by OMJ Ryan
‘Anything conclusive?’ she asked, hopefully.
‘Sorry, Guv, I’m sure I can find something more in time, but I’ve got nothing concrete just yet.’
Phillips hefted the heavy Manila folder in her hands. ‘Then what’s in here? It’s as thick as a brick.’
‘Background on Sasha Adams. She’s got quite a record.’
‘Walk with me. I’m very late for Fox as it is.’
As they moved through the corridors of Ashton House, Entwistle brought Phillips up to speed on the information she was carrying. Adams, like Roberts and Webster, was a street-walker with a serious drug addiction. She was just twenty-four years old when she died, but had been working the streets since she was fifteen. After being brought up in part by a heroin-addicted mother – also a sex worker – she later passed through various children’s homes across the North West of England until she was old enough by law to look after herself. Her first arrest had come at just sixteen, and over the next four years she’d served various short-term prison sentences, even giving birth to her daughter Isobel four years ago as a remand inmate of Henning House Prison just south of Manchester. Since her release, she had managed to stay free from arrest. However, her name was listed as one of those contacted during Operation Roundup, so there was a very good chance she was still an active sex worker.
Phillips stopped for a moment to digest the information. The connections between the girls were starting to fall into place. ‘Anything else that could help?’
Entwistle took the file from Phillips and pulled out a series of red bills. ‘It might be nothing, but all of the girls who drowned were in deep financial trouble. Each was served with an eviction notice a couple of weeks before they died.’
‘Private or council landlords?’
‘Private, Guv.’
‘Please tell me they all rented from the same guy?’
‘’Fraid not.’
‘That would be too easy, wouldn’t it?’
Entwistle handed her another printout. ‘But there is a connection. I haven’t had chance to look into yet, but I did notice that each of the landlords used the same maintenance company – Manford Estates based in Longsight.’
Phillips raised an eyebrow. ‘Did I ever tell you I don’t believe in coincidences? You could be onto something there.’
Entwistle smiled triumphantly as Phillips gathered everything back into the folder. ‘Dig into Manford. I want to know everything about them. Right, wish me luck. It’s time to walk into the lion’s den – or should that be the Fox’s hole?’
A few minutes later, Phillips walked into the reception area to Fox’s office. Ms Blair looked up, her expression grave. ‘You were due two hours ago.’
Phillips didn’t have the energy to respond. The outcome would be the same whether she explained her absence or not. ‘Is she in?’ she asked.
Blair looked unimpressed. She was used to people in Phillips’s position begging forgiveness, somehow hoping it would curry favour with Fox. Blair pursed her lips and buzzed through to her boss.
The door opened and Fox stood in silence, staring at Phillips – one of her favoured intimidation techniques. Phillips steeled herself.
‘You’d better come in. Sandra, hold my calls and cancel my next appointment. DCI Phillips and I have a lot to discuss.’ Fox motioned her inside before walking back behind her desk, where she stood, fingertips on the smoked glass. ‘So what the actual fuck have you been doing now? MCU conducting yet another investigation into a straightforward drowning?’
Fox’s spies had once again been busy.
‘As I have already explained, I have a very important meeting next week with the chief constable, the mayor and the leader of the city council. I like to be prepared for them well in advance and have all my facts in place before I go in. Our one-to-one this morning was a vital part of that planning process. A one-to-one you failed to appear for, and furthermore for which you have made no attempt to explain your absence. Let me ask you, DCI Phillips, do I look like an idiot to you?’
The question caught Phillips off guard. ‘No Ma’am.’
‘Well, why are you treating me like one? Do you think I was born yesterday? That I don’t know what you’re up to? I’m pretty sure I can guess what happened this morning. Let’s see if I’m right, shall we? So another drowning came in that looked similar to the other two you’ve been obsessing over. You know I don’t believe anything other than that they drowned. That any further investigations would constitute a deliberate waste of time and money. So, rather than bring me into the loop, you set off on yet another of your bloody crusades and waste more of MCU’s valuable time, before I had time to shut you down. How am I doing so far, Inspector?’
There’s a good reason she made detective chief superintendent, thought Phillips.
‘Judging by the look on your face, Inspector, I’d say I’m pretty close.’
Phillips produced the folder. ‘Ma’am. I’m sorry I didn’t bring you into the loop, but we have found a connection between the three dead girls. If you’ll indulge me, I can show you.’
Fox dropped down into the large leather chair. ‘This has better be good, Inspector.’
Phillips took her seat opposite and spread the documents out in front of her. She spent the next several minutes walking Fox through the similarities of each of the deaths, including the fact they were all single mothers. She had researched cupping treatments online to compare the marks to the bruises on the girls’ necks. They had not come from cupping.
The image of the big Italian having such a treatment seemed to amuse Fox. She was softening.
Finally, Phillips pulled out the rental arrears statements and pushed them across the table. ‘Entwistle has found one more connection that I believe could be key.’
Fox reviewed the pages.
‘Each of the properties rented by the girls used the same maintenance company, Manford Estates in Longsight.’
‘And what does that prove?’
‘That they are all somehow connected, Ma’am.’
Fox stared back at the printout once more. ‘It’s a bit thin, Phillips.’
She was back to using her name. Phillips felt a tingle of excitement. Fox was softening.
‘I know, Ma’am. But with the identical bruising, each drowning having been in the Rochdale Canal, the similar clothes, and now the maintenance connection, these deaths aren’t random. I believe someone is pushing the girls into the canals.’
‘If that is the case, how do you explain the fact none of them made any attempt to climb back out?’
‘The walls are vertical and slippery. Maybe they tried and failed?’
‘Come on, Phillips. I’ve read the post mortem results. None of them had any marks on their fingers or the front of their shoes that indicated they tried to climb out. If your theory is true, then someone forced the girls into the water, where it appears they stayed of their own volition until they drowned.’
Phillips had to admit that, when she put it like that, it did sound implausible. ‘Ok, but what about the identical bruising on the victims’ necks? How do you explain that?’
‘Probably just a coincidence. Or maybe it’s drug related. After all, each of the girls had high levels of heroin in their blood post mortem. Maybe the bruising was caused by the way they were taking the heroin? God knows there’s always something new for us to contend with when it comes to drugs.’
‘Maybe you’re right, but shouldn’t we know for sure?’
Fox’s tone softened. ‘Look, Jane. I can see merit in your thinking, I really can – and I’d be happy to sanction a small investigation in January. Once we hit the new financial year and can reset the targets. But opening one up now, with our unsolved cases way above what we promised to deliver to the chief constable and the city officials – it doesn’t look good.’
Phillips suspected she was being played. Fox’s transition from super-bitch to supportive parent had been seamless. So she decided to play a game of her own.
‘As you wish, Ma’am. I understand.’
Fox’s sinister Cheshire Cat smile returned. ‘Good. That settles it.’
Phillips gathered the papers and put them away in the folder. ‘Do you still have connections in the press, Ma’am?’
Fox looked surprised. ‘I do. Why do you ask?’
‘It’s the journalist, Don Townsend. He’s been calling me non-stop this morning. I’ve not answered, but in his voicemails he mentions he wants to talk to me about the drownings. Could be nothing, of course, but in my experience he’s only ever interested in sensational, headline-worthy stories.’
Fox’s smile vanished. ‘That’s all we need. You’d better find out what he wants. The last thing I need before my meeting next week is that arsehole stirring things up in the press.’
Fox had taken the bait. It took all of Phillips’s strength to fight off the grin that threatened to spread across her face. ‘What about the rest of the cases, Ma'am? Would you like me to talk you through them ahead of your meeting?’
‘Just leave them on the desk. I’ll read them later.’
Phillips placed the thick folder back on the smoked glass. ‘Of course, Ma’am.’
‘Right. Make sure you find out what Townsend wants as a priority. Dismissed.’
‘Of course, Ma’am.’
A few minutes later, Phillips breathed a sigh of relief and punched the air as she made her way back towards the squad room. En route, she ducked into one of the empty meeting rooms and pulled out her phone. It took a moment to find the number and press dial. It rang a few times before being answered.
The leering voice on the other end of the call made her skin crawl. ‘DCI Phillips. Long time no speak. What can I do for the long arm of the law today?’
‘I need a favour, Don.’
‘Go on?
‘Can you put a call in to Chief Superintendent Fox’s office this afternoon?’
‘What about?’
‘Tell her PA you want to talk about three recent drownings in the Rochdale Canal.’
‘And then what am I supposed to do?’
‘Nothing. I can guarantee Fox will avoid your call.’
‘But what if she doesn’t? What if she answers?’
‘If that happens, just ask her if the deaths of Candice Roberts, Chantelle Webster and Sasha Adams are connected. She’ll panic and fob you off. She has no desire to talk about them, I can assure you of that.’
Don Townsend remained silent for a moment as he wrote down the names. ‘And are they connected?’
‘I don’t know at this stage.’
‘But they might be?’
‘All in good time, Don.’
‘What are you up to, Phillips?’
‘I don’t have time to explain right now. Will you do it?’
‘Well, I must admit, I’m intrigued. So what’s in it for me?’
‘If they are connected, an exclusive story that I’ll only share with you. And don’t ask me for details. I can’t say. Not yet. But I will.’
Townsend chuckled. ‘Sounds interesting. Ok, I’ll do it. But you’d better come through for me on this, or you know what I’ll do?’
‘Don’t worry, Don. I’m very familiar with how you operate. I’ll come through. Just make sure you call Fox this afternoon, ok?’
‘Well, I’m just about to head out and get some lunch. I’ll do it when I get back.’
‘Thanks, Don.’
Phillips ended the call and stepped out of the meeting room. She took a moment to check each way for anyone who might have overheard, but it was all clear.
Now all she had to do was wait for Don to play his part, and Fox to react.
17
Phillips was in her office, working through a file Entwistle had handed to her just a few moments ago on Manford Estates. It was a preliminary report he had rushed through for her, and she was hopeful more detailed information would be available tomorrow.
Her desk phone rang. Phillips checked her watch. It was two hours since she’d asked Don Townsend to call Fox. She hoped this was the call she had been waiting for.
‘MCU. This is Phillips.’
‘For arguments’ sake,’ said Fox without an introduction, ‘if I did sanction an investigation into these three deaths, how soon do you think you could rule out homicide?’
‘Well, there’s no guarantees, Ma’am, but if it isn’t murder, then I would hope it would be obvious quite quickly. As long as I have the authority and budget to dig where I want, that is.’
There was a pause at the other end of the phone before Fox spoke again. ‘Ok, you’ve got your investigation. But I want it closed before the end of the year, which gives you three weeks.’
‘Thank you, Ma’am. With such a tight time frame, I wonder if it would be possible to second DS Gibson from SCT?’
‘Is that necessary? It’ll mean paying overtime to cover her cases.’
‘She knows the streets and the girls better than most. I think her experience would expedite the investigation, Ma’am.’
Fox took a moment to mull it over. ‘Ok. Do it. You can have her for three weeks, but not a day longer. I’ll speak to DCI Atkins to make sure she’s made available to you.’
Phillips grinned into the phone. ‘Thank you Ma’am.’
‘Just don’t fuck it up or there’ll be hell to pay.’
‘I won’t, Ma’am.’
‘Oh, and Jane. No heroics on this one, please?’
‘You have my word on it, Ma’am.’
Fox ended the call without saying goodbye and Phillips clapped her hands with glee. Townsend must have played a blinder. She had her investigation and an extra pair of hands, but she also now owed an exclusive to one of the toughest hacks in the UK press. She prayed to God she could find one or there really would be hell to pay.
The next morning, Phillips was working her way through the staff records of Manford Estates. She was so engrossed she didn’t notice Detective Sergeant Gibson standing at the door to her office until she cleared her throat.
Phillips looked up. ‘DS Gibson. I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘Please, Ma’am, I prefer Gibbo.’
‘And I prefer Guv. I’m not a bloody spinster.’ Phillips grinned as she stood to shake Gibson’s hand. ‘Come on. Let’s go meet the team.’
Out in the squad room, Jones and Bovalino were both busy on their phones, chasing down various avenues of enquiry into the deaths. Thanks to Fox’s paranoia that Don Townsend was ready to blow the story wide open, the three deaths were MCU’s main priority. The desks surrounding Jones and Bovalino were now filled with uniformed support staff, all engrossed in their tasks. Phillips and Gibson arrived at Jones’s desk just as he finished his call.
Phillips made the introductions. ‘DS Jones, this is DS Gibson – or Gibbo as she prefers to be called.’
The two sergeants shook hands.
‘Call me Jonesy.’
‘And this big lump—’ Phillips patted Bovalino on the shoulder as he continued on his call. ‘—is Bovalino, or Bov.’ The big Italian shook Gibson’s outstretched hand in silence and nodded.
‘Don’t worry, he’s not usually this quiet,’ joked Jones.
‘Where’s Entwistle?’ said Phillips.
Jones pointed to the small kitchen at the end of the squad room. ‘Gone to make the coffees, Guv.’
A moment later, Entwistle wandered back with a tray of four steaming cups. Phillips turned to face him. ‘Just in time, Entwistle. I hope you have a drink for DS Gibson?’
Entwistle appeared flustered as he placed the drinks on the desk in front of Phillips. ‘No. Sorry, Guv,’ he said. His gaze was fixed on Gibson. ‘I’m DC Entwistle, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Would you like me to make you a brew?’
Gibson shook her head. ‘I’m fine, thank you. I don’t drink tea or coffee.’
Entwistle hadn’t taken his eyes off the newest member of the team. Standing at almost six feet tall with an athletic frame and short pero
xide blonde hair, Gibson was very striking. ‘That must take some will-power,’ he said. ‘I wish I could give up coffee. I drink far too much.’
Phillips noted his tone, which was reminiscent of a doe-eyed teenager’s. Jones, noticing it too, sat back and folded his arms as he watched the exchange, a lopsided grin spreading across his face.
As Bovalino finished his call and put the phone down, Phillips took the opportunity to address the wider room. ‘Right, guys. Can I have your attention please? I’d like to formally introduce Detective Sergeant Gibson – or Gibbo – to the team. She’s been seconded into MCU for the rest of the month to help us find out what happened to Roberts, Webster and Adams. As of yesterday, these are now on our priority case list. Chief Superintendent Fox wants the truth of what happened to these girls ASAP.’
‘What changed her mind, Guv?’ asked one of the support team.
‘I simply expressed the PR benefits of getting to the bottom of these cases before anything got out to the press.’
Jones laughed. ‘You mean before someone leaked it to them, Guv.’
Phillips shot him a look that wiped the smile off his face. Knowing the speed at which information could get back to Fox in Ashton House, she didn’t want him making jokes like that in front of the wider team.
‘DS Gibson joins us from the Sex Crimes and Trafficking squad. She’s our eyes and ears on the street, in particular Cheetham Hill, Ancoats and Miles Platting, where we believe young girls are being picked up and then forced into the canals and drowned. Entwistle, can you pull up the images for us, please?’
A large screen behind Phillips clicked into life before an image of Candice Roberts – taken in the morgue during her post mortem – appeared.
‘This is Candice Roberts. She was twenty-three and from Failsworth. A known sex worker found in the Rochdale Canal in October. Unfortunately, we don’t have any images of her at the time her body was discovered, as it was assumed she had drowned, but we do know she went into the water wearing a short miniskirt, a crop top and stacked heels. So far, no coat has been recovered, which is very strange considering the time of year.’