Deadly Obsession

by OMJ Ryan

  ‘Bloody hell, Guv!’

  ‘…and a constant supply of tequila shots.’

  ‘Ouch,’ said Jones, wincing.

  Phillips opened her desk drawer and pulled out a box of aspirin. ‘It’s true what they say about Geordies; they know how to drink.’

  Jones nodded. ‘I went up to Newcastle on a stag do once. I think my liver’s still recovering.’

  ‘Anyway, I’ll need to double check in case it was the beer talking last night, but Carter wants to do a press conference on the murders this afternoon.’

  ‘What? Is he gonna talk about the copycat killer?’

  ‘No,’ said Phillips, putting two tablets in her mouth and gulping down a mouthful of water. ‘He wants to focus on the fact the van has been seen in the vicinity of each of the crime scenes. See if we can flush out someone who recognises it. So, if Carter confirms he still wants to go ahead, I’ll need you to brief the team to be prepared. We know how many loonies and attention junkies like to call up after a public appeal.’

  ‘As soon as you’ve spoken to him, let me know and I’ll talk to the guys.’

  Phillips’s mobile began to ring. It was Chakrabortty. ‘I’d better take this.’

  Jones made himself scarce.

  ‘Morning, Tan. Any news on the DNA?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s why I’m calling. The sample taken from the semen on Marsh is a match for the saliva taken from the bite mark on Szymańska.'

  ‘So no doubt about it. It’s the same guy.’

  ‘One hundred per cent, Jane.’

  ‘Well, that’s something, at least. It’s a shame he didn’t leave anything behind on the other three, but I’m certain it’s the same guy.’

  ‘I’d say it certainly looks like it,’ said Chakrabortty.

  ‘That’s what my guts are telling me.’

  ‘Knowing you, Jane, they’re usually right.’

  Phillips nodded into the phone.

  ‘Right, well that’s all I have for you.’

  ‘Thanks, Tan,’ said Phillips.

  ‘That’s what I’m here for.’

  ‘And thanks for the chat yesterday. It helped a lot.’

  ‘Good. So, are you going to speak to Carter?’

  ‘I already did, last night.’

  ‘Wow, that was quick.’

  ‘Yeah, and I have the hangover from hell to prove it.’

  Chakrabortty chuckled. ‘It went well, then?’

  ‘Yeah it did, actually. We cleared the air and I got to know him a bit better, too. So, it was worth feeling like I’ve been dug up today.’

  ‘Good. I’m pleased.’

  Phillips’s phone began to beep, indicating she had a call waiting. She checked the screen. It was the MEN’s chief reporter, Don Townsend. ‘I’ve got another call coming in, Tan.’

  ‘No worries. I’ll chat to you later.’

  Phillips ended the call and accepted Townsend’s. ‘Don, this is a surprise.’ They hadn’t spoken since the trial of his girlfriend’s killer, three months ago.

  ‘Yeah. Sorry I’ve not been in touch. It’s been a difficult time,’ said Townsend. It was evident from the ambient noise that he was outside.

  ‘How have you been?’

  ‘Good days and bad, to be honest. Burying myself in work helps.’ He sounded like he was puffing on a cigarette.

  ‘I can imagine. So, what can I do for you?’ asked Phillips.

  ‘This might be nothing, but I thought you’d want to know.’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘One of my young journos took a call last night from someone who claimed that a bunch of recent murders were the work of one man.’

  Phillips’s heart jumped into her mouth. ‘Who said that?’

  ‘He wouldn’t give his name, but he claimed the deaths of Michael Yates, Gillian Galloway, Sean Hamilton, Wiktoria Szymańska and the young woman murdered at Hough End playing fields, Wendy Marsh, were all copycats of previous serial killers.’

  Phillips’s stomach turned. ’That’s nonsense,’ she lied, trying to figure out how anyone outside of her team would have that information.

  ‘I have to admit, it did seem a bit far-fetched.’

  ‘Who’s the journalist?’ asked Phillips, attempting to sound casual.

  ‘His name’s Lachlam Sims,’ replied Townsend. ‘Been with us six months, straight out of college. He’s young, but very, very bright. He’s done his homework and he seems to think there could be something in it.’

  ‘And what do you think, Don?’

  There was a pause on the other end as Townsend took a long drag. ‘That even if it was true, you wouldn’t tell me.’

  Phillips knew better than to piss off the press, and Don Townsend in particular, but at the same time, she couldn’t risk the copycat theory getting out into the public domain. Not yet, when they had so little to go on. ‘Look, Don. Off the record, we are investigating the fact those deaths could be linked, and we’re even considering going public with it. If that happens, you’ll be the first to know. But as far as the copycat angle goes, I think it’s way too early to start thinking like that. You’d be doing me a favour if you could sit on it as a story. At least for the time being.’

  ‘So there is something in it?’

  Townsend was experienced enough to read between the lines. ’Please, Don. If we get anything concrete on it, you’ll get the exclusive, I promise.’

  ‘Ok.’ Townsend took another long drag on his cigarette. ‘I’ll sit on it for the time being, but I can’t keep Sims muzzled forever. He’s got the bit between his teeth and he can see his name in lights with this one.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Phillips. ‘You said that someone called Sims with the information.’

  ‘That’s right. Rang the office last night around 7 p.m.’

  ‘Did your source give a name?’

  ‘You know I can never reveal a source, Jane, but as it happens, no, he didn’t,’ Townsend said.

  ‘So how did he claim to know about the murders?’

  ‘Again, it’s probably bullshit, but he told Sims he knew killer.’

  All the air seemed to rush from Phillips’s lungs in an instant as a spike of adrenaline coursed through her veins. ‘I don’t suppose he left a number, did he?’ she asked, trying, and failing, to sound nonchalant.

  Townsend chuckled. ‘No. He was too smart for that. He rang through the switchboard so there was no way to trace the call. Believe me, it was the first thing Sims tried after the guy hung up.’

  Phillips’s mind raced. Did this guy really know who the killer was, or did they have a leak in the team? Gazing out on her team, she couldn’t believe any of them would have disobeyed her direct order, so maybe he was telling the truth?

  ‘Are you still there, Jane?’ said Townsend.

  ‘What?’ Phillips’s focus returned to the call. ‘Sorry, Don. I was just thinking about something.’

  ‘Anything you want to share?’

  ‘No. Not right now.’

  ‘Look, Jane. I can give you a few days, but I must warn you, Sims is furiously working on the copycat angle, and if he finds something he can use that will make a great story, I won’t be standing in his way. Ok?’

  ‘I understand,’ said Phillips. ‘Look, Don, I’ve got to go. I’m late for a meeting.’

  ‘I’ll be in touch, Jane.’ Townsend’s words sounded like a threat as he rang off.

  Phillips stared out at her team and the incident room for a long moment. Could one of them have let something slip without realising, or was this the killer taking the game to the next level? Either scenario didn’t bear thinking about. Picking up her desk phone, she called Carter’s PA.

  ‘Hello, Jane,’ said Cook.

  ‘Is the chief super available, Di?’

  ‘Yes. He’s just this minute finished his morning call with Chief Constable Fox.’

  ‘Hold his meetings and calls. I need to speak to him urgently.’

  ‘Can I ask what it’s about?’

&
nbsp; ‘I’m afraid I can’t say on the phone, but I’m on my way up now.’ Without waiting for a response, Phillips replaced the receiver, then jumped up from her desk and set off at pace for Carter’s office.

  39

  After hearing the details of Townsend’s call, Carter cancelled all his scheduled meetings for the day and hunkered down in his office with Phillips to plan the press conference. He seemed even more determined to get out in front of the media so they could try to manage the story. After a longer than expected trip along the fifth-floor corridor to Fox’s office for final sign-off on their strategy, Carter returned to where Phillips sat, waiting patiently.

  ‘She’s signed off the plan,’ said Carter as he walked back in.

  ‘How did she take it when you told her about Yates’s murder being connected?’

  ‘Not well, but once she’d finished bollocking me for not telling her in the first place, she did offer some guidance which I think makes sense. She thinks we should keep Yates separate for the time being – doesn’t want the public thinking we’ve got another Harold Shipman on the loose, plus there’s no connection between that murder and the van. She was also very clear that the copycat theory is off limits.’

  ‘Well, they won’t be hearing it from me,’ said Phillips.

  Carter checked his watch, then began pulling on his black uniform jacket. ‘We’d better get over to the press room. Dudley said he wanted us there at least twenty minutes before he opens the doors so we can brief him.’

  Phillips stood, her stomach already churning at the prospect of having to speak in public, something she loathed and avoided at all costs.

  Five minutes later, they stepped through the double doors and into the conference room on the ground floor of Ashton House. The cavernous space was empty, aside from row upon row of temporary chairs running from the back of the room all the way to the front, where a long, covered table was placed in front of a large GMP-branded media wall, flanked on each side by pull-up projector screens. The whole setup made Phillips feel nauseous, and her hangover wasn’t helping.

  The force’s Marketing and PR Director, Rupert Dudley, stood by the media wall speaking loudly into his mobile – about what, Phillips couldn’t decipher and frankly didn’t care. In her experience, Dudley talked a lot but managed to say very little. As Phillips and Carter approached, he said his goodbyes and offered an outstretched hand to both of them in turn.

  ‘Chief Superintendent Harris, DCI Phillips.’

  ‘Who and what are we expecting today?’ asked Carter.

  ‘All of them: TV, radio, newspapers, online outlets,’ said Dudley, with his ubiquitous enthusiasm. ‘We haven’t had a live-presser in a while, so there’s a lot of interest.’

  The butterflies in Phillips’s stomach churned harder than ever, and for a moment she wondered if she would vomit. Taking a few deep breaths, she managed to keep it under control.

  Dudley continued. ‘In your brief, you mentioned you want to talk about the transit van and it’s connection to the four murder scenes.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Carter.

  ‘Is there anything else you want them to take away?’

  ‘Not at the moment, no.’

  ‘Anything off limits that you want me to shut down?’

  Carter shot a glance at Phillips. ‘No. I don’t think so.’

  Dudley checked his watch. ‘Ok, well, I’ll open the doors in ten minutes so they can set up the cameras and recording devices. In the meantime, you might want to head into the green room.’ He pointed to a single door in the corner of the room behind the media board.

  Carter nodded, and gestured for Phillips to lead the way. A moment later, they stepped through the door into the small space that resembled a storeroom far more than a back-stage waiting area.

  ‘Why did you shut him down just now?’ asked Phillips in a low voice. ‘What if whoever spoke to Lachlan Sims has contacted other news outlets about the copycat murders? What if they start asking questions about it?’

  ‘If that happens, then I’ll shut it down. I don’t know Dudley from Adam yet, and in my experience, the PR guys have bigger gobs than the journalists.’

  ‘As long as it’s you that shuts it down and you don’t put it to my door,’ said Phillips, almost trembling.

  Carter’s brow furrowed. ‘Are you all right, Jane?’

  Phillips swallowed hard. ‘Yeah. I just hate speaking in public, and I had a boss once who used them to throw me and the team under the bus whenever he could.’

  ‘Superintendent Brown?’

  ‘You know Brown?’ she asked, surprised.

  ‘“Bollocking Brown”? Everyone knows him. He’s a legend in the force. At least, in terms of being an arse-kissing wanker.’ Carter chuckled. ‘The man couldn’t detect flames in a fire. Don’t worry. I’m not like him. I told you, I’ll handle the presser. I just need my star SIO up there with me to show we mean business.’

  Relief washed over Phillips like a warm wave, and she couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face.

  ‘I meant what I said last night. I’ve got your back, Jane, and you’re the best copper I could wish for in my team.’

  Phillips exhaled and chuckled. ‘I know it’s silly, but when I see all the cameras and faces, my heart feels like it’ll explode, and I panic that my words won’t come out right.’

  Carter placed his thick hand on her shoulder. ‘You’ll be fine. You’ve got this.’

  The door behind them opened, and Dudley poked his head inside. ‘Are you guys ready? We’re all set to go live.’

  Carter looked at Phillips, who nodded.

  ‘Show us the way,’ he said.

  ‘Right. I’ll do the intro,’ said Dudley.

  Phillips followed Carter and Dudley as they made their way to their seats at the table in front of the media wall, trying her best to ignore the expectant faces of the assembled journalists.

  Once they were seated, Dudley addressed the room. ‘Thank you all for coming. As many of you already know, I’m Rupert Dudley, Marketing and PR Director for the Greater Manchester Police. I’ve asked you all here today for a briefing on a recent spate of crimes, and I’d like to hand you over now to Chief Superintendent Carter to give you the details.’

  Carter jumped straight in. ‘Thank you and good afternoon, everyone. As Rupert has already stated, I’m Chief Superintendent Carter and I head up the Major Crimes Unit. To my left is Detective Chief Inspector Phillips, who is the senior officer in charge of our investigations into a series of murders committed in the last month. Crimes that we believe could, in some way, be connected. We can now name each of the victims as Gillian Galloway, Sean Hamilton, Wiktoria Szymańska and Wendy Marsh. Although the cause of death was different in each case, we have found evidence linking this van—’ Dudley hit his keyboard, and an image of the van appeared on the two screens. ‘—to each of the crime scenes.’

  Carter continued. ‘It’s a dark blue or green Mark II Ford transit, a model that was in general circulation in the early eighties. As you can see, the registration plate has been masked in some way, but if we can move to the next image…’

  Dudley obliged.

  ‘…from this angle, we can see a segment of the side of the vehicle that carries some form of lettering. The next image is a close-up. We believe the letters may relate to a company name, ending with the words, “& son”. We’re appealing to anyone who may recognise this van, or who has perhaps seen one like it in the last few weeks, to come forward. Even if you don’t recall the writing, any sightings of a van matching this description is of great interest to us. Naturally, all information will be treated with the strictest confidence, and could be of vital importance in helping us solve these crimes. That’s all I have to say for the moment.’

  Dudley took this as his cue. ‘Are there any questions?’

  A sea of hands shot into the air.

  ‘John,’ said Dudley, pointing at an older man in the front row.

  ‘Chief Supe
rintendent. You said in your statement that the four deaths are connected. Are you suggesting they may be the work of one person?’ asked the older man.

  Carter didn’t miss a beat. ‘At this stage of our investigation, it’s too early to speculate as to who committed the crimes, but we are very interested in tracing the owner of this van, as we believe they may have vital information regarding the deaths of the four victims.’

  Dudley was quick to move onto another question. For the ten minutes that followed, he expertly marshalled the room as Carter effortlessly managed the message: MCU was in control of the investigation, their team of experts was working night and day to deliver convictions for each murder, and it was only a matter of time before they delivered justice to the victims’ families. Phillips marvelled at his slick delivery and effortless charm, bolstered by his soft Geordie accent, which she noticed he had laid on thicker than normal.

  Just as it seemed all the questions had been answered, a young-looking man towards the rear of the room raised his hand. Once he was given the go-ahead from Dudley, he stood and fixed his eyes on Phillips. ‘Is it true that the deaths of Galloway, Hamilton, Szymańska and Marsh are the work of one man, the “Copycat Killer”?’

  Phillips’s blood ran cold and she held her breath for a moment as she tried her best not to swallow, fearing the crack of her dry mouth would betray her shock.

  Carter shook his head, evidently trying to appear as casual as possible. ‘I…erm…don’t know where you got that from,’ he said, forcing a light chuckle, ‘but that’s not part of our investigation.’

  The young man continued. ‘Really? As I understand it, each of the deaths is a direct copy of historical crimes committed by the likes of Steve Wright, the Suffolk Strangler, Denis Nilsen, the Muswell Hill Murderer…’

  Carter shifted in his seat as Phillips tried to calm her racing pulse.

  ‘…Terry Hardy, also known as the Beast of Manchester, and Peter Sutcliffe, the Yorkshire Ripper.’

  Carter sat forward in his chair and linked his fingers together. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.