Copycat

by Diane Saxon

  Jenna took another gulp of coffee before she cradled the cup between her hands, absorbing the heat into her chilled fingers.

  Mason negotiated his way around the Telford Retail Park, taking the quickest route over three roundabouts and along the new road to Lawley. An easy drive through a ghost town at that time in the morning, which allowed him to stuff the baguette into his mouth before they reached their destination, while Ryan chomped happily on his own breakfast.

  Jenna stared out of the side window while she contemplated whatever the hell they’d been called to, instinct letting her know it was going to be a long day.

  8

  Tuesday 4 February, 06:55hrs

  By the time they arrived at the address she’d punched into the satnav for Mason, the triple shot of caffeine, paracetamol and sugar coated ibuprofen had joined the bread to settle her stomach. A swift kick of energy surged through her veins, giving her vision a brightness at the edges. She glanced over her shoulder at the top of Ryan’s bowed head as he scrolled through his phone. She might be twenty quid lighter when it wasn’t even 7 a.m., but she’d be eternally grateful to him for the life saving breakfast baguette and coffee.

  She turned back to stare out of the side window, the insistent drizzle of rain coating it to blur the passing images and fuzz her vision.

  God, why had she given in to a midweek drink?

  She puffed out a breath. Because it was Fliss. Because she’d almost lost her and, every day, she sent a silent prayer of thanks that her sister was alive and well, if just a little damaged. The scars weren’t visible like the ones Domino had suffered, the rip along the whole length of his side, like a zipper, but they were there all the same. And she may be about to lose her again if she decided to take the job and move house. She’d be almost an hour away. Not far in some people’s minds, but too far for Jenna.

  With a sigh, Jenna pushed her dark thoughts to one side as they pulled up outside 5 Brook Avenue, Lawley. The address she’d been directed to. Mason switched off the engine while she kneaded her finger against her forehead, smoothing out the frown. A dead body. Of all the days for a dead body to appear on her patch, it had to be today.

  Jenna slipped from the car, squinting at the activity outside the small, two storey, semi-detached house. Newly built, quiet neighbourhood, just above the steep drop of Jiggers Bank into the Ironbridge Gorge. Absolutely no reason for a problem. The occasional domestic, nothing major in a nice neighbourhood.

  Still early, dark out, the neighbours hadn’t yet been alerted by the arrival of CSIs. It wouldn’t take long, though. Not once people stirred for the day. When they walked their dogs, put their bins out, stepped, yawning, to their cars to start their early morning commute into Birmingham. The M54 was supposed to have made life easier, but Jenna wasn’t sure in which realm that counted. Under thirty miles could take up to an hour and a half regularly. A commute she wasn’t willing to take.

  Jenna glanced at her phone: 6.20 a.m. Yeah, anytime now. The dog walkers would already be out and about. Curtains would twitch, elbows would nudge, texts and WhatsApps would be sent.

  Not her problem, but once the press, especially journalist Kim Stafford, got wind of it, he’d be on their tails, sniffing out a story he could twist until it barely resembled the truth.

  Ambitious and ruthless, Kim should have gone to one of the big cities to make his fame and fortune. London, Birmingham, Manchester. Instead he’d stayed, for whatever his reasons were, and the bitterness of a small-town journalist poured from him to make him a dangerous adversary. One who already hated her from their schooldays when Jenna had punched him on the nose for snapping her bra strap undone in assembly. If the head teacher hadn’t caught her flying fists and fast knee, she probably could have done a lot more damage. Regret rumbled through her every time she thought of the sleazy little man.

  She scanned the area. No one there but their own people.

  Her gaze skimmed over Bitch burned in the lawn, neatly cordoned off already. ‘Charming.’ She’d return to that. It wasn’t about to go anywhere.

  She offered a smile to the officer who stood at the outer cordon. Not recognising him, she flashed him her badge. ‘DS Jenna Morgan, this is DC Ellis, and DC Downey.’

  ‘Morning Sergeant. PC Dodd.’ He blew out a breath and waved his hand to a pile of white overalls. ‘CSI insists. It’s not good in there. Bloody awful mess in fact.’

  As the three of them yanked on their personal protection equipment, Jenna glanced around at the other two. ‘Ready?’

  At their nods, she drew in a breath. Used to facing horrific crimes, she stepped inside the house, following the sound of quiet, respectful activity into the kitchen. She kept her own approach quiet and respectful. If someone had died, she wasn’t about to disrupt proceedings by storming in as she’d witnessed some senior officers do. It wasn’t her scene, they weren’t yet her victims.

  Jim Downey, the West Mercia Police Senior Forensic Scientist, engulfed in a pale blue PPE suit, barely raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement of her as she slipped into the compact kitchen. Used to his level of concentration when he was engaged on a job, Jenna didn’t take insult but simply waited him out until he raised his head. His solemn grey gaze met hers over the slumped body tied to a kitchen chair amidst a scene of tranquillity.

  Mason leaned his shoulder into Jenna’s back as he shuffled to gain access to the room, while Ryan turned sideways and slipped his skinny frame through the doorway past them. With loose casualness he loped around the chair and stood shoulder to shoulder with his father to squint down at the body. His whole posture and attitude so like Jim’s, it would have made Jenna smile if the circumstances hadn’t been so grim.

  ‘What happened?’

  Jim’s fine nostrils flared as he cast his son an impatient glance and then addressed Jenna directly.

  ‘Sergeant Morgan. I won’t wish you a good morning. There’s very little good about it, I’m afraid.’ The grim crack in his voice drew Jenna closer, so she stepped ahead of Ryan to stand next to Jim in front of the victim.

  Jenna angled her head and narrowed her eyes, a lick of discomfort unravelled in her delicate belly. This wasn’t an impassioned domestic. This had the marks of a controlled, contrived killing. ‘Tell me what we’ve got.’

  Jim tapped the end of a pen against his pursed lips, and then dropped his hand down to point at the victim. ‘I’m not entirely sure yet, but I have a suspicion. You’re just in time. I’ve noted my initial findings, taken photographs and we’re just about to touch the body for the first time.’

  Jenna moved in.

  First impressions. The victim, tied around the waist to a chair, slumped forward so her face almost touched her closed together knees, but not quite, the restraint holding her in place. Her feet placed wide apart, naked toes turned inward. A mass of auburn hair covered her face and spilled onto her thighs. Her arms dangled loose with relaxed hands, fingers almost stroking the floor.

  A sense of unease unfurled inside Jenna’s chest as her mind grasped at a vague familiarity but couldn’t quite comprehend the connection.

  With a reverent gentility Jenna had the utmost respect for, Jim stepped forward and placed a careful, gloved hand under the victim’s chin and raised her head, straightening her upper torso with a degree of strength and studied control. Her hair fell back in a satin curtain to reveal the first glimpse of her face and the gaping slash across her neck.

  ‘Fucking hell.’ Ryan fell back a step as the words exploded from him. He slammed one hand over his mouth and the other across his belly, a plaintive groan ripped from his throat as he gagged.

  Without so much as a twitch of a muscle, Jim addressed his son over his shoulder. ‘If you contaminate my crime scene, I will rip your head from your shoulders, young man. Leave now.’ Authority laced the words and brooked no argument.

  It wasn’t a command reserved especially for his son, Jenna had heard Jim use it frequently, the preservation of his crime scene paramount to the senior
forensic scientist.

  Ryan spun on his heel and made for the door, skidding around Mason as he staggered away, almost doubled up by the time he reached the hallway that ran parallel to the kitchen.

  In an effort to overlook her own queasy stomach protesting, Jenna bent at the hips to study the young woman’s stiffened face and tried to ignore the churning of Prosecco and bacon and egg baguette.

  ‘Rigor mortis.’ Jim’s soft voice encouraged Jenna to move in, study the signs to a closer degree. ‘See here.’ He scrolled his finger in front of the woman’s jawline, the deep brackets either side of her mouth, the indentations around her nose. ‘For want of better phrasing, this is moderate rigor mortis. She’s possibly been dead three to four hours, her face has stiffened. There’s still warmth in the body.’ He nodded his head in invitation and Jenna reached out with her gloved fingers to touch the victim’s exposed skin on the side of her neck, cautious not to come into contact with the deep gash. ‘She’s not entirely stiff yet.’

  Jenna withdrew her hand. The body felt like ice to her, but she trusted implicitly in Jim’s experience.

  Without taking his gaze from the woman, he continued to murmur his findings out loud for their benefit. ‘Time of death could be deceptive, though. The radiators were almost bouncing off the walls when we came in. They’d been left on “constant” instead of “timed”.’

  A parody of make-up smeared across the young woman’s face and recognition welled again. Jenna leaned in. She’d seen it before. Bright blue make-up smeared over closed eyelids, not something any young woman would necessarily choose. More of a child-into-teenager choice. Cheeks rouged with blusher in messy circles. Vivid scarlet streaked haphazardly to distort the shape of the woman’s lips. Blood from the gaping wound on her throat soaked the front of her green nurse’s scrubs.

  Jenna blew out a gusty breath and came upright, her mind reeling as she searched for the recollection just beyond her grasp. The light of memory she recognised in Jim’s pained gaze. His mouth a tight line, he smoothed his fingers over the victim’s hair with a tenderness that caught the breath in her throat before he lowered the woman’s chin back onto her chest and slipped his hand away, allowing her hair to curtain her features once more. The victim’s body remained upright, portraying all the symptoms of the early rigor mortis Jim had spoken of where the main muscles had started to stiffen, enough so that she didn’t simply flop forward but remained where he placed her.

  Jim’s head came up. ‘Do you remember?’ He pinned her with his gaze.

  She squinted at him, sighed and then shook her head. ‘No. I don’t know. There’s something.’

  ‘I’m not sure you’re old enough to know the case. I think it was before your time.’ His lips twisted in a rueful smile as he stepped away, stripped off the make-up and blood contaminated gloves and bagged them in a disposal bag before snapping on a fresh pair. ‘I reckon around nine years ago, possibly a little more.’ He linked his fingers together, his forehead creased with a vertical line between his eyebrows as he recalled the case. ‘Three young women.’ He nodded at the victim. ‘All nurses. All redheads. Same pose. On first inspection, same make-up.’

  ‘I do remember.’ The memory burst through as Jenna stared at the top of the young woman’s head. ‘I’d just joined. Only been on the force a week when the third murder occurred. My sergeant wouldn’t let me go into the crime scene. Said I was too young and too green to have to witness something so debased.’ Regret tinged her words. ‘I probably shouldn’t have let Ryan in.’

  ‘Ryan isn’t too young or green. He’s grown up with this in his life.’ Jim shook his head, his lips in a straight line. ‘He’s been on the force almost a year now, Jenna. I’m surprised he reacted the way he did, but different situations affect us all in different ways.’

  ‘It would be the caramel shortbread latte with extra cream.’ Mason’s lips kicked up in a rueful smile as he never hesitated to dob in his own young colleague to his father.

  Jim’s grey eyebrows shot up. ‘Dear God, anyone who drinks that muck at this time in the morning gets their just desserts.’

  ‘Twice.’ Mason quipped as he squatted in front of the body, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth while he took in the scene, his intelligent gaze sharp. ‘Why the pose, Jim?’

  Jim hunkered down beside Mason and, with a tenderness that stirred Jenna’s admiration for the man, took hold of the victim’s left hand and gently scraped under her fingernails. ‘We never released it to the press. This.’ He nodded at the girl again. ‘All those years ago. The pose. The whole make-up thing. We had to admit that nurses were being targeted. That was enough to send the county into a wild spin. Jeez, every single nurse prayed they weren’t the next victim. But it was tighter than that. The MO was a certain age group.’ His lips tightened. ‘Redheads.’

  The weight of fear pressed on Jenna’s chest. ‘But we caught him. Didn’t we?’

  ‘We did.’ Jim nodded as he straightened and carefully inserted the swab into a small phial, screwing the lid on and, with meticulous precision, he labelled the sample. ‘I can’t believe he’s been released. Who in God’s name would let a monster like that out – ever?’

  ‘Can you remember his name?’ It would save her a great deal of research if she could pick Jim’s brain for the information.

  Jim stared out of the kitchen window and Jenna followed his gaze to centre on his son. Ryan, crumpled on the lawn, his forehead pressed against the grass, his arms wrapped around his midriff, his lips moving in silent prayer.

  ‘See to Ryan. This is not like him. He needs help.’ Jim rubbed his forehead with the back of his gloved hand. ‘Paul McCambridge, if I remember rightly. Nasty piece of work. I can’t remember all the details. During the trial, he showed no remorse, just a sick sense of superiority. I’d say a true psychopath.’ He hunkered down next to the victim and took her right hand in his, repeating the swabbing procedure as he spoke over his shoulder. ‘Jailed for life. No consideration for release for twenty years, or so I thought.’

  Surprised at his sudden full recollection, Jenna hauled herself back from her contemplation of Ryan. Vague memories of the case raced through her mind. She’d been assigned some stupid menial task to keep her from the scene, trawling through car registration numbers if she remembered correctly. ‘Surely it can’t be him?’ It would be her first line of enquiry. Had he been released? Had he escaped? If so, why the hell hadn’t the prison service informed them?

  Mason rose to his feet. ‘What about the boyfriend?’

  Jim shrugged. ‘In the living room. I haven’t spoken with him. Duty Acting Inspector Evans put a PC with him while he does all the groundwork, door-to-door. You’ll find him out back somewhere if you need him.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks, Jim.’

  She cast Ryan another brief glance, turned and then whipped around again to stare at her young DC. His tortured gaze clashed with hers and she squinted out the window.

  ‘Mason, keep the boyfriend on ice until we’re ready to question him. I haven’t seen Acting Inspector Evans. Find out if he needs any assistance with setting up teams, door-to-door, admin backup.’ She knew he wouldn’t, but keeping up to date on his procedures would be vital to the case. ‘I’m going to check on Ryan.’ There was something wrong, far worse than any glut of overwhipped cream on top of a sickly drink.

  She swung on her heel and headed straight outside, skirting around the patch of vomit soaking into the lawn. The wind whirled around, clearing her head as she strode over to Ryan and squatted in front of him. ‘What’s up?’ She drilled her gaze into his to make him understand she wanted his attention. There was no caramel latte shit could do that to anyone. There was more to it than that.

  He sucked air in through gritted teeth. ‘I know her.’ He shuddered that breath back out again, his whole body quivering with aftershock. ‘I don’t actually know her.’ His agonised gaze held onto hers as confusion nagged at her thoughts. ‘I dated her. Last night.’ He closed his eyes
and his long blond lashes fluttered against his pale skin. ‘I’m one of the last people to see her alive.’

  Cold from the inside out, Jenna stared at her apprentice. ‘Ryan.’ He opened his eyes. ‘You need to go to the station.’ He nodded. ‘I’ll have to question you.’ Again, a small nod. His soft mouth tightened. He understood. He wasn’t stupid by any means. He’d already known exactly what was required. She didn’t need to spell it out to him.

  She straightened, her knees creaking from the cold and damp seeping into her bones. She held out a hand to him. He took it and she dragged him up, taking his weight easily. Her hand linked with his, she held on, her firm grasp a silent declaration that she knew without a doubt he’d done nothing wrong. Nevertheless, they had a process to follow and every nuance of it had to be recorded.

  She pulled out her radio and waited while the duty sergeant answered her call, relieved when she heard the familiar tones of her old sergeant from when she was in uniform. A good, solid man.

  ‘Hi Gerry, I have DC Ryan Downey with me.’

  ‘Jim’s son?’

  ‘Yeah. We’re at a sudden death and turns out Ryan saw the victim last night.’ She wandered away from Ryan, dipping her voice to a whisper, ‘I’m going to send him in to you. He’s a little shook up, Gerry.’ She didn’t mention the projectile vomiting, there was no need to strip away his dignity when he already had enough to contend with. ‘Would you look after him for me, put someone with him?’

  ‘You need to question him?’

  ‘Yeah. Afraid so.’

  Gerry knew the form, he’d do the right thing. ‘I’ll contact one of our reps. I’ll check who’s on.’