Deadly Waters

by OMJ Ryan

  Another image appeared, this time the back of her head and neck.

  ‘This picture was taken during the post mortem. Notice the large bruise on the back of her neck; a perfect circle. I want you all to remember how it looks; it could be very important going forward. The next image is of Chantelle Webster as she was pulled from the water. She was twenty-three years of age and from Stretford. Thanks to the quick thinking of a junior PC, MCU was called in to oversee the recovery of her body. Like Roberts, at first it was believed she had drowned and, like Roberts, there were no signs of trauma to the body, which would suggest that once she was in the water, she didn’t try to climb out. She too was found in what are considered clubbing clothes, and without a coat.’

  Phillips flicked through the images until she found the one she was looking for from the post mortem. ‘You’ll notice she too has the same bruise on the back of her neck.’

  The image of a different girl appeared on screen.

  ‘Finally, this is Sasha Adams, aged twenty-four and from Rusholme. Another street-walker. Adams was also found dead in the Rochdale Canal, with identical bruising and wearing almost the same outfit as the other two girls – as yet no coat or jacket has been found for her either. Again, we found no signs of trauma marks on her head, shoulders or arms. Plus, just like the other girls, there were no signs on her fingers or shoes to suggest she tried to get out of the water. Please note that each girl had money in their purses, so we can rule out robbery. All three were heroin addicts and they were all single mothers. We’re not sure if that has any bearing on the case, but it’s worth you knowing everything we have so far. Now, as many of you know, I do not believe in coincidence. So, when three girls, all sex workers in the same patch – Cheetham Hill – end up dead in the Rochdale Canal, all with identical bruising and similar outfits, we have to assume these deaths are somehow connected.’

  ‘Are we looking at a potential serial killer then, Guv?’ asked Bovalino.

  ‘It’s far too soon to tell, I’m afraid.’ Phillips cast her gaze around the room. All eyes were on her. ‘The clock is ticking on this one guys. The gap between Webster’s and Adams’s deaths was just a few days. If someone is killing these girls, there’s a strong chance they’ll do it again and soon. And as we know, Manchester has one of the largest canal networks in the country with miles and miles of waterways. So far the dead girls have all been found in the same stretch of water, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t look at other locations across the network. I want to hear about anything of interest anywhere on the canals, understood?’

  A chorus of ‘Yes Guv’s filled the room.

  ‘Good. You’ve each got your assignments. Heads down please and don’t come up until you have something.’

  As the wider team got back to work, Phillips took a moment to pull her core team together in her office.

  Bovalino was last in and closed the door behind him. ‘I’ve been thinking, Guv.’

  ‘Careful, big fella. You know it doesn’t agree with you,’ joked Jonesy.

  Bovalino flipped Jones a V-sign. ‘You mentioned that each of the victims had kids, and that maybe that could somehow be a link…’

  ‘Yeah. So what?’ said Phillips.

  ‘Well, I think you might be right. I mean, they were all single mothers and they all lived alone.’

  Phillips dropped into her chair and placed her hands on the side of her face. ‘That’s true, but if the kids are the link, how are they linked?’

  Bovalino continued, ‘Well, I was wondering if it could it be through Social Services?’

  Phillips rubbed her open palms over her face, causing her skin to redden. ‘Maybe, but again, how, Bov?’

  ‘Could our killer have access to Social Service records?’ Gibson chipped in.

  Phillips looked incredulous. ‘You think our killer is working for Social Services?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Gibson.

  Phillips wasn’t buying it. ‘So, someone whose job it is to protect kids is killing their mothers? That doesn’t make any sense.’

  ‘What if that’s exactly why they’re doing it, Guv? To protect the kids,’ said Jones.

  Phillips turned to him. ‘You’ve lost me now.’

  Jones sat forwards. ‘Hear me out. As we know, each of the kids has been taken into care since their mothers were killed. What if that’s what our killer wanted all along: the kids away from their drug addict mothers?’

  ‘What? A killer with a conscience?’ said Gibson.

  ‘I know it sounds far-fetched,’ Jones continued enthusiastically, ‘but as we’ve got bugger-all else to go on, maybe it’s worth a look?’

  Phillips knew he was reaching, but he was right about one thing: it was worth a look. ‘Well, it can’t hurt. Entwistle, see if any of the girls are connected in any way through Social Services.’

  Sitting opposite Phillips, Entwistle opened his laptop screen on his knees but said nothing for a moment, as if lost in thought. The team waited for him to acknowledge the request.

  ‘Did you hear me?’ prompted Phillips.

  Entwistle was aware of all eyes on him. ‘Sorry, Guv. I was just trying to figure out how I’d do that. There’s no way I can access Social Service records without clearance from the organisation, and with strict safeguarding protocols to follow, that will take time.’

  Phillips leant across the desk and stared Entwistle straight in the eye. ‘Bureaucracy has never stopped you before. Come on. There must be a workaround we can access quickly.’

  A second later, something seemed to spark in Entwistle as he sat to attention and began typing. ‘Well, I may not have access to Social Service records, but I can at least cross-check the girls addresses against the different Social Service catchment areas. Let’s see if they’re all covered by one office or were allocated to different locations.’

  Phillips smiled. ‘Sounds like a good place to start.’

  It took Entwistle a couple of minutes. ‘Right, I’ve got something, but it’s not good news, I’m afraid. Based on their home addresses, it looks like each of the girls would have been attached to different Social Services offices, so it’s doubtful that could be the link.’

  Jones shook his head. ‘Bugger. That’s a shame. I thought we might have been on to something there.’

  Phillips placed both hands flat on the desk in front of her. ‘It is a stretch, but let’s not discard it completely. Not just yet, anyway. We need to keep an open mind on every possible angle.’

  Each of the team nodded in unison.

  ‘In the meantime, Jones and Bovalino, you go and see Candice Roberts’s mum. See what you can find out from her. Did she have a boyfriend? Any changes in behaviour recently, etc.? I’ll take Gibbo to see Adams’s mum.’

  ‘What about me, Guv?’ said Entwistle.

  ‘You stay here and keep digging into Social Services, see if there are any other ways they could be linked. And find out as much as you can on Manford Estates. Let’s see if there’s a more concrete connection than just the fact they were responsible for maintaining the girls’ flats.’

  Entwistle looked dejected, and Phillips suspected he wanted to spend more time with his new crush, Gibson. Sadly for love’s young dream, they worked for the Major Crimes Unit, not a dating agency.

  She checked her watch. ‘It’s 10 a.m. now. We’ll aim to meet back here at 1 p.m. to debrief. Okay?’

  They nodded, then each set off to complete their assignments.

  18

  The path to Fiona Adams’s flat was covered with rubbish. There was even an old armchair, now sodden with rain, and a small rusted pink child’s bike. The curtains were drawn behind the rotting ground-floor windows, and the front door looked like it had been repaired at some point. A large piece of chipboard had been screwed on to it, likely to cover a hole. With Gibson at her side, Phillips pressed the doorbell, but it made no sound. After a long moment, she banged on the door, repeating the process for several minutes. Finally they heard the lock move, and the do
or creaked open as a dishevelled older lady peeped out.

  ‘Fiona Adams?’

  ‘Who wants to know?’

  Phillips flashed her ID, followed by Gibson. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Phillips. This is Detective Sergeant Gibson.’

  ‘I know who she is,’ spat Adams.

  Phillips continued, ‘We’re from the Major Crimes Unit and we’d like to talk to you about Sasha. May we come in?’

  ‘Do I have a choice?’ Adams left the door open as she retreated into the darkness.

  The small flat was no more salubrious inside. Dirty plates and takeaway containers covered most of the surfaces, alongside overflowing ash trays and a homemade crack pipe. Adams didn’t seem to care less that it was on show. She sat back in the battered old armchair and rolled a cigarette between her blackened fingernails before lifting it to her mouth. As she lit it with a match, her face was illuminated, bringing her ravaged features into focus – her skin, covered in spots and sores, her jaw sunken after losing most of her teeth. The few that remained were black and gnarled.

  Phillips and Gibson took a seat next to each other on the small two-seater sofa which, having long since lost its springs, caused them to sink low into the frame. Adjusting her weight, Phillips sat forwards and pulled out her notepad and pen. ‘When did you last see Sasha?’

  Adams took a long drag from her cigarette and blew a plume of smoke across the room before shrugging her shoulders. ‘Dunno. Last week I guess.’

  ‘Could you be more specific?’

  ‘Why does it matter? She’s dead.’

  ‘You don’t seem overly upset, Fiona,’ said Gibson.

  Adams shot her a look of pure distain. ‘Better her than me.’

  Phillips couldn’t believe it. ‘Don’t you care that your daughter is dead? That your granddaughter has been taken into care?’

  Adams took another drag from her cigarette before answering. ‘She’s better off in care. Better than living like this.’

  Phillips had to admit she had a point. ‘We’d like to find out what Sasha was doing and who she was with the day she died.’

  ‘Why does that matter? She drowned, didn’t she?’

  Phillips had no desire to share any of her suspicions with Adams. ‘Yes she did, but we’d still like to know how she ended up in the water.’

  ‘She was probably taking a shortcut. All the girls do it.’

  Gibson cut in now. ‘How long have you been working the streets, Fiona?’

  ‘Too bloody long.’

  ‘And have you ever taken that shortcut at Miles Platting?’

  ‘Maybe, at some point. I can’t remember, to be honest. It all looks the same up there.’

  Phillips stepped back in and changed tack. ‘Did Sasha have a pimp?’

  ‘No. Neither of us did. Not worth the hassle. They’re supposed to protect you, but they end up hurting you more than the punters. It’s all Eastern Europeans now, and they’re nasty bastards. No, she her took her chances on her own, just like I do.’

  ‘These Eastern Europeans you mentioned. Do you know if they ever threatened Sasha?’ said Phillips.

  ‘No, but only cos she didn’t work for ’em. They’re full of charm when they’re trying to get you on-side. Well known for it. It’s once you’re in their crew that they start beating on you.’

  ‘And what about you? Have they tried to recruit you?’

  Adams scoffed. ‘They’re not interested in old meat like me. They couldn’t give a fuck about anyone over the age of thirty.’

  Phillips’s interest was piqued. ‘And how old are you, Fiona?’

  Adams blew out another plume of smoke. ‘Forty-two.’

  Thanks to the crack and life on the streets, she looked almost double that.

  Phillips pressed on. ‘Going back to Sasha’s last few days. Is there anything you can recall, or think of, that might help us find out who she was with?’

  Adams stubbed out her cigarette and began rolling another. ‘Nothing. To be honest, we’d had a bit of a falling out a few months back and we’d not spoken since. I’ve seen her around like, up by the shops, but never said owt to her.’

  ‘And what about your granddaughter?’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘Have you seen her recently?

  ‘No. I’m not good with kids, like.’

  ‘Is that why you’ve not been assigned as her guardian?’

  Adams shrugged her shoulder again. ‘Probably.’

  They were getting nowhere, so Phillips decided to cut her losses for the moment. She handed Adams her card. ‘If you do think of anything that might help us, my number’s on there. Please call me day or night, ok?’

  Adams inspected the card without saying anything.

  Phillips stood, and Gibson followed. ‘Well, thank you for your time. We’ll see ourselves out.’

  Outside, as they walked back to the car, Phillips stopped and took a moment to look back at the grotty flat. ‘It’s no life, is it Gibbo?’

  ‘No, Guv. It’s bloody awful. She was right about one thing in there; at least the granddaughter has a chance at something better now.’

  Phillips nodded. ‘I hope so, I really do. But how many kids in care end up back on the streets, hey?’

  Gibson looked forlorn. ‘Too many, Guv. Far too many.’

  19

  Phillips and Gibson arrived back in the squad room just as Jones and Bovalino were taking off their thick winter coats. Jones hung his on the back of the chair. ‘Bloody hell. I don’t envy those girls being out in weather like this.’

  Bovalino did the same, giving a shudder as he released his coat. ‘Can you imagine how cold it must have been for them in the water?’

  Whilst the wider team occupied the majority of the room, Phillips’s core team had maintained their usual position in the corner just next to Phillips’s office. Phillips strode into the space rubbing her hands together, followed by Gibson. ‘Is someone gonna sort out a brew? I’m bloody freezing.’

  Everyone looked at Entwistle, who took the hint. He blushed as he looked over at Gibson. ‘Despite how it looks, Gibbo, I’m more than just a tea-boy, you know.’

  Bovalino threw a ball of waste paper at him. ‘Shut up and get the drinks in, lad.’

  Five minutes later, Entwistle returned with a tray of hot drinks. Gibson had already dispensed a glass of water from the cooler and sat cradling it at the spare desk opposite Jones.

  Phillips stuck a picture of Adams’s dead body on the whiteboard outside her office and turned back to the team. ‘So, what did you get from Roberts’s mother?’

  Bovalino took the initiative. ‘She’s a junkie like her daughter, but not a sex worker. She makes her money from begging up at Piccadilly each day.’

  ‘And how has she taken Candice’s death?’ asked Phillips.

  ‘Quite upset, but Jonesy and I got the sense it was more to do with the money she was losing as opposed to the fact her daughter had died. It seems Candice was paying the rent on the flat. Although, by the sounds of it she’d run into trouble of late and was in arrears.’

  Entwistle chipped in. ‘I looked into her finances. She was flat broke and had been threatened with eviction.’

  Bovalino continued. ‘The mother’s terrified she’s gonna be evicted herself now. She kept asking if we could put a word in with her landlord for her. It was quite sad, if truth be told.’

  ‘Anything that might help us understand how Candice ended up in Miles Platting that night?’

  ‘Nothing much, Guv. She said Candice went out as normal at around 9 p.m. but never came home. She did confirm she was wearing a coat when she left the house, though. With her description, we can at least start looking for it now. It might tell us something.’

  Phillips nodded. ‘Any lead’s a good lead right now. Bov, get uniform up to Miles Platting and start the search for it, will you?’

  ‘Consider it done, Guv.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  Jones shook his head. ‘Nothing o
f any substance, Guv. Just that Candice’s daughter had been taken into temporary care until the grandmother could get clean.’

  ‘That’ll never happen,’ said Gibson. ‘Once a junkie, always a junkie.’

  Phillips tapped her pen on her teeth as she pondered what she’d heard. Eventually, she let out a loud sigh. ‘Getting anything out of the mothers was always gonna be a long shot. Drug addicts aren’t known for their razor-sharp memories after all.’

  ‘So where next, Guv?’ asked Jones.

  ‘Let’s start trawling CCTV footage of the red-light areas. See if we can turn up any useful footage from the nights the girls died.’

  Jones raised his hand. ‘I’ll do that.’

  ‘Thanks Jonesy.

  ‘Entwistle, I need you to check the ANPR cameras. We’re looking for all the cars that were in those areas the nights the girls died. Let’s pull together a list and work our way through the drivers. See if any of them have form. In particular, we’re looking for anyone with a record of sex crimes or violence against women. And get the girls’ phones to the digital forensics team. I want all calls and text records since September, plus details of any social media activity. That’s often a good window into someone’s life.’

  ‘Yes Guv.’

  Phillips looked at her watch. ‘It’s two o’clock now. How fast can you pull that together?’

  ‘Should have it by the end of the day.’

  ‘Ok. Let’s reconvene at 5 p.m. and see what we’ve got. Gibbo, can we talk in my office?’

  A moment later, as Phillips closed her office door, Entwistle caught Jones’s attention. ‘Gibbo seems nice, doesn’t she?’

  Jones nodded. ‘Yeah. Bit tall for me, like. Probably more Bovalino’s cup of tea.’

  The big man looked up from his computer screen. ‘What you saying about me?’

  ‘Entwistle was just saying he fancies Gibbo—’

  ‘I didn’t say that exactly.’

  ‘And I said she’s too tall for me. She’s more your type, you big lump.’

  Bovalino smiled and shook his head. ‘Not me mate. From what I hear, she’s into black guys.’