The Tangled Lock (The National Crime Agency Series Book 3)

by Bill Rogers

‘That’s right. I got a little cottage on Springs Road.’ Mr Roberts pointed behind him towards the junction. ‘Hundred and fifty yards that way. Lived there all my life, man and boy.’

  ‘Local indeed,’ she said. ‘And this information, Mr Roberts?’

  ‘That woman’s body they found this morning,’ he said. ‘In the gully, was it?’

  ‘How do you know about that?’ said Max.

  The old man gave him a withering look. ‘Not much of a detective, are you? Everyone round here knows. Stands to reason those lads were going to go straight home and tell their mums, doesn’t it? And their mums are not going to keep something like that quiet, are they?’ He chuckled. ‘Checked your Twitter feed lately?’

  ‘Please, Mr Roberts,’ said Jo. ‘What was it you wanted to tell us?’

  ‘That whole area where she was found used to be known as Drummer Hill. It’s rough farmland, right? And up till a quarter of a century ago so was that estate up on the hill behind it. But afore that in the 1920s it was the Laurel and Baytree Mills, and afore that a coal mine.’

  ‘What’s that got to do—?’ Max began to say.

  Jo cut him short. ‘Go on, Mr Roberts.’

  ‘Well, when I was a lad we were told to stay away from Drummer Hill because it was haunted.’

  Max sighed impatiently.

  ‘By whom?’ Jo asked.

  ‘Story is there was a coal-pit mining disaster, and among the dead were pit ponies, who were buried alive, and never recovered. Sometimes if you woke up in the night you could hear the beating of their hooves.’ He looked up at Max. ‘You may scoff. But I heard them myself.’

  ‘That’s very interesting, Mr Roberts,’ said Jo. ‘What makes you think it has any relevance to the body those boys found this morning?’

  ‘Ah well,’ he said, ‘the point is, apart from the farmer, kids on their bikes, and a few people who walk their dogs, not many people go up there. An’ I certainly never heard of anyone going there at night. Superstition is a powerful thing once the sun’s gone down.’

  ‘Your point being?’ said Max.

  The old man ignored him, and spoke directly to Jo. ‘That place is hidden from the road by all those trees along here. I don’t reckon you’d know it existed unless you were a local. An’ if you were a local you might think it an ideal place to do a murder. Somewhere you weren’t likely to be disturbed.’

  Jo thanked Roberts, and let him go on his way. They watched him struggling to walk, holding on to the fence with one hand, and the dog lead with the other.

  ‘That dog’s going to kill him one of these days,’ said Max. ‘He’ll either trip over the lead, or get dragged under a car.’

  ‘What do you think?’ Jo asked as they continued towards Middleton Junction. ‘About what he said?’

  Max shook his head.

  ‘If this was the only murder, I’d give it some credence, but what he said about local knowledge could equally be said about all of the other murders too. Especially the first two in Wigan and Leigh. The unsub can’t have been local to all those places.’

  ‘There’s another difference this time,’ Jo said. ‘All of the other crime scenes have been within spitting distance of a well-known red-light district. But this one wasn’t. It’s unlikely she was followed here. There’s no evidence of a car having been used. And it’s unlikely the unsub just happened to be hanging around here on the off-chance.’

  Max didn’t seem convinced. ‘I can think of several flaws with that. Not least of which is if this isn’t a red-light district, what was she doing here?’

  ‘Assuming she is a prostitute.’

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘You saw her hair, and the short skirt. And the boots.’

  ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover.’

  ‘Why not? It’s always worked for me. This place, for example.’ He nodded towards the public house just ahead of them. ‘Look at the pub sign. The Railway & Linnet. What does that tell you?’

  ‘Search me. It’s near a railway and it served the navvies that built the railway and the passengers that travelled on it?’

  ‘What about the Linnet?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe the original landlord kept a bird in a cage on the bar.’

  ‘Nice try,’ Max said. ‘Actually linnets love the kind of habitat you find along railway embankments. For feeding, and nesting. So that’s what you have here. A railway, and linnets. Exactly what’s on the cover.’

  ‘I never took you for a twitcher.’

  ‘I used to be as a kid.’ He grinned. ‘I grew out of it when a different species of birds caught my fancy. But you know how it is with childhood obsessions. You never really forget them.’

  Jo did. She wondered if that was how it had been with the killer. Was his fetish connected in some way with his mother or a sister perhaps? With a dramatic or traumatic childhood experience? She sighed. They would have to catch him to find out for sure.

  Chapter 55

  ‘This is Detective Superintendent Hazel Truckett. Suffolk Constabulary.’

  While Gordon introduced each of them in turn, Jo studied the woman standing to his left. She was a head taller than him and dressed in a trouser suit and white blouse. The entire ensemble looked custom-tailored. She had the bright eyes and natural air of authority that accompanied unstoppable ambition.

  They took their places at the table.

  ‘Superintendent Truckett is in the middle of a serious investigation,’ said Gordon. ‘She has to catch the 4.50pm train from Piccadilly. We have agreed that the best use of her time and expertise is for her to listen to where we’re up to, and comment as appropriate. Nick has already briefed her, and she’s had a look at both the murder book and the policy book, so we’re going to crack on with this morning’s developments.’

  He turned to address her. ‘Is there anything you’d like to say first, Superintendent?’

  She smiled warmly. ‘Only to remind you that when Operation Sumac began, I, like Gordon here, was a newly promoted detective chief inspector. The only difference is that I was the deputy senior investigating officer. My boss, the SIO, was a chief superintendent. He’s retired now, which is why they sent me. When the bodies began to pile up, they also drafted in a commander from the London Met as an adviser. Frankly I’m surprised that you haven’t done something like that here.’

  ‘Yet,’ muttered Gordon.

  ‘I’d take it as a compliment if I were you,’ she said. ‘From what I’ve seen so far, I’m not sure we, or anyone else, would have done anything different in terms of the way in which you’re currently running Operation Firethorn. Frankly you have a much more challenging situation than the one that faced us.’

  ‘How so?’ said Gordon.

  ‘Well, whilst Sumac, like Firethorn, was an A+ linked-series homicide, ours was pretty much contained. Although the deposition sites were spread out, the victims were all working in or close to the same small red-light district when they were abducted and killed. We were pretty sure from the outset that our man was local and almost certainly someone who used the services of prostitutes. In the case of Firethorn the perpetrator is moving around to different red-light districts, and his modus operandi is far more resonant of a stranger serial predator. But I don’t want to get into that until I’ve heard about today’s discovery.’

  An imperious rap on the door interrupted Gordon’s response. The door opened. Assistant Chief Constable Helen Gates walked in.

  ‘Apologies,’ she said. ‘The Mayor of Greater Manchester demanded an update on Firethorn.’

  She pulled out a chair next to Gordon, and sat down.

  Gordon introduced her to Hazel Truckett.

  ‘We learned a lot from the review of your Sumac operation,’ Gates told her. ‘Aside from catching the killer, our overarching strategy is focused on preventing further murders of street sex workers within Greater Manchester, providing appropriate and sufficient resources to support the investigation, and maintaining the confidence and trust of our partners and th
e wider community. The day-to-day investigation is, as I’m sure you’ve been told, down to DCI Holmes.’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ said the Suffolk superintendent, whom Jo could see had already made a swift assessment of the new arrival.

  ‘Good,’ said Gates. ‘So where are you up to, DCI Holmes?’

  ‘All three syndicates are working flat out, Ma’am,’ he told her. ‘Deskbound and front-line officers and staff are on a three-shift pattern so we have 24/7 coverage. We’re handling over three hundred calls a day from the public, and averaging one hundred and ninety face-to-face follow-up interviews. Over one thousand five hundred vehicles caught on CCTV in and around the various crime scenes have been traced and eliminated. Likewise thirteen male cyclists broadly matching the description of the man recorded following victim number five, Genna Crowden. Two hundred voluntary DNA samples have been taken. There are seventeen males due at the magistrates’ court later this week on charges under 51A of the Sexual Offences Act 2003. The forensics tests are ongoing.’

  ‘That’s impressive,’ said DS Truckett.

  Helen Gates looked far from impressed. ‘Unfortunately,’ she said, ‘since we don’t have a single suspect, it counts for nothing. Tell me about victim number six.’

  Gordon nodded to Nick, who swiped his tablet and brought up an image on the whiteboard at the end of the table. It was a colour photo of the latest victim in situ, taken before the tent had been erected. The emerald hair struck a discordant note and gave the impression of a discarded clothes shop mannequin. Despite the fact that Jo had stood right beside the body, this image still brought a lump to her throat. Gordon gave them time to digest what they were seeing.

  ‘Victim number six,’ he said. ‘We have a name. Jacinta Quinn. Her handbag was found close to the path, halfway to the road.’

  Another image appeared. Jo wondered how she, Max, and everyone else who had trod that path could have missed it.

  ‘She was twenty-nine years old. Older than the other victims. She is believed to be of MI ethnicity – mixed white and Afro-Caribbean. According to the Neighbourhood Policing Team, she lived in a six-bed house of multiple occupancy on Rochdale Road. The landlord, Kenneth Albert, aka Kenny Kebab’ – he looked up – ‘don’t ask . . . is alleged to be her pimp, and is a known drug dealer with two previous. He’s nowhere to be found, but we’re proactively looking for him.’

  He nodded again, and a third image appeared. It showed a BMW 3 Series black saloon with tinted windows.

  ‘This is his car, and this is her getting out of it. As you can see, the time is 11.48pm yesterday evening.’

  The image began to move. The car door opened. Jacinta Quinn alighted from the front passenger side, and closed the door. They watched in silence as the car performed a tight U-turn and sped off towards Middleton. She looked around for a moment, as though getting her bearings, and then set off in the opposite direction.

  ‘How did you get this so quickly?’ Gates asked.

  ‘As soon as I heard the body had been found, I got my digital media officers to start harvesting the data from the static council-managed cameras, focusing on the main roads around Middleton Junction.’

  ‘If we’d had access to as many cameras eleven years ago as there are now, we could have saved some of those women,’ commented DS Truckett.

  ‘Doesn’t appear to be working for us,’ said Gates. ‘Where was this taken?’

  ‘On Lees Street, close to the brewery. We know she entered the Brookside Business Park. There are lots of modern units: industrial equipment supplies, a print works, a fire and safety firm, and refrigeration business, for example. There’s a security barrier manned in daylight hours, and operated remotely thereafter. The park is bristling with private CCTV cameras. I have officers collecting footage as we speak. We are still tracking her progress, but we do have some evidence that she then tried a triangular route comprising of Lees Street, Green Lane and Grimshaw Lane.’ He nodded again. ‘Nick?’

  Nick brought up another piece of video footage. It showed Jacinta Quinn walking into shot as a dark 4x4 appeared on the same side of the road and came to a halt just ahead of her. They watched as she bent to speak to someone through the front passenger window. After a brief exchange she opened the door and got in. The car set off slowly, then after thirty yards turned left, and out of sight.

  ‘This is timed at ten past midnight,’ said Gordon. ‘We have the licence plate, and the name of the registered owner and keeper. It hasn’t been reported stolen, so we should have him in here for questioning any time now.’ He rubbed his chin nervously. ‘But don’t get excited.’

  Without being asked, Nick replaced the image with another video.

  ‘This is him dropping her off in the same place he picked her up. Timed at just gone half past twelve. I think we can all guess how they filled the intervening twenty minutes.’

  Helen Gates scowled. Nobody else responded.

  Couldn’t resist it, could you, Gordon? Jo thought.

  He looked around the room.

  ‘That’s all we’ve got for now, but more and more footage will have come in while we’ve been sitting here.’

  ‘Let’s hope for all our sakes you get lucky this time,’ said Helen Gates.

  How about for the sake of the next potential victim, and the one after that? Jo reflected.

  ‘What did the pathologist have to say?’ the ACC continued.

  ‘Professor Flatman is of the opinion that this victim was killed in an identical manner to all of the others. He tentatively puts the time of death at between 2am and 3.30am this morning. He’s reasonably confident about that because there had been a relatively small change in ambient temperature overnight and up till the time the body was discovered.’

  ‘It is definitely the same killer then.’

  ‘ “Definite” isn’t a word I’d use lightly, Ma’am,’ said Gordon, just managing to avoid it sounding like a rebuke. ‘But apart from the manner in which she was killed, there was a section of hair cut from her head, and a foreign clump of hair placed in her mouth. So the same modus operandi, if not the same killer.’

  ‘Clump?’

  ‘I used that term because it was impossible to tell without removing it if it was a knotted or tangled lock of hair, as in all of the previous cases. Come the post-mortem results, I will be better placed to describe it accurately.’

  That did sound like a rebuke. He was saved by a knock on the door. Helen Gates tutted. Jo pushed back her chair and went to investigate. It was Duggie Wallace, the senior intelligence analyst. His eyes were wide, and shone with excitement.

  Chapter 56

  ‘Tell DCI Holmes that I’ve just uploaded to the whiteboard some footage from a camera on the side of the brewery at Middleton Junction,’ Wallace whispered. ‘I think he’ll want to see it right now.’

  ‘Thanks, Duggie,’ said Jo.

  She returned to her seat and told them what the analyst had said. An air of expectancy filled the room.

  ‘Right, Nick, let’s have it,’ said Gordon.

  It took a moment for Nick to locate the file. When he did, it showed a jogger emerging from a path between bushes on the opposite side of the road to the camera. He wore a dark hooded anorak, tight black leggings, black training shoes, and a small, dark runner’s backpack.

  Jo recognised the spot from their walk around the area.

  ‘This is from the side of the brewery at the junction of Grimshaw Lane and Lees Road,’ she informed them.

  The man jogged to the junction, noticed he had a lace undone, bent to tie it, and then walked across the road before jogging off down Grimshaw Lane.

  ‘Look at the time,’ said Jo, pointing to the bottom of the screen. ‘It’s 2.17am.’

  The import was not lost on them. Max leaned closer.

  ‘If we get another gait analysis on this one and compare it with the one of the cyclist in the Genna Crowden murder, then we’ll know if it’s the same person,’ said Jo. ‘And a biometric analysis shoul
d give us his height and weight, and establish whether there is a match with the footprint recovered from the Middleton crime scene. We should also be checking with street sex workers, including going over existing statements, for any sightings of both cyclists and joggers.’

  ‘Mr Swift,’ said Helen Gates, ‘I would like an opinion on what the killer’s behaviour, assuming this is him, is now telling us.’

  Jo was just as keen to hear what he had to say.

  Andy looked up. ‘The first thing that this is telling us,’ he said, ‘is that if there was any doubt – and there wasn’t in my mind – that this multiple-series homicide is the work of a serial killer, then that doubt has been completely dispelled. Secondly, his compulsion to kill is escalating. Thirdly, whilst he is a meticulous planner he is also something of an opportunist.’

  ‘What leads you to that conclusion?’ asked Gates.

  ‘The fact that the last two victims had moved out of the recognised red-light districts, and yet he was still comfortable in following the first to, and finding the second in, places outside the neighbourhood he had presumably reconnoitred.’

  ‘Reconnoitred? You make it sound like a military exercise.’

  ‘In his mind it is. We are the enemy. His victim is both the target, and collateral damage. A better metaphor would be a hunting expedition. He is the poacher, we are gamekeepers.’

  Andy let them digest that and then continued with his original list. ‘Fourthly, the fact that he is modifying and adapting his behaviour to avoid detection suggests he is both of above-average intelligence and intent upon continuing to kill. He will strike again, and soon. Ironically that is your best hope of catching him. However, if he isn’t apprehended soon, he may go to ground. Adapt again. And re-emerge at a later date, and in another place.’

  ‘Is that likely?’ asked DS Truckett. ‘It certainly wasn’t the case with our perpetrator.’

  ‘It is unusual but not unknown,’ Andy told her. ‘There have been cases, in the States for example, where an escalating serial killer has suddenly gone to ground and either re-emerged sometime later or never been heard of again. Which doesn’t mean, incidentally, that he stopped killing. Only that he had become more cautious and sophisticated in doing so.’