by Rob Ashman
Jackson snorted and nodded his head. ‘So what’s the next steps?’
‘I got the crèche out pounding the streets with this picture, knocking on doors trying to find someone who saw them together on the night. The forensics report might give us more to go on.’
‘Do you think Gorgon killed Joshua?’
Kray winced at the mention of the killer’s new pet name. ‘I think it’s highly likely this person murdered Madeline Eve, impersonated her, and killed Joshua Wilson. It’s too much of a coincidence.’
Neither of them said a word, both absorbing the size of the task ahead.
‘I’ve been thinking about why Gorgon removes the victim’s face—’
Kray cut him off.
‘Obliterate,’ Kray said under her breath.
‘What?’
‘Obliterate. That’s what Tavener said the killer had done to Madeline. He said she wasn’t just murdered, it was as though whoever carried it out wanted to obliterate her. Like they wanted to take away her very existence.’
‘I don’t follow—’
‘Shit! See you when I get back.’ And with that Kray hurtled out of his office, snatched the photographs of Madeline Eve from the notice board and wheel spun her way out of the station car park.
Forty minutes later she was standing in the bedroom of flat seventeen, Dennison Heights. Kray fished the photos from her bag and laid them out on the bed along with the screen shot from the CCTV. She moved the pictures around, laying one on top of the other.
Kray opened the wardrobe and flicked through the array of hangers. She opened up a chest of drawers, rooting through jumpers and tops. She went to the bathroom and rummaged through the laundry basket.
There was a noise in the hallway and Tavener appeared.
‘Got your message, Lucy is on her way.’
‘Good. I wanted you to see this first hand. How is the door knocking going?’
‘Slow. They look like any other couple on a night out, or that’s the most popular response.’
‘Okay, keep at it.’
‘What is this about, Roz?’
‘It’s what you said about the killer wanting to obliterate the body.’
‘Yeah, what of it?’
‘I think you’re right. Look at this photo taken from her rogue’s gallery in the hallway.’ The picture showed Madeline Eve amongst a gaggle of young women smiling wildly for the camera. The woman in the centre was holding up a cut-glass trophy. ‘The one on the far right is Ania Sobotta. She worked with Madeline. I suspect this was taken at a company awards ceremony. Ania has only been with the firm for six weeks, so it’s pretty recent.’
‘Okay.’
‘Madeline is wearing a red dress with a distinctive neckline, scalloped with a V in the front.’
‘Okay.’
‘Now take a look at the screen grab taken from the pub. I reckon that’s the same dress. It’s a black and white image so you can’t tell the colour, but it could be red.’
Tavener studied the two images. He was used to staring at women in dresses but not from the perspective of identifying material design elements.
‘It could be,’ he muttered.
Lucy Frost could be heard bustling through the front door, seconds later she appeared in the bedroom.
‘What is it? It sounded important.’
‘Ah, right on cue,’ said Kray. ‘If a girl is going on a posh works night out what does she need.’
‘What?’
‘Go with it Lucy, what does she need to wear?’
‘Oh err, a new dress, a glitzy clutch bag to match and a pair of killer heels,’ Lucy said.
‘Excellent, that’s the benefit of gender equality in the workplace right there. So, where is it?’ Kray opened her arms wide.
‘Where’s what?’ asked Tavener.
‘Where is the red dress in the photograph? It’s not here. I’ve looked everywhere and can’t find it.’
‘Do you—’
‘Also, I’ve checked and there are plenty of bags and shoes but nothing that says, ‘big night out’. I think the killer took Madeline’s dress on the night she was murdered, along with her bag and shoes. I think the person in this photograph is wearing her clothes. I think the killer wants to become Madeline Eve.’
‘Gorgon doesn’t just want to take her life, he wants to take her identity,’ Frost muttered.
‘Yes, and that’s why he removed her face.’
Kray’s phone went off, breaking the moment.
‘DI Kray.’
‘I just seen her.’ It was a woman’s voice.
‘Who is this?’
‘Bóg mnie uratuje.’
‘I’m sorry? Please speak English.’
‘I just seen her. Walking about. I tell you, I saw her.’ Her voice was breaking with panic and she was crying.
‘Calm down. Can you tell me who this is and how you have my number.’
‘You are DI Kray right?’ Kray tuned in and detected an eastern European accent.
‘Yes this is Kray. Is this Ania?’
‘Yes, it is, we met when you came to the office. You gave me your card.’
‘Ania, yes I remember. What is it? Are you in trouble? Are you in danger?’
‘No, I am fine but I’ve just seen her. Pieprzone piekło.’ Her words were tumbling together.
‘Slow down, Ania? Who have you seen?’
‘Widziałem ducha.’
‘Who? Please Ania, in English.’
‘A ghost. I seen a ghost.’
‘Who Ania, who have you seen?’
‘Madeline. I just saw Madeline Eve.’
23
Kray covered the phone with her hand. ‘Madeline Eve has been spotted.’ The other two stared at each other in silence. ‘Where are you, Ania?’
‘I’m at the Trafford Centre. She is here, I can see her.’
‘Where at the Trafford Centre, Ania? Where are you?’
‘Outside the Apple shop.’
Kray covered the mouthpiece again. ‘She’s at the Trafford Centre near the Apple shop. Send a photo of Madeline over to the security control room and get them looking for her on CCTV.’ Frost and Tavener scurried into the other room dialling numbers frantically as they went.
‘Listen to me very carefully,’ said Kray. ‘Do not—’
‘I can see her! Pieprzone piekło.’ Her speech was breathless.
‘Try to calm yourself, Ania. What is she wearing?’
‘Umm, a blue top and jeans I think.’
Kray cupped her hand over the mouthpiece and called to the others. ‘She’s wearing a blue top and jeans, relay that to the control room.’ Tavener and Frost nodded. ‘Ania listen to me. Do not approach her, it is not Madeline. Keep her at a distance and stay on the phone. Do you hear me Ania, stay on the line.’
‘Yes okay, I hear you.’
‘Where is she now?’
‘She is walking away.’
‘Where Ania? Where?’
I can see you – the words sing in my head.With your phone clamped to the side of your head, I bet the conversation is running riot. Have you seen any ghosts lately Polish lady? I grab tantalising glimpses of your distress as I window shop my way down the esplanade of shops. You look terrified.
I love it when people are predictable. The second Sunday in the month you get in your car and take the sixty-minute drive to stock up on the latest fashions. Looking good is so important to you, but I have to say you’re not looking so hot at the moment.
I’ve been hovering around in the background for the past forty-five minutes waiting for you to notice me. You are not very observant. You glide around the shops in a vacant trance, your eyes fixed on the glittery tops and stylish jackets rather than the faces of those around you. But you got there eventually and the horror on your face was well worth the wait.
‘She is walking towards John Lewis,’ Ania replied.
‘John Lewis, John Lewis … where the fuck?’ Kray racked her brains trying to visualise th
e layout of the mall with its two hundred shops. She burst into the other room and motioned for the other two to listen. ‘Madeline is on the first floor heading to John Lewis.’
Tavener conveyed the latest information to the man on the phone, who would be sitting in front of the collage of screens in the security control centre.
‘We are getting a photograph over to you as soon as we can,’ he said for the tenth time.
Kray returned to the bedroom. ‘Can you still see her?’ she asked. There was no response. ‘Ania, can you still see her?’ No response. ‘Ania are you there?’
‘She’s gone,’ Ania blurted out.
‘Shit,’ Kray hissed, holding the phone away from her mouth. ‘Where are you now, Ania?’
‘I am outside Burton. She was here, I could see her. Then she disappeared.’
‘Stay where you are Ania, she’s probably gone into a shop. Stay put and wait until she comes out. Try not to let her see you.’
Kray dashed back into the lounge. ‘Have the CCTV guys got her yet?’
‘No, boss, the station is having difficulties emailing Madeline’s picture. It keeps bouncing back.’
‘Keep trying.’
There’s nothing like creating a drama out of a crisis and in this case all it took was to wait until she wasn’t looking. Then I sat down on one of the benches. The middle-aged man next to me, his feet buried deep in a mountain of bags, looks as though he’s had enough for the day. I smile, he smiles back.
I can see the Polish girl through the throngs of passing shoppers as she spins on the spot trying to locate me. Her mouth is animated as she barks words into her phone. This is a great sport.
I wonder if they have picked me up yet on the CCTV. With two hundred and eighty-five cameras in the place, I have to appear on one of them. They must be going berserk.
I’ll give it a couple more minutes, make that bitch sweat for it.
‘They got the photograph, Roz.’ Tavener stuck his head around the door. Kray nodded.
‘Ania, can you—’
‘There she is, I can see her.’
‘Okay Ania that’s really good. Well done. Where is she now?’
‘She is outside Boots and is walking away from me.’
‘Stay well back, Ania, don’t get too close. We will pick her up on the CCTV any second now.’ Kray stepped into the lounge again with the phone clasped between her hands. ‘Where the fuck is that CCTV?’
‘Coming, Roz, they’re scanning the last known position.’
‘Is she—’
‘Gówno!’
‘Ania what is it?’
‘She is coming right at me.’
‘Ania keep calm and move away. Head to the nearest shop and let her pass. Don’t look at her. Do it Ania, do it now.’
I reckon she must be shitting herself.
The look of panic on her face is making me want to laugh my bollocks off. A simple change of direction and the drama needle goes off the scale. I watch her scuttle away and pretend to gaze into a shop window. Her head is flicking nervously around as I close the gap between us. We are level now and I’m fighting every urge in my body to turn and flash her a smile.
‘They got her, Roz.’ Lucy came into the room. ‘The CCTV controller has her on the screen, she’s walking back the other way.’
‘I know. Tell them to mobilise their security and pick her up. Make it look like they suspect her of shoplifting. Hold her until we can get there.’
Kray returned to her phone. ‘Ania, we have her on CCTV now. Can you see her?’
‘Yes she is walking into Selfridges.’
‘Okay.’ Kray waved her hand to Frost. ‘She’s going into Selfridges, tell the CCTV controller to track her there.’
‘He’s got her on the screen but they don’t have cameras inside the shops.’
‘Fuck!’ Kray balled her fists. ‘Ania listen to me, I want you to follow her but stay well back. We cannot see her inside the store, do you understand?’
‘She is inside now. I can see her, she’s picking up clothes.’
‘That’s good Ania, keep talking to me.’ Kray cupped her handset once more. ‘Where are the security?’
‘On their way, Roz, and they have pictures of Madeline.’
Come on my lovely Polish woman follow me like a good girl. I chose this shop for two reasons. The first is that it is not simply a Selfridges store, it’s also a Primark store. Which means the calm and orderly shopping experience will dissolve into mad chaos as soon as you cross the threshold. The entire teenage population of Manchester is in here, it’s shopping anarchy with a generous side order of raging hormones. The staff are entirely focussed on getting through the day rather than noting who is in their store.
The second reason for choosing this particular shop should be becoming apparent around about now …
‘Hello, Ania? What’s happening?’
‘She … I … clothes, I can’t …’
Kray caught only snippets of her voice as the signal broke down.
‘Ania? Are you there?’
The voice on the other end crackled and gurgled before it went dead. Kray looked at the ‘Call Failed’ message on the screen of her phone.
‘Fuck! I’ve lost her,’ she announced. ‘Her last known location was Selfridges.’
‘That has two exits boss, one on the first floor where she went in and the other is on the ground floor.’
‘Get security to cover both.’
I love it. It’s utter pandemonium in the changing rooms, there must be twenty garments on the floor of my cubicle. I place the four tops, still on the hangers, on top of the pile and unpack the contents of my rucksack. The mirror attached to the wall is useful as I undress and in less than ten minutes, I’m done.
I slide the latch across on the door and sidle out into the narrow corridor. I pass the shop assistant trying to maintain order amongst the hordes of young shoppers, handing her the garments as she stares at me open-mouthed.
‘They weren’t right,’ I say shaking my head. She struggles to say anything in response.
As I shoulder my way into the main area of the store and notice the Polish woman hovering around, her head twisting one way then the other, like a wind-up toy. She is punching buttons on her phone but that won’t do her any good. I ease my way through the knots of teenage girls ransacking the shelves and make my way out into the relative calm of the concourse. A man and a woman dressed in ill-fitting uniforms are standing either side of the door, each one holding a piece of paper.
I pull the peak of my baseball cap down over my eyes and walk past them into the glare of the CCTV cameras. The flood of shoppers carries me along to the escalators and down to the ground floor exit.
After a short wait, I board the bus to take me to the off-site park and ride. The number plate recognition system installed at the Trafford Centre car parks makes driving to the place too much of a risk. Though it is annoying that with spaces for twelve and a half thousand cars I have to catch a fucking bus to reach my car. As we trundle to the roundabout, I see two police cars come screeching to a halt. I settle back and hug my rucksack. The bus is a pain in the arse, but it is better to be safe than sorry.
24
When Kray arrived at the Trafford Centre the police had the store sealed off or, more accurately, they had done a good job of ensuring that the occupants were sealed in. The duty manager was kicking up a fuss about loss of trade and goodwill, and a small contingent of irate parents were not buying the line of ‘it’s just routine’. But on the whole, Greater Manchester Police had the situation under control.
The hundred and fifty kids inside were having a ball with the whole experience. The most popular rumours that were circulating around were mumbles that they had been unlawfully detained, for which they would all receive a sizeable compensation settlement, and the other was that someone had been murdered in the changing rooms.
A crew of officers and PCSOs had swept through the ground and first floors, using pic
tures of Madeline Eve to screen people out. Also, they turned over every inch of the store to check if anyone was hiding. On both counts they had drawn blanks.
‘Nothing, ma’am,’ said a sergeant in uniform. ‘We’ve gone through everyone in the store and this person,’ he held up the photo, ‘is not on the premises. We can’t hold them for much longer.’
‘Okay sergeant, can you organise for everyone to leave via the first-floor exit and we will conduct one final check.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Ania Sobotta was still in shock. She was sat on a bench, flanked by a PC, sipping a coffee and staring into the middle distance.
‘I need you to help, Ania.’ Kray spoke softly.
‘It was her. I saw her.’
‘No, Ania, what you saw was someone pretending to be Madeline.’
‘But it was her …’ She grappled with her bag and pulled out a tissue, dabbing her eyes.
‘No, Ania, it wasn’t.’
‘Bóg mnie uratuje, widziałem ducha.’
‘Ania, we are going to clear the people out of the shop using this exit and I want you to stand with me and look at everyone who files past. If you see anything familiar, anything at all, I want you to tell me.’
‘Okay.’ Ania got to her feet and positioned herself next to Kray as the officers funnelled the excited youngsters out into the main thoroughfare. Twenty minutes later the shop reopened, and a fresh band of excited young shoppers spilled through the doors, eager to find out what the commotion had been about. ‘There’s been a murder.’ One of them said in an exaggerated Scottish accent.
Lucy Frost was making friends with the small team in the security command centre. She had located the exact moment when Madeline Eve had entered Selfridges at 11.42am and was combing through the footage of six cameras, each one with a different view of the exits. They scrolled through the images looking for Madeline leaving the store, the clock on the top of the screen said 11.56am.