by Sally Rigby
She knew exactly what he was thinking—his ‘tail-wagging-the-dog’ comment he’d made when he’d first arrived. She was looking forward to seeing first-hand how he’d deal with Claire. She smiled to herself.
‘Yes, I am. So, let’s go.’
When they arrived at the morgue, they walked into the building and down the corridor to the lab. Claire was sitting at her desk, scowling at the computer screen. She was wearing navy and white spotted wide-leg trousers, and a bright green and red blouse with a bow at the neck. One day she’d pluck up the courage to ask her where she bought her clothes. They were nothing like Whitney had ever seen.
‘Is everything okay? You’re looking puzzled.’
‘Puzzled is one way of putting it. I’d say bloody furious,’ Claire said.
‘What’s happened?’
‘The funding I wanted for a new MDCT has been turned down by a committee of arsewipes who swan around like they’re God, just because they hold the purse strings.’
‘MCDT?’
‘Multidetector computed tomography machine. But that’s not what’s annoyed me. The very next email I received was the staff newsletter, telling us how much they’re spending on new ultrasound equipment. How come others get what they want, and I don’t? Just because I’m dealing with dead people. And don’t tell me we have finite levels of funding.’ Claire waved her finger in Whitney’s direction. ‘Is he with you?’ She nodded at Terry.
‘This is DI Terry Gardner from the Regional Force. He’s helping us on the case. Terry, this is Dr Dexter, our pathologist.’
‘Good to meet you. And sorry to hear about your funding.’ Terry held out his hand, but Claire didn’t shake it.
‘Why are you sorry? It’s nothing to do with you. Let’s get on. There’s no point in me being angry now. I’ll save it until later, over my whisky.’
Claire put on her white lab coat and disposable gloves and headed out into the main area, where Neil Thomas’s body was stretched out on the centre stainless steel table. Whitney and Terry followed. The pathologist reached up and angled the overhead light, so the upper body was lit.
Terry stepped forward and leaned in to take a look.
‘What are you doing?’ Claire asked.
‘Looking at the body,’ Terry said.
‘You’re in my way.’ She turned to look at Whitney. ‘Didn’t you tell him how I operate?’
‘I thought I’d leave it to you to do the honours.’
‘Would someone care to explain?’ Terry said, looking from Whitney to Claire.
Whitney turned her head to hide the smirk she was unable to prevent from appearing on her face. They might be getting along better now, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have some fun.
‘You stand where I tell you and keep out of my way. You may ask questions when I say you can. I operate on a basis of three strikes and you’re out,’ Claire said.
It couldn’t have worked out better if Whitney had actually primed the woman herself.
Terry looked at Whitney, his brow furrowed.
‘What Claire means is, if you ask more than three questions which she doesn’t wish to answer then you have to leave. Is that right, Claire?’ she said.
Whitney was guessing, as this was the first she’d heard of the rule.
‘How do I know what questions you’re prepared to answer?’ Terry asked Claire.
‘Strike one,’ she said.
Terry glared at Claire and folded his arms.
‘Okay. We all know how it goes. Can we start now, as we have to get back?’ Whitney said.
‘This murder’s slightly different from the others,’ Claire said.
‘In what way?’ She edged forward and stared at the body.
‘The victim struggled, and when the knife was inserted it hit one of the ribs and some of the blade snapped off. I found it lodged in the lungs.’ From the trolley beside her, she picked up a silver bowl. In there was a small piece of metal, about an inch in length. She lifted it out and showed it to Whitney. ‘This is the end of the blade.’
‘May I look?’ Terry said.
‘You may,’ Claire replied.
‘How come he struggled if he’d been given the chloroform?’ Terry asked as he stepped forward and stood next to Whitney.
‘The chemical possibly took a little longer to work. It doesn’t always affect everyone in the same way.’
‘Can you identify the knife from that small piece?’ Whitney asked.
‘We’re looking into it. We know from the size of the tip, plus the wound width and depth, the blade used was smooth and five inches in length. See the bruising around the entry point?’ Claire pointed to purple and yellow discolouration of the skin. ‘This is from the rim between the blade and handle. It’s typical of a hunting knife.’
‘If you can find out the make and model, that would be of great help. There are only five more days until the next murder is due to happen,’ Whitney said.
‘We’ll do our best. There’s something else.’
‘What?’ she said impatiently, sensing Claire was about to reveal something big.
‘When the chloroform rag was placed over the mouth, the victim bit the murderer’s hand.’
Whitney’s heartbeat quickened. Finally, a break.
‘So, you’ve got the murderer’s DNA?’ Terry said.
‘Unfortunately not. He was wearing gloves. But we do know they were black leather. There are traces of leather in the victim’s teeth.’
Whitney swallowed her disappointment.
‘So, really we’re no further on in identifying the perp?’ she said.
‘I didn’t say that,’ Claire replied, a mysterious tone to her voice. ‘I’ve been saving the best bit until last.’
The woman was a mystery. One moment all brusque and business-like, the next wanting to play games.
‘Come on, Claire. I don’t have time to mess around.’ She shifted anxiously from foot to foot.
‘Fine. You can wait for my report if you’re going to be like that.’ Claire shrugged.
‘Guv,’ Terry warned. ‘We need this information now. Remember the three strikes.’
Whitney laughed. She couldn’t help it. Even Claire glanced at her and gave a little smile.
‘Sorry, Claire. I didn’t mean it. Will you tell me, please?’
‘I found two hairs on the victim’s clothes that don’t belong to him. We’ve run them through the National DNA database.’
‘And? Have you come up with a name?’ she asked.
‘No.’
Her heart sank. ‘Oh.’
‘You’re not understanding. Now, you have much more to work with than you did before,’ Claire said, her eyes bright.
‘But how do we know the hairs are from the murderer and not from someone else?’ Terry asked.
‘Simple. I found a third hair in the victim’s mouth, among the fibres from the cloth used to administer the chloroform. They could’ve easily been missed.’
‘What’s the chance of it being someone else’s hair, already in his mouth?’ Whitney asked.
‘Unlikely. So, now you get the importance of what I’m telling you.’
She could kiss the woman. But of course, she wouldn’t, as she valued her life.
Whitney turned to Terry. ‘And that, DI Gardner, is why we work with Claire the way we do. She’s the best. I don’t care how many pathologists you have dancing to your tune, Claire could outshine all of them put together, with her eyes closed.’
‘I get it now.’ Terry nodded.
‘What the hell are you going on about?’ Claire asked.
‘Just singing your praises, Claire. Anyway, back to the body. That’s fantastic news. Thank you. Now all we’ve got to do is find him. Is the perp male?’ she checked.
‘Yes.’ Claire nodded.
‘We’d been working on that assumption, as you know.’
‘Well, now it’s confirmed,’ the pathologist said.
‘Anything else you’re holding out on
telling me?’
‘No. Now go and find him.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Thursday, 20 June
George watched Ross as he stood at the bar waiting to be served. They’d had a really nice meal, and she felt relaxed in his company. She hadn’t yet decided whether to invite him to her brother’s wedding. She knew Whitney thought she should, but on so many levels it could turn out to be a disaster. Not to mention it would be admitting they were actually dating, as opposed to being friends who went out occasionally.
Did that bother her? She had too much going on in her life to embark on dating again. It had been a disaster with Stephen and not something she wanted to repeat. Her work had suffered, and she’d felt out of her comfort zone. She much preferred being on her own, with no one to please but herself. She’d always enjoyed her own company and had never found herself bored or lonely.
‘You’re looking serious,’ Ross said as he placed their glasses on the table and sat opposite her.
‘I’ve got a lot on my mind,’ she said.
‘Work?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Police work?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘You’re not making this very easy. Shall I assume you don’t want me to know?’
Stephen would have hounded her until she’d told him. And if she’d still refused, he’d have sulked like a child. Ross was refreshingly different.
‘It’s not that I don’t want you to know. There’s something I want to ask you, but I’m just not sure about it yet.’
‘That’s cool. Ask me when you’re ready.’ He smiled.
His reply convinced her to bite the bullet.
‘My brother’s getting married soon, and I wondered if you’d like to accompany me to the wedding?’
He stared at her, frowning. Asking him so soon had been a mistake. She shouldn’t have listened to Whitney. It was obvious by the expression on his face he was looking for a reason to say no.
‘Are you sure?’
‘It doesn’t matter. Forget it. I knew you wouldn’t want to.’ She picked up her glass and took a sip of her beer.
‘It’s not that. Under normal circumstances I’d have jumped at the chance. It’s just—’
‘Just what?’ she interrupted.
‘Having already met your father, what happens if he remembers I was the waiter he had a go at?’
‘He probably won’t recall the interaction, but I can always remind him, if you’d like me to.’
‘Do you think that’s a good idea? I wouldn’t want to upset him at the wedding.’
‘Do you want to go or not?’ she demanded.
He laughed. ‘That’s what I like about you George. The way you’re so direct and get straight to the point. If you’d like me to come with you, I’d be honoured. Where is it being held?’
Would he change his mind once she told him? Whitney had been astounded once she’d found out. How would he react? ‘Westminster Abbey for the service, and the reception’s at the Imperial War Museum.’
‘Whoa. I’m guessing you waited until I’d said yes before telling me that.’
‘You can change your mind, if you want.’ She shrugged like it wasn’t important, but actually it was.
‘I’m joking. I won’t change my mind.’ He leaned forward and took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze.
‘It’s black tie. You can hire a tux.’
‘I won’t need to. I have my own. When you go to as many awards dinners as I do, it’s cheaper to own one than hire all the time.’
‘I’ll book some accommodation for the Friday and Saturday nights. There are some excellent hotels close to the reception. My treat.’
‘Why don’t we go up on the Wednesday or Thursday and make a proper break of it? We’ll have time to check out the Tate Modern and catch a show. What do you say?’
She bit down on her bottom lip. If he wanted to arrange a short holiday, did that mean they were officially dating, and not just friends with benefits?
How did she feel about it? Actually, not bad. Whitney would approve.
‘Okay, let’s do it,’ she agreed.
‘Text me the dates, and I’ll make sure to put it in my diary.’
She glanced at her watch. ‘I can’t be too late this evening; I need to be at the station with Whitney first thing. We’ve got a busy few days ahead of us.’
‘I’ve been following the news reports on the murders. I assume that’s what you’re working on. It’s a dreadful situation. There’s another one expected on Sunday, isn’t there?’
‘Yes. Unless we can stop the murderer beforehand.’
‘Do you have any leads?’
‘I’m not allowed to share anything about the investigation. All I can say is we’re working out possible trains he’s likely to be on.’
‘That’s promising.’
‘Don’t say anything. Nobody knows.’
She could have kicked herself for telling him. Whitney would go ballistic if she knew. If it got out, it could make the killer change his plans.
‘Of course I won’t. You can trust me. Hopefully, working out where he’ll be will mean you’re able to stop him.’
‘You’d have thought so, but we knew the potential trains when the third victim was killed.’
‘Sounds like you could do with a break.’
‘Yes. And soon.’
Friday, 21 June
George set her alarm to six, and by seven-thirty, she was already at the station. She was conscious there was still so much to do, and she wanted to pull her weight. She hurried inside, through the back door, and made her way to the incident room, where several of the team were already seated at their desks. She continued to Whitney’s office, hoping the detective was in. Whitney was peering at her computer screen, and when she glanced up and saw George standing there, she beckoned for her to come in.
‘Bloody Excel spreadsheets. I’ll never get to grips with them. I’ll have to take this home and see if Tiffany can help. She’s an IT whizz.’
The mention of Tiffany’s name reminded George she hadn’t seen Whitney’s daughter for a few weeks. They caught up in one of the university cafés fairly regularly, but as it was exam time, the young woman wasn’t around.
They’d become close since Tiffany had been abducted and George was part of the rescue. After her ordeal, Tiffany had put on a brave face in front of her mother, not wanting to worry her. But she’d confided in George. She’d been seeing a counsellor, at George’s insistence, and had made remarkable progress. She was almost back to her old self, but George knew they still needed to keep an eye on her, as she could easily slip back if things got difficult.
‘I can help, if you’d like. I use Excel all the time.’
‘Thanks for the offer, but we’ve more important things to do. What are you doing here? I didn’t expect you until later, as I thought you were out with Ross last night.’
‘I was, but I didn’t stay out late because I wanted to get in here early to see you,’ she said.
‘So you could tell me you’ve fallen in love with him and couldn’t wait to share it.’ Whitney grinned.
‘That’s silly, and not what I meant.’
‘Did you ask him about the wedding?’
‘Yes, I did, and—’
‘And is he going with you?’ Whitney interrupted.
‘Why are you so interested in the wedding, when we’ve got work to do?’
‘Just humour me. Is he going with you? Yes or no?’
‘Yes.’
‘Awesome. Now let’s go into the incident room and get moving.’
They left Whitney’s office and walked over to the board. More people had arrived.
‘Listen up, everyone, I have something important to tell you. We have the murderer’s DNA.’
George’s jaw tensed. How come Whitney hadn’t told her? When did she find out?
‘Well done, guv. What did he leave it on?’ Matt asked.
‘There were
stray hairs on the victim’s clothes and one in his mouth, mixed in with fibres from the cloth used to sedate him. It seems our elderly victim put up quite a fight. This murder wasn’t as easy as the others. The DNA also confirmed our assumption the murderer is male.’
‘Any chance he’s in the database?’ Matt asked.
‘Unfortunately not.’ Whitney’s phone pinged, and she picked it up from the desk. She frowned at the screen. ‘I’ve finally received the list of a thousand employees who were made redundant from Transwide in 2014. Ellie, I’d like you to start going through it. We’ll need background checks on any red flags.’
‘There are certain people you can eliminate,’ George said. ‘You don’t need to check the women, or any who are currently under the age of twenty-nine, or over the age of sixty-five, as they’re unlikely to be our perp.’
‘Thanks, George. Narrowing it down should make it a bit easier,’ Whitney said. ‘Ellie will need help, so I want half of you to continue working on identifying the potential train targets, and the other half working on the list of people made redundant.’
‘Is it really worth the effort, considering the lapse in time since Transwide let these people go and when the murders started?’ Vic asked.
‘Do you have any other ideas?’ Whitney asked.
‘No,’ he said.
‘If I may interrupt,’ George said, resting a hand on Whitney’s arm. ‘The desire for revenge can fester in a person. It could be that something happened to this man which tipped the balance between wanting revenge and actually seeking it. It makes sense to consider this in our investigation if we have the resources to do so.’
‘You heard the doctor. Let’s do it,’ Whitney said.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Friday, 21 June
Two more days and I’m done with Lenchester. Then I need to decide where I’m going to next. So many areas to choose from. If Transwide had cared as much about the people they employed as they did about their profits, then none of this would’ve happened.
But no, they allowed their greed to interfere, and we all know what happens to greedy people.
They lose out in the end.
The old bugger I killed last time proved to be difficult. I’ve no idea why he was resistant to being sedated, as I used the same amount of chloroform I’d done in the past. As for when he bit me, luckily, I was wearing gloves, so none of my blood seeped through. Not having my DNA means they’re no closer to catching me than before.
