* * *
Back at the station, Harry briefed Colin Vance on what they had so far. “I want you to look closely at Dean’s life,” he told the newest member of his small team. “You know the drill — his friends and family, the people he worked with at that hotel.” He gestured to the photos of Dean’s wall which he’d had blown up, printed out and pinned to their own incident board. “We need to look into this obsession of his. My gut tells me it’s at the centre of this case. Also, Col, find out if Dean had any connection to drug dealing or anything else that could have got him into trouble. I doubt it, but we should cover all bases.”
Harry’s eyes were drawn again to the photo of the young woman Jess had said was still alive. There were numerous red lines leading from her image to notes Dean had made of dates and places. One of these led to the victim from Hulme.
He turned to Jess. “You said you knew her. I’ve seen her myself too, recently,” Harry said. He tapped the image. “What, I wonder, did young Dean know about her?”
Jess rolled her eyes. “Trust you to fixate on the pretty face. But you’re right, you have seen her. That girl is everywhere — she’s what’s known in social media parlance as an ‘influencer’,” Jess explained.
“What d’you mean? What’s one of them?”
“That is Lana Midani. Get onto any of the social media platforms and she’ll be all over it. The kids love her. They copy what she wears, her make-up, the lot. She’s the latest and hottest property in advertising.”
Harry nodded. Now he was getting it. “Is it possible that Dean simply had a crush on her, and that’s why she’s on his wall? If this Lana thought anyone was watching her, spying, she’d cry blue murder. She’ll have ‘people’ who’ll look after her, keep the likes of Dean and anyone outside her circle well away.”
“A crush? It’s possible, I suppose, but we can’t be sure, Harry. Have you seen the local rag?” Jess took a copy of the Ryebridge Advertiser from her desk drawer and showed him the front page. “Lana is in town, here in Ryebridge and staying at the Metropole.” The Metropole was a throwback from the Edwardian era when Ryebridge was a prosperous cotton town. Back in those days, the hotel was patronised by the wealthy mill owners. “I bet Dean did know something. Think about it. Our killer is in town too and it’s possible Dean had worked out why.”
Harry had to give her that one. Perhaps Dean had arranged the meeting, tackled the killer, threatened to expose him to the police, and it led to his murder. “Lana Midani is one of the three. We need to contact them all, but we’ll start with her. It would help to know if the other two are local.”
“They might be, but we’ll have difficulty with him.” Jess tapped the blank face. “The other bloke could be local. I’ll run his image through the database, see what comes up. Dean got that picture from somewhere.”
“He could have found it on a social media profile,” Col said. “Got his name or had a suspicion and went from there.”
“So, why hasn’t he named these three? He’s named the others, the ones we think have already been killed,” Jess said.
“Probably because those three aren’t dead yet,” Harry chipped in. “But we can’t know for sure.” He looked at Colin. “Check whether this lot are victims and the status of the investigations into the deaths.”
“What have we got here?” The voice coming from the rear of the room belonged to Superintendent Roderick Croft, affectionately known to the team as ‘Rodders.’
“Evidence of a bloody maniac, sir,” Harry said. “This is from the house of our young victim, Dean Greenwood. It’s possibly the reason he was killed. He appears to have discovered a series of murders across the country. These three,” Harry tapped the three with no names, “we think are possibly local and still alive.”
Rodders stared at the board. “With so many victims and a list of potentials, I can’t believe there isn’t already an operation underway to catch this individual.”
“The Hulme killing is still active, sir,” Harry said. “We’ll check the others.”
“I’ll make some enquiries myself and get back to you,” Rodders said, and left them to it.
Chapter Five
Lana Midani was not a happy woman. She had a photoshoot for a fashion magazine in less than an hour and her hairdresser, Dante, was stuck in traffic on the M1. She stared at her reflection and swore. Her long jet-black hair hung in rats-tails around her face. Dante was never going to make it in time, and there was no way she was facing the press photographer looking like this.
She called to her PA, Julia Burton. “The hotel must have someone!” she shrieked. “It’s supposed to be five-star.”
“I have already asked twice. The salon is booked solid all day.”
Lana slammed the hairbrush down on the dressing table and swore. “That’s not good enough! Don’t they know who I am? Don’t they realise the damage I can do to this place? I tell my thousands of followers about this catastrophe and both the hotel and this stupid town will suffer. No one will want to come here ever again!”
Julia stood behind her employer and lifted a lock of limp hair. “Do you want me to have a go?”
Lana Midani’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “No! Your hair is dreadful. There’s no way I want to end up looking like you. Why did I come to this Ryebridge place anyway? It is nowhere, no one has heard of it. Why did you arrange this for me?”
“Because you thought it was a good idea, remember? You said you have a lot of fans up here in the North and this is a typical northern town, plus don’t forget the TV appearance later.”
Lana pouted. “It’s local TV, a news programme, not mainstream. I’m not happy, Julia. This isn’t right. These people are morons.”
She stood up, regarded her reflection and frowned. “I’m going to have a word with the manager of that salon. He should know that his business will suffer if he crosses me.”
“The people from the magazine will be here in a few minutes,” Julia said.
“I don’t give a damn about the stupid magazine. Tell them to wait. I want my hair fixing first.”
* * *
He used the emergency staircase to avoid the CCTV. Just as well he was fit, it was eight floors up. But he wasn’t prepared to take any chances. Shame he’d had to speak to the girl on reception. He’d have preferred to avoid that. But she was young, uninterested, had her face glued to a mobile the whole time. If she recalled anything at all about him, it wouldn’t be much. He’d told her he was here about the dodgy lift. Without even a second glance she handed him a pass card and pointed him in the direction of the corridor. How stupid people were, and what a wonderful asset that was.
He kept his head down, his gloves on and his cap pulled down low over his face. Even if the police did spot him, they wouldn’t be able to make much of what they saw.
Lana Midani had taken the penthouse. In a place like this it was expensive but not a fortune. This was Ryebridge after all, not Manchester. He was still amazed that there was so much money to be made from doing nothing, simply being popular. But that’s exactly what she’d done. Springing from nowhere, Lana Midani had charmed an entire generation. Thousands of teens across the globe were under her spell. Kids the world over copied her clothes, her make-up, even her exercise regime. In a way he admired her. After all, she’d fought her way to the top of her game, much like he had.
His plan was straightforward: enter her suite, finish the job and leave the way he’d come — simple and effective. He’d paid well for information on her movements today and wasn’t anticipating any problems. He’d been told that Lana would be alone, working on her next social media campaign.
He rapped on the penthouse door and got his first disappointment. The woman who answered was not Lana Midani. This wasn’t in the plan, and there was no time to consider an alternative.
The woman looked him up and down. “You must be from the magazine. You’re early. Lana isn’t ready and to be honest, she’s not in the best of moods either.”
Magazine? That was unexpected too, but given the circumstances, fortuitous. Why not? He had to cover his tracks and being a magazine reporter was as good a way as any.
He smiled at her. “That’s a shame, because I have another appointment soon.”
“Are you on your own? We were expecting at least a reporter and a photographer.”
The man shrugged. “There’s only me, I’m afraid.”
“Look, you’d better come in. I’ll ring, tell her you’re here. I’m Julia Burton by the way, Lana’s PA.”
A PA. He’d been told she’d be out of the way. Wrong information, for which someone would pay. And there was this interview in the offing, another thing not passed on. But she’d invited him in, which was something. It would get him out of the corridor and away from any prying eyes. “Is Lana here for long?”
“Only for this shoot with you and a TV interview tomorrow. We’ll be heading back to London after that,” she replied. “Can I get you a coffee while you wait?”
He nodded. “Great, thanks.”
He saw Julia get a good look at his face before she turned her attention to the coffee. She could give the police a reasonable description.
“Where’s your equipment — your camera and the like? You could get set up while we wait for Lana to return.” Before he had time to think of an excuse, Julia picked up her mobile. “She’s gone to see the manager of the beauty salon. With you coming, and the shoot, she had a right strop about her hair. I’ll see if I can reach her, tell her to hurry back.”
The expression on Julia’s face told him that Lana wasn’t picking up. He had to draw a line under this and make his exit. Lana Midani wasn’t here and if she was having her hair done, she could be hours. This woman asked too many questions, plus experience told him she was the observant type. He had no choice but to abort the job for now, but he couldn’t just leave Julia behind. He’d have to clean up.
As Julia turned to pour the coffee, he stepped forward and grabbed her from behind. For a few seconds, she struggled to free herself from his grip but he was too strong for her. She didn’t even have time to scream. The blade went in quick and deep, between the ribs and straight into her heart. Julia slid to the floor. Problem solved. It was a pity, she wasn’t meant to die. Her only mistake — being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Chapter Six
Over the next few hours, the CID office was a whirl of frantic activity. Colin spent most of his time on the phone. He spoke to Dean’s course tutor who sent him a list of the students in his group. He rang round them all, asking what they knew about Dean. One of them, a lad called Dave, told him that Dean had recently been to see a solicitor called Rob Connor. Dave had no idea why, said Dean was very secretive about it. Colin wrote Connor’s name on the board and looked him up on the system. He checked with the Commodore Hotel, where the woman he spoke to sounded upset. She said they thought a lot of Dean and that he’d be missed. Colin told her he’d be round to interview the staff as soon as possible.
Harry was busy checking the names and faces that featured on Dean’s bedroom wall. Dean seemed to have had a theory that their unknown killer was responsible for all the murders whose victims’ faces he had posted on those boards. The Greenwood family had visited Galashiels. Was that where Dean had first become aware of the killer? The more Harry considered it, the more he thought it likely that Dean met his end because of what he knew. The killer had wanted to silence him. For ever.
“The girl from Hulme?” he asked Jess.
“Killed in her home, same method as the Scottish killings, a single thrust with a knife, straight into the heart,” she said.
“Is that all that links this lot? That they were all stabbed?” Harry was puzzled.
“That, and they’re all on Dean’s board,” Jess said. “We don’t have anything else yet.”
“Are we saying the killings are random? Wrong place, wrong time?” Harry grimaced. “Dean was a teenager, how did he find all this out?”
“The neighbour told us Dean had noticed a man that he’d seen in Scotland hanging around. Perhaps his suspicions started then, and he began to wonder what the man was up to. We have his board and the clippings, but we don’t know or have any proof that the murders are the work of one person,” Jess said.
“We have to find out, and quick. Check the PMs and forensic reports for those we know about.”
“I’ve read through the gory details in the Galashiels murders file.” Jess shivered. “Two men, both stabbed in the lodge they were renting. One managed to crawl outside and bled to death out in the open.”
“Did forensics or the PM throw anything up?” Harry asked.
“Nope. The killer left no trace. The man who crawled outside was in the open overnight and the wildlife had got at him. They found no prints or DNA, other than that of the victims. One was a middle-aged bloke and the other a teenager. The older man was a known drug runner in the town. They were together in the holiday park lodge when the killer struck. Both were knifed, PM findings confirm it was the same blade, and there were no witnesses. I’ve spent a good couple of hours reading the files. The police up there put it down to a fall-out among dealers. I can’t find any link between the victims, apart from the way they died and where.”
“Did the police find any drugs?” Harry asked.
“Only traces on some of the surfaces,” she said.
“Dean and his family were in that park at the time,” Harry said. “Dean might have seen or heard something. The killer considers him a danger and follows him to Ryebridge. He must have contacted Dean for them to meet up. What I don’t get is why Dean put himself in danger like that. Everyone who knew him thought he was a bright lad.”
Jess shook her head. “That’s pure speculation. We have no proof that that’s why the killer came here or that it’s the same killer as in Scotland.”
“Well, he must have had a reason. We have several murders, all fairly local to here. I doubt it’s coincidence. Dean told his neighbour that he thought he was being followed,” Harry said. “Perhaps he was, and the killer thought he knew more than he was comfortable with.”
“So, the killer follows Dean and decides to knock off a few more while he’s in the area? There are times when I wonder about you,” Jess said. “What we should be looking for is a link between the victims, because there has to be one. You’re all over the place with the job at times. We have to work with what we’ve got, not what we think could be the case.”
“I trust my instinct,” Harry said.
“You can’t do this job by applying instinct alone, Harry. We investigate, find the evidence that’ll hold up in court. You’re the one having fanciful ideas now, which makes it all the easier to believe what Sandy Munroe said that day.”
Sandy Munroe had told Jess about the death of Harry’s twin brother in a house fire that killed their father, and how he’d dragged Paul out of the burning building. Sandy had a theory that his brother Paul switched places with his identical twin, and that it was Harry, the detective, who’d died. A theory that needed burying if Harry was to get any peace.
“Perhaps Sandy is right and I’m so inept because I’m still finding my feet.” But his attempt at making light of it fell flat. Harry saw the look — she’d obviously given it some thought. “What Sandy said then has nothing to do with this case. You’d do well to forget it. Sandy would say anything to serve his own ends.”
“I didn’t say I believe there’s anything in that little speech he made,” Jess said.
“Good, because the only reason he said those things was to mess with your head. He wants to destroy my career, nothing else. And before your imagination goes into overdrive, my brother Paul Lennox was killed in that fire, not me, and Paul was no detective, take my word for it.”
“What did he do for a living?” she asked.
Harry didn’t want this conversation to go any further, but Jess wouldn’t give up. He supposed she was bound to have questions after what Sand
y had told her.
But she gave him a nudge. “Okay, you can drop it now. You’ve made your point.”
He grinned. “Good, because I wouldn’t want my reputation tarnished.”
“What, that you made it to DI by sheer fluke?” Jess laughed. “Too late, Lennox, everyone knows that.”
“Got me banged to rights, haven’t you?” he said.
“You didn’t answer the question. What did Paul do?”
She was back at it. “He was self-employed, a painter and decorator,” Harry replied. “Bit flaky where hard work was concerned but he did okay for himself, kept the wolf from the door. Now let’s move on.”
Harry’s eyes were back on the incident board. “Something links the victims, or he kills randomly. So which is it?”
“What about the others, the potential victims?” Jess asked. “Choosing them beforehand isn’t random, it’s premeditated. We can check the ones he’s killed, but as for the other three, we’ve no idea how Dean knew about them.”
“Complex lad, our Dean. For now we’ll do what you say, investigate what we’ve got. It would help if we had a clearer picture of Dean, and what he knew, before we can work out what he was up to,” Harry said.
“You’re right, Harry. We can start by speaking to that solicitor in town, find out what Dean wanted with him.”
Colin Vance joined them. “Seems Dean was an introvert,” he said. “He didn’t get on with his classmates but he was an exceptionally bright lad. He achieved top marks and was tipped to go far. His tutor reckoned it was his ‘know it all’ attitude that made the others dislike him.”
“Any names in particular come up?” Harry asked.
“No, they all tended to keep away. In any case, Dean was always working on some project of his own.”
“And we know exactly what that was,” Jess said.
Harry was worried. If Dean had been right, there were three people on that wall who were still in danger — one unknown, Lana Midani and the man with no face. Harry wondered who would be next on the killer’s list.
THE FACELESS MAN an absolutely gripping crime mystery with a massive twist (Detectives Lennox & Wilde Thrillers Book 2) Page 3