by OMJ Ryan
‘Any footage from the bus company?’ asked Phillips.
‘The request’s in, but it’ll take a few days as usual.’
‘What about CCTV at the other end?’
Entwistle nodded and opened the final window on the screen. ‘I pulled this off one of the traffic cameras on Wilmslow Road by the bus stop. We can see he’s very much alive and well at 3 a.m. Saturday morning, walking towards his hotel, which is about a hundred yards away.’
‘Can we see if he made it home?’
Entwistle shook his head, ‘No, sorry. The next camera’s out of range, I’m afraid.’
‘Bugger. Ok. Anything else?’ asked Phillips.
‘That’s it for now, Guv.’
‘Bov, anything from your phone sweep of the bars and clubs in the area?’
‘Not really. Most of them don’t open until the late afternoon, and even then, the managers usually start work in the early evening. So, we’re gonna need to go down in person.’
Phillips grinned. ‘Well, guess what you and Jonesy are doing tonight?’
The big Italian groaned like a petulant teenager. ‘Oh do we have to? Can’t Entwistle do it? It’s far more his scene.’
Entwistle appeared affronted. ‘What do you mean, “it’s my scene”? I’m not gay.’
‘No, but you look it, don’t you?’ replied Bov.
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘You know, all chiselled and over-dressed.’
‘Piss off,’ laughed Entwistle. ‘Anyway, you’ve obviously never heard of a bear on the gay scene, have you?’
‘What the bloody hell’s a bear when it’s at home?’ asked Jones.
‘I’ll show you,’ said Entwistle as he began typing into Google. A moment later, the slang-dictionary definition appeared on the wall ahead of them and he read the words aloud. ‘“Bear is a gay slang term. It describes a hairy, heavy-set gay or bisexual man. A bear typically projects an image of rugged masculinity. Some bears present a very masculine, over-the-top image of a ruggedly masculine man.” Sounds just like you, Bov.’
Everybody laughed.
Bovalino threw his empty sandwich wrapper across the table at Entwistle. ‘Cheeky bugger!’
‘Right. Well, seeing as you and Jonesy have no idea about gay protocols, maybe Entwistle should go.’
‘Result!’ cheered Bovalino.
‘I don’t know what you’re so pleased about, Bov,’ said Phillips, smirking. ‘He’s taking Jones’s place, not yours. You’re still going with him.’
Entwistle affected a coy smile. ‘Don’t worry, papa-bear, I’ll look after you,’ he joked.
‘And whilst you’re at it, Entwistle, ‘said Phillips, ‘bring Bov up to speed on everything LBGTQ, will you? We don’t want him putting his size fourteen feet in it.’
‘With pleasure, boss.’
Phillips locked eyes with Jones. ‘Can you trace Hamilton’s mobile phone movements before it went into the fire?’
‘Of course. I’ll get straight onto it.’
She turned back to Entwistle now. ‘Where are we up to on the van spotted at the fire?’
‘We’re still working our way through them. I handed it over to Lawford whilst I was looking into the Hamilton CCTV.’
‘Anything of note?
‘Sorry, Guv, nothing as yet.’
Phillips tried her best to hide her frustration. ‘Well, keep at it. It can’t have just disappeared. Identifying that van could be the key to finding our killer,’ she stood. ‘Right. You know your tasks. Let’s get to it.’
21
Saturday, February 27th
With the arrival of the weekend, Phillips’s frustrations always seemed to deepen, especially when she found herself in the middle of a heavy caseload. She hated the fact the world seemed to stop for two days when all she wanted to do was carry on working until she’d made the arrests she craved so much. Sitting at the breakfast bar in her open-plan kitchen, drinking coffee on Saturday morning, she found herself running the Hamilton investigation over in her mind. At her request, Entwistle had called late last night with an update on his and Bovalino’s trawl of the village bars and clubs. Frustratingly, they’d drawn a blank. None of the doormen or bar staff had recalled seeing Hamilton; just one more face in a sea of people, it seemed. Hardly surprising, though, given Hamilton’s demeanour on the CCTV. She played a copy of the footage from Friday night on her laptop. He was hardly a stand-out kind of guy—which was probably one of the reasons he was targeted, mused Phillips.
Blowing her lips loudly, she distracted herself by turning her attention to Floss, her cat, in the corner of the room, snoozing – as per usual – on the designer armchair. God, how she envied the look of absolute bliss that filled the animal’s tiny face as she purred loudly. ‘Lucky bitch,’ Phillips whispered as she placed her coffee cup on the bench top next to her laptop and phone.
Her phone vibrated. It was Chakrabortty.
‘Tan? To what do I owe the pleasure on a Saturday?’
‘Hi, Jane. I’m actually working today, trying to catch up.’
‘Bloody hell, you really are stacked, aren’t you?’
Chakrabortty continued. ‘I’ve just finished the post mortem for the fire body.’
Phillips sat forward in her stool. ‘And?’
‘Well, it’s definitely Sean Hamilton. The dental records match the victim’s.’
‘I thought they would.’
‘And there was water in the lungs, just as you suggested.’
Phillips’s heart raced. ‘How much water?’
‘Enough to kill him. He had emphysema aquosum, which means the thoracic cavity was waterlogged. There was a significant amount of water trapped in the lower airways, which blocked the passive collapse of the bronchi that normally occurs after death.’
‘So Hamilton drowned?’
‘Yep, and it happened in a domestic setting. The water in his lungs contained traces of fluoride, sodium zeolite and chlorine, plus a host of others.’
‘And what does that prove?’
‘That he was drowned in tap water,’ said Chakrabortty.
‘What, like a bath?’
‘Perhaps, or a sink or even a bucket. As long as the victim’s head was submerged for long enough for him to inhale enough water to fill his lungs, that would be sufficient to kill him.’
‘Any idea on the time of death?’
‘Sorry. Due to the fire, it’s impossible, I’m afraid.’
‘I understand. Was there anything else?’
‘Nothing major. You have the key highlights.
‘Can you send me the full report?’ asked Phillips.
‘Of course, but it’ll have to be Monday. I’ll get one of the assistants to type it up for you.’
‘Thanks, Tan.’
‘How did you know about the water in the lungs, Jane?’
‘Entwistle suggested the body on the tyre fire was similar to the victims of Denis Nilsen in the nineties. I looked him up, and it turned out he drowned his victims at his home before burning their bodies on wasteland.’
‘Are you thinking it could be another copycat?’
‘Yeah. I’m afraid so.’
‘Jesus. What a world we live in, hey? Makes me glad I only have to deal with the dead.’
Phillips didn’t respond, her mind awash with theories.
‘Right. No rest for the wicked, I’m afraid. I’d better crack on,’ said Chakrabortty. ‘Enjoy your weekend, Jane,’ she added, and rang off.
Phillips’s worst fears had been confirmed: they were dealing with a second copycat of a historical murder. The burning question was, were two separate killers performing copycat murders – or was it one killer? One thing was for sure—whichever it was, there were no obvious clues as to what would happen next.
22
Monday March 1st
Despite her best efforts, Phillips had not been able to sleep much over the weekend, her mind racing with details of both the Galloway and the H
amilton cases. She had considered calling Jones on Saturday with Chakrabortty’s update, but since spending too much time at work had almost caused the end of his marriage less than six months ago, she had decided against risking Sarah’s wrath. So, by the time Monday morning came round, all she could think about was getting back to the front line and briefing the team.
She arrived at her desk at 6 a.m., made herself a long black coffee, and jumped onto her laptop. By the time Jones, Bovalino and Entwistle arrived just after 8, she had collated the information she’d pulled together over the weekend on Steven Wright and Dennis Nilsen and compiled a detailed dossier on each killer.
Whilst the other guys made their way to their desks, Jones stepped through her office door and grinned. ‘Have you moved in here, Guv?’
Phillips looked up from her laptop. ‘I may as well have. I’ve worked all weekend as it is.’
‘The Hamilton case?’
‘Yeah. Chakrabortty called me with the results of the fire post mortem on Saturday—’
‘Saturday?’
‘Yeah. She was catching up on a backlog. She confirmed the body is Sean Hamilton.’
‘No surprise, really,’ said Jones. ‘Do you want me to ring his sister?’
Phillips shook her head. ‘No need. I called her on Saturday afternoon.’
‘How did she take it?’
‘As you’d expect, really. Devastated that her brother was confirmed dead, but relieved in a way that she could at least start to grieve. No one wants to spend their life not knowing if a loved one is dead or alive, do they?’
‘I can’t imagine anything worse, Guv.’
Phillips sat forward now. ‘And Chakrabortty also confirmed that Hamilton had drowned in a domestic setting before he was put on the fire.’
‘Just like Denis Nilsen’s victims.’
‘Yeah.’ Phillips tapped her finger on the stack of papers on her desk. ‘I’ve been researching him, as well as Steve Wright, and it makes grim reading for us. Round up the guys and some fresh coffee, and I’ll bring you up to speed.’
Ten minutes later, Jones, Bovalino and Entwistle took seats around Phillips’s desk as she handed out the files.
Entwistle immediately began flicking through the pages. ‘Wow, Guv. Who put this together for you? It’s really good.’
Phillips feigned being offended. ‘Who do you think did it? Me, of course. I wasn’t always a DCI, you know.’
Entwistle blushed. ‘Sorry, Guv. I didn’t mean to—’
‘She’s messing with you, you tart!’ Jones cut him off.
A wide smile spread across Phillips’s face.
Jones continued. ‘The Guv won a commendation for her research when she was a DC, didn’t you, boss?’
‘I did. On the Chadderton Strangler case. In fact, that’s how I made DS in 2005. God, that seems a long time ago now.’
‘It was, Guv. Sixteen years,’ said Jones.
Phillips waved him away. ‘Anyway, enough about all that. You’re making me feel old.’ She held up her copy of the file. ‘This needs our complete attention now.’
‘So, what are we looking at?’ asked Bovalino.
‘The case files for Steve Wright and Denis Nilsen. I pulled them off the central database this morning after speaking to Chakrabortty over the weekend. She confirmed that the body in the fire is Sean Hamilton’s, and that he’d been drowned in tap water before being put on the fire – along with the car tyre. The similarities to Denis Nilsen are remarkable. Listen to this.’ Phillips opened the file and read aloud. ‘“Nilsen invited Stephen Holmes to his house with the promise of the two drinking alcohol and listening to music. At Nilsen's home, both he and Holmes drank heavily before they fell asleep. In his subsequent written confessions, Nilsen stated that Holmes was to stay with him whether he wanted to or not. Reaching for a necktie, Nilsen straddled Holmes as he strangled him into unconsciousness, before drowning the teenager in a bucket filled with water”.’
‘So, Nilsen picked up gay men, got them pissed, drowned them, then burnt the bodies,’ said Jones.
Phillips nodded. ‘Gay men just like Sean Hamilton.’
Bovalino’s thick brow furrowed. ‘So we’re definitely looking for another copycat killer?’
‘Either that, or the same person emulating different killers,’ said Phillips.
Jones exhaled loudly. ‘Jesus. I don’t know which is worse.’
‘Those were my thoughts exactly.’
‘So what’s our next move, Guv?’ asked Jones.
‘I want each of you to read these files in detail and go back through everything we have so far on the Galloway and Hamilton murders. See if anything stands out. Whether it’s one or two different killers, both murders took planning and a lot of effort. Based on what we know about ritual murders like these, the killers rarely stop at one, or even two, for that matter. So we need to do whatever it takes to find out who’s behind them before they strike again.’
A chorus of ‘Yes, Guv’ filled the room.
‘Right. Let’s get to it,’ said Phillips.
23
After an extended meeting updating Carter on the second copycat murder, Phillips returned to the MCU incident room.
‘How did he take the news?’ asked Jones, as she wandered over to where the guys were working.
‘I think it’s fair to say he wasn’t exactly delighted with the confirmation we’re now looking at two copycats. Especially considering he has to brief Fox this afternoon.’
‘Yeah, I bet,’ said Jones.
‘Guv, I think I’ve found something that might be useful,’ Entwistle interrupted.
Phillips raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh?’
‘Take a look at this,’ he said, handing her a printout of a photograph. ‘It’s one of the SOCO shots from Hamilton’s room at the Palatine.’
‘A box of medication?’
‘Yeah, for Azathioprine. I looked it up. It’s mainly used in cases of ulcerative colitis, which is an inflammatory bowel disease. It’s an immunosuppressant designed to stop the patient’s immune system from attacking itself, which is what causes the disease in the first place.’
‘And how does this help us?’ asked Phillips.
‘It was quite hard to see it at first, but when I blew up the image, I noticed the pharmacy where he got them from is Manchester-based, as opposed to Glasgow.’
Phillips nodded. ‘So Hamilton got them here.’
‘Yeah. I called the pharmacy, and they said the prescription had been issued at Manchester Central Surgery, where Dr Goodwin works.’
Phillips took a moment to process the information. ‘Dr Goodwin? As in Michael Yates’s doctor?’
‘Yep. That’s her.’
‘Bloody hell, don’t tell me the cases are linked?’ said Jones.
‘Could just be a coincidence, Guv?’ ventured Bovalino.
Phillips fixed him with a lopsided grin. ‘And what have I told you about coincidences, Bov?’
Bovalino chuckled.
‘This is great work, Entwistle.’ Phillips smacked the back of her hand on the printout. ‘Right, Jones. Get your coat. We’re off to visit the good Dr Goodwin, see what she has to say about this.’
Jones stood.
Phillips continued. ‘Entwistle, have a look and see if you can find any connection between Galloway and Goodwin – or anyone else at the Manchester Central Surgery.’
‘On it.’’
Phillips headed for her office and grabbed her coat and car keys, feeling suddenly energised. It was a small lead, but right now, any lead was progress.
Dr Goodwin appeared as pleased to see Phillips and Jones as she had been on their first visit. This time she allowed them to meet in her consulting room, where she sat at her desk, checking the patient database on her PC. After a few moments, she found what she was looking for. ‘Sean Hamilton. A walk-in patient. Came to see us on the 15th February.’
‘Who treated him?’ asked Phillips.
‘Dr Anderson. But it ap
pears there was no examination. He just needed a script for Azathioprine, which was issued after speaking to his own doctor in Glasgow.’
‘Can we speak to Dr Anderson?’
Goodwin nodded. ‘Yes, you’re in luck, actually.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘He’s a locum, so not around that often, but he’s in today, covering Dr Singh.’
Phillips’s eyes narrowed. ‘And where is Dr Singh?
‘At home with the flu,’ Goodwin stood. ‘Give me a moment. I’ll need to check if Dr Anderson is with a patient.’
A few minutes later, Goodwin returned with Anderson, a short, shy-looking man with a round face and small paunch that strained against his freshly pressed checked shirt.
‘This is DCI Phillips and DS Jones,’ said Goodwin. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’
Anderson took a seat in Goodwin’s chair. ‘Dr Goodwin says you want to talk to me about one of my patients?’
Phillips produced the image of Hamilton’s medication and handed it across. ‘Can you tell us anything you remember about Sean Hamilton? You prescribed him these.’
Anderson pulled spectacles from his pocket and placed them on the end of his nose before scrutinising the picture.
‘If it helps, Dr Goodwin was just looking at his files on her computer,’ said Jones.
Anderson nodded, then looked at the screen for a long moment. ‘Ah yes. Looks like he needed Azathioprine for his colitis. I remember it now, because I had to call through to his doctor’s in Glasgow. He’d run out of tablets and they confirmed he was due his next batch.’
‘And do you remember Sean?’ asked Phillips.
‘Not especially, no. I see so many patients as a locum, it’s hard to recall much detail.’
Phillips produced a picture of Hamilton taken from his Facebook page earlier. ‘Maybe this’ll help jog your memory?’
Anderson stared at the photo and nodded. ‘I think I do remember him, actually. He was quite quiet and well-spoken, compared to the receptionist at his doctor’s. I struggled to understand what she was saying, her accent was so thick, but not his.’
