by Sally Rigby
She walked over to them. ‘Good afternoon, sir.’
‘Good afternoon, Walker.’ He turned to the two men standing beside him. ‘This is DCI Walker. She’s SIO on the case. This is DI Terry Gardner and DS Vic Rowe from the Regional Force. They’ve come to give us their expertise on the case.’
She nodded at them, taking in their outfits. Hardly what detectives wore in her station. Gardner appeared to be in his forties, was slim, and had dark cropped hair with grey flecks. His eyes were too close together, and she could tell straight away he was going to prove difficult. Vic was younger, maybe early thirties, with fair hair and hazel eyes. She could imagine some of the younger members of her team finding him attractive. He seemed a bit too smarmy for her.
Of course, her assessment had nothing to do with her resentment for them being there. She was being totally objective.
‘Good to meet you,’ Gardner said.
‘Likewise,’ she said, shaking his outstretched hand.
‘Now you’re acquainted, I’ll leave you to it,’ Jamieson said. ‘I’ll arrange the press conference for later this afternoon. I don’t need to tell you this case needs solving PDQ. Two murders are more than enough. You’ve got to stop the next two from happening.’
Her boss turned and left the room. Once the door had closed behind him, Whitney faced the two officers. ‘You might have come from the RF, but just remember, this is my case. I’m SIO, and what I say goes. Are we clear?’
The two officers exchanged a glance. ‘We’re here to help.’ Gardner smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
‘Okay. You can have those two desks in the corner.’ Whitney pointed to the far side the room. ‘First, I’ll introduce you to the forensic psychologist we use.’
They walked over to the board where George was standing.
‘This is Dr George Cavendish from Lenchester University, and she works with us from time to time. George this is DI Terry Gardner and DS Vic Rowe. They’re from the Regional Force.’
‘Did you use a forensic psychologist on the other murders?’ George asked.
Whitney smiled to herself. Typical of George to dispense with any pleasantries and get straight down to it.
‘We use everyone available to us, and we only use the best,’ Gardner said.
George visibly bristled. They’d better watch themselves if they didn’t want to get on her wrong side. Implying she wasn’t the best wasn’t the smart way forward. As well as being inaccurate. Although, Whitney wouldn’t mind seeing her put the two officers in their place.
‘And you’re familiar with the best forensic psychologists, are you?’ George said, an icy tone to her voice.
‘We do our research before working with experts in any field,’ Gardner said.
‘Interesting,’ George replied. ‘I’m very keen to know who you’ve used in the past, and in particular their research output and capabilities in the field.’
‘Well, I can’t tell you that without checking. But I can assure you they are top notch,’ Gardner said.
‘Top notch. Not a term I’m familiar with when discussing academic credibility. I prefer to—’
‘We don’t need to discuss this now,’ Whitney said, enjoying the exchange, but interrupting before it went any further. ‘We’ve gone through your files, and there isn’t much in there we haven’t already ascertained for ourselves, after only two murders.’
‘We’re dealing with a highly organised and clever individual,’ Vic said.
‘From what we’ve seen, all the murders were similar, ours included,’ Whitney said.
‘Yes. Chloroform and stabbing. No deviation,’ Gardner said.
‘Presumably you went through the CCTV footage from all the sites?’ Whitney asked.
‘Yes. Our team found nothing,’ Vic said.
‘The trains our two victims were on had no CCTV. As older trains were chosen for Lenchester, I assume it was the same for the other murders,’ Whitney said.
‘Yes,’ Gardner said.
‘Indicating the murderer has more than a passing knowledge of trains. Have you investigated local rail enthusiast clubs in the different areas?’ Whitney asked.
Gardner looked at Rowe. ‘Have you?’
‘I’ll need to check, guv.’
‘There’s nothing in the files indicating you have.’ She wrote on the board knowledge of trains.
‘Have you investigated all the employees from the three rail operators targeted?’ Whitney asked.
‘Obviously.’ Gardner rolled his eyes.
‘Well, as there’s nothing in the files, I wanted to check,’ she responded.
‘We didn’t find a suspect among them,’ Rowe said.
‘Good to know,’ she said.
‘What about Transwide?’ She wasn’t going to tell that they’d been to visit.
‘Transwide are a pain in the arse,’ Gardner said.
‘In what way?’
‘Trying to interfere in the investigation.’
‘How?’ Whitney asked.
‘Wanting us to make clear the murders weren’t related to them.’
‘But they clearly are, as all the rail operators targeted are owned by them.’
‘They consider it to be a coincidence. They believe we should focus our investigation elsewhere, as the bad publicity is causing them harm.’
‘Did you look into the possibility it’s a disgruntled customer or ex-employee?’
‘Of course.’ Gardner glared at her.
‘But there’s nothing in the files,’ she said.
‘Because we found nothing,’ Rowe said.
This was getting boringly repetitive. She forced herself to not respond, as they were going around in circles. Either they were extremely inept at their job, or they were deliberately keeping information from them. Well, that could cut both ways.
‘Why are you using an old-fashioned board?’ Gardner asked, nodding at it.
‘Why wouldn’t we?’ she said, surprised he’d mentioned it.
‘We’ve been using SmartBoards for the last two years. Before that we had interactive boards. Don’t you have any up-to-date equipment here?’ He gave a caustic laugh.
Whitney tensed. ‘It doesn’t matter what we use, providing we solve the crime. And our records speak for themselves.’
‘It’s like being stuck in the eighties. You’ll be telling me next you still use overhead projectors.’
Whitney’s fists clenched by her side. So, this was what it was going to be like. Their constant belittling. Fucking Jamieson. She could swing for him. There was no need for those arsewipes to be part of her investigation.
‘We’re getting away from the point. Now you’re here, how do you think you can help?’
‘We need to see the evidence you have. Has the pathologist’s report come in yet?’
‘I have the report from our first victim on my desk. I’ll email it to you,’ she said.
‘We’d like to see the crime scenes.’
‘That can be arranged. Would you like to go now?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll get one of my officers to take you.’
‘Aren’t you coming with? So we can discuss it,’ Gardner asked.
‘No. I have things to do which need my immediate attention.’ She called over one of her team. ‘Take DI Gardner and DS Rowe to the railway station and show them the crime scenes.’
Once they’d left the office, she turned to George. ‘What’s the point of sending them here? Have they told us anything we don’t already know? No, they haven’t. And as for their total dismissal of Transwide, it makes no sense. As far as I can tell, they’re going to be as much help to us as a chocolate teapot. Also, did you get the feeling they were holding out on us?’
‘Yes, I did. In my opinion, they only wanted to know what we’ve got and weren’t prepared to talk about their own findings. They definitely have their own agenda, and we need to be cognisant of that. I noticed you didn’t mention the ticket we found.’
&
nbsp; ‘I wasn’t prepared to let them take over on that front. But before we investigate further, I need to arrange for the family of the second victim to be informed.’ She walked over to Ellie’s desk, and George followed. ‘Do you have contact details for the second victim?’
‘Yes. She lived in Coventry. I’ve got her address. I’ll text it to you.’
‘Thanks. I’ll get in touch with the Coventry police and ask them to visit her family. They’ll also need to arrange for someone to make a formal identification of the body.’
They walked away from the officer’s desk.
‘Don’t you want to see the family yourself?’ George asked.
‘Not at the moment. We already know from the previous murders the victims are indiscriminately chosen.’
‘We’re assuming they’re indiscriminate, as we haven’t yet found a pattern. It doesn’t mean there isn’t one,’ George said.
‘Maybe. But I’m better off staying here and working through what we know for certain.’
‘Guv,’ Ellie called out from her desk. ‘I’ve just heard back from forensics. They found a print on the train ticket. They ran it through the database and came back with a name. It’s a Patrick Logan. He’s got a record for breaking and entering, and petty burglary, and he’s been in and out of prison. He lives at 20 Lower West Street, Banbury.’
‘Good work. Come on, George, let’s make a house call.’
Chapter Fourteen
Thursday, 12 June
‘Shall we take your car or mine?’ Whitney asked when they got into the station car park.
‘Let’s go in yours,’ George said.
Normally she’d be happy to drive anywhere, especially as her car was much more comfortable than Whitney’s. But she was still feeling less than one hundred per cent so was happy to let someone else take the wheel.
‘You must be feeling bad,’ Whitney quipped.
‘I’ve felt better,’ she acknowledged as they got into the car.
She thought back to the previous night when she’d been out with Ross. It had been an enjoyable evening, and she was relaxed in his company. Well, as relaxed as she could be. What she liked about him was he didn’t force her to engage in conversation and seemed to respect the fact she was a little reticent in other people’s company.
He was happy to talk, especially about his work, which she found absorbing, and she was keen to see some of his pieces in real life. She didn’t know much about sculptures, but she did enjoy art and had seen many of the major works.
She’d googled Ross and was surprised to learn he’d got quite a following. Not that she didn’t think he was talented, but he was self-effacing when discussing his work, which belied his true ability. She liked that about him. He was a member of the UK Sculpture Society, and his work was quite renowned.
He was very easy to be with and told ridiculously stupid jokes, some of which he had to explain to her. And even if, in part, she’d only agreed to go out with him because of her father, she was really pleased she had. She didn’t imagine anything serious happening between them; she wasn’t interested in a long-term relationship. She was happy to be on her own. But that wouldn’t stop her from going out with him again. She had Whitney to thank for making her more laid back about the relationship. She certainly wouldn’t have behaved like this pre-Walker.
‘Earth to George. Earth to George. Can you hear me?’
Whitney’s words cut into George’s thoughts. ‘Of course I can.’
‘Are you sure about that? I’ve been talking to you, and you were ignoring me.’
‘No, I wasn’t. I heard you.’
‘What did I say?’ Whitney challenged.
‘You asked if I could hear you.’
‘What did I say before that? You don’t know, do you?’
‘You must have said it very quietly.’ George cringed at her pathetic response.
‘Yeah, right. I’d put money on you being distracted because you were thinking about your date last night.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Nothing much, apart from your eyes glazing over and you obviously being miles away.’
George shifted awkwardly in the seat. ‘Glazed eyes is total nonsense. Maybe I was thinking about last night, but you make me sound like some lovesick teenager and you know that’s not me.’
‘Tell me about him. You’ve kept it so secret I hardly know anything. Other than the fact he somehow got you to go out on a work night, twice, and get pissed, which is so not you.’
‘He’s thirty-six, a couple of years older than me. And he’s a sculptor, of figurative realism.’
‘Which is?’
‘Realistic figures. Often larger but incredibly lifelike. He sculpts animals and humans.’
‘What does he look like? Is he tall? Is he handsome? Tell me something more interesting.’
‘He’s taller than me, and he looks okay,’ George said.
‘Looks okay. What does that mean? What colour are his eyes?’
‘Blue. But I hardly think that matters. I’ve only been out with him a couple of times. It’s nothing serious.’
‘I’m glad if he makes you happy, especially after that shit you were living with before.’
‘What do you think of the two guys from the Regional Force?’ George asked, changing the subject, as she’d had enough of talking about herself and Ross.
‘Did you notice what they wearing? Even I could tell they were expensive suits. More like they were guests at a wedding than police officers. And don’t get me started on the way they put down our resources.’
‘I did notice they were smartly dressed. Is that what they’re all like there?’
‘To be honest, I haven’t met many of them, so I don’t know. Unless it’s just an act on their behalf to try to intimidate us.’
‘They might help us solve the case. It can be useful to have a fresh perspective.’
‘Don’t count on it. And it’s our perspective that’s fresh, not theirs. I think they wanted to come so they can take the kudos once we’ve cracked it. Let’s face it, they haven’t managed to solve it, so far,’ Whitney said.
‘From what I’ve read, the Regional Force has resourcing issues and are having to restructure. That can’t have helped their investigation.’
‘Resources are tight for everyone. Which is why we don’t have money for the most up-to-date equipment to do our job. Maybe if they’d not spent up large on all those SmartBoards, whatever they are, they wouldn’t be in such dire straits.’
‘Would you ever consider moving there? Could it be classed as a good promotion prospect?’ George asked.
‘You must be joking. I’m happy here. I like the Lenchester police force, warts and all. Right. We’re almost here.’ Whitney turned left into Lower West Street.
After parking the car in the road, they walked up to the terraced house. It was a newer one, dating from the eighties. The sort designed for the London overspill. Small brick-built boxes with cladding.
‘Whoever designed these did an appalling job,’ George said.
‘I agree. They’re ugly and poorly built. I’ve known places like this where dogs have actually chewed through the dividing walls. They were a cheap option to house many people, without a thought for what they would be like thirty years down the track. Luckily, we don’t have too many of these areas in Lenchester.’
They walked up to the door, and Whitney rang the bell. After a few moments, a woman answered.
‘Yes,’ she said, staring at them both.
‘Does Patrick Logan live here?’
‘Who wants to know?’
‘DCI Walker, Lenchester CID,’ Whitney said, showing her warrant card.
‘What do you want, this time? Why can’t you lot leave him alone? He’s done nothing.’
‘We need to speak to him about his train journey this morning.’
‘He’s in bed. He’s been working nights.’
‘Where does he work?’
�
�Smithfield Distribution, in Coventry. He does the nightshift.’
‘We need to speak to him about an incident that happened on his train. Please wake him up.’
‘He won’t be happy. He’s only just gone to bed.’
‘Then he won’t be in too deep a sleep,’ Whitney said.
The woman opened the door and let them in. ‘Wait here.’
They watched her jog up the stairs and go into the first room on the left. Although she closed the door behind her, they could hear anger in the man’s voice as she woke him. After a couple of minutes, she came back down, with him following close behind. He was wearing boxers and a T-shirt, and his hair was all messed up. He was a small man, around five foot six, and very skinny.
‘What do you want?’ He glared at them both.
‘We’d like to talk to you about your train journey this morning. Is there anywhere we can sit down?’ Whitney said.
A guilty expression fleetingly crossed his face. What was he hiding?
‘We can go into the lounge.’ He opened the door on the left.
They followed him into a small room, overpowered by a large dark green leather three-piece suite, focused on the biggest television screen George had seen. It had to be at least seventy-two inches.
‘Were you on the train from Coventry to London this morning?’ Whitney asked after they were all seated.
‘Yes. I was coming home from work.’
‘Do you always catch that train?’
‘No. Sometimes I get a lift home with a bloke I work with. He’s on holiday at the moment, so I have to catch the train this week.’
‘Do you have your ticket?’
‘Somewhere. Maybe in my jacket pocket.’
‘Get it for me,’ Whitney said.
He let out an annoyed grunt and left the room. After a few minutes, he came back and handed the ticket to Whitney.
‘This was for yesterday, not today,’ Whitney said.
‘That’s the only one I can find.’ He dropped back down onto the chair.
‘We found a ticket on the floor of the train this morning, which has your fingerprints on it. It’s from today.’
‘So, why did you ask me to find my ticket? What the fuck’s that all about?’
