A Killing Moon

by Dunne, Steven

  ‘You know she was reported missing by her family.’

  ‘In Katowice, yes.’ LaMotta shrugged. ‘Last year a female detective told me she was looking into it.’

  ‘DC Liz Rawson.’

  ‘That’s her.’ His expression implied a question.

  ‘She transferred to Nottingham,’ said Noble.

  LaMotta nodded. ‘Good. She was a bit keen. She didn’t believe me when I told her Val was probably travelling and it’s not always easy to keep in touch with family.’

  ‘For two years?’ said Noble.

  LaMotta’s head dipped. ‘I thought she’d be back in Poland by now. Or at least in touch with her old man.’

  ‘I’m afraid she’s still missing,’ said Noble.

  ‘Oh, Jesus.’

  ‘Tell us what happened the day she disappeared.’

  LaMotta gathered himself. ‘I went to work as usual, leaving Valerie at home – she was on a later shift. She never showed up. I tried ringing and texting, but her mobile was dead.’

  ‘What did you do then?’

  ‘Nothing. I assumed she was ill or something. I went home at the end of the day – still no Valerie and no note saying where she might be. A bit odd, but I’ve got a night out arranged with the lads, so I go and have a few beers, thinking she’ll be home when I get in.’

  ‘But when you got back, still no Valerie.’

  ‘No,’ said LaMotta. ‘And that’s when I realised all her stuff was packed and gone.’ He exhaled heavily. ‘I’ve not seen her since. I told all this to DC Rawson.’

  ‘And that was the tenth of September that year.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘You didn’t report her disappearance.’

  ‘Disappearance?’ laughed LaMotta. ‘Her stuff was packed and cleared out. I thought …’

  ‘Boy wins girl. Boy loses girl,’ offered Brook.

  ‘Something like that,’ said LaMotta. ‘Val’s Polish. No local roots. I was pretty broken up about it, but I had to take it on the chin.’

  ‘In her report, DC Rawson mentioned something about a van.’

  ‘Yeah, well I was talking to a neighbour about a month after Valerie left, telling him what had happened. And he said he’d seen a white van parked across the street for three consecutive nights. He didn’t know the dates but reckoned it had been the week Valerie disappeared. He also said that on the third night, he saw two people get out of the van and walk down my drive.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘It was dark. He couldn’t see much, but he assumed they were making a delivery or doing some work. The next time he looked, the van was gone.’

  ‘Same old problem, John,’ said Brook, back in the incident room. ‘A young girl with no ties who could be anywhere.’

  ‘But lump all six disappearances together and it starts to take on a pattern. Foreign nationals enter the country for travel, work or study, come to Derby and disappear without a trace. And when they’re eventually reported missing, there’s no record of them leaving the country …’

  ‘Our border controls are not the best—’

  ‘Or entering another country,’ interrupted Noble.

  Brook was silent, seeking an objection. ‘Caitlin Kinnear’s not a foreign national.’

  ‘She’s overseas,’ said Noble. ‘And even though you can sometimes get away without showing photo ID on a Belfast ferry, it doesn’t change the fact that over a three-year period, six young women have vanished in Derby with no record that any of them left the country.’

  ‘That’s not proof of a crime,’ said Brook.

  ‘It’s proof of a pattern and evidence that the girls are still here.’

  Brook sighed. ‘What about LaMotta? He mentioned a lads’ night out. Was he alibied for that night?’

  ‘To the hilt,’ said Noble.

  ‘But there’s only his word that Valerie disappeared while he was at work or on a night out with friends.’

  ‘True,’ agreed Noble. ‘But when I spoke to Rawson, she said she went at him pretty hard and couldn’t find fault. No criminal record. Steady job. And in all his statements he came across as genuinely puzzled and upset. Especially when, a year after the love of his life leaves him, DC Rawson goes round to tell him Valerie’s officially missing. You saw him. He still feels it.’

  Brook conceded with a shrug. ‘How did she leave it?’

  ‘The way they’re all left. No leads, no body and no case – her file went to the MPB.’

  ‘Anything on the pair in the van? Description? Number plate?’

  ‘Nothing. But the van suggests an MO at least.’

  ‘Or a takeaway.’

  ‘Look, just suppose we’ve got two men targeting young foreign females travelling alone, young women who won’t be missed for months, maybe even years, if they’re taken. They have a van and know where the girls live. They watch them and wait for their chance and once the girls are alone they make their move. They knock on the door, grab the girl, then pack all her gear and take it with them. As far as anyone can tell, she’s walked out never to return.’

  ‘A home invasion?’ Brook shook his head. ‘Too risky. It requires a level of violence that sooner or later draws attention. Much easier just to grab the girl somewhere secluded, get hold of her keys, then slip in and clear out her gear.’

  Noble nodded slowly. ‘That makes more sense. But then they were seen watching LaMotta’s house.’

  ‘Maybe making sure he was out,’ said Brook. ‘They may have already snatched Valerie and were coming back for her luggage.’

  ‘Sounds plausible.’

  ‘Except they were seen, John.’

  ‘But that was the only time,’ said Noble. ‘So maybe, being one of the first to vanish, Valerie was part of an emerging MO, which they’ve refined with Caitlin and the others. And working as a pair offers them scope to alter their method.’

  Brook steepled his hands over his nose. ‘We’re just talking here, but assuming all this is true, why are they doing it?’

  ‘Why abduct attractive young women?’ asked Noble. ‘Is simple rape so unlikely?’

  ‘Rape is rarely simple,’ said Brook. ‘And rapists are never this organised, even the ones that plan. It’s the nature of the beast, John. They always leave trace evidence, especially with a series. And the more they get away with it, the more careless they become. Doubling the number of offenders just doubles the exposure.’

  ‘Then that’s why they’re snatching them first,’ argued Noble. ‘So they can clean up after themselves.’

  ‘Cleaning up, fine,’ said Brook. ‘And murder to prevent them being identified. It happens. But that’s usually only child-abusers and high-status rapists. Invariably rapists don’t kill. Removing their victims from the face of the earth is not part of their profile. Rapists prefer their victims alive because their ongoing fear feeds the rapist’s sense of his own power. It’s part of the ego trip. Believe me, if the motive was rape, we’d have evidence.’

  ‘We should check the SO database—’

  ‘I did,’ interrupted Brook. ‘Nothing about pairs of rapists operating at this level anywhere in the country.’

  ‘What then?’

  Brook sighed. ‘If these guys exist and are going to this much trouble to stay off the radar, it has to be something much worse.’

  ‘And abducting the girls means they can take their time doing it,’ added Noble, his expression grim.

  ‘Right. They can savour it; maybe record what they’re doing. They might even be filming.’

  ‘Christ.’

  ‘I’m not sure Christ plays any part, John.’

  ‘They’d need privacy if they were filming torture and abuse.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Brook. ‘Which means …’

  ‘What?’ said Noble.

  ‘Film,’ said Brook softly.

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Who’s on reception?’

  ‘Sergeant Grey.’

  ‘Then you talk to him,’ sa
id Brook, jumping out of his chair. ‘When Davison turns up, I want him brought in here.’

  ‘To the incident room?’ Noble gazed round at the artefacts. ‘With all this confidential—’

  ‘You were the one who suggested lobbing in a hand grenade,’ said Brook. ‘Give me a hand with this display board. I want the pictures visible from the door.’

  Ten

  Ashley unbuttoned his waistcoat and hung it on a hook while Jake unpacked another box of bottles. ‘Ten o’clock. Get a shift on, I got plans.’

  ‘Get a shift on, get a shift on,’ mimicked Jake.

  ‘Put the box down,’ insisted Ashley. ‘We’re not open for another month. We’ll be standing spare for two weeks, you keep that up.’

  Reluctantly Jake lowered the box and in unison the pair of them pulled the huge tarpaulin over the bar as a dust cover, making sure it reached the floor on both sides.

  ‘Seen Max today?’ said Jake, trying to be matter-of-fact.

  Ashley eyed him suspiciously. ‘What is it with you and him? He don’t even work here.’

  ‘Have you seen him?’

  ‘Tell me why, first.’ A raised eyebrow was Ashley’s only answer. Mind yer own business. ‘I hope you’re not gonna queer this job for us, Jake. We’re on a good screw here.’ No answer from Jake, so Ashley headed for the stairs. ‘Sort your attitude out and do yourself some good. If Mr O likes you, he treats you real well, even gives you little jobs for cash. And I mean decent cash.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I’ve got one tonight – fifty notes for a few minutes’ work.’ Ashley glanced at his watch. ‘Be finished by half eleven.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ said Jake. Ashley pulled out a fifty-pound note and snapped it in front of Jake’s eyes. Jake looked at it greedily. ‘Doing what?’

  Ashley touched a finger to his nose. ‘Never you mind, but I don’t want him thinking he can’t trust neither of us, so be careful. He’s about and he’s already pissed off.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Ain’t you noticed? That sexy little cleaner didn’t turn up and there’s sawdust all over the floor. So whatever you got planned, forget it.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ said Jake.

  ‘I mean teafin’,’ said Ashley. ‘Mr O’s all over the stock and he don’t look the forgiving type. And then there’s that big Polish goon he’s got in to keep an eye on things. A bag of nuts, fine, but a case of vodka …’

  ‘Night, Ash,’ snarled Jake.

  His piece said, Ashley headed for the stairs. ‘Don’t say you wasn’t warned.’

  Moments later, Jake threw his waistcoat on the same hook and trudged downstairs, hesitating at the staff entrance. When he was sure Ashley had gone, he knocked on the door of the manager’s office. No reply. He opened the door quickly and bolted inside, closing the door behind him softly. His eyes flicked around for what he needed, spying a batch of unsealed envelopes on a desk, stacked like a concertina, each with a printed label. He plucked out the envelope marked ‘M. Ostrowsky’ and read the address before putting it back in the stack. Arboretum Street! That was just round the corner from the flat.

  As he hurried from the office, he ran straight into the owner. A large bald-headed man Jake hadn’t seen before stood behind him.

  ‘Mr Ostrowsky,’ said Jake, trying to sound calm. He looked to the other man. Ashley was right. The guy was massive; bald, with a thick neck, well over six feet and almost as wide. Jake was reminded of Oddjob in one of the Bond films.

  Ostrowsky – slim, handsome, expensively dressed and supremely self-assured – trained his steel-blue eyes on Jake. Oddjob bristled behind him. ‘What were you doing in the office?’

  ‘Looking for you, sir,’ said Jake quickly. ‘I was hoping I could ask for a sub.’

  ‘You want I should make you a sandwich?’

  Jake’s smile was involuntary. ‘Not that kind of sub.’ He cast around for a better word. ‘Er … an advance. On my wages. Things are a bit tight.’

  Ostrowsky shrugged. ‘We’re not open yet, so no cash.’

  Jake nodded philosophically. ‘Understood.’ He made to leave.

  ‘Wait.’ Ostrowsky put a hand in his back pocket and pulled out a thick wad of notes, peeling off a twenty. He held it out to Jake. ‘Enough?’

  Jake took the note gratefully. ‘Thank you. I’ll make it up on payday.’

  Ostrowsky smiled back, his eyes failing to join in. ‘I know you will.’

  Jake pushed open the exit door and turned. ‘Did I see your brother’s van outside?’

  ‘Max? No. He’s wiring a house again.’

  ‘Rewiring,’ offered Jake.

  Trying out the word for size, Ostrowsky disappeared into the office. As Jake stepped into the dark, clutching the note like a lifebelt, he saw his boss return with a set of car keys and throw them to Oddjob.

  Brook stared at the display of photographs, now strategically positioned to face the door. ‘You didn’t tell me about girl six.’

  ‘Bernadette Murphy from Dublin.’ Noble stared at the final photograph, of a young redhead with grey eyes and freckles. ‘We can’t be sure of dates, but she seems to have been the first to disappear. By more than a year.’

  ‘So she’s actually girl one.’

  ‘We’re working on incomplete information, but yes,’ said Noble. ‘And there could be more girls as yet unreported.’

  ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,’ said Brook. ‘Work with what we have in front of us. When was she in Derby?’

  ‘A couple of weeks in June 2012, at the end of her gap year. She was staying with her aunt, a nurse called Mary Finnegan who works at the Royal Derby. She left on the fourth of July. Not officially missed until the start of September, when she failed to turn up for her first teaching post in Dublin.’

  ‘And the aunt was the last to see her. In Derby, I mean.’

  ‘Apparently. Finnegan left for her nursing shift at eleven that morning. Bernadette was gone when she got home twelve hours later.’

  ‘Was there an uncle?’

  ‘Barry Finnegan was working away from home. Oil rig.’

  ‘Luggage?’

  ‘All her belongings were gone and she didn’t leave a note. Like the others.’

  ‘And the aunt thought nothing of it until relatives in Ireland started to worry.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Noble. ‘Jane picked it up two months later. She thought there’d been tension between the aunt and her niece but nothing to suspect she’d done her any harm. And there was no evidence of anything untoward, no unidentified YWFs in the mortuary. Bernadette was just gone.’

  ‘And no reason to dig deeper,’ said Brook.

  ‘None. I’ve got a new address for Finnegan but haven’t had a chance to call round.’

  ‘Is there much point?’ said Brook with a sigh.

  ‘It’s not too late to head up the scrap metal team,’ said Noble.

  ‘Might not be a bad idea at that. This is a haystack that might not even have a needle in it.’

  There was silence while Brook stared at the photographs in turn. Six young faces gazed happily back. ‘You couldn’t hand-pick six better candidates to abduct. Transient, no roots in Derby and all the girls clear out their belongings.’

  ‘That’s the clever bit,’ agreed Noble. ‘Makes their disappearance seem voluntary.’

  ‘Or it is what it looks like,’ said Brook. ‘A handful of independent young women continuing their travels – no division worth its salt is going to waste time on a crime they don’t know has been committed.’

  ‘Until now,’ said Noble. Brook threw him a glance. ‘So assuming we’re leaving Derby’s manhole covers to fend for themselves, what next?’

  ‘Concentrate on Caitlin,’ said Brook. ‘She’s got the freshest trail.’

  ‘And with no common link between the girls and no clear motive, we concentrate on method, I suppose,’ concluded Noble.

  ‘You suppose right.’

  ‘Do we
accept LaMotta’s story?’

  ‘We’ve got to start somewhere, John.’

  ‘Then we have two perpetrators with a white van big enough to hold a body and luggage.’

  ‘And without windows, so the cargo can’t be seen.’

  ‘A panel van, then. Do our suspects already know where the girls live ahead of the abduction?’

  ‘Definitely,’ said Brook.

  ‘So maybe they followed them home then stalked them over a period of time.’

  ‘They’d stalk them once they had an address, John. Following six girls to find out where they lived is too risky. It would increase their visibility.’

  ‘Agreed. So, taking Caitlin as a template, I’d want to know her movements and habits, work out the best time to strike. That way I eliminate variables like a boyfriend or housemate getting in the way.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So I might need basic surveillance equipment, like a camera or binoculars.’

  ‘Which suggests some kind of income and a job,’ added Brook.

  ‘Another reason for snatching Caitlin at night,’ said Noble. ‘I work during the day.’

  ‘Okay, it’s March twentieth. Caitlin’s been chosen. You know where she lives. You’re in the van watching her house. What next?’

  ‘It’s thick with snow so I don’t park too near the bungalow,’ said Noble. ‘I don’t want to leave tyre tracks or park in a resident’s space and draw attention to the van. Laurie and Caitlin take a cab because of the weather and I … we follow them to the Flowerpot.’

  ‘Do you park near the pub and wait?’

  ‘If we’re confident she’s going home after the pub, we could park the van at any point on her route and wait …’

  ‘But you can’t be certain,’ said Brook. ‘It could be several hours before she leaves the pub. She might be going on somewhere, so you have to monitor her departure.’

  Noble nodded. ‘Besides, she left early.’

  ‘You checked the Flowerpot’s cameras?’

  ‘If somebody followed Caitlin from the pub, it’s not on their film.’

  ‘Then they don’t follow her from the pub. They follow her to it, then park along the route back to the bungalow but close enough to see the pub.’ Brook jabbed a finger at the large map of Derby taking up most of one wall. ‘King Street or Garden Street, maybe.’