“Will did tell us and we’re just waiting on the street cams to see if it was the same van you spotted, and if it was, where it went to,” Joanna said.
“Fantastic. So, Layla, how’d it go at Dorothy’s?”
“I didn’t get much before I had to leave,” Layla said. “Lots of people knew of her, but they knew no more than us. They’re all just club friends and don’t socialise outside of that environment.”
“Shit,” I said.
“Exactly, but it was worth a try.”
“Yeah, it was. I’m back at Dorothy’s on Friday night so I’ll see what I can find out then. Once my alter ego is familiar there, people will be more open to blabbing.”
“Are you performing again?” Layla asked.
“Afraid so.” I looked around the room. “Go on,” I urged. “Get it out the way because you won’t get another chance.”
“Well, I thought you looked hot,” Joanna said.
“A bit butch for me,” Will joked.
“And what about you two?” I nodded to Pete and Heather. “Anything to contribute.”
Pete shrugged. “Are you sure that was your first time?”
“Yes, definitely.”
“Well if it was, you were bloody convincing.” Heather shook her head in obvious amazement.
“Well, thanks, but I’m sure the real Shania has nothing to worry about.”
Tommo lifted his head up from his computer. “You looked like a decent bit of totty to me. Are you sure it’s not a secret calling of yours, boss?”
“Busted. My secret’s out.” I shook my head, exasperated. “Now can we get back to work, please?”
“What happened with Darren Wilkes in the end?” Layla said.
“The slimy git was at the club chatting up a girl I met called Kimberley. She wasn’t entirely complimentary about him and seemed to think he was up to his old tricks. He shot off just after I arrived in the bar. We need to keep a close eye on that one.”
“Yeah, agreed,” Joanna said. “I’d love to lock him up and throw away the key. I’m still convinced he has something to do with the murders.”
“Me too, but we’ve got jack-shit to go on. We need to carry on with other lines of enquiry until we do. As soon as something comes to light, I’ll nail him to the wall.”
Just then, PC Jake Mackintosh entered. He blushed. “Sorry to interrupt, but can I have a word, Dylan?”
“Sure, what is it?” I hadn’t seen much of him since our brief encounter a few months ago—we’d hooked up after a heavy celebration for wrapping up a particularly gruesome case. “You can say it to the room. Unless…” I felt my face flush, hoping it wasn’t something personal he wanted to talk to me about. If it was, I’d just invited him to comment in an open forum.
“I’ve just taken a phone call from a Mrs Angela Preston. She has reported her son missing.”
“And,” I quizzed.
“Well, I say son, but it’s a bit more complicated than that. Her son apparently identifies as female.”
Preston? My blood ran cold as a silence fell over the room. “What’s the name of the missing person?”
He looked at his notepad. “A Rupert Preston AKA Rebecca Preston.”
“Fuck,” I said, jumping to my feet.
Realising I needed a moment to gather my thoughts, Layla took over and began firing out orders. “Will, Joanna, head over there now, you have the address on file. Dylan and I will follow on.”
“Jesus,” Will said. “You don’t think…?”
“I hope not,” I said, heading for my desk. “Layla, give Janine the heads up will you?”
“Sure,” she said charging toward Janine’s office. “I’ll meet you out front.”
“I have a bad feeling about this,” I said to Layla once we were in the car.
“It might be nothing. Maybe she’s just gone away for a few days?”
“Let’s hope. But I just knew when I saw that van there was going to be another murder. I hope I’m wrong, honest to God I do, but I don’t think I am.”
“Do you know how many white Transit vans there are just in this area alone? I’m not being funny, but without seeing the number plate there’s no way of knowing if you were right.”
“I just can’t shake this feeling, that’s all.”
Indicating, I pulled into a parking space opposite the taxi rank, noticing a crowd had already gathered.
We approached Will and Joanna.
“Anything?” I asked.
“Not yet. We’ve knocked a few times and had no response, but someone from the property agency is on their way over now with the spare keys.”
“Why didn’t you just boot the door in?” I asked.
“What if she’s in bed, or ill, or just doesn’t wanna talk?” Joanna said.
“And what if she’s lying there in a pool of her own blood, Jo?” I went to the apartment door and something definitely felt off. Call it intuition but I had a feeling we were already too late. I pushed the letterbox open. “Hello, Rebecca, can you hear me? This is DI Monroe. Could you come to the door, please?” Then the smell hit me, making my stomach churn. I took a step back before kicking the door open.
“Dylan, what the hell are you doing?” Layla protested. Will and Joanna were standing close behind her. “What if Joanna is right and—”
“She isn’t,” I said, an overwhelming feeling of sadness washing over me. “But I wish she was.”
The smell from the open door wafted out.
Will pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and retched.
“Get the area cordoned off and one of you call Lauren, tell her we need her right now.” I headed inside. “Layla, come with me,” I called over my shoulder as I ran up the first flight of stairs. The smell was stronger the further into the property we got.
“Don’t touch the walls,” Layla said.
I was about to ask why when the horror revealed itself to me.
Along the hallway blood spatters lined the wall, and for a moment I had visions of Rebecca terrified, running for her life, the sadistic killer chasing her. “My God,” I said.
The colour drained from Layla’s face. “Should we wait until the team get here?”
“No,” I said. “But if you want to go back, I understand.”
“I’m staying with you.”
She looked terrible and I was worried this was way too much for her.
The living room door at the top of the stairs was closed. I pulled my gloves out of my pocket and put them on before pushing it open.
There were definite signs of a struggle, but no blood spatters like there had been in the hall. I turned and slowly made my way up the next flight of stairs.
As I reached the top I stood there, open mouthed, gawking at the sickening scene before me. A huge pool of blood soaked the top landing, and a smear trailed from it into what I presumed to be the bedroom.
I forced myself to continue. Stepping over the blood, I entered the room, struggling to take in what I was seeing.
My eyes focused on Rebecca who was lying flat on her back, and, slowly, I scanned her naked and mutilated body. It was like a scene from one of those horror movies I refused to watch. I said a silent prayer, hoping she hadn’t been conscious, or aware, when the evil monster delivered his death sentence.
Stepping away, I turned to look at Layla, who was still half-way up the stairs, then I closed the door behind me.
“What…?”
“You don’t need to see this.” Close to tears, I struggled to swallow my anger.
Twenty-Four
Lauren arrived within the hour as well as the Scene of Crime Officers.
Joanna and Will had returned to the station in order to get the investigation underway.
Layla still appeared spaced out, and I doubted it had anything to do with the death of Rebecca. We dealt with things like this all the time and, although it’s never nice, we’re programmed to get on with it, otherwise nothing would ever get resolved. I presumed something ha
d happened with Max over the weekend, but our priority right now was to catch a killer and her private life would have to take a back seat. Harsh, but true.
“I’ll accompany Lauren,” I said. “Do you want to do a bit of door knocking, somebody must’ve seen something, and the sooner we get a lead to sink our teeth into, the better.”
She nodded, clearly relieved.
I pulled on a pair of overalls, bootees and gloves, and followed Lauren inside.
“The body’s on the top floor, Lauren.”
“Oh, dear.” She pointed at the blood spatters up the wall.
“Yes. It gets far worse—brace yourself.” In fact I dreaded seeing the body again.
As we reached the top of the stairs, Lauren gasped, shaking her head.
Rebecca’s naked body was covered in blood. It was difficult to see where the majority of it had come from.
“That’s different to the last two.” She pointed to Rebecca’s private parts and I was surprised to see she still had her boy bits intact. Red wool stitching ran under the breasts.
“What’s gone on there?”
“My guess is, she’s had her breast implants removed.”
Of course. The killer was putting the victims back to the way they were born. Clearly Rebecca still having a penis had thrown the killer too, which is why it had been left alone—the prosthesis wasn’t required.
“Her tongue has been removed too,” Lauren said.
“What the…?” Why the hell would he cut her tongue out?”
“Beats me.”
“Can you give me any idea when she was killed?”
“Judging by the rigor and lividity, I’d say anywhere between Friday evening and Saturday morning, but I’ll have a better idea once I get him to the lab.”
“Her, you mean?”
Lauren glanced at the genitals before rolling her eyes. “If you insist.”
“I do.”
I left Lauren to it and had a quick look around the bedroom and bathroom. I found nothing of interest.
As I stepped out onto the landing, a grating sound caught my attention and made me look through the window. I couldn’t believe my eyes. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” I muttered angrily to myself, shaking my head. How was I going to explain to the team that Savage and Layla had made such a massive mistake? Wilkes’ alibi had hinged on the fact he hadn’t left the apartment all night and now that had just been blown completely out of the water.
Down in the living room, I took a quick glance around, looking for one thing only—drugs. Namely under the counter prescription drugs. The kitchen drawer didn’t disappoint.
I ran down the stairs and stripped off the overalls at the door. Where the hell was Layla? We needed to get going.
I needn’t have worried. Layla was standing by the car, talking to someone on the phone. She seemed relieved to see me and ended the call as I approached.
“Anything?” she asked.
“You’re not going to believe this,” I said, opening up the car and slipping in behind the wheel.
“Go on,” she said once she was seated beside me.
“There’s a back entrance to Rebecca’s apartment.”
“Fuck! How did we miss that?”
“Exactly. How did we?”
“But I looked around. I was with Savage during the first interview with Rebecca and I swear I looked around. I didn’t see any other door.”
“Because it’s not a door. It’s a window with a fire-escape ladder.
“Oh, my God.”
I was quietly seething. If we’d known about this earlier, I’m positive Wilkes wouldn’t have been released in the first place, and we could have prevented two further deaths. But I couldn’t say anything while I was still so angry as it was likely to come out wrong, and, to be fair, she was right. There hadn’t been another door. Maybe, if it wasn’t for the scraping sound, I might not have even noticed it myself. However, I’d have expected them to ask Rebecca if there was another exit, in the first place. Basic policing.
Twenty-Five
I called Will and gave him the update about the drugs. “Can you arrange to have Darren Wilkes brought in for questioning, please? We’ll be back as soon as we’ve informed Rebecca’s mother.”
Finding the drugs was a major coup for the team working the investigation and meant we had something concrete to go on. I intended to keep schtum about the fire-escape for the time being. Once it was common knowledge, the press would have a field-day, not to mention what Janine would do—she’d have a fit.
Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at our destination. A middle of the row terraced house in Toxteth. The first part of the street had seemed relatively tidy—mostly red painted brick exterior walls and front doorsteps. Even pretty, lace curtains adorned most of the UPVC windows. But then, halfway down the street, things took a serious nosedive—boarded-up windows, metal shutters, graffiti, and litter. Rebecca’s mother lived in the middle of that lot.
We climbed from the car, the curtains twitching all around us, and approached number 54. A scruffy youngster was playing on the doorstep with a matchbox car. He wore a dirty white vest and nothing else, his little bare arse in the air for all to see.
“Charming!” I said with a smirk. “Is your mummy home?”
“Mummy’s gone. What’s your name, mista?”
“I’m Dylan, what’s yours?”
“None of your fucking business, you nonce.” He ran inside screaming for his nan.
I looked at Layla, in total shock. “Did I just imagine that?”
She shook her head. “Unfortunately, no.”
I knocked on the painted black door that had several chips showing the previous colour used to be bottle green. “Hello? Mrs Preston?” I stepped inside the hallway onto old linoleum flooring that had definitely seen better days.
“Who are you?” A woman appeared at the top of the stairs, pulling up her bright pink jogging bottoms. She appeared to be in her late fifties with cropped peroxide blonde hair and the pallor of a heavy smoker.
“DI Dylan Monroe and DS Layla Monahan.” We both flashed our ID. “Are you Angela Preston?”
She eyed us warily. “Yes.”
“You called the station earlier today to report your daughter missing.”
“I reported my son missing. Rupert was born a boy, no matter what he calls himself now he’ll always be a boy to me.”
“I see. I apologise. Do you mind if we come in for a few minutes?”
She rounded the bottom of the stairs and headed towards the back of the house. “Scuse the mess.”
I glanced back at Layla and raised my eyebrows. The kitchen, to be fair, apart from a dirty plate in the middle of the small square table, was neat and tidy. Much tidier than I’d expected.
The cheeky little brat was slumped on a beanbag, watching a small portable TV in the corner.
“Keanu, go and put some bloody pants on. You’re worse than your dad for stripping off.” She swatted at the young boy and chased him from the room. “So, did you find him? He was meant to come to my birthday bash Saturday but didn’t bother to show up.”
I waited until we’d all taken a seat around the table before I responded. “We’ve just come from your son’s home, Mrs Preston.”
“And?” She looked from Layla to me, her eyebrows knitted.
“There’s no easy way to say this, I’m afraid.”
“No. No. Don’t tell me. No.” She began flapping her hands in front of her and this soon changed to her slapping herself in the face.
Layla jumped to her feet and grabbed the woman’s hands to prevent her hurting herself any more.
The kid appeared in the doorway. “What have you done to me nan?”
I groaned. This was going from bad to worse. Layla was trying to calm the hysterical woman down, but we still hadn’t told her what had happened and now the feral-like grandchild was on my case. “She’s just received some bad news. Is your daddy about?”
He turned an
d legged it up the stairs, screaming for who I suspected to be his father.
A huge bald man covered in tattoos and wearing a pair of off-white cotton boxers entered moments later, the brat at his heels. “What’s going on?”
“And you are?” I asked, getting to my feet.
“Robin Preston—her son. What’s happened?”
I found it astonishing little Rebecca, or Rupert as I’d better get used to calling her around these people, was from the same gene pool as this lot. “Maybe you should take a seat.”
“It’s Becky, isn’t it?” he said.
“I’m afraid so. We found Rupert-Rebecca this morning after your mother reported her missing. We believe she was killed at home on Friday evening.”
Mrs Preston began wailing again.
Taking obvious offence at this, the youngster rounded on me and kicked me in the shin.
“Hey. Stop that!”
Robin grabbed the lad by the ear and marched him from the room. It was total chaos.
Once we were back in the car, I called Will again.
“How’s it going?”
“Darren Wilkes is sitting quietly in a cell. He doesn’t seem bothered by his arrest, but won’t cooperate without Nigel Warfield, his solicitor, present.”
“So, get him in then.”
“I tried. Warfield’s currently in Manchester and won’t be back in Liverpool for a couple of hours.”
“Then we play the waiting game.” I ended the call. “Do you fancy some lunch?” I asked Layla.
“Yeah, sounds good to me.” She seemed in a slightly better mood than she had been all morning.
“I fancy a burger.” I’d been planning to pop in and say hello to Kimberley sometime this week. I hoped she might have her ear to the ground and reveal something about Wilkes that might help bring him to justice.
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