‘You sure about that?’ asked Anni.
‘As sure as I can be, given what I saw last night.’
‘What about this baby?’ said Phil. ‘Is it alive?’
‘I’ve spoken to Nick Lines,’ said Jane Gosling. ‘And he says that judging by the health of the mother and how far gone she was, plus looking at the way the baby was cut out - and he’s getting better at that, apparently - there’s every possibility that it is.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ said Marina. ‘So let’s assume that it is. But there’s something else, as well. A question of gender. Normally, serial killers are male.’
‘This big woman thing again,’ said Adrian. ‘But we’ve got a picture, CCTV. Millhouse has got the techies working overtime on it, but it’s still not sharp enough. And we don’t want to rush it. Might get the wrong person.’
‘It could be a woman,’ said Marina. ‘Or it could be a man and a woman working together.’
‘Or a man providing for a woman,’ said Phil.
‘Exactly,’ said Marina. ‘Now, there are usually two kinds of serial killers. Psychopathic and sociopathic. The psychopaths are wild. They prey on victims, don’t care if they get caught. Sociopaths are harder to find. They can blend into society, hold down jobs, lead normal lives. Then one day something goes. And they have to feed their desires.’
‘Will they have a job?’ asked Anni.
‘They might do,’ Marina said, ‘but it won’t be anything prestigious. They won’t be head of Microsoft or anything like that. They can use a knife. Maybe slaughter animals? Farm worker? Abattoir? Something along those lines. Also the disregard for the victim. Just another piece of meat.’
She looked round at the assembled faces. She had their total attention.
‘At first I thought our killer was the first kind, a psychopath. Which, on reflection, might be better. This person lives on the edge. Single-minded. Not interested in taunting us or leaving messages. They’re doing this for a reason. They want something. The baby. They don’t see themselves getting caught because they don’t think about getting caught. They’re clever, cunning. Like an animal. This, theoretically, should make them slightly easier to catch. However . . .’
They waited.
‘If there’s two of them, one may be the psychopath, one the sociopath . . .’ She could feel an idea coming to her. ‘If . . . if there are two of them, then one, the contained one, the sociopath, could be finding the victims . . .’
‘And the other one ripping them up?’ said Anni.
‘It’s a theory.’
‘If that’s the case, then there’s another idea,’ said Phil.
They all looked at him.
‘Split personality. Is that viable?’
‘Could be,’ said Marina. ‘Two in one. I think that’s even scarier, actually. But the same principles apply.’
‘So how do we catch them?’ asked Phil.
‘Well, I don’t think they’re based in Colchester. I think they’re coming in to do this. The geographical profiling supports that. And because they’re all over the town, I think that means he’s targeting them another way.’
‘How?’ said Phil.
‘I don’t know,’ said Marina. ‘But I think that’s the key. Find out how he’s choosing them and we’ve got him.’ She nodded at Phil. His turn.
‘Thanks, Marina. Right. I want all the individual cases re-examined today.’ He scanned the room, making sure his words registered. ‘Similarities flagged, everything. Old reports gone over, the lot. Marina, would you help with that, please? I’d like you teamed with Anni.’
‘Sure.’
‘Good. Anything that sticks out, flag it up. We can cross-reference it against Brotherton and Caroline and Graeme Eades. Look for another match. Forensics are still going through the data from the last two crime scenes. No conclusive DNA yet, but they’ll keep looking. And there’s something else. I don’t know how significant it is.’
They waited.
‘Sophie Gale has done a runner. Brotherton’s solicitor was on the phone this morning.’ He told them about the call.
‘Good luck to her,’ said Anni.
‘Let’s keep an eye out for her, though. We should still talk to her again.’ He scanned the room once more. Despite the tiredness, he could see that they were all ready to go. ‘Get pounding those files, those streets. Good old-fashioned police work. We might have lost one baby but there’s another one out there and the clock’s ticking. Let’s get going.’
They all filed out.
As Marina got up, Phil moved in to talk to her.
‘Marina,’ said Anni, ‘come on.You’re with me.’
She looked at Phil, gave an apologetic little shrug and turned away. Phil walked out alone.
61
Clayton couldn’t concentrate. He looked round the bar, at the walls, through the windows. Anywhere but where he was supposed to be looking. Down at the report in front of him.
He was deskbound, tasked with paperwork. Unable to work the case, unable to function like the copper he wanted to be, believed himself to be. He hated it. He saw faces, clocked movements. He knew what they were doing, what they were thinking. About him. They knew. They knew.
His heart was hammering in his chest, his hands shaking. But how much did they know? If it was everything, then that was it, finito. But if wasn’t . . . he might have a chance. A slim one. He shouldn’t have done it. Let Sophie stay at his place. He shouldn’t have taken that blow job from her in the car the other night. Hell, if he traced it all the way back, he shouldn’t have got involved with her in the first place.
All he wanted to be was a good copper. Well respected by his peers, well liked by his colleagues. And the ladies. But he couldn’t see that happening now. Because he was weak. And being weak made him do stupid, cowardly things. Like getting involved with Sophie.
He looked round again. Phil was at his desk, attacking a pile of paperwork he had allowed to accrue. He kept his head, down, focused on his task. Didn’t catch Clayton’s eye. Millhouse was geeking away at his computer, in his own virtual world as usual. But it was Marina and Anni that he felt most scared about. Anni had pulled her chair up to Marina’s desk and was sitting alongside her, poring over reports and statements, scrutinising photos. Every once in a while Clayton would look across, find Anni staring back at him. He would look quickly away, his eyes nervous, shifty. Guilty.
She hadn’t told. He knew that. Otherwise Phil would have said something. But it was only a matter of time. She wouldn’t keep that to herself. She was as ambitious as he was, and hard-working. She wouldn’t want to be seen to collude in mistakes he had made.
They would find out where Sophie was. Because they might still need to talk to her. And when they did . . .
He had to get a grip, think about what to do next. Get a damage-limitation plan in operation. Clayton sighed, went back to his paperwork.
Still unable to concentrate.
Anni read the statement over once again. Geraint Cooper, Claire Fielding’s friend at school. She reached the end. Read it once more. Put it down, rubbed her eyes.
‘Nothing?’ said Marina, looking up.
‘I think it’s just . . . I want to see something there, find a connection so much that I’m imagining things . . .’
‘Take a break,’ said Marina.
Anni shook her head. ‘Not yet.’ She took a mouthful of bottled water. ‘Right. Let’s go again. Connections.’ She looked down at the list she had made in front of her. ‘Lisa King. Killed in an empty house. Had shown properties to Ryan Brotherton. Susie Evans. Prostitute. Ryan Brotherton one of her customers.’
‘And Sophie Gale,’ said Marina. ‘Where he met her.’
Anni nodded. ‘And she informed for the police. In return for certain leniencies. Right. Claire Fielding. Julie Simpson. Girlfriend of Brotherton and her best friend. Then Caroline Eades.’ She looked through the piles of paper on her desk. ‘No connection. None.’
‘Caroline Ea
des. Never worked?’
‘Her husband’s an area manager for a recruitment agency. She was a stay-at-home mum. No connection with any of the others.’
Marina sat back, thoughtful. Sucked one of the arms of her reading glasses. ‘What do we know about Sophie Gale?’
Anni rifled through her pile of papers, brought one out. ‘Born Gail Johnson. First known address is in New Town.
Pulled in on a raid, let go, works for us. Changes her name to Sophie Gale.’
‘Reinvents herself.’
‘Up to a point. Then appears with Ryan Brotherton.’
‘So we have to assume they’ve known each other for a number of years. And in a number of capacities.’
Anni nodded. ‘We’ll never know now. She’s gone.’
‘Won’t she turn up again?’
Anni gave a small smile. ‘Probably. One way or another. They usually do. And usually attached to a man.’
Marina got a quick mental image of Erin O’Connor then. Sitting in her little New Town house, looking like she wouldn’t be there too much longer. Erin O’Connor. Sophie Gale. Both sounded like made-up names. Manufactured girlie names. Names a man might enjoy saying, especially at certain times and in certain situations . . .
‘Marina? You all right?’
Marina blinked. Anni was looking at her, concerned. ‘Sorry?’
‘You’d gone for a few seconds.’
She shook her head. ‘Yes . . . miles away . . .’ She was still thinking, grasping for something . . .
Something Erin O’Connor had said: At least I don’t have to pay for it any more . . .
‘Phil and I went to talk to Graeme Eades’ girlfriend. Erin O’Connor.’
‘His alibi.’
‘Have you checked to see if she’s got a record?’
Anni sat upright. It looked like electricity had been run through her already spiky hair. ‘What kind of a record?’
‘Prostitution.’
‘I’ll check.’
‘I may be wrong,’ said Marina, thinking how disgusted the woman had looked when she had said the phrase, but wondering if that could have been an act put on for their benefit. ‘I may be doing her a great disservice, but I just get the feeling there might be a connection.’
‘Go with your gut instincts. That’s how it works.’ Anni stood up. ‘I’ll go and check.’
She walked across the office. Marina watched her go.
So did Clayton.
Anni asked Millhouse to run a check on Erin O’Connor. While she waited, she looked round the office. Clayton was sweating like it was midsummer. And shaking like he had Parkinson’s. She hadn’t told anyone about his involvement with Sophie. Not yet. And if he didn’t give her cause to, she wouldn’t. But he didn’t know that. She bit back a smile. Good. Let him suffer.
‘Urm . . . yeah . . .’ Millhouse was staring at his screen. ‘Here . . . No, er . . . nothing . . .’
Eloquent as ever, thought Anni.
‘Okay,’ she said, ‘what about Graeme Eades?’
‘The victim’s husband?’
‘The very same.’
‘Right . . .’ He started pressing buttons, scrolling through information.
Anni waited. As patiently as she could.
‘Uh . . .’ said Millhouse eventually, ‘here. Yeah, here. God . . . wow . . .’
Anni bent down to see what he was looking at. And there it was.
‘Graeme Eades, picked up, cautioned,’ she said. ‘Four years ago. Was anyone picked up with him? Either buying or selling?’
‘Uh, yeah, I’ll see . . .’
Millhouse worked away on the screen. Anni felt excitement rising within her. She tried not to let it show. So many times in similar situations she had allowed herself to hope, only to have those hopes dashed by reality. So when Millhouse asked her to look at the screen, she tried not to harbour too much hope.
‘Here . . .’
She smiled. Felt her toes curling. For once, her hope hadn’t been misplaced.
‘Fantastic, Millhouse. I could kiss you.’
‘Erm . . .’
She smiled. She could almost see the phrase ‘does not compute’ running through his mind. She all but ran back to Marina.
Clayton watched her go. He didn’t know what it was she had discovered, but he doubted it was good news. Anni didn’t even sit back down next to Marina, just leaned over the desk and spoke hurriedly to her. Marina then got up, and in a similar hurry to Anni, rushed over to Phil’s desk.
Oh God, oh fuck . . . She’s found something. There must have been a record left of his connection with Sophie. She had discovered it. That must be it. He was breathing so hard he thought his heart would develop an arrhythmic problem. Like having too much coke.
He tried to calm down. Think straight. Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe they had discovered something that would further the investigation. A breakthrough. That was it. It might not be about him after all.
He forced his heart rate down, his breathing to steady. There was only one way to find out. He stood up from his desk, crossed the office to where Millhouse was sitting.
‘Hi,’ he said, aiming for nonchalance, but missing by several miles.
Millhouse barely grunted in response.
‘What was, er . . . what was Anni looking for just now?’
‘Graeme Eades,’ said Millhouse, clearly upset at being disturbed from whatever he had been doing. Obviously Clayton didn’t hold the same appeal that Anni did for him.
‘Can I have a quick look?’
‘You’re off the case.’
Clayton gave a smile that he hoped said they were all mates together but somehow just died on his face. ‘Come on, Millhouse.You know what it’s like. Please. Just for me.’
Millhouse sighed, went into the system. ‘There,’ he said. ‘That’s what she wanted to see first.’
Clayton swallowed hard. ‘Right. First? What did she look at next?’
Another grunt and a sigh, as if Millhouse was being asked to move a mountain with only a teaspoon. ‘This.’
He put the screen up, sat back. Clayton looked. And felt the shakes returning. Big time.
He stood up. Walked slowly back to his desk, as if in a trance.
‘Don’t mention it,’ said Millhouse after him.
But Clayton didn’t hear. He sat down before the screen. Oh God, oh fuck . . .
The door to Phil’s office opened. Phil came out, shrugging into his jacket, Anni following. They both made their way to the front door.
Clayton sat there, watching them go. He had to do something, but he was too stunned to move. He had to be careful. Whatever he did next was important. Very important. His future career depended on it. He had to think. Find a way to make this work, come out of it clean.
Yes.
But first he had to make a phone call.
62
Graeme Eades opened the door. He looked to Phil like a different man. Like he had aged enough to become his own father in the space of a day. But worse than that, he looked like a ghost that hadn’t realised it was dead yet. Guilt will do that to you, thought Phil.
He was staying in a Travelodge on the outskirts of Colchester. His own house was being treated as a crime scene, examined for potential forensic clues, and would be for some time.
‘Would have thought he’d had enough of cheap hotels by now,’ Anni had said as they had walked up to the front desk and shown their warrant cards.
Phil hadn’t answered, just asked for directions to Graeme Eades’ room.
‘Mr Eades?’ he said. ‘Just a few more questions, please. Won’t take long.’
Eades opened the door fully, walked back into the room. He was dressed in a pair of chinos and a sweatshirt. It looked as if he had slept in them too. He needed a shave and his remaining hair had been sculpted into interesting swirls and whorls. He sat on the bed and waited, head down. Like a death-row inmate awaiting execution. But from the look in his eyes, he was already dead.
; Phil stood before him, leaning against the built-in set of drawers. Anni sat in the chair.
‘We’ve been looking into your background, Mr Eades, and there are a couple of things we’d like you to clear up.’
Philip Brennan 01 - The Surrogate Page 29