by Dylan Young
Despite experience, she knew she’d never get inured to violent death. It screamed horror at her. As if the dead were crying out for help. And yet the feel of a murder scene, the sense of desolation and desecration it imparted, were somehow necessary for her to get a handle on things. Gail’s was the first body she’d ever found. Not an experience she wished ever to repeat, but realising, once she’d thought it, how empty a hope that was. Harris had told her she didn’t need to be there, but that was simply out of the question. She flicked her gaze back to the DCI and concentrated on his voice.
‘Forensics are still at the cottage, but from the amount of blood and the initial assessment it seems that Gail was attacked inside the house and then taken outside, choked to unconsciousness, sexually assaulted, revived, and then stabbed to death.’
Out of the corner of her eye, Anna caught Slack standing against a wall, folding his arms over his chest, the fingers on his biceps white and tight with tension.
‘Stab wounds are from a four-inch blade. There’s little doubt that the weapon will be the same as that used on Nia,’ Harris went on.
‘And on Emily Risman,’ Anna said. ‘That’s been confirmed.’ Her voice drew half a dozen glances, including a venomous one from Harris. But he nodded slowly.
‘We estimate time of death was between two a.m. and four a.m. Since Inspector Gwynne received her call at two thirty, we can assume that the murder was a protracted affair, and that it took place after this time.’
A voice from the floor piped up, ‘Any evidence of forced entry, sir?’
‘No. Either the doors were unlocked or he was let in.’
‘Is it likely they’d open the door to someone at two in the morning?’
‘He could have been there all evening, for all we know.’
‘What about Osbourne, sir?’
‘As of this moment, finding him is our top priority. We’ve traced Osbourne’s movements up to the afternoon. He left work at three p.m., telling his workmates he had a business meeting. We found his car yesterday in a public car park near Blakeney, and a stolen pushbike was found abandoned in woodland half a mile from Willis’s cottage.’
‘And the night of Nia’s murder, sir?’
Harris motioned to Slack, who pushed off the wall and moved to the front.
‘We have a statement from Osbourne’s partner saying that he was with her at home that evening.’
‘You believe her?’
Slack shrugged.
‘You’re bringing her back in for questioning, I take it?’ Anna asked.
‘On the way,’ affirmed Slack.
Harris turned back to face the audience. ‘Just to remind everyone, the vehicle stolen from the Willis property needs to be found. An Isuzu four-wheel drive, registration number as on the board. We need ANPR reviewed for all major roads leading out of the forest. We also need a thorough search of Osbourne’s property. Interviews with co-workers, background information. We need to find out if there is anywhere he might go, somewhere quiet he frequented where he might have taken Willis.’
There was a measurable silence until someone asked, ‘Is it likely that Willis is still alive, sir?’
Harris fidgeted and glanced at Anna before replying.
‘I don’t know the answer to that one. If it is Osbourne, we don’t know why he’s taken Willis. If he wanted him dead, why not finish it at the cottage? As far as I’m concerned, Willis is still alive until we find a body.’ He paused, letting his eyes engage as many in the room as he could in a direct challenge. ‘I want them both found. Inspector Gwynne’s cold case team has been re-examining the Emily Risman murder. In the light of recent events all the evidence suggests that the same man killed Emily, Nia and now Gail Willis. This would be a good time to be brought up to speed on their progress.’
Harris sat and Holder went up front and briefly ran through the main points of their investigation, before fielding a few questions from the floor. When he’d finished, she watched Harris’s team file out, flipping shut notebooks and muttering to one another. Eventually, with only Anna, Holder and Slack left, Harris came over to them.
‘Any thoughts on why he took Willis?’ Harris asked.
Anna shook her head. ‘Gail Willis’s murder, according to the pathologist, was protracted. Could have been a vengeful act. Willis told us there’d been bad blood between his older brother and Osbourne.’
‘Grudges don’t end up with people being stabbed and—’
‘A grudge to us may have been something very different in the mind of this killer.’
‘Do you have anything else?’ asked Harris.
‘Only the car park witness from Coleford on the day that Emily Risman was killed. Something never properly followed up,’ Anna said.
Holder sighed despondently. ‘That’s proving a bit of a thorny one, ma’am. I’ve been helping Ryia and Trisha. Two addresses and a dead end so far.’
‘Keep trying,’ Anna said.
‘There’ll be a daily conference,’ Harris announced. ‘Any contribution you have will be very welcome.’ He allowed his gaze to linger on Anna’s face. She wondered if his officious statement was an olive branch or a warning. In return, she gave him her unflinching attention, knowing full well he would not be able to stand it. He looked as if he wanted to say something but was too embarrassed or proud to do it. Not in this company. Instead, he lifted his chin, gave a barely perceptible nod and turned on his heel.
‘Do I detect a certain thawing of Arctic ice?’ Holder said when Harris finally left.
‘You’ve got a bloody sensitive thermometer if you have,’ muttered Anna.
‘Things are on the line for him, now,’ Slack said. ‘The knives are well and truly out.’
Neither Harris nor Slack had mentioned Cooper in the briefing. Anna suspected it was deliberate. Humble pie, in her experience, was always a difficult swallow.
On the way to the car, Anna confided in Holder. ‘I’d much prefer them as allies, but I’m not sure they see us that way.’
‘They’ve got no choice now, ma’am.’
‘Agreed. But it still doesn’t feel like it.’
It had become a desperate fight to stop more mayhem for both Harris and Slack. Their approach might have been very different to hers, but somehow, she sensed that both men lay awake at night thinking of Nia and her parents.
* * *
Khosa was waiting for Anna when she arrived at the squad room, looking animated. ‘Just had a call from Thames Valley, ma’am. You’ve hit the bullseye with your suggestions on the rape cases. They were well impressed.’
‘They were?’
Khosa nodded. ‘They’ve canvassed over half the victims and asked them to itemise visits they’d made to tourist locations in the year prior to their attacks.’
‘What’s the link?’
‘Approximately half mentioned the Blakeney area and the remainder were unable to remember exactly where they went, though they do remember travelling to, or through, the Forest of Dean.’
A spurt of electricity shot down Anna’s limbs. ‘He was there, watching them all.’
‘Oh, and one of the victims is a vet. She stopped her van on a regular route because she’d noticed a sheep in distress. Leg tendons cut with a Stanley knife. The sheep was a sacrificial lamb, if you’ll excuse the pun, ma’am. The attacker pounced on her once she was out of the vehicle. But the point is, later, she reported that the van was missing several drugs, surgical instruments and a dart pistol. Included in the list of missing drugs was ketamine and thiafentanil.’
‘Bingo,’ said Anna softly. This was it. The jigsaw piece that finally made the picture whole. The same man who’d attacked the vet had abducted and murdered Nia Hopkins. The only thing that stopped her punching the air was the stark awareness that her instinct about Shaw had been spot on. He had given her this information. But at what cost?
‘They’re going to put some manpower into canvassing locals about frequent visitors and they’d like to meet up with
you whenever it’s convenient,’ Khosa added.
‘That whole area is criss-crossed by old disused railway lines and forestry access roads. My guess is he’s got his own way in and out,’ Anna said.
Khosa nodded. ‘I’ll tell them that. Maybe they’ll enlist some local help. Anyway, they want to buy you a drink.’
‘Great. At least that’s some progress.’
‘Osbourne and Willis are still missing then?’
‘They are, Ryia. And I have no idea where to start looking.’
* * *
Anna had got halfway through rereading the SOC report on Gail Willis when Holder, looking even more sheepish than usual, put his head round the door. ‘Ma’am, I think you ought to see this.’
‘What it is?’
He held his phone out, screen first. ‘Twitter. A friend of mine sent it to me as a joke. Umm… It’s you, ma’am.’
Holder pressed a link and the small screen filled with a message.
Fed up of being Fucked by the Police? Here are some Cops I’d like to Fuck.
Beneath it in large letters was the acronym:
CILF
Short, ten-to-fifteen-second video clips of policewomen walking along the street followed. All were attractive, and from several countries, judging by the uniforms. One was of a training session on an obstacle course, with the inevitable clinging mud, and one was of a woman in skin-tight running gear doing stretches, her ponytail swinging as she reached down to her ankles to touch her toes, the muscles of her thighs and buttocks tight under the clinging material.
‘That’s me,’ said Anna.
‘I know, ma’am.’
‘That’s me last Sunday in the park after my run.’
The footage ended with Anna jogging the last few steps to her door. ‘What the hell is this?’
‘Someone’s bad idea of a joke.’
‘Jesus, isn’t anything bloody sacred any more?’
‘You say this was in a park?’
‘Yes, and there was no one near me—’ She stopped, realisation thudding home with sickening understanding. ‘Drones. Bloody drones everywhere.’
Holder’s expression was a picture. ‘Sorry, ma’am. I thought you’d want to know. In case… I don’t know.’
‘No, you’re right, Justin. How many times has this been retweeted?’
Holder winced. ‘Three thousand times, ma’am. And counting.’
‘OK. If you see someone sniggering and then looking at their phone you have my permission to taser them. And could you send me a copy of this link?’
Holder nodded and ducked out.
She looked at the clip another four times, shaking her head with each viewing. There were comments that went with it. But she gave up after reading, ‘I would with a truncheon’ and ‘Woodsman whacker is a beauty.’
She decided to file it away as nothing more than a perverted geek’s sexist distraction. There was no room in her life for any of that.
Twenty-Four
The custody suite in Gloucester looked somehow smaller as Richard Osbourne’s partner, Sue Donaldson, sat with her hands clasped together on the table, staring at her thumbs with her head angled. She was there voluntarily, a thin, anxious woman, her hair highlighted with copper-coloured streaks and cut in a combed-back, boyish, feathery style. She wore faded jeans and a blue fleece waistcoat over a white T-shirt. She seemed relieved to see Anna as she entered, but the anxiety returned when Slack came into the room and took off his jacket. He sat next to Anna and opposite Donaldson, and took the lead. This time there’d been no quibble over Anna’s request that she sit in.
‘Thanks for coming in, Miss Donaldson,’ said Slack.
Sue Donaldson’s fingers had a life of their own, constantly working at the skin around her nicotine-stained nails. When she spoke, it was with a smoker’s rumble.
‘Any sign of Rick?’
‘Not yet,’ said Slack.
‘I don’t understand. It’s so unlike him.’
‘What is? He’s never gone off like this before?’ Slack kept his tone even and sympathetic.
‘Never,’ replied Donaldson.
‘Not even the odd night? He’s never stayed out?’
‘Once or twice with his darts team, if it’s someone’s birthday.’
‘What did he say to you the other night, when he left?’
‘Said he wanted to drop off an estimate for some work. Left at about eight. Said he’d be an hour.’
‘And you’ve heard nothing from him since?’
She shook her head. ‘His phone’s off.’
Slack nodded. ‘How long have you and Rick been together?’
‘Six years.’
‘But you’re not married?’
‘Rick wanted to. I preferred to wait.’
‘For anything in particular?’
Donaldson’s eyes dropped to a ring on her finger. She withdrew the digit into a clenched fist. ‘I’ve been married before. It didn’t work out.’
‘But you consider your relationship with Rick a permanent one?’
‘Yes, I do. We’ve been trying to have kids for a couple of years.’
‘Trying?’ asked Anna.
‘Yes. We’ve had tests and… it’s Rick. Motility problems they called it. They say it’s improving.’
‘Who are “they”?’
‘The infertility clinic at Oxford. We were up there three weeks ago. We’re on their IVF programme.’
Anna wrote something down on the pad she’d brought in with her.
‘Why would you want to know that?’ Donaldson’s gaze flitted between Anna’s pen and her face.
‘All routine,’ said Anna. She found a reassuring smile from somewhere and countered with another question. ‘Rick never mentioned a Charles or Roger Willis to you?’
‘Yes, he did. After you lot came to visit him. We talked about it… Emily Risman, that is. Talked about what happened.’
‘You talked about Emily Risman?’ Slack leaned forward.
Donaldson nodded. Small, rapid movements. ‘Rick wanted me to know. He said it had been a bad time back then. A horrible time.’
‘Did Rick mention anything about Gail Willis?’
A look of dull horror spread like a stain across Donaldson’s face. ‘Who is Gail Willis? I thought I was here because Rick’s missing?’
‘You are,’ said Slack.
Donaldson’s chair scraped back and she stood abruptly, walking away to the far wall, her hand massaging the back of her neck as she pivoted to stare at the police officers. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Sit down, please,’ said Anna.
‘Has something happened to Rick?’
‘If you’ll just sit down.’
‘Tell me what’s going on—’ Donaldson shook visibly, imploring Anna, her lips trembling on the edge of hysteria.
‘We don’t know what’s going on. That’s why you’re here.’
‘Please sit down,’ requested Slack.
Still trembling, Sue Donaldson sat. She picked up the polystyrene cup of water they’d given her and sipped, held it in both hands when she returned it to the table. Squeezing it. Anna didn’t give the thin material much chance of surviving.
‘We’re simply trying to get as much information as we can to help us find Rick,’ Anna said.
Sue Donaldson nodded jerkily. She looked up at Anna with her chin down. A haunted look, with her pupils like huge unfocused chasms.
‘Has Rick ever said he’d been in contact with Charles or Gail Willis?’
Donaldson raised her head.
‘Did he?’
‘I don’t know. He was upset after you’d called to see him. He wondered if you’d been to see Willis, too. He was angry because he felt that this was all behind him.’
‘Did he know where Willis lived?’
‘He said he’d been over that way once for a job, but—’
‘Did Rick have a computer?’
Donaldson frowned. ‘Yeah, of course we have a computer. I d
o the books.’
‘Did he have a laptop?’
‘A laptop and iPads. We both do. Doesn’t everyone?’
‘Is Rick good with computers?’ Anna asked.
‘Average, I’d say.’
‘Does he spend much time surfing the net?’
‘A bit. He likes YouTube. Has a bet now and then…’ Donaldson was getting more and more concerned with this line of questioning. ‘Why?’
‘Sometimes search histories and emails can tell us a lot. You won’t mind if we have a look at his laptop?’
Donaldson shook her head, blinking rapidly, trying to process what any or all of this really meant. ‘Of course not.’
‘I’ve written down some dates.’ Anna spoke slowly and clearly. ‘We’d like you to try to remember exactly where you and Rick were on those dates. We’d also like you to write down where Rick liked to take you. Any beauty spots he particularly favoured.’
Sue Donaldson looked bemused.
‘Then we want you to write down exactly what happened the day Rick disappeared, from the minute you got up to us contacting you, OK?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I’m not OK. You’re scaring me. I really need a cigarette.’
Slack nodded. ‘I’ll get one of the officers to take you outside.’
Anna smiled. ‘Do you want some coffee or tea?’
‘Coffee. Coffee would be nice.’
‘Someone will get you one.’
* * *
When Anna re-entered the room thirty minutes later, she could smell the smoke leaking out of Donaldson’s clothes. She didn’t mind. It reminded her of Shipwright.
‘I’ve done what I can.’ Sue Donaldson looked up, calmer now, anxious to please. ‘Some of the dates…’ Her hands fluttered up in a gesture of hopelessness.
Anna scanned three neatly handwritten sheets. There were gaps in the dates they’d asked for, but Donaldson and Osbourne had a weekly routine. At least it was something to work with.
Anna focused on places Osbourne liked to visit. The forest wasn’t mentioned. Osbourne’s fancy was boats. Inland waterways and seaside holidays had been the order of the day. After a few moments, she handed them to Slack to read and then asked Sue Donaldson to sign the statements.
