by Helen Cox
Looking back across at Ruby, Kitt noticed, perhaps for the first time, how short the old woman was. How small, and fragile she looked. Those weren’t usually words she’d associate with Ruby but, for some reason, that’s how she looked to her now. Though she didn’t appreciate Mal trying to speak for her on a professional matter, he was right about this killer being savvier than most. The police had tried to protect the latest victim and failed. Kitt conceded that she might fail too, but she had to try. If she didn’t try to solve this case then it was beyond reasonable doubt that in eleven days poor Ruby would be dead.
Two
Sitting at her desk at Hartley and Edwards Detective Agency, which comprised a rented office space just beyond Walmgate Bar, Kitt rubbed her eyes and scanned the bookshelves that lined the walls.
When she and Grace had moved into this space at the end of last year, Mal had teased her that he had never seen a detective agency look so much like a library. He had made the same joke about her cottage too, before he had eventually moved in with her there. Kitt had, naturally enough, argued that the books at the office were essential reference materials on profiling criminals, investigative technique and historical case studies but, in truth, a lot of the information was available online or in podcast form. After making a second home for herself at the Vale of York University Library over the last decade, however, Kitt simply found books comforting. In books you could find escape, solace and often much-needed answers. A heartening thought when a friend’s life hung in the balance.
Sadly, there was no time to delve into those comforting tomes just at this moment. Their investigative research had started, as it always did, by collating the most recent information and working backwards, which meant printing off the latest news reports and combing them for connections.
‘Is that the lot of them?’ Kitt said, glancing at the small pile of papers Grace had printed out.
‘That’s everything from what I’d call reputable sources,’ said Grace. ‘A worrying number of them are more about the impact on local tourism than they are about the tragic loss of the victims. I know having a serial killer on the loose has hardly been good for Yorkshire tourism but it’s still a bit sad.’
Kitt pursed her lips. ‘I know, I’ve seen quite a few articles like that while the case has been going on. I don’t know quite when it happened, when people started caring more about money made than lives saved, but it’s not a particularly attractive colour on us. That said, running the agency business has been no picnic and it’s just a side hustle. Anyone losing money from their livelihood over this must be pretty scared right now.’
‘I know. Whoever made the rule that we need money to live?’ said Grace.
Kitt was about to answer by offering some recommendations for books on the history of capitalism but, it seemed, Grace had seen her coming.
‘Not a genuine question! It’s too late for a mini-lecture on the unjust financial structure of our society. Come on, we’d better get logged onto Zoom.’
Kitt glanced at the clock. It was just after midnight. She and Grace had been trawling news coverage pertaining to the Vampire Killer for almost five hours. There had been an intimidating amount of information to work through and in their initial scan they had made very few connections. Their focus had been on organizing the information for further scrutiny in order to formulate a list of possible motives and suspects. Ordinarily, after all this research and given the late hour, Kitt would have wanted nothing more than to climb into bed and wrap her arms around Halloran. When she returned home, however, she had no idea what kind of reception would be waiting for her. A late-night Zoom call with her twin sister Rebecca was as good an excuse as any for delaying the inevitable sequel to their earlier argument.
Rebecca was a doctor at a hospital up in Northumberland and had agreed to chat with Kitt during her break on the night shift. Unlike the police, Kitt didn’t have immediate access to a pathologist. Her sister was the closest approximation and Kitt was hoping she might be able to shed some light on what was causing the strange red marks on the victims’ necks. Perhaps if they could determine the weapon the killer favoured, it would provide a link to his – or her – true identity.
As prompted by Grace, Kitt logged into Zoom, then said to her, ‘You don’t have to stay for this, you know. You probably didn’t have any grand Thursday night plans but you’ve got the drive back to Leeds yet. No point in you hanging around to the early hours. I can catch you up on what Becca says tomorrow.’
‘I don’t mind,’ Grace said, though she stifled a yawn as she did so. ‘I am a bit tired but even when I do climb into bed, I’m unlikely to sleep much after today’s events. Anyroad, I could do with a bit of a distraction in general, to be honest.’
‘Patrick took the girl from the coffee shop out on a second date then?’
‘You guessed it. You win tonight’s star prize,’ said Grace.
Last autumn, Kitt and Grace had solved the case surrounding the disappearance of Patrick’s fiancée, Jodie. During this time, Grace had developed quite the ill-advised crush on him. Though she was doing her best to keep things light it was obvious she was cut up that, after everything she’d seen him through, he’d decided to go out with someone else.
‘I wouldn’t take something like that personally,’ said Kitt. ‘The likelihood is that being around you just reminds him of everything he went through with Jodie.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Grace. ‘I thought about that. Suppose I can’t blame him for wanting to put as much distance between himself and bad memories of the past as he can.’
‘The past is a difficult thing to let go of sometimes,’ said Kitt, thinking again about Halloran’s obstinate reactions back at the crime scene. When they had met, she had been a full-time librarian. Though she had ended up helping out with the case Halloran had been working on, there had been no hints back then that she was going to become a professional private investigator. Now, she still worked part-time at the library on a Friday and Saturday, but for the rest of the week she was concerned with building her PI business. Because of this, she had undoubtedly increased her chances of brushing up against people and situations that might remind Halloran of his difficult history. Had she unwittingly put her relationship with him in jeopardy?
Fortunately, there wasn’t time for Kitt to formulate an opinion on that as Rebecca’s name flashed up on the computer screen, prompting Kitt to focus once again on more pressing matters. She admitted her sister to the meeting and waited for the audio and video function to kick in.
‘Hi, Becca,’ Kitt said as she and Grace huddled a bit closer around the computer.
‘Are you sure you two are twins?’ said Grace, looking between Kitt and the computer screen. ‘Identical twins, like?’
Rebecca at once started chuckling. She and Kitt got this almost every time they introduced each other to friends. Rebecca, with her pixie-cropped hair, dyed baby-pink, no less, and tattoos peeking out from the ends of her sleeves, probably didn’t look like a relation of Kitt’s to most casual observers. But those who took the time to properly assess the pair would notice the same ice blue eyes. The same freckles around the nose. The same sharp tapering of their faces near the chin. The differences between them were purely cosmetic.
‘No, we’re not identical twins,’ Kitt said, her tone arid. ‘I just go around telling people I have an identical twin for fun.’
Grace frowned for a moment and then, on catching Kitt’s raised eyebrows, processed the mockery.
‘You’ve just got very different styles, that’s all,’ said Grace.
‘And you’re the very first person to ever point that out,’ said Rebecca.
‘I see you’ve got identical sarcasm,’ said Grace. ‘Now I see the resemblance.’
Rebecca laughed at Grace’s cheek, probably because she didn’t have to endure it day in, day out, while Kitt shook her head at her assistant.
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br /> ‘So,’ Grace said, taking Kitt’s response as a cue to move the conversation on. ‘Thanks for Zooming mid-shift about this. We really appreciate any insight you can offer.’
‘You’re all right,’ said Rebecca. ‘I’m sorry to hear about your friend. She must be feeling pretty vulnerable right now, all things considered. Will she have police protection or something?’
‘When I last spoke to Ruby, she said Mal had arranged for her to go to a safe house. Though how safe the safe house will be with Ruby in it is up for debate,’ said Kitt.
‘From the sound of things, she’s a bit of a character,’ said Rebecca.
‘That’s an understatement,’ said Kitt, wondering how DS Redmond and DC Wilkinson, who were taking shifts at the safe house, were faring. Kitt wagered that they’d be more pleased than Ruby when the eleven days were up. ‘But her own house is a crime scene at present and even if it wasn’t, we were all in agreement that staying at her own property would basically make her a sitting duck.’
‘I’m glad they’ve got somewhere for her to stay, sounds like the more she can fly under the radar the better,’ said Rebecca.
‘Flying under the radar isn’t exactly Ruby’s strong suit, but the police will do all they can for her while the investigation is under way. Something that helps from the outset is getting a sense of what kind of weapon or method the killer uses. The police have tried to compartmentalize as much information as they can but quite a bit has leaked out through friends and neighbours of the victims talking to the press. The cause of death in those targeted so far has been suffocation but they are also left with these strange red marks on their neck. A jar of the victims’ blood has been found at each crime scene, so the police are pretty confident that the marks come from draining the victims’ blood.’
‘All right, let’s not dwell too long on that bit,’ Grace said.
‘Yes, all right, I share that sentiment,’ said Kitt. ‘It’s also been reported that the victims have all had traces of the drug Xylazine in their system. I’ve looked it up and apparently it’s a sedative most commonly used on animals.’
‘That’s right,’ said Rebecca. ‘If I had to guess, I’d say the killer is likely using it to sedate his victims while he draws their blood, before then suffocating them.’
‘Do you have any idea what implement might have been used for that?’ said Kitt.
‘Without seeing close-up photographs of the wound it’s difficult to draw any sound conclusions, but my first guess would be some kind of needle. Something akin to those used when blood is donated.’
‘So, this could be the work of somebody who has access to medical supplies?’ said Grace.
‘Is the use of needles alone enough to suggest that?’ asked Kitt.
‘No,’ Rebecca conceded. ‘But like any of these cases, if you scour the Internet enough you find gory details the average person doesn’t want to read about. I had a go at that before the call to see what I could find out and the red marks weren’t on any random place across the neck. They were carefully placed on the jugular vein.’
‘Is that bad, like?’ asked Grace. ‘I must admit it doesn’t sound good but then nothing that involves the word vein ever sounds good don’t you think—’
‘Grace . . .’
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. Tired.’
Rebecca smiled. Kitt wagered Grace’s antics were welcome comic relief next to whatever she was dealing with on the night shift. Though Grace could be trying at times, Kitt wouldn’t switch places with her sister. The second-hand stories were more than enough all by themselves.
‘It’s good for the killer and bad for the victim,’ said Rebecca. ‘Jugular veins are the major veins in the neck. If the killer doesn’t have a medical background then he’s done his research. He’s looked up exactly where to draw the blood from. It’s not just a random act. That said, the marks suggest either that the killer is not a professional and has made a real mess of things when drawing the blood or, in the worst-case scenario, that they did know what they were doing but purposefully made those marks on the victim.’
‘Given the symbol left on the victims’ doors, there’s a good chance it could be the latter,’ said Kitt. ‘He seems to want to leave clear signs that it’s the same perpetrator in every case. So, that’s a helpful starting point, thank you.’
‘It’s just a theory,’ said Rebecca.
‘At this stage of an investigation, with so little evidence, everything is a theory,’ said Kitt. ‘Can you think of anything else that might have made those kind of marks?’
‘Well, there are variations on the needle theme,’ Rebecca explained. ‘From the way the wound is described in the media coverage it sounds as though the weapon used is long and thin. So something like those long, tough needles people use to sew leather, or maybe even an acupuncture needle.’
‘Aren’t acupuncture needles too thin to leave a mark?’ said Kitt.
Rebecca shook her head. ‘If the person isn’t trying to leave a mark, and knows what they are doing, there wouldn’t be a mark. But acupuncture needles are still sharp and penetrating. If you wanted to do visible damage with one you could.’
‘But it wouldn’t be the easiest way to make those marks?’ said Grace.
‘Probably not,’ Rebecca conceded. ‘Perhaps more likely it would be some kind of workshop tool that was long and thin – or something like an ice pick or even a kebab skewer – though if they used something like that, rather than the proper medical equipment, the crime scene would be more gruesome than the finale to Reservoir Dogs.’
‘I’m not sure exactly what the crime scenes looked like,’ said Kitt.
‘But surely it’s easier to come by something like a leatherwork needle or an ice pick than a medical needle without anyone catching on to what you’re up to?’ said Grace.
‘It all depends on if the killer has a medical background or access to medical supplies,’ said Rebecca.
‘This is a real help, thanks, Becca,’ said Kitt, making a list of all the things Rebecca had mentioned. She added a bookbinding awl to the list as her own contribution. She doubted this would have been considered a likely weapon by the other two participants in the conversation but it was long, thin and sharp so, as far as Kitt was concerned, shouldn’t be discounted.
‘Not a problem. But, bit of advice? Don’t tell our mam you’re working this case, eh? She worries enough about you already and given that the first killing took place in Boro, not five miles from their doorstep, this one’s close to home as it is.’
‘Noted,’ said Kitt. ‘I sympathise with their reaction. With the second murder taking place in Scarborough and the third in Malton, everyone in York has been looking over their shoulder too. Silly really, given how the marks on the door serve as a warning to the victims. It’s unlikely, now that we know what those marks mean, that anyone will be taken by surprise. I’ll make sure I wait until I’ve successfully brought the killer down before telling Mam anything about it.’
‘Modest, as always,’ Rebecca said with a smile, but then it faded. ‘One of my Facebook friends knew the first victim. Boro is hardly a safe haven but I’ve never known anything like this to happen.’
‘I know,’ said Kitt, picking up one of the news reports they’d printed off. ‘Anna Hayes, she was only thirty-seven. She ran a local coven – that was her link to the occult. The other two victims had links to the occult too, of course, which is part of the killer’s MO. From what I understand, the police didn’t even realize Anna’s door had been marked until after the second murder had been committed because she’d cleaned the mark off.’
‘She will have just thought it was a local kid with a spray can,’ said Rebecca. ‘That’s what I would’ve thought, anyway. I wouldn’t have thought it was a sign that a serial killer had singled me out, and the police don’t have the resources to investigate vandalism now, even if you di
d report it as suspicious activity.’
Grace shook her head. ‘Horrible to think it, isn’t it? That being house proud could have cost you your life, or someone else’s theirs? If the mark had still been on the door when the first victim was killed, the police would have been able to release the information to the public and when the mark was made on the second door the second victim would have known it was important to contact the authorities.’
‘The killer has been lucky up until now,’ said Kitt. ‘But I’m hoping to put an end to that.’
‘Well, your track record is strong,’ said Rebecca. ‘But watch yer back, eh? This killer, whoever they are, is creepy as hell in their methods, and I’d imagine in person too.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Kitt. ‘I’ll tread carefully.’
With that, Kitt and Rebecca said their goodbyes and Kitt ended the meeting before looking at Grace.
‘I think that’s enough for tonight. I’ve made a list of all the long, thin objects I can think of—’
Kitt was interrupted by Grace’s sniggering.
‘For goodness sake, has Evie sent her spirit out on you or something?’ Kitt’s best friend Evie wasn’t one to let even a single innuendo pass unacknowledged. Grace had spent an increasing amount of time in her company over the last couple of years and there were clear signs that Evie’s unsavoury influence was rubbing off on her. ‘Get your mind out of the gutter, will you?’
‘It’s less fun than when it’s in the gutter, but OK.’
‘We’ll do our best to add any other ideas to the list tomorrow. We need to keep our minds open about what might have made those puncture marks on the victims’ necks. Then we can draw up a list of suspects, people who are likely to have access to those objects and . . .’
‘What? What is it?’ Grace said, following Kitt’s gaze down to the pile of newspaper clippings sitting on the desk.
Kitt put her hands on one particular article, which led with a large photograph of a cordoned off crime scene in one of the backstreets in Scarborough. ‘That man, there. In the black T-shirt, holding a phone. I’ve seen him somewhere else. Have you got any clippings from the Malton and Middlesbrough crime scenes?’
