A Cut for a Cut (Detective Kate Young)

by Carol Wyer

  ‘In truth, it’s out of my jurisdiction. I wouldn’t be allowed to follow it up, only pass it on to the appropriate unit. If you’re determined to go down that route, then take it to them yourself, tell them what you and Chris found out.’

  She hunted in her bag for the journal and pushed it across the table towards him. ‘I think you and Chris spent a great deal of time amassing this information and I’m sure it could be very useful to you.’

  A small crease appeared between his brows. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘You’re happy for me to delve further, even write about this if my editor agrees?’

  ‘Yes, although there is one caveat.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Be careful about how much and what you divulge. Some of the people named in here have a great deal of influence.’

  He waved his hand airily. ‘Like I care about that.’

  ‘You should. Look at what happened to Chris.’

  The eager, hungry look on his face vanished in an instant. ‘Shit! Sorry. I didn’t mean—’

  She shook off his apology. ‘It’s fine. You must be cautious. When cornered, powerful people can be extremely dangerous.’

  ‘I’ll make sure I cover my back.’ He slipped the journal into a canvas satchel.

  Jeanette called out, ‘Dan, your bacon sandwich is ready.’

  He shouted back his thanks and got up. ‘Should I contact you about anything relating to this?’

  ‘No, do whatever you feel fit with it. Do what Chris would have done. I have to get off too. Good luck, Dan.’

  ‘You too.’ He raced off to collect his breakfast and Kate left him deep in conversation with the van owner.

  Jamie was working, with a cling-filmed sandwich and an open can of Coke on his desk. ‘Morning, guv.’

  ‘Morning.’

  He shifted position to face her. ‘About yesterday evening and that business with Morgan. I was a bit stressed, what with a few money issues and the new baby due in a few months and Zach—’

  ‘You don’t need to apologise to me.’

  ‘I was out of order. It won’t happen again.’

  She brushed it away with a wave of her hand.

  ‘Sophie’s found the move to Stoke harder than we expected and lately, Zach’s been playing her up.’

  She waited in case he wanted to unburden himself further, but footsteps sounded in the corridor and Jamie turned away. Within seconds, Morgan bowled through the door.

  ‘Morning, Kate. Okay, Jamie? Let’s take a look at you then.’ When Jamie faced him, Morgan made a show of studying him then chuckled. ‘No black eyes. You got off with a tongue-wagging, did you?’

  ‘That’s actually not funny,’ said Jamie.

  ‘Only trying to lighten the mood, mate,’ Morgan replied.

  Kate winced. He’d done the opposite. Any apology Jamie might have offered would not materialise now. She was about to intervene and dissipate any feelings of animosity, when Emma arrived.

  ‘Hi. I’ve brought us a treat. Greg’s girlfriend’s been making cakes and she’s a wicked baker. These are melt-in-the-mouth, to-die-for brownies. She’s baked enough for an entire army so, here you go, Morgan. Try and leave a couple for us.’ She handed him the plastic box, accompanied by a grin. The mood shifted.

  Kate used the moment to bring everyone back on track. ‘Thanks, Emma. Right, we still have loads of follow-up calls from last night’s broadcasts to get through.’

  Morgan popped the lid on the box. ‘These look delicious. Here, grumpy guts.’ He passed the box to Jamie, who took one without comment. ‘I thought we’d handled all the calls from Richard Dean’s appeal.’ He picked up a cake and took a bite.

  ‘There are still a couple of people to follow up. One of them saw a motorbike pass through the village on Friday evening,’ said Emma. She searched through her notes and stabbed at a name. ‘Mr Procter. He’s dropping by first thing this morning.’

  ‘And do we have many calls left to chase up from the crime reconstruction?’ asked Kate.

  ‘At least a dozen,’ said Jamie.

  Morgan emptied his mouth. ‘I still don’t see why we had to attend that. I didn’t spot anyone in the crowd.’

  Kate wasn’t going to cover the same old ground again. ‘We’ll divide the names on the list among us and that way, we’ll get through them more quickly.’ She crossed the room to Jamie’s desk to collect the details, each on separate notes. ‘I maintain our killer isn’t a novice. These aren’t frenzied attacks. The victims are deliberately chosen, their routines observed. How else would the killer know where and when to lie in wait for them? I’m sure whoever committed these crimes has assaulted or raped before Friday. He might even have previous form.’

  ‘I go along with that theory. Serial killers often start small and build up. They maim animals or have offended in their youth. Same goes for rapists. They’re likely to be stalkers or flashers before they begin raping,’ said Morgan.

  Emma nodded in agreement.

  Kate’s eyes rested on the board containing the photographs of the victims. It was a speculative long shot, but what other options were left open to her at present? ‘Morgan, can you look back at old cases in Staffordshire, involving rape or assault on women, especially those where the victim received a blow to the neck or was threatened or attacked with a weapon? Anything that resembles this perpetrator’s MO.’

  Jamie placed his uneaten brownie on a notepad. ‘Guv, I understand the logic of your arguments, but what if this perpetrator has never been caught before? Many rapes don’t get reported and Laura could be his first actual murder victim. He might even not be from this area or even from this country, making it impossible to work out who he is.’

  Morgan snapped, ‘If you’ve got any better suggestions, we’re all ears.’

  ‘No, I haven’t. I was voicing an opinion. I thought that’s what went on in this team, or is anyone under the rank of DS expected to hold their tongue?’

  Morgan puffed out his chest, the alpha male displaying his prowess, then checked himself before locking horns with Jamie. ‘Fair point. I concede.’

  ‘Jamie, I’ve already considered those very thoughts; however, unless we get a lead, we’re scratching around and I have to pursue every avenue I can come up with. It’s imperative we get leverage on this investigation, so if we can turn up something by looking through old cases, it’d be worth it,’ said Kate. ‘Emma, are there many martial arts clubs, centres and gyms in the area? This guy must keep up his training somewhere.’

  ‘Loads. I’m still looking into them.’

  Kate wrinkled her nose. She’d hoped there would only be a few. It would be a huge help if they could get a description of the perpetrator. ‘Okay. Stick at it. And for the time being, carry on following up the calls. Any more questions or concerns?’

  ‘I’m cool with it all,’ said Morgan. ‘Jamie?’

  ‘Nah. Fine.’

  ‘To work, then,’ said Kate. She glanced at the first name on her list and dialled the number. The man at the end of the phone was vague and unsure of what he’d seen. As was often the case, people were often well intentioned but not very observant. His description of the two young men sounded like the youths they’d already interviewed. She thanked him for his time. The second call was time-consuming and fruitless. By the time she’d ended it she was already experiencing defeat at such a fruitless task, until she noticed Jamie had spun round to face her and she spotted the fresh sparkle in his eyes.

  ‘I’ve come off a call to a woman who is certain she saw a motorcyclist smoking in Newbury Avenue car park, on Saturday at around five o’clock.’

  ‘Any description?’

  ‘Black helmet, black bike.’

  ‘But if he was smoking, surely he’d have removed his helmet?’

  ‘The visor was lifted and she couldn’t see his face, because he turned away from her when she drove past.’

  ‘Tall?’

  ‘Medium heigh
t.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘If he was smoking, there might be a cigarette butt around. I’ll check with Ervin. Emma, what time is your witness coming in?’

  ‘Mr Procter? He said it would be first thing, so any time soon.’

  ‘Well, that’s two separate sightings of a motorbike. Let me know when Mr Procter arrives and we’ll see if he can give us a clearer description.’ She rang the next name on the list, a jogger who thought he’d seen a woman matching Heather’s description with a man in a local pub, late on Saturday night. It would have to be checked out, although Kate was sure that by the time this witness spotted the couple, Heather was already dead.

  ‘Kate. He’s here,’ said Emma. Kate passed the task of looking into the possible pub sighting to Jamie and joined Emma to meet Mr Procter.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Brian Procter was straight-talking with clear indigo eyes, a chiselled jaw and cropped silver hair. He added intensity to his words by pausing and cocking his head at the end of every meaningful sentence. The science teacher was sure about what he’d seen, and Kate felt he was a trustworthy witness.

  ‘Would you mind repeating what you told DS Donaldson over the phone, please?’

  He shuffled into position, hands relaxed in his lap. ‘I left my house in Doveridge at seven o’clock on Friday evening, to visit my parents, who live in Blithbury. The most direct and quickest route is via Abbots Bromley and traffic was light in both directions. I was listening to an audiobook, possibly a little too intensely, and was surprised when a motorcyclist appeared from nowhere and overtook me at speed. I didn’t think anything of it at the time or when I saw it again in Abbots Bromley. The rider had stopped on the roadside, beside the restaurant car park. I wondered if the bike had broken down, but the rider didn’t dismount and I had to swing out into the road to pass by. I glanced at the biker but he or she looked away as I overtook them. I didn’t see the bike again.’

  ‘Where did the bike overtake you?’

  ‘Soon after the Willslock crossroads.’

  ‘Did it come from the same direction as you – Uttoxeter?’

  ‘I can’t be certain. It might have joined at the crossroads.’

  The junction he was referring to was only five minutes out of Uttoxeter, but if he was correct, the bike could have travelled along country lanes from almost any direction to reach the road in question.

  ‘Are you able to give us a description of the person or their bike?’

  ‘I know nothing about motorbikes. It was black and shiny.’

  ‘And the person riding it?’

  ‘Tricky to say because they were sitting down. Quite tall because their feet were flat on the ground and the bike was large. I’d guess about my height – six foot. They were dressed in a black leather jacket, grey jeans, black boots and a full helmet, so I didn’t see their face. I can’t be sure of their gender.’

  ‘What about build?’

  ‘Medium, although it was hard to tell because the jacket was shapeless.’

  ‘What about the bike’s registration? Did you notice it or any stickers on it that might help identify it?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘The bike didn’t have a registration plate?’

  ‘No, and that’s why I contacted you. My initial thought was that it might have fallen off, but after seeing the programme last night, I wondered if it had been deliberately removed.’

  ‘Was there anything else you thought strange?’

  ‘I can’t think of anything else.’

  ‘And you’re sure that the bike that overtook you was the same one you passed in Abbots Bromley?’

  ‘Unless there were two identical black bikes, both without number plates. I came here because I thought if you had some pictures of motorbikes, I might be able to pick out the one I saw.’

  ‘We can certainly try that.’

  ‘I have a photographic memory.’ He gave a small smile. ‘It can be useful at times.’

  Emma agreed to go through images of motorbikes with Brian, so Kate left them to it. He’d provided them with a potential lead. If they could get an idea of the make and model of the bike and run checks through CCTV footage, this could be promising. Kate was almost at the office when her mobile rang and she got the news she’d been waiting for. She immediately set aside all thoughts of the black bike and poked her head around the door. ‘Jamie, I need you to take over from Emma in interview room A. She’ll fill you in. Ask her to meet me in the car park. Olivia Sandman has regained consciousness and we’ve been granted permission to talk to her.’

  The sign on the door was written in large bold type. Nobody was to pass through to the ward without first putting on clean gowns and PPE equipment from the trolley outside. Kate told the police officer assigned to watching over Olivia to take a short break. Once they’d put on the PPE, she and Emma entered and waited by the nurses’ station. Nobody was behind the glass windows and a few minutes passed before a nurse came to their assistance. Kate explained the purpose of their visit and was met with expressive emerald eyes and a soft Irish lilt.

  ‘We were expecting you. Although Olivia keeps slipping in and out of consciousness, you are allowed to talk to her. However, I’ll have to remain there with you, to make sure she’s okay.’

  ‘Has she said anything yet?’ asked Kate.

  ‘Only confused mumbles. She’s still in a very poorly state.’ Her gown rustled with efficiency as she led the way to a private room.

  Kate crossed the threshold and halted. The beep, beep, beep of the heart monitor brought back memories of her father’s last days. Such beeping seemed to be a permanent audio-wallpaper for most wards. Kate had discovered not every alarm indicated a serious problem, as seemed to be the case here. The IV medication bag was almost empty and the nurse set about replacing it. Kate let her gaze fall on the dark-haired girl, lost under the white sheets. Her hair was scraped back from her pale forehead, the only part of her face not covered in a myriad of dark colours. Kate couldn’t see her lips, hidden by the oxygen mask, undoubtedly swollen from the brutal attack. A new bag was attached and the nurse beckoned Kate and Emma closer before saying, ‘Olivia, you have visitors. Can you hear me, Olivia?’

  Her eyelids fluttered.

  ‘Olivia, the police are here. They want to ask you a few questions.’ She stood to one side.

  Kate took a step closer. ‘Olivia, I’m Kate and this is Emma. We’re police officers.’

  The eyelids opened then shut again. For the briefest of moments, Kate had spied bloodshot eyes. She tried again. ‘Olivia, you’re in hospital. You were attacked. We want to find out who did this to you.’

  The girl managed to open her eyes once more, this time a little longer. Kate moved closer to her bedside. ‘Hi. I’m DI Kate Young.’

  This time the girl blinked and her head moved slightly from side to side. She let out a low groan.

  ‘You’re okay. You’re safe now. You’re in hospital.’

  The monitor indicated an increase in the girl’s heart rate.

  ‘Can you tell us anything about the man who hurt you?’ Kate asked.

  Olivia released another moan and the electronic noise amplified in conjunction with her accelerated heart rate. The nurse rushed forwards. ‘Sorry, but I’ll have to ask you to leave. This is too distressing for her.’ Olivia mumbled something.

  ‘One second,’ pleaded Kate, leaning in to hear the girl. ‘Say that again, Olivia.’

  ‘You’re . . . mine . . . forever.’ The alarm increased in volume and the nurse made rapid hand signals for them to leave. Kate stepped away from the young woman, whose eyes were once again tightly shut. Emma was already at the door and they left the nurse standing by the bedside, watching the numbers on the screen descend to an acceptable level.

  ‘What did she say?’ asked Emma.

  ‘“You’re mine, forever.” You know, I think she was repeating what he said. I think those were the words he used. I
t would explain the word cut into her back too.’

  ‘MINE. It sounds as if he wants to own all these women.’

  ‘Yes. I think he has a sort of weird infatuation with his victims. He’s been branding them.’

  Emma’s brow furrowed deeply as she spoke. ‘Mutilating them, more likely. What he’s doing is revolting, degrading and downright cruel. Do you think she’ll make a full recovery?’

  Kate shrugged. ‘I hope so. Much will depend on the extent of any internal injuries. We don’t know what other damage he inflicted on her yet.’

  ‘What an evil bastard. She looks such a mess.’

  The bruising on Olivia’s face bore testament to the ferocity of the attack. ‘He’s harbouring a lot of rage. We have to track him down before he strikes again. I doubt his next victim will be fortunate enough to survive.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Jamie stuck the photograph of a Honda CB 125 F motorbike, as identified by Brian Procter, on the whiteboard.

  ‘Is he certain that’s the one?’ asked Morgan.

  ‘As sure as he can be. We narrowed it down to a naked bike.’

  Morgan scowled. ‘What the fuck is a naked bike?’

  ‘A standard bike or roadster. They’re usually recognised by their upright riding position. It’s partway between the reclining rider posture of a cruiser and forward leaning position of a sports bike.’

  ‘Whoa! You’ve already lost me. Cruisers?’

  Jamie held up another picture, of a Harley Davidson. ‘This is a cruiser.’

  ‘Oh, okay. You know about bikes?’

  ‘Before we had Zach, I owned a couple of Triumphs and a Ducati. Mr Procter could be right. They’re very popular city bikes.’

  ‘He can’t be sure. He only saw it fleetingly,’ said Morgan.

  ‘He has a photographic memory. He came to the station specially to identify the bike.’

  The bickering between Morgan and Jamie was getting on Kate’s nerves and judging by the look on Emma’s face, she felt the same way. She halted this latest disagreement. ‘Will you two please give it a rest? It’s in the hands of the technical team.’ On her say-so, the technical division were currently searching CCTV footage along the road from Uttoxeter to Abbots Bromley for any black motorcycles. ‘We’ll soon get confirmation if it is a Honda whatever-it-is, naked-or-otherwise, or not. They’re also examining footage around Newbury Avenue for Saturday evening, around the time of the attack on Heather, and also on the main road to Weston, on Monday morning. If the bike is significant, it could well show up on a camera.’