by Clare Revell
She did so with trembling fingers. “The package was dated two days ago. That’s when he went missing.” A horrid, gnawing scream built inside her, but she tamped it down. “That’s the same timeframe as the post cards.”
“Coincidence, nothing more.” Zander glanced at Harry. “Humour me and check with missing persons. We know the first two girls were reported missing. Find out if the others were. Or when they were last seen. Isabel and I are going on a cat hunt. We may be some time.”
Isabel slid her handbag onto her shoulder and tucked the evidence bags in her pocket. “We’ll drop these off on the way. Jason, you look annoyed. What’s up?”
Jason August threw his pen onto the desk. Charged with monitoring the tip line, he was the newest member of the squad. “And with good reason. I heard back from the tech people. They got a match on the tip line voice.”
Isabel smiled. “So why does that upset you? That’s great. Means we’re one step closer to catching whoever is killing all these women.”
“Well, it would be if some idiot down there hadn’t left a magnet by the system.” Jason’s scowl deepened. “It’s all gone. Oh, they’re trying to recover the data, but the tape’s been wiped completely clean. DI Holmes will kill me when he finds out.”
“It’s hardly your fault, unless you’re the idiot in question.” Zander chuckled. “Tell you what. You should leave a note on the Guv’s desk, asking him to ring the tech blokes for the results.”
“That is wicked,” Isabel told him. “And that’s not wicked in a good way either.”
“I know.” Zander glanced at the clock. “Besides, he won’t be back before Jason leaves for the night. So, he’ll have to leave a note.”
“The package with the cat collar in it was delivered by internal mail same as always,” Austin said.
“So, who knows I work here?” Isabel wondered aloud. “And why send it here rather than home?” The thought it was the same bloke, the Slayer, crossed her mind and she shivered. She tied her hair back into a ponytail. “Let’s just look for Mr. T. But you’re checking the kitchen at my place. I’m not doing it.”
Zander’s eyes widened. “Why? Oh, are you thinking bunny boiler?”
“It fits with my stalker.” She pursed her lips. “Random thought. How about I get my hair cut? That way it’s not long like all the murder victims.”
“Just dye it orange,” Austin suggested. “Or have purple streaks put in it.”
Zander snorted. “I can see it now. The problem is the Guv won’t approve. Besides your stalker has backed off. Anyway, Farrell wouldn’t dare come anywhere near you now.”
“Oh, I wasn’t thinking Farrell. The Slayer knows where I work, and where I live. Apparently.”
Zander scowled. “Maybe the Guv has a point. He wants you in protective custody.”
“Not happening.” Still quivering inside but determined not to show it she tugged the bags containing the collar and envelope from her pocket and offered them to Austin. “Can you get these to the lab? I just want to get out and find him before it’s too late.”
“Sure. I’ll do it now.”
“Thank you.” She leaned over her desk and scribbled a note to check break-ins next time she was here.
“Ready?”
“Yeah.” She followed Zander from the room and headed for the stairs. She much preferred stairs to a lift or escalator any day.
“Maybe…I don’t know…” her partner’s voice echoed in the stairwell, “maybe you should come live with me until all this is over.”
She glanced back at Zander. “Really? I can see how that’ll work. Living together. Working together. Going to church together. If Rosa isn’t jealous enough already, she will be by the time she learns about that.”
“At least think about it.” He winked. “You wouldn’t be late for work again.”
Isabel snorted. “Hah. You mean you wouldn’t be.”
He laughed as they exited the stairs and swiped out of the building. “Well, there is that.”
“See I knew there was a reason behind this sudden desire for me to move in. And it’s not simply about keeping me safe.”
“Well, it’s not your tea and coffee making skills that’s for sure.” He bolted down the front steps and around to the car park before she could react.
6
There was still no sign of Mr. T when Zander arrived to collect her for work at seven forty-five the following morning. Isabel had spent a sleepless night worrying about the cat and searching the house again for him.
“Where are you, kitty?” She shook the bag of treats one last time, and then glanced at Zander. “You suppose he’s over there? Run in and got stuck kind of thing?”
Zander followed her finger to the ruins of Gran’s house on the opposite side of the street. “I doubt it.” His phone beeped. Tugging it from his pocket he read quickly. “It’s the Guv. George Harmon was picked up by police in the Highlands of Scotland late last night. He was trying to board a ferry to Ireland.”
“Are they sending him back?”
“Yes, at some point.”
“Do we have to go get him? We could have a field trip. I’ve always wanted to go to the Highlands.”
“The Guv is working out the details now.”
“OK.” Isabel glanced around. “Mr. T., if you come in right now this second there’s a treat in it for you. Otherwise you’ll be locked out all day with no food. Again. I mean it.”
Still no cat appeared. Where was the wretched animal? He’d slipped his collar before, that was nothing new, but normally it was lying in the garden, not posted to her work.
“OK. Tell you what.” She dumped the entire pack of treats on the doorstep and locked the door. “I’m going now.” She took a step. “Last chance.”
Zander laughed. “Grace does that with the kids when they’re being awkward and refusing to move. Or she’ll count to five and end up with a four point one, four point two all the way up to four point nine-five.”
Isabel headed down the path to the car, pausing at the dustbin to toss the empty treat packet. “I want to look at all the paintings today. Something is bugging me about them. Do we have postcards of them yet?”
“Nope. That’s on the to-do list for today.”
“We should do it on the way in. The gallery opens at eight, and I’ll wait in the car.”
Zander unlocked the car. “Sure. What are you thinking?”
“Just a hunch.” She climbed in and shut the door.
Zander drove to the art gallery and parked outside on the yellow line leaving his hazard lights on.
Isabel sat and waited, hoping a traffic warden didn’t turn up, although it would have been amusing if Zander got ticketed for it. Finally, after fifteen minutes he reappeared, blood on his shirt. She frowned. “Either you and Farrell got into a fight or you had another nosebleed.”
“Bit of both.” He swiped at his nose with a tissue. “It’ll stop in a sec. Here are the postcards you wanted. That’s all ten of them.”
“Thank you.” She took the paper package and slid it into her handbag.
He started the car. “So, what are you thinking?”
“Something’s not right about the paintings we found. I want to compare them with the originals.”
Zander snorted. “Something isn’t right with any of them, to be honest. They are creepy and not the kind of thing a kid should be painting.”
“You need to get out more.” Isabel leaned back in the seat and looked out of the window. “Check out all the street art in town. Talk to the kids in the schools. They see enough violence in those video games and online for it to carry through into their artwork.”
“Kids need to be kids again,” he said bluntly. “Play out in the streets until the streetlights come on. Play football and chase and pick flowers and make mud pies and do all the stuff we used to do. Not spend all day hunched over a phone or game console. Oh, and read. I love reading.”
Isabel glanced at him. “Really? Never pegged
you as a book bloke. What do you read?”
“Naval books, action, thrillers. Something I can dive into and get lost in.”
She nodded. “Same, although I am partial to romance as well. But romance with an edge. Not a simple, ‘they meet, they break up, they get back together’, though that is good sometimes. But I like the suspense ones, where, yes, they fall in love, but they are fighting for their lives at the same time.”
“Good job we’re not living in a book,” he said, stopping at a red light. “Because I have no intentions of complicating things by falling in love with my partner. I want to talk to the painter again. But without Farrell Vixen around or knowing about it. I don’t want him briefing the kid on what to say.”
Isabel turned back to the window. “Well, his sister was assaulted. You could use that as an angle to start with. Ask about Susan’s boyfriend and go from there. But obviously not yet, as we’re not officially on the clock.”
Zander drove to the nick and parked the car. “Go on in. I’ll be up in a few.”
“OK.” Isabel headed inside and took the stairs up to the squad room. She took out the paper bag of postcards. She eased into the chair, locking her handbag in the bottom desk drawer. She pulled her list across the desk and ran her finger down it. Groan. Locksmith. She meant to do that last night.
Maybe she should move to a new house. Give up her lease and find somewhere else. Might be easier in the long run. Better call now before she forgot again and make sure she was there when the bloke arrived. She stabbed the digits on her phone with the tip of her pencil. It was a bad sign when you knew the locksmith’s number by heart. “Hi, this is DC York. I was wondering if I could have my locks changed again, please. Someone came out and did them the other week?” She waved at Zander as he came in. “Yes, ten-thirty is fine. Thank you.” She hung up.
“Working already?” Zander sat in his chair and swung on it.
“That’s what they pay me for,” she retorted.
He looked at her, eyes wide, mock shock on his face. “They pay you? Really? I do this for love.”
Isabel marked locksmith off the list. “Then you’re crazy. Insist on being paid this month. It helps with the bills. I’ve arranged a locksmith to be at mine later this morning. Could you take me back there for that?”
“Sure.”
DI Holmes swept in. “Morning.” His piercing eyes narrowed as he saw Zander. “Is that blood?”
Zander stood. “Nosebleed on the way in. Just going to change.”
DI Holmes sighed. “Isabel, make him a doctor’s appointment this morning and ensure he goes.”
Isabel grinned. “It’ll be my pleasure.” She waggled her eyebrows at her partner. “Oh, how the tables turn.”
“I’ll make the appointment myself.”
“Give Isabel the number and she can do it. I need to see you in my office. Then you can change.”
Zander hissed in obvious irritation but scribbled a phone number down before following DI Holmes into his office.
Isabel made the call and was pleasantly surprised to get an appointment later that same morning. Something that never happened with her own GP. She made a note of the time and then opened the small bag containing the postcards. She leafed through them, frowning. There was something not right about any of them, but what? She gathered the cards and rose. “Sarge, can you tell Zander I’ve gone down to the evidence lock-up to check something.”
DS Philips frowned. “Briefing in fifteen.”
“This can’t wait. I have my phone.” She paused. “If I wanted to talk to someone about a surveillance camera, someone in-house, who would be the best person?”
“Fred in the tech department. He did all the ones in here.”
“Thanks.” Isabel retrieved her handbag and shoved the zebra into it, along with the bag of postcards. She slid her phone into her pocket, left the squad room and trotted up the stairs to the tech department on the top floor.
Fred caught on quickly and converted the zebra in only a few minutes.
She returned the toy to her bag and trotted back down the stairs to the evidence lock-up in the basement. She showed her ID and was taken to the room where the paintings were stored. Making sure the door was closed and all the lights were on, Isabel lined up the paintings in a row and studied them.
She checked each one against the corresponding postcard. What was it? Something was off but…then she saw it. Like one of those hidden item puzzles, once she’d seen it, her gaze was drawn to it in every painting. She shuddered and tugged her phone free. “Zander, it’s me.”
“Where are you? Can’t see you in the office. I’m still with the Guv.”
“Evidence lock-up. You need to get down here, now. Better bring everyone with you.” She hung up before he could argue, and opened the camera app. She took a photo of each painting, taking a close up of the addition.
Two minutes later, clattering feet alerted her to the arrival of the team.
“Well?” DI Holmes asked.
Isabel pointed to the paintings. “These postcards are the originals as done by Dominic Higgins. These are the paintings we found. They are the originals, but each has a very creepy addition.” She pointed to the middle of the first painting. “It took me until now to see it. Well, to be honest, I first spotted it in the most recent one recovered.” She pointed to the final painting. “See?”
DI Holmes peered. “Eyes.”
“Yes. There’s a pair of blue eyes in every painting, but they aren’t on the original postcards or in the brochure. It has to have been added by the thief. It could be the same person.”
“You’re saying the art thief and Slayer are one and the same,” Zander said.
“Has to be. The eyes prove the killer is watching them.”
“Unless Dominic Higgins added them before the paintings were stolen.” Austin frowned. “Because that would make this whole case even creepier than it already is.”
“Isabel and I were going to re-interview Mr. Higgins this morning anyway,” Zander interjected. “So, we’ll ask him then.”
“That reminds me.” Isabel turned to her partner. “Your doctor’s appointment is nine forty-five. We’ll go see him after that.” She stared at the painting and shivered.
“You OK, Isabel?” DI Holmes asked.
“Those eyes are very familiar, Guv. I’ve seen them before.”
“In every painting,” Harry pointed out. “Maybe they got into your subconscious.”
“Maybe.” She bit her lip. “But I don’t think so.” She touched the painting through the evidence bag. “I know them.”
“Maybe you know the killer,” DS Philips said.
“Yeah, right,” she scoffed. “I could do you a list of all, ohh, three men I know, and you can go arrest them on suspicion of being the Slayer.”
DI Holmes smirked. “Well, I could, but there are eight of us men here with you right now.”
Isabel snorted. “Do we have that many cells? Besides, these eyes are blue. You don’t all have blue eyes.”
Austin laughed. “I’m sure I can find a dank, dark cell to put the Guv in.”
Everyone laughed as DI Holmes held his hands out to be cuffed.
Zander shook his head. “Did you call the locksmith?”
“Yes. He’s coming at half past ten.”
DI Holmes frowned at her. “Locksmith?”
She swallowed. Why so nervous every time he asked her something or questioned something she’d done? “Yes, sir. The notebook had to have been taken from my flat. I’m just being safe here. At least, I assume it was taken from there. There was nothing else missing or out of place, but it did get me thinking.”
“Go on…” DI Holmes glanced at the open door. “Actually, hold that thought. Let’s go back upstairs. We can shut ourselves in there.”
Five minutes later, everyone was sitting in the squad room. Isabel carefully put the zebra back in his space on her desk making sure no one noticed. Zander came in last, shut the door, and sat
at his desk.
DI Holmes turned to Isabel. “You were saying?”
“All six girls are found wearing matching underwear beneath the matching gowns. At first, we thought nothing of it, but all six is more than a coincidence. It’s the Jerrica balconette, underwired lacy bra with matching knickers. All are red. Now Zander and I checked this out, and it’s not the cheapest lingerie. However according to Arend, each bra and knicker set is a perfect fit. Once is a good guess, twice maybe, but six times? No way.”
Austin raised an eyebrow. “I’m pretty good at guessing sizes.”
She looked at him. “Really? Then what is Zander’s collar size?”
Austin ran his gaze over Zander for a moment. “I’d say a medium.”
“Cop out. I said collar size, not shirt size.”
“Hmm. OK, then. 16R.”
Zander shook his head. “I’m a small and a 14R.”
Isabel waved her hands. “As I said, predicting size isn’t easy. We tracked down the shop and spoke to one of the assistants. They sold ten sets of this particular style of lingerie to the same customer—a cash buyer—in ten different sizes on March third. The same man, we assume, also bought enough expensive white towels to make the girls robes. Also paying cash so it couldn’t be traced.”
“How much cash are we talking here?” DI Holmes wrote on the incident board.
“A lot.” Isabel pulled up the file on her computer. “Thirty towels at twenty-seven quid each works out at 810 quid. The ten sets of lingerie were bought as separates, because trust me, your knicker size never ever matches your bra size.”
DS Philips laughed. “Oh, yeah, I’ve made that mistake a few times.”
Isabel grinned. “So, the bras are twenty-seven quid each, knickers are ten.” She paused. “No, I don’t buy mine from there.”
“Thirty-seven quid per set?” Austin whistled. “I can get a pack of five boxers for seven quid.”
“Not talking supermarket own brand,” she told him. “And these aren’t the top of the range either. So that’s 270 for the bras, 100 for the knickers, giving us a total of 370 for the lingerie, plus the 810 quid for the towels. Makes a grand total of…”
