Deadly Obsession

by OMJ Ryan

Fox focused her full attention on Phillips now, her black eyes narrow and cold. ‘I don’t care how you do it, Phillips, but you’d better catch this guy, and quickly. Because if you don’t, I’ll bring in people who can. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Crystal,’ said Phillips, barely able to hide her contempt for her old boss.

  ‘Of course, Ma’am,’ added Carter.

  Fox stormed passed them both, yanked open the door, and slammed it loudly behind her.

  ‘Always nice to get a visit from the boss,’ said Phillips sarcastically.

  Carter stared out of the office window at the team. ‘Do you think they heard that?’

  Phillips shrugged her shoulders. ‘I wouldn’t worry. They’ve heard worse.’

  ‘Was she always this difficult?’ asked Carter.

  Phillips shook her head. ‘Not at all. In fact, I’d say she’s mellowed since she got the top job,’ she said with a thin smile.

  Carter allowed himself a chortle before his expression turned grave. ‘We will catch him, won’t we, Jane?’

  Phillips dropped down into her chair. ‘I hope so, sir. I really hope so.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Carter, then left the room.

  36

  Lachlan Sims was packing up for the night when his desk extension began to ring. Looking at the clock on the wall, he realised that if he left right now, he still stood a chance of catching the 7 p.m. train home. If he took the call, he would almost certainly have to wait for the next one, at 8. He decided to let it ring out and continued packing his laptop into his bag. Eventually, the ringing stopped.

  As was usually the case, he was the last one in the team of journalists at the Manchester Evening News to leave for the day. But as the most inexperienced, he felt he had a lot to prove, so didn’t mind putting in the extra hours. Standing, he switched off the desk lamp, then slung his bag over his shoulder. He checked that his travel card was in his pocket, along with his house keys, then headed towards the door. As he did, his desk extension began to ring again, stopping him in his tracks. He checked his watch: 6.42 p.m. If he kept going and maybe jogged a little, he could still get from the MEN offices on Deansgate to Victoria Station in time to catch the next train. But something in his gut – his journalistic instincts – told him that by not answering this persistent caller, he could potentially miss out. As his university tutor had never tired of telling him, news was not a nine to five job, and the best journalists were never off duty. Moving to the nearest desk, he picked up the phone and answered from there. ‘The MEN news desk, how can I help?’

  ‘Is this Lachlan Sims?’ The voice sounded muffled and distorted.

  ‘It is. Who’s this?’

  ‘That’s not important just now. I have a story for you.’

  It wasn’t the first time Sims had dealt with what sounded like a prank caller, and for a moment he chastised himself for picking up the phone to yet another one and missing his train. ‘And what’s so important it means you can’t tell me your name?’ asked Sims impatiently.

  ‘A serial killer is on the loose in Manchester,’ said the voice, ‘and the police are keeping it secret from the public.’

  A cold shiver ran down Sims’s spine, and his mouth suddenly felt very dry. ‘What are you talking about?’ he said, barely managing to hide his cracking voice.

  ‘Do you have a pen?’

  ‘Yes.’ Sims pulled one from the plastic holder on the desk, along with a Post-it Note.

  ‘Take a look at the recent deaths of Michael Yates, Gillian Galloway, Sean Hamilton, Wiktoria Szymańska and Wendy Marsh. They all look like random murders, but it’s the same guy who killed them all.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘I don’t think. I know,’ the voice sounded smug.

  ‘How are you spelling Szymańska?'

  The voice spelled out the letters as Sims scribbled furiously on the note.

  The voice continued. ‘It seems Detective Chief Inspector Phillips and her Major Crimes Team aren’t being honest with the public. They’re trying to play down the murders as random acts, but believe me, there’s nothing random about them at all. Each of them is a replica of historical murders committed by Graham Young, Steve Wright, Denis Nilsen, Terry Hardy and Peter Sutcliffe. Check out the files, you’ll see it for yourself. They’re identical, Lachlan.’

  ‘If this is true, this is national news. Why give it to me, specifically?’

  ‘Because you’re young and trying to make a name for yourself…’

  How did he know all this?

  The voice continued. ‘…but if you don’t want the story—’

  ‘No. I didn’t mean that. Look, if this is true…’

  ‘It’s true.’

  ‘…if it is, then how come you know about it?’

  ‘Because, Lachlan, I know who killed them,’ said the voice, then hung up.

  ‘Hello? Hello?’ shouted Sims into the phone, but the voice was gone.

  He tried dialling 1471 in the hopes of tracing the call, but a loud beeping noise made it clear that function was not possible through a phone connected to a switchboard. Taking a seat on the nearest chair, he replayed the conversation over in his mind. Was the man on the phone telling the truth, or was he just a nut-job with a conspiracy theory? The paper took prank calls every single day.

  Tapping the pen against his teeth, he thought about what to do next. Realising he’d missed his train made up his mind for him, and he headed back to his desk. A few minutes later, he had restarted his laptop and got to work.

  37

  It had been Phillips’s idea to go for a drink with Carter after work. Chakrabortty’s words had been ringing in her ears since their morning meeting, and after another crappy day where she found herself no further forward with the copycat killer, she decided it was time to take Tan’s advice. As Carter lived in Wilmslow and her house was in Chorlton, she suggested they go to The Metropolitan in West Didsbury, which was sort of on the way home for both of them.

  It was Carter’s first time at The Met’, and he seemed momentarily taken aback as he stepped out of his silver Audi Q7 and took in the large red-brick Victorian building. ‘Bloody hell, this is impressive,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah. Used to be rough as old boots back in the day, but gentrification soon changed that,’ said Phillips.

  ‘Nice place to live round here, is it?’

  ‘If you’ve got a million for the mortgage, or like living in a shoebox, then yeah,’ Phillips said, and ushered him inside. They quickly found seats near one of the large leaded windows. ‘What do you fancy?’

  ‘Just a pint of cooking lager for me. None of the strong stuff,’ said Carter.

  Phillips headed for the bar and returned a few minutes later with a pint of Amstel and a large glass of Pinot Grigio, which she set down on the sanded oak table before taking a seat opposite Carter. She swallowed a large mouthful of wine and immediately felt more relaxed than she had in a week.

  ‘God, I need this,’ said Carter, before draining half the pint.

  Phillips smiled. ‘You’re not kidding.’

  Carter wiped his mouth and sat back in his chair with a loud sigh.

  ‘How’s Fran and the kids?’

  ‘Back in Newcastle,’ said Carter flatly.

  Phillips cocked her head slightly. ‘What? How come?’

  ‘She doesn’t like it down here. Because I’m working so many hours, she says she never sees me. So last week I came home and found the house empty and a note on the kitchen bench.’

  ‘She’s left you?’

  Carter shook his head and took another large mouthful. ‘No. Not officially, anyway. She just needs to be around her mum and sisters at the moment, and wants some time to figure out us.’

  ‘I’m sorry, boss.’

  ‘Yeah, me too, but what can I do? Fox is on my case constantly, and I need to make this job work. This is my big chance to run an elite unit. So, I’m leaving her to it for the time being. To be honest, it’s a bit of a r
elief. It’s hard enough dealing with Fox all day without going home to an interrogation as well.’

  Phillips nodded. ‘And how are you finding Chief Constable Fox?’

  Carter scoffed. ‘Like a rabid dog with a bone. She’s a bloody nightmare. Nothing’s ever good enough, and woe betide if the news isn’t good. I’ve never worked for anyone like her.’

  ‘Yep. That’s Fox.’

  ‘You know her better than me. Do you think she meant what she said today, about replacing us?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Phillips. ‘Trust me, the only thing that matters to Fox is Fox. So, if we can’t crack the case, we’ll be out.’

  ‘She’s off the scale.’

  ‘Like I said, that’s Fox.’

  ‘How long did you work with her when she was chief super of MCU?’ asked Carter.

  Phillips cast her gaze to the ceiling as she worked out the dates in her head. ‘About six years, I think.’

  ‘God. How did you not kill her?’

  ‘I’ve never carried a gun,’ she joked.

  Carter burst out laughing, then drained what remained of his pint. ‘Another?’

  Phillips had nowhere to be and no one waiting at home – aside from her cat, Floss, of course. ‘Yeah, why not.’

  The pub was beginning to fill up, so it took a little longer to get served this time. Carter returned to the table ten minutes later with the next round.

  ‘Trouble getting served?’ asked Phillips.

  Carter blew his lips. ‘Just a bit. It’s packed, and it doesn’t help that people are sat at the bar. There’s no bloody room to get through.’

  ‘Yeah. That’s one of the downsides to this place, but the atmosphere makes up for it.’

  Carter took his seat.

  Tucking into their fresh drinks, they both remained silent for a moment.

  Phillips replaced her drink on the table as she searched for the right words.

  ‘Something on your mind, Jane?’

  ‘Yeah, there is.’

  ‘What’s up?’ said Carter.

  ‘Why did you not talk to me before bringing Harris in on the copycat case?’

  Carter’s brow wrinkled. ‘I thought I did? In your office, the night before she came down.’

  ‘With respect, that was an update. I’m talking about us having a discussion about it before you reached out to her.’

  ‘I didn’t think you’d mind, and Siobhan has been a real help to me in the past.’

  Phillips took another drink. ‘I don’t mind Harris so much, and I appreciate the insight on the killer, but I did feel undermined. Almost as if you didn’t trust I could crack the case.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant at all—’

  ‘Because if that’s how you feel – that I’m not capable – then I’d rather know, sir,’ she cut in.

  Carter looked aghast. ‘Seriously, Jane. How could you think that? You’re the best detective on the force. Everybody knows that.’

  ‘Then why not trust me to get the job done my way?’

  Carter exhaled loudly. ‘I’ve really fucked up here, haven’t I? I thought Siobhan would be of benefit. I never intended for you to feel undermined. I know how lucky I am to have you as my DCI, Jane. I really do. In fact, you’re one of the reasons I took the job in the first place.’

  Phillips did a double take. ‘What do you mean?’

  Carter chuckled. ‘I may look and sound like a daft Geordie, but I was once a pretty good detective myself, you know? When this job came up, I checked you out, and what I found impressed me greatly. Your conviction rate is second to none, and your dedication to the cause is evident for all to see. I mean, how many other coppers would come back from taking a bullet at point-blank range…or being attacked in your own home by the very killer you were trying to catch?’

  Phillips was impressed. He had done his homework.

  Carter continued. ‘I knew this job was gonna be a big jump up for me, and I wanted to make sure I had a DCI and a team that were on point. And from what I’ve seen so far, my instincts about you, Jonesy, Bov and Entwistle were correct. You’re the best there is, and I’m sorry if I made you feel anything other than that.’

  A smile crept across Phillips’s face. ‘Wow. Well, I wasn’t expecting that.’

  Carter drained his remaining lager, and glanced towards the bar. ‘I’ve got a taste for these now.’

  ‘It’s my round,’ said Phillips, who downed the remnants of her own glass and stood.

  ‘How much is a taxi from here to Wilmslow?’ asked Carter.

  ‘Thirty quid, probably,’ replied Phillips.

  ‘In that case, get us a couple of shots too.’ He passed her a crisp twenty-pound note. ‘I could do with letting off a bit of steam.’

  Phillips took the money and made her way to the bar.

  Two hours and several drinks each later, Phillips and Carter plotted their next move on the copycat killer.

  ‘I bloody hate them, but if you think it’ll help, I will do a press conference with you,’ said Phillips. ‘But you have to do all the talking. I’ll answer questions if I have to, but the less I say, the better.’

  Carter nodded. ‘Not a problem. I’m happy with that. So tomorrow, then?’

  ‘Let me speak to Rupert Dudley in the morning—’

  ‘Is he our PR guy?’

  ‘Yeah. He can set it up with the TV, radio and newspaper guys. It won’t take him long. I’m guessing we can put something out in the afternoon before the weekend.’

  ‘Great,’ said Carter, appearing satisfied, then slipped off his seat in search of yet more drinks.

  Phillips checked her watch. It was coming up to 10.30 p.m. and she knew she needed to eat soon or she’d regret it in the morning.

  Returning with another round of beer, wine and shots, Carter resumed his position opposite her. He appeared quite tipsy as he licked the salt from his hand, downed the shot of tequila, then chomped on a large piece of lemon. He grimaced, then greedily gulped down a couple of mouthfuls of beer, shuddering as he replaced his pint on the table. ‘Your turn,’ he said enthusiastically.

  Phillips matched the routine and, a minute later, guzzled her wine in an attempt to get rid of the foul taste of the tequila and the bitterness of the lemon.

  Carter laughed and cheered her on.

  ‘Well, I can honestly say, I never did shots with Fox!’

  ‘No, I bet you didn’t.’

  Phillips chuckled. ‘So, tell me about you and Harris.’

  Carter flinched, suddenly appearing defensive. ‘What do you mean, me and Harris?’

  ‘Well, as you say, I am a pretty good detective, and from what I can see, I think she fancies you.’

  Carter scoffed, ‘Nonsense,’ he said, as his cheeks flushed.

  ‘You fancy her too, don’t you?’ said Phillips.

  ‘God. Don’t you start on that as well.’ Carter took a swig of beer.

  ‘Why? Who else has said that to you?’

  ‘Fran. She was always saying it in Newcastle. Didn’t like the fact I spent so much time with Siobhan on a case. Said that I talked about her too much. She was always mimicking me, saying, “Siobhan this, and Siobhan that”, which was bad enough, but then she met her at a black tie dinner. Well, Fran went off it big time. She was heavily pregnant at the time and didn’t like the fact I was spending so many hours working late with someone who looked like Harris.’

  ‘She is beautiful,’ said Phillips.

  ‘She’s stunning,’ added Carter, before catching himself.

  Phillips grinned. ‘Did anything happen?’

  Carter shook his head vigorously. ‘No, no, no. I’ll admit, Siobhan and I grew close through the investigation and she is very pleasing on the eye, but I love Fran. And besides, who has time for an affair in this job?’ he added glibly.

  Phillips nodded absentmindedly.

  ‘So, what about you?’

  ‘What about me?’ Phillips asked.

  ‘Anyone special in your life?
’

  ‘No. Just my Ragdoll cat, Floss. Like you say, who has time for relationships in this job?’

  ‘No,’ Carter replied. ‘I said who has time for affairs. Relationships are different.’

  Phillips forced a thin smile. ‘Not for me, they’re not.’

  Carter eyed her in silence for a moment.

  ‘Look. I’m starving,’ she said, keen to change the subject. ‘Fancy a curry?’

  Carter nodded as he finished the remainder of his pint. ‘Sounds perfect. Anywhere good nearby?’

  ‘Take your pick. This is Manchester,’ said Phillips, and pushed her empty glass into the middle of the table.

  ‘Well. In that case, lead the way.’ Carter stepped up and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair.

  Phillips matched him. ‘I know just the place,’ she said, pulling on her coat. ‘Namaste Nepal. It’s just round the corner, and the King Prawn Karahi is amazing.’

  38

  Thursday, March 11th

  Phillips arrived at her desk the next morning nursing quite a hangover. After leaving The Metropolitan, and egged on by Carter, they’d continued drinking at the curry house and eventually ordered separate taxis home just after midnight. That in itself meant an early start and a tram ride from Chorlton to Burton Road to pick up her car. For the first time in weeks, she arrived in the office after everyone else, but still before 9 a.m.

  In no mood for chit-chat, she headed straight into her office and fired up her laptop. Despite adopting her best resting bitch face in an attempt to ward off any unwanted company, she wasn’t on her own for long before Jones knocked on the door and stepped in. ‘Well, you look like shit,’ he said playfully.

  ‘I’ve often wondered how you ever managed to find a woman willing to sleep with you,’ she replied acerbically.

  ‘With great difficulty,’ Jones said as he took a seat. ‘Were you out last night, Guv?’

  ‘Yes, with Carter.’

  ‘Dirty Harry?’ joked Jones. It hadn’t taken the team long to come up with a nickname for their new boss. ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘The Met’ in Didsbury. It was only supposed to be for one drink, but one turned into two bottles of pinot for me…’