by S P Dawes
They nodded and exchanged looks again; she just wished someone would tell her what was going on.
“Did he stop the night, Miss?” DC Turner asked, struggling to stifle a grin.
“No, he did not!” Annoyed at the conclusion they’d drawn and the clear smile he was trying to repress.
“Why might you have needed to contact him?” He asked calmly, amusement having left his face, still jotting things down in his pad.
“I dunno! Just in case!” She exclaimed, feeling defensive.
“Miss, we’re trying to help.” DC Hancock reminded her. “In case of what?”
Hayley bit her bottom lip and let out a heavy breath. “There was a guy at a party, Jesse brought me home.” She sighed, realising she’d opened a can of worms, more questioning, more probing, she shouldn’t have called them.
“What party?”
“Last night I went to someone’s house, but when I got there, his girlfriend had invited someone who I didn’t want to see. Jesse helped me get out without him seeing me. He doesn’t even know I attended, so this wasn’t him.” She pre-empted the officer. “I don’t really know Jesse, so it’s unlikely to be him.”
“Unless the girlfriend told him,” he replied clumsily.
Hayley hung her head and admitted defeat. She would, she hated her, but that made little sense.
“So, what’s the man’s name?” Asked DC Hancock, drawing her back to the present.
“I really don’t want to say,” she looked from one to the other, as they exchanged looks.
“And why’s that?” He asked.
The gaggling band of merry men, who had been at her door earlier, walked down the alley towards her front door again. Probably being nosy, having seen the cop car turn up earlier.
The detectives noted their arrival and turned to them. “I don’t suppose any of you fine, young, upstanding gentlemen saw who did this, did you?” pointing to the writing on the door.
They all shook their heads and moved off down the street.
The older man then looked at Hayley again, placing his notepad back in his vest pocket.
“We’ll take you down the station, give you a sweetened drink, write out your statement and then I’ll get an officer to drop you home later.” He looked on sympathetically, while the other rushed to the vehicle.
Turning to lockup, not that it would prevent damage already done, she noticed her flat key wasn’t on her bunch of keys.
“Did you not unlock when you came home?”
Hayley shook her head slowly. How had she not noticed before?
“This is because I know Jesse Hallam, isn’t it?”
The detective neither confirmed nor denied, just escorted her to the car. Placing his hand on her head as she bent down, she felt as though she was under arrest. But no one had read her, her rights, so she presumed she hadn’t been yet.
What had she got herself into?
When they pulled up outside the station, the older man helped her out and led her to the entrance. Asking her to sit down on a plastic chair in the waiting room, whilst he found them an interview room where they could continue. Sitting with her head in her hands, praying for the ground to swallow her up, she listened to footsteps around her.
Five minutes later, the man returned with a female officer. “This is PC Rigger; she will stay with you while you fill out your statement.”
“If you follow me, we’ve got a space available.”
Walking in, she noticed a large black tape recorder on the table closest to the wall.
“It’s OK, we won’t be using that,” smiled PC Rigger.
On completing all the paperwork needed for the statement, they handed Hayley a sheet of paper with her crime reference number on, presuming she’d need to contact the insurance company and landlord. Remembering she would have to phone him when she got back, she blanched. He would be furious with her over the living room.
Detective Inspector Hallam had been working for the Criminal Investigation Department for three years, joining the ranks after closing one of the biggest investigations of his career.
Taking a gang of drug dealers down had interrupted the processing of millions of pounds’ worth of stock. It also contributed in the arrest of a murderer, securing the safety of the public and their confidence in the local police. It appeared he had done so well in the eyes of those that mattered that he warranted the promotion.
His caseload currently involved a drugs case, which appeared to be moving nowhere and a set of murdered young women across the district. All were seemingly unrelated until an identical pendant turned up beside the last two victims. It was now his job to discover where the killer was likely to strike next.
He had spent all morning examining photos of where the girls were discarded like rag dolls. Eyes blank and stomachs ripped open. They left him with little appetite. He needed some fresh air.
Hayley stood outside the police station. It was turning out to be a beautiful warm day. Even if her mood didn’t quite match it, it was hard not to appreciate it. Looking up towards Appleton gate, the quickest route on foot, she grimaced at the time it would take to reach home. They had offered her a lift home, but she needed to get away from them, not spend more time with them.
Standing on the edge of the path outside, waiting for the traffic to clear before crossing, she caught sight of Jesse across the road near the old ambulance shelter. Talking to another man, both dressed in similar suits and holding reusable coffee cups, they headed for the station’s courtyard. She watched him walk past the police cars, then turn towards her, obviously catching his eye.
He said something to his friend, then leaving him, rushed over to Hayley. “Hi, are you OK?” he asked pointing to the station with concern.
“I’ve had better days,” she scoffed.
Raising his right eyebrow, he waited for her to explain.
“Someone vandalised my flat this morning.”
“Oh, shit!”
Hayley nodded slowly.
“I’m sorry, that’s awful,” he said, seeming genuinely shocked.
“They poured paint over everything in the front room, my landlords going have a fit. He’s only just put new carpets in,” she explained.
“Will he not be able to claim off the insurance?” Asked Jesse.
“Doubt it! It looks like they’ve used my key to get in,” Hayley admitted with her shoulders down and a look of despondency. “Someone’s took my key off my keyring without me noticing and let themselves in...,” she watched emotions flicker over his face and tried to see if there was any guilt, “… and the police have your number.”
He looked confused. “My number, why?” Jesse asked, almost laughing.
“Because you wrote it on the T.V mag, and Rob has already told the police you were in my house last night, because you took me home.” His face softened a little. Interesting under the circumstances, she thought. Then his brows furrowed.
“Why was Rob in your apartment?”
“He wasn’t,” realising he didn’t know about her workplace, she shook her head. “I met him at work; the place got robbed this morning, so we were brought in and questioned.”
Jesse nodded, relieved. He had heard nothing about a robbery, and he’d have to check it out.
“They’ll probably be contacting you?” She panicked, watching his face, but he just smiled.
“Don’t worry about that.”
She didn’t understand why he remained so calm.
“How you getting back home?”
“Walking.”
He looked toward the police station and then back to Hayley. “Lift?”
Hayley smiled, nodding. She really hadn’t enjoyed the prospect of trudging all that way home on her own. Following him to the side street, they got in a black Volvo. Putting his seat belt on, he started the ignition, pushing the gear stick into first as he pulled away from the kerb.
“You don’t seem bothered about them having your number?” She asked, while watch
ing him concentrate on the road as he turned the car round the roundabout up towards the college.
“Why should I be?” He asked, glancing across to her.
“Well, they seem to know your name,” she mumbled; she wasn’t sure how he’d take the news that the police knew him. But he just continued smiling. Hayley couldn’t be sure if he didn’t enjoy the attention. What kind of criminal was he? Why was he already near the police station?
“Which police officers did you speak with?” Jesse asked finally as they turned into her street.
“PC Rigger took my statement, then DC Turner and DC Hancock at home and a DC Wynne at work.”
“Blimey, you’ve got a good memory.”
She still couldn’t understand why he was so calm. If someone had told her a group of officers knew her name, she’d want to know why. But then, maybe that made sense. He already knew, and he just didn’t care.
Pulling up outside her home he waited for her to leave the car, looking over to her, she was still in her seat with the seatbelt across, glancing up, biting her bottom lip. “You OK?”
Turning to him, she couldn’t quite summon the courage to nod or move away.
“Would you like me to run up and look around before I go?”
“Would you mind?” Hayley asked hopefully.
“Course not.” Taking off his seatbelt, he walked from the car to the flat, whilst she got out, closing the door behind her.
“Not having a pleasant time at the minute, are you?”
She looked up at him and tried to smile, but it faltered. Her sanctuary stood utterly destroyed.
“Do you want me to come back later, I’ll give you a hand?” Jesse asked, taking pity on her.
On any other occasion, she’d not stand for it, but right now she just wanted to curl into a ball and cry. “No, it’s fine,” she lied.
“Honestly, I don’t mind.” Jesse was scanning the room he’d only seen the day before, resembling a scene from Carrie. “Looks like you’ve got your work cut out.”
“You sure?” she asked. It was only a few hours ago she thought he might be responsible for it all, but looking at him now, she knew he wasn’t. He looked as shocked as her.
Jesse shook his head, “Course not, I get off shift about six, but if I’m late, I’ll let you know.”
He turned to leave but before he got to the stairs Hayley called him back to thank him for the lift and the offer of help later. “Just get a takeaway ordered for seven, I’ll pay,” he answered, before pulling the door closed behind him.
Chapter 4
Jesse really had to return to the station. If there would be any movement on his case, he needed to get his head back in the game and start working it out.
So far, he had three bodies, all young women from sixteen to twenty, all with dark, mid-length hair around five-foot-seven and slender. They didn’t look homeless, but as yet none of the missing person’s reports matched up. How could three women go missing, murdered and still be unmissed?
Someone must be wondering where their daughter or girlfriend was? He thought, shaking his head.
Re-arranging the photos on his desk, he realised they all resembled similar poses; as though artificially staged. They all wore clothes you’d expect on any young girl on a night out. Ultimately, they wouldn’t have stood out.
Had they been going to the same area? Or taken from a similar place?
From all the evidence, autopsy reports and primary indicators he had at his disposal, he couldn’t understand the scattering of the bodies being so wide apart. None of the times were similar, nor was there any reason to believe he had stored them for any length of time. That didn’t rule out them being abducted before death, though.
Gazing at the crime scene photographs again with the latest victim’s body in situ, he scanned her ripped open stomach. Something was still bugging him. With a sigh of frustration, he placed the photographs back down and picked up the autopsy report for the latest victim. No residual drugs were present in her system, and she hadn’t been pregnant, just like the others. None of it made any sense. There must be a common theme, a denominator, to identify the pattern and allow him to stop another woman from seeing a similar fate.
On the base, the only similarities he could see was their appearance, which didn’t help unless he could keep all young brunette women locked indoors. Which was far beyond his team’s capabilities and would only incite fear within the public. Looking back through his notes, he flicked through the pages, hoping something would suddenly pop out. Was the killer trying to find someone? Did he have a particular girl in mind and just enjoyed the taste of blood? How long until his craving stopped? Would it? Or was it purely down to his team’s efficiency in stopping more women ending up dead in random fields after being torn apart?
The first victim had been the youngest-looking of them all. He had originally thought it was a crime of passion, something gone wrong, a spurned lover looking for vengeance. Things got out of hand and the culprit had disposed of the body in the only way he knew how. But when the second turned up, it cast that presumption out as doubtful. Two bodies sliced open at the stomach in a matter of weeks. Laying in fields away from civilisation meant someone was finding much more pleasure in the killing than he had first hoped. He needed to fathom the link and stop the killer before any more attacks, but so far, he’d been hitting brick walls. With no witnesses, no CCTV, no identities and no motive, he may as well cast a penny into a wishing well and hope for the best.
Slapping his notebook down on the desk, he ran his hands through his hair to release some tension in his head. Migraines had been a frequent friend, and he was sick of popping ibuprofen just to get by.
DC Martin Wells walked over, leaning on the desk whilst he let Jesse compose himself. They had been firm friends since they joined the force, always around one another until they put them on the same squad. But because of Jesse’s recent promotion, it meant he was now his supervisor. They had handled the change well; they simply hadn’t changed.
“I’m guessing by that face that nothings suddenly sprang to mind?”
Jesse looked up and shook his head doubtfully.
“No? Me neither, nothing seems to link these girls together, apart from the psychopath killing them,” said Martin bitterly. “Of course, this is fifty times harder when we have no ID and can’t seem to find any background on these girls,” sighed Martin, rubbing his temple.
“That’s what I don’t get. How can these women be living here, at their age, with social media the way it is, and we know nothing about them? It’s as if they’ve just landed,” explained Jesse, leaning back in his chair with his arms raised above his head in a stretch.
“Well, they’ve come from somewhere,” answered Martin standing, picking up Jesse’s empty mug, before shaking it.
Jesse nodded, and Martin strolled over to the coffee machine. “There’s no club stamp, no receipts, no way of knowing where they lived. No MISPER’s filed. They don’t fucking exist,” Jesse grumbled as he slung the last photo down on the pile. Just then he noticed something.
Martin handed him his fresh coffee as Jesse pointed to the picture. “What?” He wasn’t sure why Jesse suddenly looked excited. The last thing those pictures did was make him excited. He had a hard time looking at them and not chucking up.
“That looks like a camera cap,” explained Jesse identifying the black circle, barely visible, sticking out of a bush.
“So?”
“He’s taking picture,” Jesse answered as though it was obvious.
“It’s nowhere near the scene,” Martin admonished sceptically, curling his lip up.
Jesse was looking for anything, but this really was grasping at straws, thought Martin. “Depends how close he wanted to get?”
“That could be anyone’s,” Martin fluttered his hand away as if discarding some waste.
“Maybe he panicked and left it by accident?” Explained Jesse excitedly. Maybe this could lead to their break?
&n
bsp; “Or maybe it’s just someone else’s rubbish.” Martin sounded as though he was speaking with a child. “Besides, they would have bagged and tagged it already. If there was anything on it, we’d already know.” Martin stood thinking about the picture trophy thing. Some murderers used items from their victims to showcase their accomplishments. It meant they were proud of their achievements and likely wanted to escalate and achieve higher prestige. “It doesn’t help even if he does. We’ve no camera, no film, and in this day and age, it’d be digital, anyway. So, unless we come across an SD card or an actual print, it’s about as useful as a chocolate condom.”
“Yeah, but if he is taking pictures then he may position them?”
“Again, if he is, he’s left us sod all to go off. No DNA. Jesse, we’ve got fuck all.” Martin walked back over to his own desk and sat down on his swivel chair, still looking across at Jesse’s frustrated face. “This guy is covering all his bases, he’s a fucking ghost. I hate to say this, but we’re going to have to hope he takes another and makes a mistake. It’s the only way to catch this bastard.”
“That’s not good enough. We have to find him before he does this again.” said Jesse, standing up to retrieve his coat from the back of his chair. “I’m going back to the scene. We have to have missed something.”
“I’ll go with you, if you like? Two sets of eyes and all that.” said Martin before taking a sip of his scolding coffee.
“Yeah.” answered Jesse before downing his coffee and slamming the cup back down. Martin watched in amazement as Jesse walked off without so much as a sign of third-degree burns to his oesophagus.
“What the-” Martin looked into his own cup mournfully, trying to determine whether the burns would outweigh the need for caffeine. He decided a swift walk in the countryside might wake him up a bit, so left the full cup on his desk. He didn’t need to fulfil his day with a visit to the hospital just for being a pillock. Grabbing his coat from the back of his chair, he swung it on. He’d grab a Costa’s on the way there.