by Sally Rigby
Whitney and Claire exchanged glances. ‘Yes, boss,’ Whitney said, saluting.
Claire laughed, and after a few moments Whitney joined in, closely followed by George.
Perhaps Whitney had a point about her typical Englishness. But she couldn’t help her background.
‘Have you seen the body yet?’ she asked her, changing the subject.
‘No, I was waiting for you. Can we have a look now, Claire?’
‘Good idea, and then I can get back on with my work. I’ve wasted far too much time acting as an agony aunt and not enough time doing my job.’
They followed her to the stainless-steel tables and the body of their latest victim.
‘Have you identified him?’ she asked.
‘Yes. He was wearing one of those medical ID bracelets because he’s diabetic, and the killer left it on his wrist. His name is Tony Adams. The team are getting more information for me,’ Whitney said.
Whitney’s phone pinged, indicating a text had arrived. She pulled it out of her pocket and glanced at the screen.
‘It’s from Ellie. Tony Adams, aged thirty-five. Lives at 20 Ascot Grove with his wife, Dawn, and family. He’s an insurance broker. We’ll go there next. Sorry, Claire. Carry on.’
Claire pulled down the arm of the overhead light, illuminating where she’d cut open the body and sewn it back up.
‘The penis and testicles have been removed, only this time the work is a little neater. Possibly because the murderer has become more confident in what they’re doing. The body was naked, as before, apart from the bracelet and his socks. There are ligature marks around his wrists and ankles from being tied up, again with cable ties. I looked at the stomach contents, and he was fed his genitals. There was a tiny hole in his leg from where he was injected. I’ve sent his blood to toxicology for testing, to confirm it was a sedative. Time of death, between eight p.m. and midnight on Tuesday.’
‘Any trace evidence?’ Whitney asked.
‘There was semen under his fingernails, possibly from masturbation and not washing his hands after. There are also carpet fibres on the back of his head. I’m going to check whether they’re from the same carpet as the previous two victims.’
‘Do we know yet where the carpet comes from?’ George asked.
‘Not yet. I’ve got someone working on it. Interestingly, mixed in with the carpet fibre I found bits of straw. They weren’t present in the other two victims, though I’m going to go back and have another check to make sure nothing was missed.’
‘So the body could have been laid on top of some carpet which was lying on straw?’ Whitney asked.
‘That’s a likely scenario.’
‘Could the murders have taken place in a barn?’ George suggested. ‘The soil under the first victim’s fingernails could have come from a farm area.’
‘Again, it’s possible,’ Claire said.
‘Well, at least we’re getting somewhere. Next step is to find out more about Tony Adams and whether he had a predilection for young girls. We’ll leave you to it, Claire. Once you have the tox results and have written your report, please let me know,’ Whitney said.
‘Don’t I always?’ Claire rolled her eyes towards the ceiling before turning her back on them.
George and Whitney left the morgue and made their way down the corridor to the double doors leading outside.
‘What you heard before,’ Whitney started.
‘Forget about it. It doesn’t matter. And for the record, it really isn’t your fault. Funnily enough, earlier I had an epiphany about the whole thing.’
‘A what?’ Whitney exclaimed.
‘An epiphany. It means…’
‘I know what it means, it’s just I don’t know anyone who’d use it in everyday conversation. Anyway, tell me about this epiphany.’
‘I don’t want to be a professor. I’m happy being senior lecturer.’
‘What the hell made you think that? I thought your academic career was what you valued most.’
‘It was. Until I started working with you. I’ve realised the academic world is only half-fulfilling. The other half lies in the application of my discipline. Working in the real world and seeing how theory can actually help.’ She gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘I probably sound pompous, but it’s how I feel. Staying as a senior lecturer means I can have the best of both worlds. So in actual fact, my backstabbing, two-faced colleagues—’
‘Whoa… too much emotional stuff, if you don’t mind,’ Whitney interrupted.
‘By going behind my back, they did me a huge favour. I certainly don’t blame you one iota for what happened.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Actually, I do, because if we hadn’t met, and I hadn’t started working with you, we wouldn’t be together discussing the case.’
Whitney shook her head. ‘This is getting way too deep.’
‘Don’t you like deep?’ she teased.
‘Not at the moment. Right now, we need to see Tony Adams’ family and break the news to them. Not something I’m looking forward to.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Whitney parked outside the home belonging to Tony and Dawn Adams. It was a modern semi-detached house in one of Lenchester’s newest developments. All the houses looked identical, like small boxes, but they were very popular, especially with first-time buyers. The road was adjacent to a small park area, which had swings and other play equipment for young children. She grimaced. If he was a paedophile, it would’ve been the perfect location for him, especially if he liked young children as well as teenaged girls.
‘Ready?’
‘Yes,’ George said, picking up her bag, which she’d placed next to her feet, and opening the car door.
As with most new houses in the development, there was only a couple of yards between the pavement and the newly painted, white front door. Whitney knocked and waited. A woman in her early thirties answered; two children who looked around three or four followed close behind.
‘Dawn Adams?’ Whitney said.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘I’m DCI Whitney Walker and this is Dr George Cavendish. We’re with Lenchester CID. Please may we come in?’ She showed her warrant card.
‘What’s it about?’
‘We’d rather speak to you inside.’
She opened the door wider and stepped aside, allowing them to enter. ‘What is it?’ she repeated, panic etched across her face. ‘Has something happened to Tony?’
‘Is there somewhere we can sit down to talk without the children?’ Whitney said. She hated this part of her job so much. There was no way to make it any easier. Dawn Adams already knew there was something wrong.
‘Wait here and I’ll put the TV on for them.’
They stood in silence until she returned, and then followed her into the kitchen. Whitney waited until they were all seated at the table.
‘I’m sorry to inform you, we have found the body of a man we believe to be your husband. We’ve preliminarily identified him from the medical ID bracelet he was wearing.’
Dawn stared at them as though she hadn’t quite understood what she’d been told.
‘Are you sure it’s him?’ she said. ‘He went away to a conference two days ago. I’m expecting him home tonight. It could be someone else.’
‘Do you have a recent photo of him?’ Whitney asked gently.
‘Over there on the fridge.’
Whitey stared at the photos. They were an attractive, happy family at an amusement park. The type you’d see on washing powder commercials. Except beneath the façade was something dark and despicable. ‘I’m sorry, Dawn, but our victim is your husband. There’s no mistake, but we will need you to make a formal identification.’
Dawn leaned on the table and let out a low moan. ‘No. No. He can’t be dead. He can’t. What am I going to tell the children?’
‘Is there someone we can call for you?’ she asked.
‘My mum lives in the next street.’
‘What’s her name and number
? I’ll phone and ask her to come around,’ George said.
Dawn gave her the details, her voice mechanical, and George left the room and went into the hall.
‘Don’t say anything to the children just yet. Wait until your mum arrives. Hopefully, Dr Cavendish will manage to get in touch with her and she’ll be here soon.’
‘What happened to him?’ Dawn choked back a sob.
‘We’re treating his death as suspicious. His body was found in a woodland on the edge of the city.’
‘I don’t understand. He was in Leeds; how can he have been here in Lenchester?’
‘When did you last speak to Tony?’
‘Yesterday morning when he left. He said it would be too difficult to speak while he was away because they had no free time. He was due home this evening. He…’ Tears dropped from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.
George walked into the room and stood beside Dawn. ‘I’ve spoken to your mum and she’s going to be here in five minutes.’
They remained silent while the distraught woman cried, until she finally pulled herself together and sat upright in the chair.
‘How was he murdered?’ Dawn asked.
‘We won’t know for certain until we’ve heard back from the pathologist,’ Whitney said.
This part of her job sucked. The woman was entitled to know what had happened to her husband. Whether she could cope with it was a different matter. Her life was never going to be the same again once it was in the public domain.
‘Does this have anything to do with those other two men?’ she asked, looking at Whitney and then George.
‘There are some similarities, and it’s an area we will be investigating,’ Whitney conceded.
‘It said on the TV the other men’s tackle had been removed, and they were both grooming young girls online. Tony would never do anything like that.’
‘Like I said, there are some similarities between the cases, but I don’t want to go into detail until we have all the facts. Are you up to us asking you some questions about Tony?’ Whitney asked gently.
‘Yes, I think so,’ Dawn said.
‘You mentioned he went to a conference in Leeds. Do you have any details about it?’
‘No, I don’t. You’ll have to ask his work, Pyke Insurance Brokers.’
Whitney knew of the firm; they were the largest in the area. She’d been to school with Arthur Pyke’s daughter.
‘How did he get to the conference?’
‘He drove. Have you found his car?’ Dawn asked.
‘Not yet. But we’re looking for it. Does he have a laptop or a computer he uses at home?’
‘He has a laptop which he takes with him wherever he goes.’
‘Do you have a family computer?’
‘No. I have my tablet and the children have their own.’
Children so young with a tablet? Crazy. They’d be having their own mobile phones next.
‘Had Tony been acting suspiciously? Did he go off on his own for periods of time?’ She hated broaching the subject, but it had to be done.
‘This house isn’t large enough to disappear in, especially when you have two small children. The only time he’s alone is if I take them out somewhere or if we go to my mum’s. This has to be a case of mistaken identity. There’s no way he’d ever go after young girls. He wouldn’t. I know him. We’ve been together since we were in our early twenties. He couldn’t possibly do anything like that. I…’ Her voice cracked and a low groan spilled from her mouth.
There was a knock on the front door. ‘I’ll go,’ George said.
After a few minutes, during which time she could hear muffled voices, George came back in. ‘This is Mrs Watson, Dawn’s mum,’ she said to Whitney.
The woman rushed to her daughter’s side and pulled her close. Dawn broke down sobbing again.
‘I think she’s had enough,’ Mrs Watson said.
‘I understand,’ Whitney said. ‘We’ll come back another time. We do need a formal identification of Tony, sometime today or tomorrow.’
‘I’ll bring her down,’ Mrs Watson said.
Whitney pulled a card from her pocket and gave it to her. ‘You can reach me on this number. I’m very sorry for your loss, Dawn.’
They left the house and were about to get into the car when Whitney’s phone pinged. She looked at the text. ‘They’ve found his car in Wessex Street. SOCO is already there. Let’s take a look, to see if there’s anything which might be of use. I also need them to go to the Adams’ house, but it will have to wait for now.’
They drove to Wessex Street and headed towards the cordon which had been placed around the car.
‘A BMW. He must have been doing well,’ she muttered to herself.
‘Good afternoon,’ one of the forensics team said as they approached.
‘Jenny. Colin. How are you both doing?’ Whitney said.
‘Could be better,’ Colin said.
‘But could be worse,’ Jenny kidded.
Whitney pulled on some disposable gloves and opened the passenger door, noting the laptop on the front seat and the phone connected to a mount on the dashboard. ‘Have you finished with these?’ she asked Jenny, who was busy snapping with her camera.
‘Yes.’
‘Great. Put them in a bag for me and I’ll take them back to the station.’
Jenny picked up the laptop and phone and dropped them into separate bags. ‘Here you are,’ she said, handing the bags to Whitney.
‘Thanks. We’ll leave you to it.’
She was anxious to get back and have the phone analysed.
As soon as they arrived at the station, Whitney made a beeline for Ellie’s desk. ‘Here’s the victim’s phone. Go through it and see what you can find. Send his laptop to Mac’s boys.’
‘Okay, guv. I’ve got a message for you from DSI Jamieson. He wants to see you in his office as soon as you return,’ Ellie said.
Whitney rolled her eyes. That was all she needed. She supposed she’d better get it over with. ‘Okay. I’m on my way. I want a background check on Adams. Someone needs to interview his family, friends, and colleagues. CCTV close to the site of the body also needs examining. Ask Matt to distribute the work.’
Jamieson’s door was shut, so she knocked and waited. After there was no reply, she knocked again and pressed on the handle to open the door. He was sitting behind his desk with his chair turned, so all she could see was his back.
‘Sir? You wanted to see me?’
He took a few seconds before swivelling around to face her.
‘Walker, come in,’ he said.
Red circles lined his eyes. Had he been crying?
‘Is everything okay?’
His eyes glazed over, and he was silent for a few seconds. ‘Yes, I’m fine. It’s just … Just … it’s something personal. Nothing you can help with.’
‘You wanted to see me?’ she repeated.
‘Yes, I want to know about the case now we have a third victim. We’ll need to do another press conference.’
‘It’s the same MO as the previous murders. We’re waiting on final details from Dr Dexter. We’ve found the victim’s car and belongings. CCTV is being looked at and we’ll be speaking to those people who were close to him. We’ve interviewed members of a local vigilante group, and I have one of its members being tailed. We suspect it could be a man and a woman working together, and we’re putting together a profile.’
‘Can you handle the press conference on your own?’
She stared at him. Something serious must be wrong if he wanted to keep out of the limelight. But she wasn’t the person to ask about it.
‘Of course, sir. I’ll liaise with Melissa in PR and arrange a time.’
‘Tell me something. You’re a single parent. How do you cope?’
So that was it. He was getting a divorce.
‘It wasn’t easy, but I had help from my folks and we managed. We had to. Why do you ask?’ she said before having time to stop herself. Did
she really want to go down this road?
‘My wife has left us. Me and the kids.’
‘Sorry to hear that, sir. How old are your children?’
‘Fourteen and fifteen. Both girls.’
Whitney winced. Two teenage girls to look after. She wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
‘It takes some adjusting, but I’m sure it will be fine.’ She hoped she was convincing. Because if he treated his kids in the same pompous way he treated the people he worked with, she imagined there would be fireworks.
‘She’s moved in with the father of one of my daughter’s friends. Broken two marriages. Two families. How could she?’
Whitney moved uncomfortably in her seat. This was the first time he’d talked about anything really personal, and she wasn’t sure how to deal with it. Especially as tomorrow he’d undoubtedly be back to his usual officious self. Did she make George feel this way when she was blurting things out?
‘I’m not sure. It’s hard to know what to do in these situations. Maybe you should take some time off work,’ she suggested.
‘I think I might. I’ll leave you to get on with the investigation. It goes without saying you keep our conversation to yourself.’
‘Of course, sir. I won’t mention it to anyone.’
‘Good. You can go now. The next time I see you, we’d better be further along in the investigation. We have a serial killer on our hands, and people will be demanding answers.’
She’d known he’d be back to his old self soon, but this must be a record.
‘Yes, sir. I’m onto it.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Whitney headed back into the incident room, still contemplating the weirdness of her boss spilling his problems.
‘Is everything okay?’ George asked.
‘Why?’ She frowned.
‘The look on your face.’
‘It’s Jamieson. He’s got a few personal issues, and for some strange reason he decided to confide in me. I’m trying to fathom why.’
‘Easy. He wanted someone he could trust,’ George said, shrugging like it was no big deal.