“We have no way of knowing, sir. The perp cooked the flesh off the latest victim. That eradicated any traces of semen. And the cold case victims…” She sighed. “We don’t anything other than bones and clothing. What I can tell you, is the clothing contained no trace other than blood from the victim. They are doing a meticulous check for fibres. Nothing found, so far.”
Llewellyn rubbed his chin, his movements slow. “Thank you, Yvonne.”
After the briefing, Yvonne sat checking her scribbled notes, underlining the need to talk to Sharon Sutton’s parents.
Her thoughts turned to the DCI. Though under pressure, he had pushed none onto her. She admired his strength and his sense of responsibility. She decided to go and speak to him.
Wyn came to see her before she had the chance.
She smiled. “That was impressive.” She meant it.
“Thank you, Yvonne.” He smiled back. “Amazing enough for me to have dinner with the lead detective?”
“Sorry?”
"With you… Does my great work qualify me to take you out tomorrow night? Dinner?"
She frowned. “Wyn, I-”
“I’m buying. You look like you need a break. One night.”
She looked up at him. His wavy hair, staying only just the right side of tame. This, and his open-neck, collarless shirt and sandals, gave him a bohemian air. The air of freedom.
She grinned. “Since you asked so nicely, yes. I would like that. I would like it very much.”
“Great. I’ll look forward to it, Yvonne.” Wyn’s eyes sparkled, his lips seemed to linger her name.
Pensive, Yvonne turned to watch him leave and caught sight of the DCI in the doorway. She saw something in those tired eyes. It looked like disappointment. He disappeared with the crime commissioner. Her chance had passed. She returned to her notes, feeling awkward.
“There you go.” Dewi plopped a mug of tea onto her desk. “You look like you need a cuppa.”
“Oh, thank you, Dewi.” She reached for it. “You read my thoughts.”
Callum threw his jacket onto the back of his chair and forwarded the CCTV footage to the relevant timestamp.
The DI and Dewi watched the screen as Callum talked them through it.
“This is where it starts. We’ve scrutinised the footage and there are no other sightings of Sharon before this point.”
“What time is that?” Yvonne squinted.
“3.20 pm.”
“Did you check whether that was accurate?”
“We’ve checked, ma’am, and it is within five seconds.”
“Okay, good.”
“She comes into frame here, riding her bike. She brakes, dismounts and reaches into her panier for the bike lock. You can’t make out her expression, but her body language suggests she's relaxed.”
“Okay, bike secured by…,” Yvonne leaned towards the screen, “three-twenty-four pm.”
“Right.” Callum nodded. “She approaches Harry Tuffin's garage, but appears to change her mind and walks in the opposite direction. A few steps, and we lose her.” Callum pulled a face. “Not a single camera caught her after that point. The cameras are on the garage forecourt and the road outside. The next camera is some distance away, and she appears nowhere on it.”
“Wait. Rewind. Let’s watch that again.”
Callum did as directed.
“There. She’s reacting to someone. It's a shame we can't see her face. Rewind again.”
Callum rewound once more.
“Can you slow it?”
“There you go.”
Yvonne pursed her lips. “She’s talking to someone. Someone on the road.”
“I agree. She’s saying something.” Dewi rubbed his chin. “Whoever she’s talking to is just out of view.”
Yvonne sighed. “Frustrating. They stayed back from the camera.”
“She was likely abducted in a vehicle.” Dewi drank a gulp of his tea. “We should check out all vehicles, passing nearby cameras, within the relevant timeframe. Cross-check them against vehicles of known offenders.”
“We thought of that. Dai is on the case.” Callum tapped his pen on the desk.
“What about the garage? Did she go in at any point?” Yvonne asked.
Callum shook his head. “The CCTV supports what the staff have been saying. We examined the complete footage from the shop and she is nowhere on it.”
Yvonne finished her tea. “It’s even more important they carry out thorough door-to-door enquiries near that garage. I’ll speak to Will Tozer and see if West Mercia have found any witnesses around Priest Weston. Tourist season is just hotting up. Maybe they'll strike lucky.”
“Let’s hope SOCO have something. Fibres would be nice.” Dewi rose from his seat.
Yvonne nodded. “I’ll tell Tozer what we saw on the footage.”
10
Pressure
Yvonne rang the bell of the whitewashed, semi-detached home of Clive and Debbie Sutton. There was no answer, but they could hear people inside. Dewi paced and Yvonne played with her bottom lip.
When forty-nine-year-old Clive Sutton opened the door to them, he did so whilst fighting with an unopened suitcase in the hallway. His greying hair stuck out in various directions
“Bloody thing.” His mouth contorted in that painful way it does when your whole body is screaming but no sound emanates. Tears dropped off both sides of his chin.
“Mr Sutton? We’re detectives from Dyfed Powys police. I’m Yvonne Giles and this is Dewi Hughes. May we come in?”
He moved back, almost toppling over the suitcase. Behind him, were yet more suitcases and a large pile of washing.
"We got back from Tuscany after she went missing. Got the first available flight." His eyes were large and unfocussed. "I don't know what to do with myself."
Yvonne placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Shall we sit?”
Dewi lined the suitcases up along the wall.
“My wife’s in here…” He led them through to a small sitting room. The news was on with the volume turned down.
Clive pointed to it. “We’ve been watching for any developments.”
Yvonne frowned. “Have victim liaison officers been to see you?”
He nodded. “We sent them away. My wife wasn’t ready. The shock…”
“It must have been hard. I can imagine.” Yvonne’s eyes were soft. “Just so long as you’re aware they are there to help.”
She turned her gaze to Debbie, who was staring into space, clasping a photograph of her dead daughter in one hand and a mug of something she wasn’t drinking in the other. Her skin, as pale as the walls. Her eyes, sunken and red.
She turned to the detectives. “They made a mistake. It happens sometimes. They don’t know it’s Sharon. How can they? They only found bones. It’s not Sharon. She’s with her friends.” Debbie turned her gaze away.
“I’ll make a brew.” Dewi left for the kitchen.
Clive turned to Yvonne. “How sure are they?”
Yvonne tilted her head, her lips a thin line. “Very. They used dental records. I’m so sorry, Mr Sutton.”
Clive shook his head. “She was staying with friends at their flat. They called us to say she hadn’t come home. We thought she might have been here. We rang and rang this number.” Clive put his head in his hands. “I knew something was wrong. She wasn’t one to let anyone down. She wouldn’t have left her friends wondering where she was.”
“Your daughter lived with you?”
“Since last Christmas. She broke up with her boyfriend and moved back in with us.” Saliva dripped from his lips. He appeared not to notice. “Who would do this? She had everything to live for.”
Debbie Sutton let out a heart-wrenching howl. The photograph fell to the floor.
Yvonne knelt to retrieve it. She placed it on the sofa next to Debbie. “I’m sorry to ask this. Was Sharon seeing anyone else?”
Clive shook his head.
“What about her ex-boyfriend? Had she had any con
tact with him?”
“Not since February, when they split. She said they were still on friendly terms. They were childhood sweethearts, but they’d grown apart. Wanted different things. I saw him with someone else. Sharon didn’t seem to mind one bit. She carried on smiling and having fun, like she always did.”
“Did she talk of meeting anyone else?”
“We asked Dave and Carol that question.” He scratched his head. “They’re the friends she stays with. They said she was going for a bike ride by herself. She often did that. She told them she would grab something to eat while she was out. They were sure she hadn’t mentioned meeting anyone.”
“Why was she staying with friends? Why didn’t she stay here?”
“She didn’t like staying anywhere on her own. Even here, at night. Ever since she was little. Used to sleep walk as a child. She suffered with night terrors.”
“I see.”
Dewi returned with a tray of mugs and a full teapot.
Clive sighed. “Thank you. We haven’t been eating or drinking much since…”
Yvonne’s hands clenched into fists. “We will do everything we can to catch your daughter’s killer. Whatever it takes.”
Clive looked at her, his eyes studying her face. “I believe you.”
“Seems we have a name for our killer.” Callum, scratched at his stubble and tossed several newspapers onto Yvonne’s desk.
‘Who is The Pathologist?’ screamed one headline. 'Pathologist who solves his own crimes' screamed another, with a subheading: 'And he’s better at it than the police.'
“That’s great. Just great.” Yvonne pulled a face, leaning back with her arms folded across her chest.
“Hacks, ma’am.” Callum laughed at her serious expression. “You know the score. They wouldn’t sell many papers with headlines suggesting the investigation was ticking along nicely, now, would they?”
“Has the DCI seen these?”
“Not yet. Well, unless he’s bought his own.” Callum placed his hands in his trouser pockets. “Do you want me to show him?”
“No.” She said. “He looks exhausted. Those hacks are hounding him. I feel bad we don’t have more than we do.”
“Do you think he’s familiar with police procedure?”
“Who, the DCI?” She raised an eyebrow at her DC.
“No.” Callum laughed. “The killer.”
Yvonne shrugged. “Who isn’t familiar with police work? There are CSI programmes on every channel, these days. Plus, you can find anything you want on the internet. We have Tasha’s profile. I’ll speak to her about the latest find and see if that helps her refine it. Either way, it’s almost certain that these are stranger murders. When we catch him, it’ll be because he’s slipped up and left forensic traces or got caught on CCTV. What’s worrying me, is that he’s probably hunting future victims. That’s something we must stop. I’ll speak to the DCI about going public with the profile. We need a name and fast.”
Wyn was waiting, leaning his back against the restaurant facade, as her taxi arrived at La Terraza Italian restaurant fifteen minutes late.
“I’m sorry, I-”
He held up his hand. “It’s okay. No need to apologise. I only just got here myself.”
She took in his dark suit and tie and regretted her decision not to wear the navy-blue maxi dress. It lay in a crumpled heap on her bed, with a variety of other tried-ons and could-have-beens. A horror lying in wait for her return.
Clothed in a white cotton blouse and cropped trousers, she eyed Wyn’s tie and chewed her lip. He didn’t look himself. “You’re smart.” It sounded like an accusation.
He chuckled. “You cannot imagine how many potential outfits I went through, trying to guess what you might wear.”
“Oh, I do. I really do.” She joined him in laughter, feeling relieved.
As their garrulous, Italian host seated them in a corner, the recent tension eased from her.
They chose a bottle of the house red. A full-bodied chianti. They drank their first glass while choosing from the menu.
“Whoa.” She put a hand over her glass.
Wyn stopped pouring her a second helping. “What’s the matter?”
“I've eaten barely a thing, today.”
“And?” Wyn raised an eyebrow.
Yvonne giggled. "It's been a while since I was drunk. It’s not pretty."
Wyn loosened his tie and winked at her, giving her a boyish smile. “Who cares?”
She took her hand away. “Did you find it hard?”
“What?”
“Entering college for a second time… Starting over again?”
“Not as hard as you might think.” Wyn rubbed his cheek. “I mean, money was tight. I'd earned peanuts as a fine artist and was living cheek-by-jowl on a tiny loan. The learning wasn’t hard. I came alive. It invigorated me. I was gaining a needed skill and enjoying it. Besides, when I graduated, I expected to earn a decent wage.”
“Couldn’t you do that with fine art?”
Wyn thought about it. "You can, but it’s not guaranteed. Commissions are irregular. Some people get lucky. I didn't." He finished his glass and poured another as the starters arrived.
Yvonne eyed her ravioli with relish.
“What about you? Were you always a detective?”
She shook her head. “I started out in science. My degree was in microbiology. I met my husband at university.”
Wyn frowned. “Husband?”
She sighed. “My late husband David.”
“Oh, I am sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She took a gulp of chianti. “It was several years ago. I miss him but, I try not to dwell…”
“What sort of man was he?” Enlarged pupils made the anthropologist’s eyes appear black.
Yvonne’s own took on a thousand-yard stare; her smile, wistful. “He loved flying, he loved metal, and he loved me.”
“What happened? If you don’t mind me asking?”
“An accident… on the airfield.”
“Were you there when it happened?”
She nodded. “It was horrific. I still see it in nightmares, the accident and the aftermath.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to bring you down.”
“My friend, Tasha, helped a lot.”
“The lady I met the other-”
“We met on my first serial murder case. She’s a great character and a great friend.” Yvonne ate some of her food.
“She seems a practical sort.” His eyes held hers.
“She is. She gets stuck in and she always helps to clarify my thoughts.”
“A fine friend to have.”
“Yes.”
“This is good.” Wyn savoured a mouthful of his mushrooms, studying her face. “So, like me, you retrained so you could follow your passion?”
She nodded. “I did. And I haven’t looked back. Though some cases tug at the heartstrings.”
“I’ll bet.” Wyn paused between mouthfuls. “Like the current one.”
She nodded.
“More chianti?” Wyn refilled her glass a further time.
“Why not?” She pushed her empty starter plate away. “In for a penny…”
Their main courses arrived, carbonara for Yvonne and stuffed aubergine for Wyn.
Yvonne smiled.
“What?”
“You, in a suit and tie.”
“My dear lady, I can wear a suit and tie.” He exaggerated a pained expression, putting a hand to his heart.
“I think I prefer you barefoot.” She met his eyes before returning her to her food.
Lightheaded, she stumbled on the restaurant steps, almost falling into the street.
Wyn caught her. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, thank you.” She straightened, brushing herself down.
“I think I may have topped up our glasses a little too often. I’m a bit tipsy, myself.”
“Our taxis will be here any minute.” Yvonne yawned.
“Th
ank you for being such wonderful company.” Wyn bent his head to peck her on the lips.
A moment later, she tasted the red wine on his, as the kiss deepened.
She pulled away. “I’m sorry, I-”
Wyn held up a hand. “No. I’m sorry. It was my fault.”
“I’m not looking for anything. I’m not ready.”
“Don’t sweat it.” Wyn pointed up the street. “Your taxi.”
Yvonne knocked on the DCI’s door before pushing it open. “Is now okay?” she asked the top of his head.
He paused writing and checked his watch. “Sorry, I forgot to come see you. Can you forgive me? So much going on.” He looked up at her, his desk awash with paper.
“No problem, sir. I guessed you were busy. I have several appointments this afternoon, however, and-”
“How was the meal?” He took off his reading glasses and placed them on his desk.
“Last night? Good. Food... nice. Thank you.” She coloured, clearing her throat.
“Did Wyn behave like a gentleman?”
“He did.”
“And you? Did you behave like a lady?” He grinned but there was something serious lurking in his eyes.
“Always.” She forced a laugh.
His gaze lingered on her face. “Right. Well, we should discuss the latest developments in the case. I’m under a lot of pressure. I know you’re doing the best you can but, this latest development…”
She nodded, fighting the lump in her throat. “Women are panicking and I can’t say I blame them.”
“What leads do you have?”
She put a hand to her brow. “I’m still following up associates of the girls. But, I suspect we are dealing with a stranger to all of them. A serial killer. What we don’t know, is whether we're hunting an opportunist or a stalker. We’re working on that. He’s careful not to leave trace evidence.” She sucked her upper lip. “I have a strong feeling he’s stalking the women for some time, before taking them.”
“What makes you say that?”
“He kidnapped Sharon Sutton close to a major garage, but avoided every single CCTV camera. According to the shop assistants, Sharon regularly visited that garage on her bike rides. He only had to watch and wait. Easy-peasy.” Yvonne scratched her head and continued. “I think he ambushed Nicole Benoit on the Long Mynd. They found her bicycle near the upper carpark. The place is a busy tourist spot and yet he killed and buried her, without being seen. My gut tells me he plans these kills for some time.”
Bone Dancer Page 6