Cavendish & Walker Box Set

by Sally Rigby

  ‘Don’t hand in your resignation. We need you here. There will be other Associate Professorships available in the future.’

  She found that hard to believe. Someone had to die, or leave, for it to happen, and the APs they had at the moment were way too settled to consider moving.

  ‘When I make my decision, you’ll be the first to know.’ She marched out of the door without a backwards glance.

  Wait until next time he needed his arse covered. Because she wouldn’t be the one to do it. He could stand or fall by himself.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘DSI Jamieson is looking for you,’ Ellie said as Whitney bumped into her in the corridor on her way to the incident room.

  Damn. That was all she needed. His interference.

  ‘Okay, thanks. I’ll go see him now.’

  She hurried to his office, and when she arrived, he was, as usual, on the phone. His door was ajar, and she knocked gently. He beckoned for her to come in, and she sat down opposite him. She glanced around his office, which was neat and tidy. The wall was adorned with certificates of his achievement. None of which were from the police. Although she tried to forget about his background, every time she was in this room it came rushing back to her.

  It would be fine if he never interfered with investigations and got on with all the paper pushing which was the prerogative of his job, but there were times when he did get involved, and that was when she wanted to shove his precious Oxford University degree certificate up his arse.

  He finished his call and looked at her. ‘Where are we with the murder cases?’

  ‘We know both men have been using SnapMate to attract young girls. So far, we’ve spoken to two of the girls Russell Atkins had been grooming but can’t track the third. They both have alibis, as do their parents. We’re in the process of trying to find a girl Keane had been grooming and looking to see if there’s any overlap with Atkins.’

  ‘Do you have any leads regarding the murderer?’

  ‘They sent a letter to the local radio station detailing why murders were being carried out. For the moment, they’ve agreed not to broadcast it. I suspect there’ll be more bodies if we don’t catch the perp soon.’

  ‘That’s all we need. Another serial killer in Lenchester. What happened to the lovely city where people enjoyed a peaceful existence?’

  ‘All cities have their problems. There’s no such thing as the perfect place to live,’ she said.

  ‘What has the pathologist come up with?’

  ‘Dr Dexter confirmed the murders were carried out by the same person. Our second victim also had his genitals removed, cooked, and fed to him. We’re not sure, but we believe the murderer could be a woman.’

  Whitney smiled to herself as the colour drained from his face. She enjoyed letting him see the other side of policing, the not so glamorous side, which was very different from attending functions wearing a shiny uniform.

  ‘Well, make sure you—’

  He was interrupted by Whitney’s phone ringing. She pulled it out of her pocket and glanced at the screen. It was her mum.

  ‘Sorry, sir. I need to take this. It might be an emergency.’ She stood up and walked out of his office, standing beside the open door. ‘Hello, Mum.’

  ‘Hello, Whitney. How are you?’ her mum said.

  ‘I’m fine. You’ve phoned me at work. Is there a problem?’

  ‘A lady from social services is here, and she wants me to let her do some cleaning.’

  ‘Let me speak to her.’

  ‘Hello,’ a voice said.

  ‘This is Whitney Walker.’

  ‘Your mother’s social worker asked me to call round and do some cleaning.’

  ‘Why didn’t Jean tell us in advance?’ Whitney asked.

  ‘I believe she told your mum when she was last here. It’s not a regular visit. I’ve come in to help tidy things up a bit.’

  ‘Okay, thank you. Put my mother back on.’

  ‘Hello, Whitney.’

  ‘It’s fine, Mum. Jean arranged it. She thought you’d like some help, as you’re finding it hard to clean everything. Don’t worry, it’s all okay.’

  ‘When are you coming to visit? We haven’t seen you for ages. Rob wants to know, too.’

  ‘Soon. I promise. At the moment it’s very busy at work. You know how it is.’

  ‘Okay, love. I’ll let you go. Speak to you soon.’

  Whitney ended the call and returned her phone to her pocket. What the hell was she going to do? It couldn’t go on. She kept trying to put it to the back of her mind and not think about what the social worker had said, but she knew she couldn’t put off the decision for much longer. It wasn’t fair on Rob to let things continue. It wasn’t fair on her mum, either. In fact, it wasn’t fair on any of them.

  ‘Have you finished?’ she heard Jamieson calling.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she said, walking back into his office.

  ‘Having problems?’ he asked as she sat down on the chair in front of him.

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Is your mum ill?’

  ‘She’s got early onset dementia, although it seems to be progressing quicker than we anticipated.’

  Why the hell had she admitted that? It had nothing to do with him, and she didn’t want his pity.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Walker. Are you the only person who can help, or do you have other members of the family?’

  ‘It’s all down to me, sir.’

  He sat back in his chair and stretched out his arms over the back of his head.

  ‘If you think it’s going to be an issue, maybe you should consider stepping back from this investigation and letting someone else take over. Someone who can give it their full commitment.’

  What the hell? He wanted to take her off the case? Every time something happened it was his first suggestion. His go-to response. She knew he didn’t like her, but even so, it wasn’t how he should operate. In his position, he should have his officers’ backs. Not look to pull the rug out from under them whenever he could.

  ‘It’s perfectly fine. I can manage. I don’t need anyone else taking over.’

  ‘When we have a murder investigation, someone at your level has to commit twenty-four-seven. If you’re having family issues, which I’m sorry for, I don’t see how you can give the commitment required.’

  ‘Have you had cause to question my commitment up to now?’ She stared him in the eye.

  He returned the stare for a few seconds. ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘Exactly. This issue with my mother has been going on for some time. She hasn’t suddenly developed dementia. We have a social worker who takes care of her, and occasionally I have to go and deal with something in work time. But as we work all hours God sends, I don’t think it counts. Nobody in this job gets away without having their family life impinge on it. I’m no different. I don’t need anyone standing in for me. Thank you for your consideration, but it’s not necessary.’

  Okay, they’d never got on, and he knew her feelings about the Fast Track scheme. But she got results, which is all he should go on. It was impossible to get on with everyone at work, and he should realise that. If she was a slack arse, it would be different, but she wasn’t. She always worked harder than anyone else on her team. She didn’t expect them to do anything she wouldn’t.

  ‘Well, if you think you can manage the investigation and your family issues, then we’ll leave it for now. But if it comes down to you having to choose one over the other, then we’ll need to reassess the situation.’

  She could cheerfully slap the condescension off his face. Just let him dare try to remove her from the case, because if he did, he’d regret it.

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘What are your plans now regarding the murders?’

  ‘We need to give another press conference to announce the second victim and give a few more details. In particular, we need to mention SnapMate, the teen friendship app. What we won’t yet mention is the exact nature of t
he mutilation and the feeding of the parts.’

  ‘I’ll arrange the conference to take place first thing tomorrow morning. We’ll do it together.’

  ‘Yes. And we won’t mention the letter to the radio station, either,’ she said.

  ‘Agreed.’

  ‘Hopefully, after the press conference, someone will come forward with information, and we’ll have further leads to go on. At the moment, all we have is the SnapMate app, the grooming, and traces of good-quality carpet on the bodies.’

  ‘And you think this might be the work of a woman? Is she going to have the strength to lift a body wrapped in carpet?’ Jamieson asked.

  ‘The carpet could’ve been in the boot of a car. Some women are strong enough to lift bodies. Or it could have been the work of more than one person. We’re following all avenues. We’ve interviewed the leader of a local vigilante group, and Dr Cavendish and I are attending the next meeting.’

  ‘Let’s make sure we catch the person, or persons, before they do this again. Not that I expect the public to be too sympathetic. Once they know these men have been grooming young girls, they might believe taking them off the streets is a good thing.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’m well aware of that. But we still have to mention it in the press conference, if only to highlight the dangers of using these apps. They’re like paedophile paradise. I don’t know if you’ve ever looked at one, but there seems to be no real security. These kids put up all sorts of personal details about themselves.’

  ‘It’s worrying. Unfortunately, with the Internet, these sites proliferate. Are there any similar murders outside of Lenchester?’ Jamieson asked.

  ‘Not identical. It does seem the perpetrator is targeting men in Lenchester. It’s what the letter implied, too. There’s obviously something about the city which is important. Maybe the murderer lives locally. Or something happened to them here.’

  ‘Okay. You get back to the investigation. And remember what I said regarding someone else taking over if you need to concentrate on family issues.’

  ‘It’s all absolutely fine, thank you, sir. I’ll see you for the press conference tomorrow morning.’

  She left his office and headed back towards the incident room. What was it about the man that he wound her up so much? She longed for the days when Don Mason was her superior officer, but he’d retired years ago. He knew how to treat people and understood about family life. As long as you gave one hundred per cent to the job, when issues cropped up he was fine with you dealing with them.

  It wasn’t as if Jamieson didn’t allow his family life to intrude. She’d been in his office many times before when he’d been taking social calls. Why he had it in for her, she didn’t know. Actually, she did. It was because she wouldn’t kowtow to him and all his I went to Oxford University crap.

  Because she didn’t care. What concerned her was how he did his job as a police officer, and as far as she was concerned, he didn’t do it very well. Maybe the top brass were impressed with his metrics and the bullshit coming out of his mouth, but when it came to the real stuff, like supporting his officers and being able to discuss things, he was sadly lacking.

  She knew she wouldn’t be able to relax after the confrontation with Jamieson, so she pulled her phone out of her pocket and called George. ‘Do you fancy going out for a drink tonight? We can discuss the case,’ Whitney asked after she answered.

  ‘Has something else turned up?’

  ‘No. I wanted to go over everything.’

  ‘Okay. I could come out if you want me to,’ George said.

  Whitney sensed the hesitation in her voice.

  ‘Don’t worry if you can’t make it,’ she said, giving her a way out.

  ‘It’s fine. What time?’

  ‘I’ll pick you up at seven.’

  ‘Won’t you be staying late working on the case?’

  ‘I’ve been here since six this morning and deserve a break. If anything crops up in the meantime, I’ll let you know.’

  ‘I’ll see you later, then.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  George stared at the second hand on her kitchen clock. Why on earth had she agreed to go out for a drink with Whitney this evening? She was going to be the worst company ever. She’d rather sit at home on her own and wallow in self-pity. Not that she usually engaged in it, but after the way she’d been treated by the university, she deserved it.

  She was tempted to take the matter further but knew better than to make a decision without being calm and in control. She was only thirty-four, so becoming an associate professor was a long shot, but she’d proved herself. She’d raised the department’s profile to a high level, both inside and outside the university.

  Her colleagues had always known she’d been working with the police, and now they were saying she was devoting too much time to them, to the detriment of her work. It was the biggest load of crap she’d heard, and she was really pissed off about it.

  It was already six-thirty, and too late to cancel Whitney. Plus, it wasn’t her fault, and if she needed help on the case, then George would oblige. In the meantime, she’d have a cigarette in the back garden. She pulled one out from the pack in her bag and was about to go out into the garden when there was a knock at the door. Damn, Whitney was early. She put the cigarette back and went to answer.

  Whitney stared at her. Her usual upbeat demeanour was gone, and her mouth was downturned and her eyes glassy.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘How do you know something’s wrong?’ Whitney frowned.

  ‘It’s written all over your face.’

  ‘I’ve got trouble at home, and Jamieson’s breathing down my neck, as well. To be honest, I was going to cancel drinks this evening. I’m not going to be good company.’

  ‘Same here,’ George said.

  Whitney gave a hollow laugh. ‘Look at the two of us.’

  ‘Let’s not go out tonight,’ George suggested. ‘I’ve got a bottle of wine in the fridge. We can have some crisps and dip and then talk.’

  Had she suggested that? Since when did she ask anyone in for a drink and a chat? Never. Because she never knew what to talk about. In the past, the thought of making the offer wouldn’t have entered her head.

  ‘Good idea. Although I can’t drink too much, as I’m driving.’

  ‘If the worst comes to worst, you can always stay here. I’ve got a spare room,’ George offered, again wondering if some alien had taken over her head space, because she’d never offered anyone to stay the night.

  Whitney followed her into the kitchen. George opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of her favourite New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc. She opened it, filled the glasses, and handed one to Whitney, who was sitting at the table. They clinked their glasses and both took a sip.

  ‘So, who’s going first?’ Whitney asked.

  ‘You can,’ George said, not knowing whether she was ready to offload just yet.

  ‘Where to begin,’ Whitney said as she sighed. ‘You know I told you about my mum and her strange behaviour?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She’s got a lot worse in these past few months. It’s early onset dementia.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.

  Unfortunately, it was what she’d thought it might be when Whitney had told her about her mum’s erratic behaviour. She hadn’t wanted to say anything because these things sometimes took a long time to take hold. It seemed this wasn’t the case for Whitney’s mum.

  ‘We have a social worker. She’s very nice and thinks it’s time Mum went into a home so she can be looked after properly.’

  ‘It’s often for the best in these cases,’ George said.

  ‘Yes, if it was only Mum. But what about my brother, Rob? What’s going to happen to him?’

  Whitney had mentioned her brother in the past, and she knew he’d suffered from brain damage after being attacked when he was younger. She didn’t know how independent he was.

  ‘I take it he can’t look aft
er himself?’ George asked.

  ‘No, he’s not capable. Only the other week, the social worker called in just in time to prevent a fire occurring, as he was doing some cooking and a tea towel was resting on the hob. He hadn’t noticed, and Mum was in another room.’

  ‘Has the social worker suggested anywhere for him to go?’

  ‘She said there are some nice places where he can live semi-independently, and there’s always a carer on hand. She wants me to go and have a look, but I can’t face it.’

  Whitney rested her head in her hands and groaned.

  ‘I know this can’t be easy for you, but you have to think about what’s best for Rob, long term.’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t want him to be locked up.’

  ‘You don’t know what it’s like until you check. You’re assuming it’s going to be bad. Visit first, before you make a decision, and if you think it’s suitable, take Rob and see what he thinks.’

  ‘You’re right. It could work out very well. But I feel guilty for not being able to do more for them. I can’t afford to give up my job to look after the pair of them. We need my money. I’m still supporting Tiffany while she’s at university. Even though she gets a student loan, it doesn’t cover everything. I have to work. Not to mention how much it would hurt to leave. My job is my life.’

  ‘You mustn’t feel guilty. Your mum would hate the thought of you giving up everything you fought so hard for. You love your job. You’re brilliant at it. I can’t see you doing anything else.’

  ‘But how am I supposed to juggle what’s going on at home with trying to do my job? While I was with Jamieson earlier, Mum phoned. It gave him the opportunity to pass comment about me having to be available twenty-four-seven. He even offered to find someone to take over. We both know it wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart.’

  ‘I thought after the last case he was leaving you alone. Especially as we solved such high-profile murders and made him look so good,’ George said.

  ‘The trouble with solving any case is, once it’s over, it’s forgotten. It’s always the current one which counts. The one you stand or fall on. Well, that’s Jamieson’s view. He wants to keep his profile at a very high level all the time. One bad result and it could come crashing down.’