The Fourth Victim

by John Mead

  ‘That would be the man who found her?’ Merry had already put two and two together. ‘That’s why you won’t say, fellow officer and all.’

  ‘Not like you think,’ Proctor growled, surprised, annoyed and yet relieved the inspector from London had worked it out, ‘he died in a car accident when on duty about a year later. I had the proof by then but saw no reason in depriving his wife and kiddie of his pension so I shelved the file.’

  ‘He could have killed her,’ Merry remonstrated, though realised that in Proctor’s place he would probably have done the same.

  ‘I think he lost his temper and hit her harder than he meant, then went back later to muddy any evidence found that could incriminate him, the rest you can work out.’

  ‘Do you still have the file?’

  Proctor sat for a minute, stroking his dog whose head was on his knee, then he got up and went upstairs. Merry listened to the man’s footsteps on the boards above his head, then went to meet him at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘It’s in your hands now,’ Proctor told him, handing over a box file full of papers in a Tesco bag-for-life, ‘literally, it’s all there, copies of everything from the original investigation plus my own findings, not the physical evidence of course but it’s all cross-referenced. It’s up to you what happens next.’

  ‘My interest is in how Jenny Cowan is involved in the death of three young women, not a corrupt copper whose been dead for years,’ Merry said as they shook hands and he thanked the retired constable. Proctor could at least say he had finally done his job having now passed on the file but Merry just felt he had wasted his time as he hadn’t really learned anything more about Jenny Cowan than he already knew.

  Merry was tired by the time he got back to Fort William, he’d had to wait for the train and had taken a slow walk round the small, scenic harbour in Mallaig along with all the tourists, but the day had turned grey and wet, matching his mood. Dianne Allaway, whom he’d text as he’d set off from London, was waiting for him, dressed up for the dinner he had promised her. He was hardly scintillating company and the sex that followed the meal lacked passion. Allaway left him, no doubt, thinking the scotch they had consumed on their first encounter had made it seem more special and exciting than it really was. Merry’s inability to fully meet Allaway’s expectations only made his mood darker and, despite his exhaustion, kept him awake. In the end he relented, ordered a bottle of Ben Nevis whisky to be sent up and started to go through the papers.

  Halfway into the box file he found a pack of witness statements, three from Mallaig, from when Jenny had boarded the train, two from a passenger and the conductor on the train and two from workers on the Fort William concourse who saw her disembark. All but one of the witnesses to her journey from Mallaig to Fort William, mentioned that she travelled with a young, Asian looking woman who wore a headscarf, something more noticeable in those climes twenty years ago. It was assumed the woman was a tourist, she never came forward and was never found, a photofit was compiled and Merry spent a long while contemplating it before falling asleep.

  Merry left on the first train, checking his connections he had decided to eat breakfast in Glasgow, texting his wife to say he missed her and when he expected to get home, which wouldn’t be until late. He also text Dianne Allaway, thanking her for the evening and apologising if his company was less than she deserved as he had been so tired. He got a ‘smiley face’ from his wife and nothing from Allaway, which was probably better than the ‘pile of poo’ he deserved. Lukula wasn’t answering her phone, so he decided to face up to Swift and phoned him to explain how he had spent Sunday and why he wouldn’t be in the office today. The call didn’t go well.

  On the Glasgow to London leg of his journey Merry had a number of calls with Rosen, occasionally disrupted when the signal died.

  ‘He’s not a happy bunny,’ Rosen informed him of Swift’s mood, ‘you must have caught him as he left the incident room, looking for you and Julie, we could hear him down the corridor’.

  ‘Into every life a little rain must fall,’ Merry stated philosophically, though it wasn’t clear if he referred to his own, Swift’s or both. ‘I gather from what the govenor said, amongst other things concerning his general disappointment in how I am conducting the investigation, is that Cowan is still missing.’

  ‘Yes, CCTV picked her up entering her flat late on Friday night and then leaving with a bag at five in the morning but nothing has been reported since, not even a suspected sighting,’ Rosen informed him. ‘The govenor is thinking about having a press release put out, appealing for help in locating a suspect in a murder inquiry, but can’t decide if it will be worth the cost in manpower to sift through all the calls it will generate. Given his mood I wouldn’t be surprised if you end up doing it all on your own, at least Julie’s using her time wisely.’

  ‘Doing what?’ Merry asked, ignoring Ray’s backhanded jibe at his trip to Scotland.

  ‘Re-interviewing family, friends and work colleagues of the victims to see if there is any link between the girls and Jenny Cowan. I’ve been onto the tech boys to get them to review all the social media stuff and the victims’ phones to see if anything has been missed that might be a link. I’ve explained about Cowan’s different names, at least the ones Doctor Hassan has given us.’

  ‘Anything else, what about CCTV?’ Merry asked, thinking again of the photofit picture he’d found in the box file Proctor had given him.

  ‘Another sore point with the governor. I had to inform him that although all the CCTV footage seems to have been gone through, a number of follow-ups that were flagged haven’t been done or completed. Only a couple from the crime scenes but a number from the Berner Centre and around Cowan’s flat.’

  ‘What did he expect, cutting back on the manpower before we had finished,’ Merry was aggrieved, although Swift might have a point about his jaunt to Scotland, the cuts were not his fault and he’d spoken against them.

  ‘He said he should have been given specifics about what was outstanding and the potential cost in man-hours,’ Rosen stated, his tone neutral, not wanting to take sides in a disagreement in which both parties were wrong. ‘However, I said Hayden could probably cover it in a couple of days at most, so we are getting her back.’

  ‘Anything else we have missed?’ Merry was growing increasingly despondent, although in practice he knew everything that could be done was being done and, perversely, Cowan going missing was giving them the time he’d asked Swift for in the first place, to do it.

  ‘Bad news on the blood on Cowan’s shoulder bag handle,’ Rosen started with the worst, ‘the fumes from the bleach used to clean the inside of the bag, when sealed in the evidence bag, seems to have corrupted the blood. They can’t get DNA as a result and as Jenny has the same type of blood as the Hensley girl, so we are screwed on that one. Otherwise, nothing new from forensics, given the speed and simplicity of the attacks that is hardly surprising. We also have the definitive toxicology reports now, again nothing surprising: opioids and cannabis, small amounts in the Turner girl, more in Jody Grahame, nothing of note in Lynsey Hensley. We still have unidentified fingerprints from the bench in St George’s Gardens, nor do we have an exact match for the footprint at Jody’s crime scene. No viable witnesses have been found, the identity of the woman in a headscarf seen at Swedenborg Gardens is still unknown. There are boards up at the scenes appealing for witnesses, but the canvassing of the areas and the press appeals have produced a lot of work but nothing of any use.’

  Merry broke off to get a cup of coffee, resigned at how thin their case remained, then phoned back, ‘So, apart from her working with two of the victims, the plastic bag and bleached hammer we found in her flat and her shoe size, the only concrete thing we have to connect Jenny Cowan to the killings is her prints on the bloody Tesco bag bound in Swendenborg Gardens.’

  ‘Although forensics say Cowan’s fingerprints form a pattern whic
h suggests she had done more than just touch the bag but actually gripped the hammer inside the bag. However, the plastic bag found in her flat had been wiped clean, like everything else,’ Rosen commiserated. The lack of leads was more common than most officers liked to admit, most only remembered the leads that broke the case, but then Rosen didn’t feel that his career rode on solving the killings so could be more relaxed about such things. ‘Normally that’d be suspicious but Doctor Hassan has said excessive cleaning is part of Leanne’s normal behaviour. Not that Cowan’s behaviour is consistent: compulsively cleaning one minute and carelessly leaving her fingerprints on the Tesco bag that held the murder weapon the next.’

  ‘What would we do without the good doctor,’ Merry, somewhat ungenerously muttered, realising the inconsistencies, as with most of the ambiguities of the case, resulted from Cowan’s multiple personalities. Any half-decent defence lawyer would have a field day.

  ‘Not much if the govenor is anything to go by,’ Rosen informed him of Swift’s change of mind. ‘He’s gone off to speak with her, as our expert consultant, to help us unravel and understand the working of Cowan’s mindset and motivations.’

  ‘All well and good, but without more links established between Cowan and the victims, we don’t have anything. Even if she confesses it won’t help the case that much if her brief argues diminished responsibility, especially given her multiple personalities,’ Merry bemoaned, knowing Rosen already knew this.

  ‘We also need to link her to the other crime scenes. Some blood, trace or DNA would crack it but there’s been more than enough time for clothing and shoes to be disposed of,’ Rosen pointed out, realising it didn’t help but at least gave him the opportunity to sound sympathetic to his boss’s problem.

  ‘You know, that’s a point,’ Merry puzzled at the inconsistency he’d spotted, ‘if Jenny had disposed of the clothing and shoes she wore to get rid of any evidence then why hang on to the hammer? Even having washed it in bleach you’d think she’d dump it?’

  Much later, tired and hungry from his travelling but now on the Dockland Light Railway heading for Woolwich Arsenal for another prearranged meeting with Alby Cowan in Belmarsh, Merry had a final call from Rosen.

  ‘Thought you’d want to know,’ Rosen told him without any preamble, ‘they have picked up Turner and he is in custody now.’

  ‘What?’ Merry wondered, the train was packed and he was having trouble maintaining his balance as the carriage swayed and rattled along the track with his bag and file in one hand and phone in the other.

  ‘You hadn’t heard?’ Rosen realised his error, ‘Saturday night a group of men pushed their way into the Turners’ flat. Fortunately the mother and son were staying at her sister’s but Alan Turner and the flat got smashed up. Seems he went into hiding but failed to report this morning, which is a violation of his bail, so he’s been picked up having been spotted by uniformed as he was getting a takeaway.’

  ‘Let me know if anything else turns up,’ Merry said unenthusiastically, ‘but I’ll be in first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Come wearing a stab vest, the govenor is still on the war path,’ Rosen cheerily told him.

  ‘Do you recognise this woman?’ Merry demanded, his ill-temper sounding in his voice as a warning to Alby that he wasn’t in the mood to play games, putting the photofit of the woman in a headscarf, from the file Proctor had given him, before the prisoner.

  ‘No,’ Alby stated, wondering at the inspector’s second visit in so short a space of time. Not that he minded as he didn’t get any other visitors and it broke up the routine of the days, that flowed into weeks, months and years of endless repetition.

  ‘What about her?’ Merry held his phone up, showing a still of the hijab wearing woman from the CCTV taken at Swedenborg Gardens.

  ‘Could be the woman in the photofit or just about anyone else,’ Alby stated, finding the question amusing.

  ‘What about her?’ this was a picture of Alima he had taken from her blog.

  Alby studied the picture, despite himself the sudden remembrance made him speak, ‘Yes, I remember her, I think. I can’t be completely certain as she looks older, still a nice bit of skirt though. It looks a lot like Jenny’s mate from Mallaig.’

  ‘Was she involved in selling drugs? Same as Jenny was?’ Merry was tired and he thought his voice lacked conviction, he struggled to believe that Alima would do such a thing, and it was almost as if he wanted Alby to say no.

  ‘Not that I know,’ Alby stated. ‘What is this about?’

  ‘You said she bought drugs from Jenny?’ Merry persisted, he was relived by Alby’s answer but wanted absolute certainty that his faith in Alima was justified.

  ‘Just for pleasure, don’t think she was supplying anyone,’ Alby stated, deciding he’d clam up again as it might help prolong the interview and keep him out of his cell for a bit longer.

  ‘Did you see any more of Jenny after she left Edinburgh? You were both in Newcastle at roughly the same time?’ Alby only shrugged in response, ‘Your sister is implicated in the killing of three young women. Her friend from Mallaig is her therapist, currently helping us build a case against her.’

  ‘Really?’ Alby was completely stunned, his sister might be strange and full of rage at times but he couldn’t believe she’d kill anyone, then he thought again, ‘I’m not surprised.’

  ‘At what? Your sister killing three young woman or at Doctor Hassan being involved with her still? Merry realised he wasn’t handling this well, was losing the initiative.

  ‘So, she’s a doctor is she?’ Alby sat back, stifling a yawn, or at least making a show of doing so. ‘I remember she was a student, done well for herself then.’

  ‘You think your sister capable of killing?’

  ‘She was always getting angry,’ Alby confided, ‘and would fly into a temper over nothing. So she was capable, yes she was, she could work herself up enough to kill,’ adding as an afterthought, ‘Although she might not intend to. She could also be loving and liked the boys when she was in the mood and at other times she’d be quiet as a mouse. But she didn’t always know who she was or remember what she’d done.’

  ‘What about when she was in a rage? Did she remember what she did, who she got angry with?’ Merry asked, trying not to sound overly interested, just tying up a small detail before moving to his next question.

  ‘Jenny had an angry soul,’ Alby stated, smiling at the recollection of all the blow-ups and temper tantrums, ‘she might pretend to be someone else after and not to remember but Jenny could be a scary bitch when she got the wind in her sails.’

  By the time he got home Matthew could hardly keep his eyes open, if he hadn’t been so hungry, he’d probably have gone straight to bed.

  ‘Something wrong?’ he asked Kathy as he wolfed down the fish and chips he’d stopped to buy on the walk home from the tube.

  ‘No, nothing that can’t wait,’ Kathy smiled, knowing Matthew was too tired and had too much on his mind for her to say anything now. She’d wait until morning to tell him about the conversation she’d had with her headteacher at the end of the day, where she had been told that the school needed to save a large amount of money to balance its budget, given the recent cuts. The head had warned her that she was about to be made redundant.

  ‘OK,’ Merry smiled assuming it was just another errant pupil his wife was worried about, she took her responsibilities very seriously he thought. ‘Want a chip?’

  17

  Matthew slept well and rose early, wanting to get to work and catch Lukula, promising his wife they’d talk that evening. Despite their lack of progress on the case and not having any clear plan how to proceed he felt refreshed and ready to tackle the situation head on.

  ‘We have fuck all,’ Merry summed up Julie’s listing of the evidence they had accumulated, it was no different from Rosen’s list of the day before and only emphasis
ed how little they really had.

  ‘But she has lied,’ Lukula persisted, she still felt raw at having bungled Cowan’s arrest and read more into Merry’s tone than was meant. ‘Leanne did work with Lynsey when she first started and was seen talking to her and Jody Grahame occasionally. She had even had her hair done once at the hair and nail bar.’

  ‘Only no one at the place can remember if Madeline Turner was there at the time,’ Merry reminded Lukula of what she had only just told him, ‘she was doing work experience then and there was no record of her being there. You also said the manager remembered the bubbly blonde when you showed her the photo of Leanne, which hardly sounds like her, more like Jackie.’

  Lukula bit her tongue to stop herself saying something sarcastic – about him knowing more about Jackie than her – but she didn’t want to antagonise her boss and it would be a low blow in any case.

  ‘Nor is there mention of her doing more than asking Jody and Lynsey about work, no suggestion she socialised with them in any way. Nothing on social media I take it?’ Merry was trying to be constructive but was only too aware it sounded like he was criticising what Julie had done while he had been in Scotland.

  ‘Neither Cowan nor Jody Grahame had any social media presence and Lynsey Hensley was pretty limited,’ Julie began. ‘Madeline, as we know, was all over the internet for all the wrong reasons and mainly as her alter ego, MaddyTease, no mention of anything linked to Cowan or Leanne, John and co. Although a couple of small things of interest have come up.’