by Nic Roberts
“It’s all right, just—this is serious,” Olivia explained, leaning forward and lowering her voice.
“Got it,” Clara nodded.
Liv glanced over to Dean, who was also clearly recovering from the embarrassing suggestion that they’d had some sort of fling. This was the moment where they had to take that leap of faith.
“We think it’s possible the killer may be or is involved with the Newquay Police Station in some way.” Olivia’s voice was low and barely above a whisper as she told Clara her theory.
The tech analyst’s eyes widened, and she leaned forward too, so that she was almost eye level with both detectives.
“Shut up!” she half whispered, her dark brown eyes meeting with both Olivia’s and Dean’s gazes. “I’ve been thinking the same thing too.”
16
“You’re bloody brilliant,” Olivia whispered, eyes studying Clara in amazement. And she really was. How else were they supposed to solve these cases—and as quickly as they did? A laugh burst out of her lungs, short but large, shaking her shoulders. Of course, Clara would consider that Newquay could house their killer.
“Well, I appreciate that you understand my excellence,” Clara chuckled in return, giving her friend a dashing smile. Olivia lightly nudged Clara’s arm, gratitude filling her gaze. “It’s nice to get some appreciation around here.”
Dean, however, was still piecing everything together.
“Just to clarify: why do you think it could be someone at Newquay?” he asked, interrupting the ladies’ brief moment. “I mean, obviously, we’ve come to that conclusion, but I feel like in order to do a thorough job, it’s important to compare notes.”
“Great question!” The tech analyst said in return. “Well, for starters, it’s not like police are all as grand and outstanding as you two.”
The comment made something in Olivia’s chest clench, even though she knew deep down that Clara was right. It did little to settle the unease in her torso, however; it was one thing to know a colleague could be violent and a whole different ballgame to accept it. Olivia had known a couple of wife beaters back on the City of London Police. It had turned her stomach to corrosive fumes when she found out that someone she trusted could do something so horrific.
“Plus, this killer’s way too savvy with how our crime scene tech operates.” Lawrence suggested, causing the others to nod in agreement at that comment. It was easy enough knowing to wear gloves to a premeditated murder and another thing entirely to obliviate a victim’s identity so fully that it took days to ID her.
“He picks victims that are isolated, too,” Olivia pointed out. “Rosie Whitford didn’t have much of anyone to worry if she was gone for a night or two.”
Clara rubbed her hands together.
“Beyond that and a gut feeling, though, the timing of Rosie Whitford’s identity being discovered and then our subsequent search of her flat is a bit too tight for my liking,” she added. “While I couldn’t recover the files that our killer fully wiped, I could pinpoint when he dumped things en masse. It was about thirty minutes after your meeting with Dr. James.”
The explanation made Olivia’s jaw go slightly slack. They had missed the killer by an extremely narrow margin. They’d arrived at Rosie’s apartment just over an hour after meeting with Elliot.
“That feels too tight to be a coincidence,” Lawrence sighed, scratching at his eyebrow.
Clara nodded emphatically.
“Right?” she responded. “And the wipe technique used on Rosie’s computer is pretty standard in the force.”
“Fuck,” Olivia exhaled. “Okay, so what do we do with this information?”
Lawrence stretched and held the back of his head with his hands.
“We’ve got to keep this locked down for now,” he muttered. “No one hears about it except for us three.”
“And Diana,” Olivia added quickly, which earned her a daring glare from the tech analyst. What do you mean, Diana? her eyes seemed to ask.
“You’re right,” Lawrence sighed. “Clara, can you clear Collins based on CCTV footage of the station? I hate keeping him out of the fold, but I think it’s prudent to verify he can’t be our killer before we tell him about this theory—which is all it is at this point, to be clear.”
They paused while they waited for someone beyond the office door to finish what they were doing and walk away.
“I’ll get to work on that right away,” Clara agreed once they’d gone, keeping her voice low. “I’ll also print out a list of every employee who works here and the medical examiner’s office.”
Elliot’s office. The realisation hit Olivia like a brick. But she could trust Elliot, couldn’t she? After all, he’d been the one to comfort her at Rosie Whitford’s crime scene. He’d been repulsed by everything. Surely it couldn’t be him?
“Do you really think someone at the medical examiner’s office could be involved?” she asked, doing her best to hide her apprehension.
“It makes a lot of sense, actually,” Lawrence chimed in. “Our killer has at least a passable understanding of anatomy—he’s able to cut open his victim’s chest cavities and extract organs. That’s not exactly something you pick up as a hobby.”
Olivia felt as if she had just had a sip of curdled milk.
“I’ll see if I can clear Dr. James after I clear Collins,” Clara spoke, quiet yet firm. Olivia met her friend’s brown eyes and in them found solace.
“When you print out the list, can you filter it to male employees only?” she asked, deftly avoiding the tech analyst’s sympathetic stare. She hadn’t talked much about her strange... whatever it was, when it came to Elliot, but Clara knew it was there. The last thing she wanted, though, was to be treated like a vase about to break throughout the case.
“Of course,” Clara answered. “Is there a reason we know they aren’t a woman?”
Lawrence rested his hands against the desk, leaning forward.
“Rosie Whitford definitely engaged in penetrative sex shortly before her death.” he explained. “Fluids are consistent with a male partner.”
Clara winced.
“Sometimes I feel I should just stick to the straight data.” She sighed, but she was already whirring away at her computer. “Printing off that list now. I’ll prioritise Collins and then Elliot for clearing through the timeline. Anything else right now?” She glanced between the detectives.
“No. No, I think that will be a great start, for now,” Olivia smiled. “Don’t hesitate to call if you find anything important, though.”
Clara laughed.
“Oh, you already know you’re on my speed dial,” she joked.
“You’re the best.” Liv sighed, giving her friend’s shoulder a squeeze before waltzing over to the printer to grab the list of male Newquay Police Station employees. It was long. Her eyes caught on a few names as she scanned the list; many she knew, but many were unknown to her, too—constables on different shifts or staff from different units.
Steven Collins. Dean Lawrence. Andrew Shaw. It had been a while since Olivia had thought of the constable she’d shared a drunken bed with; her cheeks still warmed a bit as she thought about how close she’d been to accidentally sleeping with a man nicknamed Duracell of all things.
As she stared at the list, all she wanted to do was cross out the names of those she knew. The thought that she could be connected to this disgusting of a killer made her skin crawl. But she wouldn’t be doing her due diligence if she didn’t investigate each lead to its fullest.
“Thank you for being such a rock, Clara.” Lawrence smiled softly, interrupting Olivia’s study of the list. “Best of luck.”
“You, too,” she agreed.
As though on cue, Liv's phone buzzed. Her stomach felt as if gravity shifted ever so slightly as she looked at the screen.
“Text from Elliot,” she declared, though she didn’t look up from her phone.
Initial autopsy for victim 2 done. Meet at ME office when you can?
“He’s ready to have an initial talk about our poor man in the car,” she informed them. “He must have stayed up all night to get us some answers that fast.” Her words rushed out of her mouth like a defeated exhale.
“Well, let’s see what he has to say,” Lawrence replied, swiftly moving to exit Clara’s makeshift office.
“Thanks again,” Olivia called out as she followed her partner.
“No probs! And catch this sicko!” the tech analyst ordered with a smile before her small stature disappeared behind the closing of the office door.
One thing Olivia was certain of: if she had to have one person on her team besides Dean in all of this uncertainty, she was grateful that it was Clara Fitzroy.
17
Visiting the medical examiner’s building was never Olivia’s favourite; the walls felt too sterile, the lights too bright. The only solace she found was in Elliot’s company, and after their realisation that the whole of Newquay station could be compromised, she couldn’t even derive much pleasure from the doctor’s presence.
It wasn’t so much that she thought he was behind the despicable murders but rather the fact that she had to intentionally deceive him. She was so used to being an open book around him; to shift that mentality felt wrong.
Dr. James looked haggard. His normally clean-shaven face sported its fair share of stubble, and his eyes clearly fought to stay open. It tugged at Olivia’s heart to see him in such a state; he normally kept such a cheery disposition even despite all the chaos of his job.
“Glad you could make it, inspectors,” he had called out gruffly when they entered his office, and Olivia had done her best to resist staring at his clearly sleep-deprived face.
“Did you work through the night?” she blurted out, even though the answer was fairly obvious.
The doctor nodded grimly.
“Well, I figured I wasn’t going to sleep anyway; might as well be productive, right?” His tone had a certain defeat to it, an acceptance of inevitability.
All Olivia wanted was to confide in him, but she knew to do so now would be disastrous. They hadn’t even approached Collins with their theory about Newquay yet; how on earth could she justify telling Elliot?
“So, what did you find?” Lawrence asked, cutting straight to the chase.
“Great question.” Dr. James sighed. “What I found out about our victim number 2 is that he was massacred in a similar way to Rosie Whitford. As best I can tell, the trauma of his chest cavity being opened was the cause of death. I can’t decide if it’s a blessing or not that he wasn’t around to get his head bashed in.”
Olivia shook her head in disgust while Lawrence cleared his throat. Having more victims in this case most certainly did not temper the horror of their killer’s M.O.
“He’s... developed his technique a bit,” Elliot continued. “This man had his teeth pulled post mortem.” The look Elliot gave the detectives made it clear he knew the significance of that statement. “He’s learning how to further obscure his victim’s identities.” The medical examiner’s voice was hollow, his shoulders slightly hunched forward.
“We were actually hoping you’d help with that,” Lawrence added.
“I’ll do my best, but the killer really did his best to make that near impossible,” Elliot sighed. “I’ve already submitted his DNA, but it could take ages to get that back, and chances are, he isn’t in our system.”
Dean started his brief pacing.
“That’s why we think it’s so important to ID him early on,” he noted. “The killer clearly wanted time at Rosie Whitford’s flat; time to destroy her life. If we can interrupt that, we might catch him before he murders again.” His voice remained incredibly steady despite the dark situation he was discussing.
“I’m just not sure what I can do to help…” Elliot admitted, shaking his head the tiniest bit. Could it be because it’s him? Olivia thought to herself, immediately frustrated that her mind jumped to that line of questioning. It was because they were asking a lot of the doctor, not because he was secretly a serial killer.
“If I asked you to tell me as much about this man as you can, what would you say?” Olivia posed the question gently, doing her best to encourage Elliot. “What can you gather about the life he lived from what’s left of him now?”
He gave her a weak smile.
“His stomach contents suggested he had had oysters during his last meal, and maybe some sort of protein drink,” Dr. James began, looking over his notes. He rubbed his eyes, searching for clarity amidst his groggy state, no doubt. “No tattoos suggest he was a professional of some kind, straight-laced, at least in appearance. Based on his body, I’d say he was mid-to-late forties, no older than fifty-five. And he had smooth hands, so again, some sort of skilled professional, probably white collar.” Elliot’s voice strained as he worked through the logic of analysing their victim’s corpse, and yet Olivia was amazed at how quickly he remembered his observations from the autopsy and connected them to reality.
“No, that’s brilliant,” she encouraged, letting the corners of her lips turn up into a smile. “White collar is really helpful,” she added when the medical examiner gave her a hopeful look with his green eyes. It pulled at something inside of her, and she was reminded again with dismay that she couldn’t fully trust him until Clara did more digging.
“No tan on his ring finger means he probably wasn’t married or even recently divorced. He was relatively fit, so he probably went to the gym and ate a healthy diet.” Elliot rattled off each fact casually despite the fact that he was doing major investigative work as he spoke. The man was a natural. He shook his head. “I can’t think of anything else.” He sighed, rubbing again at his eyes as if he could conjure more facts if only he wiped enough exhaustion from his features.
“You’ve given us a lot to get on with, Elliot,” Lawrence responded. “Thank you.”
Dr. James hung his head back and took a long deep breath.
“It doesn’t feel like enough, though, does it?” he asked.
The question punctured the air, sinking the mood to one of defeat.
“It never does,” Olivia spoke, barely above a whisper. “But it adds up over time, and eventually we get them. We’re going to catch this guy, Elliot, and it will have been in part to the help you just gave us.”
“Catching him doesn’t bring these people back from the dead,” Elliot muttered, his head hung.
Olivia didn’t think she’d ever seen the medical examiner so despondent. Even when they had hard cases, he still managed to keep a positive attitude.
“You can’t let it get to you,” she insisted, rounding his desk to set a hand on his shoulder. She rarely registered how much taller Elliot was than her, but seeing her hand against his broad shoulders reminded her that she could comfortably fit herself right under his chin, that his arms could easily encircle all of her in an embrace.
“Maybe I’m just not cut out for it all,” he sighed.
“You’ve done two really difficult autopsies in less than a week,” Lawrence interrupted before Elliot could spiral further down his train of logic. “I can’t think of another medical examiner who could have handled this better.”
Dr. James simply exhaled.
“I know you’re fully capable of making the right decision for yourself,” Dean continued. “But I think it might be time to go home and try to get some rest.” His eyes studied the medical examiner.
Olivia gave Elliot’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. He shrugged off her hand; she’d expected a couple of different reactions, but certainly not that one.
“Sorry,” he murmured, his voice clearly hazy with sleep. “You’re right, I just—” He cut himself off before he could finish his thought. “It just feels irresponsible to rest when the killer’s still out there.”
The detectives exchanged glances.
“Lucky for you, we’re on the job,” Lawrence half-joked.
Elliot attempted a smile in response to his witty re
tort, but Olivia could tell his heart wasn’t truly in it.
“We’ll call you if anything major comes up,” Lawrence added.
Dr. James nodded.
“I just...” he started, the words dying as he spoke them. “I just can’t stop the feeling that something terrible is about to happen.”
It was an incredibly ominous statement, and one that gave Olivia pause. It tainted the air and hung heavily.
“I think we should go,” Olivia spoke, interrupting the silence. “We’ve got to go and check in with the lead SOCOs next. We’ll be in touch if anything else comes up. Best of luck with your day, Dr. James. Get some rest.” The words tasted too formal on her tongue, but she couldn’t think of a better way to extricate herself and Lawrence to keep working.
Elliot waved them off as if he were swatting a fly away. Are we really so torturous? Olivia thought to herself, the action stinging long after her eyes caught it as she and Dean retreated down the hall and towards their car.
“The sooner Clara clears him, the better,” her partner muttered under his breath, giving Olivia a look.
“You can say that again,” she sighed.
Liv’s determination to catch the killer quickly lit anew in her chest. Not only did she want to prevent the death of any further victims, but she also knew that the longer the killer eluded the police, the longer his actions would gnaw at her friends’ insides.
Seeing the defeat written across Elliot’s face nearly broke her heart, and she knew from Lawrence’s quiet comments that he felt the same sickening ache inside his own chest. Clara, Hershel, Tim…they all were impacted by this case.
We’re going to catch this son of a bitch, Olivia promised silently. We have to.
18
The main office for the scene-of-crime officers sat nestled in the basement of Newquay Police Station, and no matter how often the area was cleaned, it always managed to have an odour hang in the air, a mix of old lunches and grease. It was a corridor Olivia preferred avoiding, and she and Dean had an unspoken agreement to ask the SOCOs to visit them upstairs more often than they descended their offices.