manchester knew Jed McAteer’s name.

  “He’s no one, just a friend,” she lied.

  “He said he was my uncle. Your brother,” Mia levelled at Alan.

  “Well, he’s not. I don’t have a brother, as you all well know.”

  Rachel had had it. “Can we leave this until tomorrow? I’m too tired to do this now. I told you, he’s a friend. Jed doesn’t have much experience with kids, so he thought it better to pass himself off as a relative. A bad idea, I agree, but he wasn’t thinking.”

  “So he’s your latest boyfriend? Is that it?” Alan had his hands on his hips, a look of distaste on his face.

  “Okay. Yes, he’s my boyfriend. Happy now!” Rachel thrust her face close to Alan’s. “Bowling and a bite to eat. A couple of hours. Not kidnap or worse. You might not know him, but I do. You need to grow up, Alan, and stop being so jealous!”

  Rachel stormed off up the stairs. This was down to Megan. She was stirring it, no doubt in a fit of pique about Alan throwing her friends out of the house. That girl needed a serious word! Rachel was just stepping into the bath when her mobile rang. It was Elwyn. Was there no end to this?

  “What now?” She barked, grabbing a towel. “Can’t you give me a break? I hope this is important and not about the bloody stuff you want to stash. If it is, you can do one! I’ve just about had it with other people’s problems. I’ve had an ear bashing from Alan I could have done without, and want some peace!”

  The line had gone quiet. Rachel could hear her own rapid breathing. She needed to calm down. She’d just blasted Elwyn for no reason, which wasn’t like her.

  “It’s work, ma’am,” he said coldly. “A fire in town, and there’s a body. This one does look like the Frodsham murder.”

  Not again! Rachel asked for the details and ended the call. So much for a quiet night.

  Chapter Thirty-eig
ht

  Rachel pulled out of the drive, filled with guilt. Why had she behaved like that? Poor Elwyn. He, of all people, didn’t deserve it. She was a crap boss. To make matters worse, he wouldn’t complain, he never did. All she wanted was a night off, to be left alone to do some serious thinking. Now that Alan knew about him, Jed had become an even bigger problem, and she needed a solution quick. But none of that was Elwyn’s fault. He was simply the wrong man, at the wrong time.

  The murder had taken place in a dingy back street in Ancoats. Most of the houses were boarded up. Signs at both ends of the street proclaimed it as part of the regeneration of that part of the city. Great if it came to pass, but the state of the place indicated that the houses had been left to go to ruin for some time.

  She ducked in under the tape. “We were lucky,” said a fireman standing by the door. “We received a call and got here quickly. We’re only up the road.”

  “Can I go inside?” Rachel asked, wriggling into a coverall.

  “Yes, but one of us will come with you. And you wear this.” He handed her a hard hat. “There’s not a lot of fire damage, but the property itself is unsafe.”

  Elwyn came up to join her.

  “You too? What do we look like?” she said.

  “Not a fashion parade is it, ma’am? It’s a serious business. Another murder, very like the first.”

  His tone made her wince. Well, she deserved it. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have barked at you like that. You’ve no idea what I walked into at home. They haven’t got a clue, the bloody lot of them.”

  Elwyn sniffed and walked in ahead of her. Great! Now he had the sulks too.

  Butterworth was bending over the body. “The legs and torso have been badly damaged by the fire, but not the face or hair.”

  “Are forensics in with a chance this time?” Rachel asked Jason Fox.

  “Yes. Look at that.” He pointed to a petrol can. “Our killer left it behind, as well as this.” He picked up the remnants of a white coverall similar to theirs. “With luck we might even get DNA.”

  “Sorry, only just got the message.” A panting Jonny Farrell came up behind them. “I was in one of the bars up town and didn’t hear my phone.”

  Rachel said nothing. She’d upset one of her officers tonight. No way was she going for the full set. She’d already noticed that Amy was missing and decided to let that go too.

  “Much like the last one.” She nodded. “This confirms it. We can forget all the other angles we’ve explored. We’ve got a serial killer on our hands.”

  Elwyn was listening but not Jonny. He was staring at the body. “I’ve seen him somewhere,” he mused. “I’m just not sure where.”

  Rachel was suddenly alert. This was important. “Try and remember,” she urged. “Was it recently, part of this enquiry?”

  “Can I take him away?” Butterfield asked.

  “Give us a minute,” Rachel said. “Jonny, the chances are he’s gay like Oliver. Think about the people you spoke to, the places you went.”

  “Sorry ma’am. I know I’ve seen him recently but I just can’t think where. I go to a lot of the bars in town.”

  “Okay. Perhaps we should all go and get some sleep. Although I think that aspect of my life is currently cursed.”

  She looked at Elwyn, who was making for the front door. He’d said very little. Rachel needed a word.

  “I’m a cow,” she said, catching up with him. “You shouldn’t get the sharp end of my bad day. It wasn’t fair. All I can offer, Elwyn, is a heartfelt apology.”

  “You’re doing it again, blaming the job. But it’s not that, is it?” He sounded angry. “Something’s eating you and it’s personal. I don’t expect you to share everything with me. But this is affecting your work, Rachel, how you go about it. We see things most folk never see. We deal with stuff like that in there all the time. We should talk, share, not clam up and suffer, and then take it out on the team.”

  He was spot on. But Rachel still couldn’t tell him about McAteer. That would just about finish everything.

  “You’ve got this wrong, Elwyn. I’m tired, exhausted even. That’s all it is. It’s certainly nothing you’ve done. You are great to work with—”

  “I’ve remembered, ma’am!” Jonny Farrell ran up behind them. “Canal Street, that day I was asking questions about Frodsham. He was there, waiting for someone.”

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Friday

  The following morning, the team assembled in the incident room. Rachel was in early and had already updated the board.

  “Jonny,” she said, “I hope you’ve given our latest victim some thought overnight. I want a statement from you. And, please, make sure you put in as much detail as you can recall. Anything and everything is important at this stage.”

  “We have the photofit, ma’am,” Elwyn said. “It’s a little odd. Whether it’s Croft’s faulty memory or our killer really does look this strange, I’m not sure, but it’s all we’ve got.”

  “Let’s have a look.”

  Elwyn passed it over. “He’s a weird one, alright. Interesting haircut and a lot of facial hair. That makes it difficult.” Rachel handed it to Jonny. “You said our latest victim was meeting someone. Take a look.”

  They waited while DC Jonny Farrell squinted at the image, frowning. Finally, he nodded. “I think it’s him. But when I saw him he was dressed up, and his hair was sorted. I remember the tash and the beard though. We spoke briefly. I showed him the photo of Frodsham, and he said he couldn’t help. He suggested I ask in the bars.” Jonny looked round at the others. “He saw I was nervous, and told me not to be. That was when our victim turned up and sat down at the table.” He paused, considering this. “I got the impression it was a first meeting. This guy,” he waved the photofit, “had a rose in his lapel. And before he came up to the table, our victim had been looking around.”

  “That’s good, Jonny. First meeting, arranged previously, perhaps through a dating site. See if you can find out.” She turned to Amy. “Check missing persons. We might strike lucky this time.”

  “Wasn’t there anything in that house that might give us an identity?” Elwyn asked.

  “Nothing yet,” she said, “but I’ll speak to Jason shortly. See what forensics turned up.”

  “PM?” he asked.

  “We’re waiting for the nod from Butterworth.”

  The meeting broke up. Elwyn followed her into her office.

  “Want a cuppa?” she offered.

  “I’d prefer the truth. You’ve changed over the last few days. I reckon something’s happened and it’s knocked everything haywire.”

  Very perceptive. “No, you’re wrong. A good night’s sleep and I’ll be fine. Are you up for the PM?”

  He nodded and left, obviously unhappy with her explanation. There was nothing Rachel could do about it. She picked up the phone and called Jason.

  “Got anything from last night? A wallet perhaps, or something to help with an identity?”

  “I’m afraid not. The fire didn’t do that much damage, but the victim’s clothing was burnt. We’re dredging through the remains to see if there’s any trace of a wallet or bank cards, but nothing yet. It’s possible that the killer took them.”

  “We are really pushed on this one. We need a break. All the other leads have gone nowhere. Effectively, we’re starting again. Anything you think might help, no matter how small, let me know at once.”

  Rachel checked the system for the reports that had come through this morning. There was a statement from the man who’d seen the killer on the street and shouted after him. His description was too vague — jeans and a hoodie and carrying a sports bag. How many people in Manchester looked like that?

  She returned to the incident room. Jonny was busy scrutinising the dating websites and Amy was on the phone. There was no sign of Elwyn.

  “There’s a woman downstairs, ma’am,” Amy told her. “She’s asked to talk to someone about a missing person. She to
ld the desk sergeant that she might know the unidentified victim from last night.”

  Chapter Forty

  Rachel had the woman shown up to one of the soft interview rooms and went with Amy to meet her. The woman was in her forties, dressed for work in a suit and carrying a briefcase.

  “My name is Marian Shaw,” she said. “I’m sorry to be a bother, but I heard on the news about the fire last night and the body you found. I was immediately concerned. You see, my brother, Luke, didn’t come home. He didn’t text or phone either, which is not like him at all.”

  “And you don’t think he stayed with a friend? Had a bit too much to drink and slept over? Perhaps he’s gone away for a few days,” Amy said.

  “No.” Marian Shaw shook her head firmly. “It doesn’t work like that with Luke and me. He’s a very quiet young man. He trusts me, tells me everything and we text constantly when he’s not at home. This is totally out of character. Something is wrong, I just feel it.”

  “Does he live with you?” asked Rachel

  “Yes. Luke is twenty years younger than me, and although he’s an adult, I feel responsible for him. He’s delicate, gets emotional. He wouldn’t survive five minutes on his own. We share a flat in Didsbury. There’s just me and him. Our parents are gone.”

  Rachel frowned. “I appreciate that you’re worried, but it isn’t much to go on. Like my colleague said, there could be a whole host of explanations.”

  “If he planned to stay out, then he’d phone me.” Marian seemed absolutely certain about that. “He left the house late yesterday afternoon for a date with a man he’d met recently on Canal Street. Luke is gay and doesn’t have much luck with his love life. I have no idea how he first met this man either. He wouldn’t give me a straight answer. I have a feeling it was on a dating site. He’s barely been off his laptop recently.”

  That set the alarm bells ringing.

  “Did he talk about this man?” Rachel asked.