by Paul Gitsham
“What have we got, Tony?”
“It’s like I said on the phone. A lone body, female, probably in her late twenties. She’s been here a couple of days at least, found by a group of teenagers doing a Duke of Edinburgh night hike.”
“Where are they now?”
“Andy took their boots off them to examine for trace and we sent them back to the station to make a statement. Fortunately, as soon as they realised what they’d found, they freaked out and stayed well away, so the scene hasn’t been compromised.” He shook his head. “Poor kids, they were putting on a brave face, especially the lads, but you could tell they were pretty upset by the whole thing.”
Warren nodded soberly. Finding a dead body was distressing for anybody. He could only imagine what effect it would have on a group of teenagers, out in the woods on their own. He suspected that at least a few of them would not be completing their training.
“Let’s get it over with, then.”
Sutton nodded, taking the lead again although it was hardly necessary, since they were barely thirty metres from the edge of the cordoned-off crime scene. The plastic boards shifted and creaked under the two men’s weight, but held firm.
The woman was dressed in what appeared to be a sports jacket over a dark blue tracksuit. Her trousers and knickers were pulled down to her knees and her T-shirt been roughly pulled over her head. Her sports bra had been pulled up, exposing her breasts. A scarf was tied tightly around her neck. Even in the artificial glare of the lighting rig Warren could see that she had once been an attractive young woman, with long, curly dark blonde hair and a pretty face. Her body was well toned and she had clearly been fit.
Looking away from the poor woman, he addressed Andy Harrison.
“What have we got, Andy?”
“On the surface, at least, it’s similar to last time. A young woman, probably mid-to-late twenties. Possibly raped; almost certainly throttled with her own scarf.”
“How long do you think?”
“A couple of days at least, but anything more accurate would be a guess at this stage.”
“What about the scene — footprints? Tyre tracks? If it’s anything like the last time, she was dumped here.”
Harrison raised a calming hand; he could sense Jones’ frustration. “All in good time, Chief. It’s early days yet. You start trying to identify her back at the station — leave us to sweep the scene. If there’s anything here we’ll find it.” He looked at his watch. “We’ll get a preliminary report to you before midday tomorrow.”
Warren took a few deep breaths; the man was correct. It was early days and there was nothing to be gained by rushing the CSI team.
“You’re right, of course, Andy. We’ll get out of your hair and let you get on with your job.”
As they trudged carefully back to their cars Sutton and Jones talked over the evening’s find.
“I’m worried, guv. That killing’s a little too like last week’s for comfort.”
Warren agreed. “They’re close together as well. If Andy Harrison is right with the timing we’re looking at less than a week. Either the killer has some sort of plan or timetable that they are following or they’ve developed a taste for it and aren’t fully in control.”
“Either of which suggests that we could be looking at more bodies and sooner rather than later.”
Sunday 11th December
Chapter 23
Warren was awoken by a combination of the alarm on his mobile phone and a nagging feeling of indigestion. By the time he’d returned to the station, interviewed the teenagers who found the body and started the ball rolling on the murder investigation it had been well into the early hours of the morning.
He’d arrived home to find Susan had gone to bed some hours before. He’d been tempted to slip into bed beside her so he could at least awake beside her — Sunday mornings were often the only time the couple had anything approaching a lie-in together — but he’d decided it wasn’t fair on her. He was planning to be in the office early and he’d been reluctant to disturb her unnecessarily.
After a hot shower to chase away the cobwebs and a careful and precise shave, Warren returned to the spare room, which conveniently doubled as the couple’s wardrobe, and put on his most sombre suit and a black tie. No identification had yet been made of the young woman but, when it was, Warren was going to accompany the family liaison officers when they broke the news later that morning. It was a job that Warren absolutely hated; however, he wanted to see the reaction of the family for himself. As always, the odds were that the killer was a close acquaintance of the victim and Warren wanted to see the response of those acquaintances up close.
Walking downstairs, Warren was very pleasantly surprised to see Susan, yawning in her dressing gown and pouring coffee. A moment later the toaster popped up. Crossing the kitchen, he kissed her on the forehead. “You didn’t have to get up so early. You deserve a lie-in.”
“I know — that’s why I’ll be returning to bed with a good book as soon as you’ve gone. But I couldn’t let you go to work on a Sunday with an empty stomach. Don’t forget the canteen is closed — why don’t you take that curry and reheat it?” Susan obviously hadn’t opened the kitchen bin yet that morning. Seeing Warren’s guilty expression, she looked around the kitchen, noting the lack of dirty dishes. Opening the refrigerator, she made a face.
“Well, unless you’ve taken to washing up in the early hours of the morning, you didn’t place the curry on a plate, those tin-foil containers can’t be microwaved and I doubt you heated the oven up at that time. From that I can only deduce, Detective Chief Inspector, that you ate the Chicken Jalfrezi cold. Am I right?”
Warren nodded, sheepishly.
“You are so gross. I hope you have indigestion.”
* * *
CID was buzzing when Warren arrived at seven-thirty. The first order of the day was to confirm the identity of the victim. A photograph of the young woman was displayed on the far wall. He called the team into the briefing room.
“What have we got?” he asked a tired-looking DS Khan, who was due to go off shift.
“Nothing yet. We’re going through the missing persons database as we speak. She certainly hasn’t been reported missing locally or recently. We managed to get at least a couple of clear fingerprints off her body, but she isn’t coming up on the computer, so she hasn’t been convicted of anything.”
“Any other ID?”
“No, she was travelling light. From the way she was dressed we think that she had probably been to the gym or an exercise class. She had no wallet on her, just a few pounds in her coat pocket and some house keys. She wasn’t carrying a phone — or if she was it was taken by her attacker. Her iPod has no user information on it, not even an iTunes account. We found no bag with her. Unfortunately, her clothes are pretty much off the peg, nothing unusual.”
“Sounds as if it’s going to be dental records, then. When is the PM scheduled?”
“Mid-afternoon. We should have her ID by late tomorrow.”
Warren sighed. “That’s a long wait. The sooner we identify who she is, the sooner we can start investigating properly. Let’s see what else we can use to identify her.”
“If she’d been to the gym, she might have had a bag, you know, with a towel and that. We should see what’s been handed in. We might get lucky and find her wallet.”
“Good idea, Mo, but that assumes that she went to a sports centre. If she just went out for a jog, she might only have needed her house keys, iPod and perhaps a few quid for a drink afterwards.”
Warren paused thoughtfully. “I wonder if Forensics could tell us whether she had been running or exercising in a gym? They might be able to tell from the scuffs on her shoes. We should also ask the coroner to check if she had showered recently or not. That might tell us if we are looking for a bag.”
“We could start showing her photograph around local gyms, see if anyone recognises her,” suggested Gary Hastings helpfully. Tony Sutton,
who had just appeared, still dressed in his thick overcoat, shook his head firmly.
“Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves. First of all we don’t know that she went to a gym, second, do you know how many gyms or similar venues there are in Middlesbury?”
Visibly chastened, Hastings shook his head.
“Me neither, but I’ll bet it’s a lot. And that assumes she was local. She could have been snatched off the street in Cambridge or Hertford, or anywhere in between.” Looking at the young officer’s crestfallen face, Sutton tried to repair the damage to his self-esteem. “It’s a good idea though — we just need to whittle down the range of places first.”
“Where does this leave the Sally Evans murder? Are they connected, do you think, sir?” asked Karen Hardwick.
Warren sucked his teeth; the reluctance to commit was clear on his face.
“It’s too early to say. We can’t overlook the similarities so far and the timing; it’s too coincidental to ignore. On the other hand we can’t risk getting carried away with looking for a link where none exists. As much as I hate to admit it, sometimes coincidences do happen.”
Clearly nobody was buying that theory.
“I think we’ll treat them as two different murders for the next twenty-four hours or so, at least until the second victim is identified, then we’ll revisit the issue. In the meantime, we should start looking for any potential overlap between the two victims. If they are linked, then there may be clues to the killer’s identity.”
With that, the team broke up. Karen Hardwick turned to Gary Hastings. “It’s scary to think that if they are linked there’s somebody killing young women out there, perhaps for no reason. I never thought when I joined CID we’d be hunting a serial killer.”
Before Hastings could respond Sutton, who’d overheard Karen’s comment, interjected, “He’s not a serial killer. Officially you need three separate murders to qualify as a serial killer.” He paused. “It’s our job to make sure he never gets that label.”
Chapter 24
During the course of the day, progress was slow but steady. At Warren’s request, the forensic team studying the unknown victim’s clothing had focused on her shoes. An early report landed on Warren’s desk by late morning, which he immediately shared with the rest of the team.
“Women’s size six Nike. Mid-range, all-purpose, luckily for us, relatively new. They won’t commit themselves either way, of course, but the scuffing pattern and absence of deeply embedded stones suggest that, although the trainers have been worn outside, the owner hadn’t done significant outside running. The inside lining of the shoe is worn, so it’s unlikely that the lack of scuffing is due to lack of use.”
“Which suggests that she may have been returning from a gym session rather than a jog,” interjected Sutton. Warren inclined his head in a cautious acknowledgement.
Just after midday, a phone call from Welwyn all but confirmed this theory and reduced the likelihood that they would find the young woman’s bag discarded somewhere. The force’s master locksmith had examined the keys on the victim’s key ring. Two of the keys were obviously house keys — a standard Yale and a 5-lever mortice Chubb. Both of them were off-the-shelf generic locks and no records existed to link the keys to a specific property.
The third key was more illuminating, however. What Warren had at first assumed was a window or back-door key was in fact a locker key. There was no label or key ring to help identify the keys if stolen — or even the locker number. However, Warren knew that many people would remove any such identifier, reasoning that the last thing you wanted was for somebody who’d stolen your keys to know which house, or indeed locker, they unlocked…
Nevertheless, it was enough to start on and since Gary Hastings had all but suggested the idea, Warren assigned him to ring around the different sports centres in the area to find out which gyms offered locker facilities to paying members.
* * *
Shortly after lunch, Det Supt Grayson made an appearance. Warren spent the next half an hour taking his superior through the case’s progress so far.
“We need to issue a press release. Reporters are already sniffing around. We have to give them something before they start appealing for witnesses and muddying the waters with half-baked theories and questionable facts. Do you think we should use it to ask for the public’s help in identifying the body?”
Warren had been thinking about this himself and recommended against it. “Give us another twenty-four hours to try and work out who she is otherwise we’ll put the wind up every parent whose daughter’s forgotten to charge her mobile phone. The public are on edge after Sally Evans as it is. I suspect the switchboard will receive dozens of calls regardless, but ‘blonde, average build, late twenties’ is too vague to keep the numbers down.”
Grayson tapped his teeth with an expensive-looking pen as he mulled over Warren’s proposal. “OK, Warren, we’ll play it your way. We’ll just release the barest of details for now in a written statement, no questions, but if you haven’t identified her by tomorrow evening, we’ll put a photo out and ask for help.”
Warren repressed a sigh; he hadn’t missed his boss’ not so subtle use of phrases such as ‘your way’ and if ‘you haven’t identified her’. As usual, responsibility was being laid on Warren’s shoulders in case of failure — no doubt any successes would be a team effort, with Grayson poised to reap any praise from his peers in Welwyn.
Pushing those thoughts to one side, Warren made his excuses and left.
* * *
By late afternoon, the autopsy was complete on the unidentified young woman and Professor Ryan Jordan offered to run the results over to Middlesbury. Warren was glad that the American was on duty and would have requested him if he weren’t; if the two murders were linked then he hoped that by using the same pathologist any similarities, no matter how small, would be noticed.
This time, Warren invited Tony Sutton in for the consultation.
“First of all, let me stick my head on the chopping block and say that I am pretty sure it’s the same killer.”
Warren let out a breath that he didn’t realise he’d been holding. His first emotion was one of relief — with only one killer to look for and two different crime scenes to process, he felt that the chances of finding this killer and bringing him to justice were much increased. Two crime scenes meant two opportunities for the killer to leave evidence — two opportunities to make that crucial mistake that Warren and his team could exploit.
Warren’s second emotion was one of sudden, renewed pressure. It was as if a clock had started ticking in his head. Two murders, less than a week apart, spoke of a cold, calculating killer; not some slave to a crime of passion. Even more worrying was the thought that he might strike again. Had he acquired a taste for it now? Did he have a list of victims? Would he end when he reached some goal or was he going to keep on going until he was stopped?
The pathologist had opened his file and was reading from it, Warren and Tony following the narrative on colour photocopies.
“Victim is a white Caucasian female, mid to late twenties, with blonde, shoulder-length hair, no distinguishing scars or body decorations. She has a full set of adult teeth, plus two wisdom teeth which we’ve X-rayed for dental analysis. She was one hundred and sixty-four centimetres tall and about sixty-two kilogrammes. She is of a medium-slim build with slightly above average musculature suggesting that she works out regularly.” He looked up at the two officers. “I know it’s a bit premature to draw conclusions from just two cases, but, given that their physical differences in body type would be largely concealed by loose clothing, you could argue that both this victim and Sally Evans conformed to a ‘type’. Perhaps an indication of the killer’s sexual preferences or somebody that he is angry with?”
Warren nodded thoughtfully. He’d noticed the similarity himself, but it was good to have it confirmed by somebody else. Having the same pathologist examine both bodies was the right call, he decided.
“Just like Sally Evans,” muttered Sutton uncomfortably.
“When did she die?”
Jordan removed his glasses and sighed. “Difficult to say with any certainty. Her body had cooled close to ambient temperature, but in those conditions that means little. We performed an intra-ocular potassium measurement, and within the margins for error I would suggest a minimum of thirty-six hours. However limited decomposition had set in and she hadn’t been very disturbed by local wildlife. If it helps, her stomach contents revealed chocolate cake and white wine, probably consumed within an hour of death. There were also some traces of pasta and sauce, probably eaten about four to six hours before death. She was also freshly showered and wearing clean underwear and a fresh T-shirt. It didn’t look as if she had worked up a sweat whilst wearing them.”
“That suggests she was killed two evenings ago,” stated Sutton.
“Why not yesterday morning?” Warren suggested, for the most part playing devil’s advocate. “Thirty-six hours would be early to mid-morning. Plenty of people go to the gym before work.”
“Yeah, but they don’t usually reward themselves with chocolate cake and white wine mid-morning and do their workout after a five a.m. breakfast of spag bol.”
“You’re probably right, but let’s try and keep an open mind at this stage.”
Jordan cleared his throat slightly. “Can I also suggest that late night in the dark would make it easier for the killer to take his victim than in broad daylight? Unless he picked her up somewhere very secluded or followed her home, we can probably assume that he wanted to subdue her with the minimum of fuss — hence the solvent. And she did put up a struggle.”