Next Victim

by Helen H. Durrant

  “Not much. He did tell me that his name was James and that he was older than him. Luke is twenty-five.”

  “Was that all he said?”

  “Yes, and I wasn’t happy. I take an interest in Luke’s friends and he’s usually quite open, but he was particularly cagey about this one. When I heard about the fire, and the body being found, I was worried.”

  “Did Luke have any friends who were still at uni?” Rachel asked.

  “No, they weren’t his type.”

  “You’re sure? He never mentioned a young man called Oliver Frodsham?” It occurred to Rachel that the victims might have known each other.

  “No, that’s not a name I recognise. Mostly Luke kept himself to himself. He had a few close friends and didn’t stray much outside the group. Which is why this sudden online dating surprised me.”

  “What made you think the body we found might be your brother?” Amy asked. “No details have been released yet.”

  “As I said, he didn’t come home, and he hasn’t contacted me. I’ve been ringing his mobile all night but got nowhere. Half the night it went to voicemail and then it went dead. He’s never done that before. I had to come here this morning, to make sure, put my mind at rest. I brought this.”

  She handed Rachel a photo.

  Rachel swallowed. Would this nightmare never end? It was their victim. She passed it to Amy. “You’re right, there was a suspicious death last night, and as yet the person involved hasn’t been formally identified. I’m afraid the photo you just showed us does resemble the body we found. Would you be prepared to take a look? See if it’s your brother, Luke?”

  “Yes, that’s why I’m here,” she said in a tight voice. “Do we do this now?”

  Rachel nodded. The woman appeared collected, even unemotional, but that could be a front. If this was her brother, then who knew how she’d react? “My colleague here will take you. If it is Luke, we will have to get a statement from you. In the meantime, if there is anything else you recall about the man he met, please do let us know. We will also need Luke’s laptop. Amy here will accompany you back to your home to collect it once you’re done.”

  Chapter Forty-one

  A couple of hours later, Rachel was in front of the team again. “We have an identity for last night’s victim. He is Luke Shaw, aged twenty-five. Obviously not the footballer of the same name. Forensics are at his home collecting certain belongings of his. I’m hoping his laptop proves useful. His sister thinks he might have met his killer online.”

  “If he did, we’ll have a profile and image for the killer, ma’am,” Jonny said.

  “If that’s how they did meet, I’m hoping the site was a paid one and that our killer used his bank card. That would tie it up nicely, wouldn’t it?” She smiled.

  “And if he didn’t?” Elwyn said. “We might get a lead on our killer, but we’re still short on evidence.”

  Rachel looked at Amy. “Get his phone records. Let’s see who he contacted recently. Forensics are still going over the first kill site, now we have a second, and Douglas Croft’s house. They are bound to come up with something.”

  “What if they don’t?” Elwyn said. “This guy is obviously very clever. He’s covered his tracks — except for this last time, of course.”

  Rachel looked around at the others. “Elwyn has a point. Our killer can’t have been aware that the street was patrolled. The men who chased the killer off were employees of the firm hired to do the demolition. Given the number of rough sleepers in Manchester, their job was to ensure the buildings were empty. Being disturbed rattled him. The killer had to make a quick exit and left a right mess behind. If we’re lucky, that’ll be his undoing. I think that everything we picked up after that first one was deliberately left for us to find. The bolts led us to Greyson, for example. That started an entire train of investigation that led nowhere.”

  “DCI King.” Harding had come in unnoticed. “Give the photofit to the press. The local paper reckon they can get it on the front page of the evening edition.”

  “Flush him out?” Rachel asked.

  “Either him or those close to him,” Harding said. “Now that we have a likeness, we must prevent any more killings. I’m sure you agree.” With a meaningful look at Rachel, he strode out.

  “Okay. Jonny, give a copy of the photofit to the press office so they can get on with it.”

  “Why those particular victims, I wonder?” Elwyn said. “Were they chosen at random or for a particular reason?”

  “I’d say random,” Jonny said. “Anyone the killer could dupe.”

  Elwyn shook his head. “That’s not how I see it.”

  Rachel looked at him. “You have a theory, Elwyn?”

  “Frodsham and Shaw look very similar. Surely, the rest of you have noticed? Young, smooth skinned and blond. Look at the face shape, the eyes. Our killer is choosy, and I for one would like to know why.”

  “Perhaps they’re simply his type,” Amy said.

  “Greyson doesn’t fit the profile,” Rachel added.

  “Greyson was killed to throw us off the scent. And that’s something else. The killer knew about Beatty and McAteer. He’d done his research.”

  “What are you getting at?” asked Rachel.

  “Only that he must have spoken to people, asked about the villains. He even impersonated Beatty. I’d like to find out who he got his information from.”

  Elwyn had a point. “You think he mixes with them?”

  “Who knows?” Elwyn said. “But in any case, he knew their names and reputations. He also knew about that land. I’ll have a discreet word with one or two people. See what turns up.”

  “Would you do that quickly, please? They may have a name, a description, something we can use.” Elwyn nodded. “Amy, make sure you get that meeting with Franklin as soon as you can. I’ll join you. We need to know if anyone asked him about the land in the last few weeks.”

  Meeting over, Elwyn disappeared through the office door. No smile, no words of encouragement. He was still upset, and that made her uneasy.

  No time to dwell on it now. She had a text from Megan. Alice Brough’s father was home. Rachel had asked Megan to let her know when he showed his face. She’d have to fit in a visit.

  Chapter Forty-two

  All night, and into the next day, he kept going over and over what had happened with Luke. His mistakes plagued him. It had been stupid to assume that his victims wouldn’t retaliate. After all, they were fighting for their lives. But he’d never have thought the mild-mannered Luke had it in him.

  The man sat on a garden chair in the early afternoon sunshine, and went through it all again, moment by moment. He stopped at the point where Luke grabbed him by the throat. It had thrown him, making it necessary to deviate from his plan. He wasn’t good at improvising.

  The fire had been discovered almost at once, and no doubt had been extinguished promptly. They would have Luke’s body. But what else had he left behind? Some of his gear, but not the most important items.

  Wracking his brain looking for mistakes wasn’t helping. The man needed to do something about his predicament. He must find out for sure what the police had, and what they would do next. If there was nothing in the local press, there was someone he could ask as a last resort.

  Picking up his coat, he left the house. He’d been holding his breath all day, waiting for the news to be reported, but there was nothing. A few words on the radio about the fire and that a body had been found, but nothing more. In that case, he could be worrying unnecessarily. He smiled. To date the police had followed the false trail he’d laid for them. Dare he believe that he’d done it again, run rings around the bloody lot of them, and this time without even trying?

  But his luck was about to run out. In the corner shop, he saw the photofit image on the front page of a daily newspaper. It was more a caricature than a likeness, but nonetheless, get rid of the beard and messy hairstyle and it looked like him. Where in hell’s name had they got that
from? This was where he lived. Anyone from round here would be able to recognise him. He tucked the paper under his arm and walked out, hearing the shop owner shouting after him. In his panic, he’d forgotten to pay.

  The man did what he always did at such moments. He caught the first train into town and made for Canal Street. He found an empty table in one of the bars and scoured the paper. The police were asking for anyone who recognised the man in the picture to ring a number they’d given. They even had his name. Luke Shaw had lived with his sister in Didsbury. It must have been her who’d gone to the police and reported him missing.

  He had to think. Had he slipped up? He must have done. If only he could remember where. He’d been in one helluva hurry, but he’d made sure to take everything that might tie him to the lad, including his mobile phone and clothing. He looked at the likeness again. Who had given that to the police? He must have been seen.

  This had to stop. He had to find a way to throw them off the scent. Give them something else to think about. But how? The article didn’t give the name of the officer in charge, but the man knew very well who it was. Greyson had told him before he shot him. A certain detective was interested, a female one.

  He had a shrewd idea who the female detective was. If he was right, she was a woman with a family, and that made her vulnerable. But could he be sure it was her? He would check. There was someone he could ask. If he was right, then there was plenty of scope to wreak havoc. It was risky, he’d prefer not to, but what choice did he have? Everything could go pear-shaped in the blink of an eye if he did nothing.

  His stomach was churning. He ordered a whisky and took out his mobile. A quick call home, put their mind at ease. He’d be late back and didn’t want to cause undue worry.

  Chapter Forty-three

  The team were all dog tired, so Rachel told them to call it a day. The last week had been relentless. She sat down at her desk. She was weary herself, but she still had the reports and statements to plough through. There might be something that had been missed, and she was desperate for a break. But the print swam in front of her eyes. It was no good, she needed a diversion. Rachel picked up the phone and called Jason Fox.

  “I want a favour,” she began. “I need to know if any twins were born on a particular date in the maternity unit at Stockport hospital. Can you do that?”

  “Why not ask them yourself?”

  “Come on, Jason, you know what it’s like. If I get a doctor who’s a stickler for the rules, it’ll take a court order before we get anything.” She paused. “You know people, Jason. It’s nothing dodgy, but it would help me clear something up.”

  “Is it related to the case?”

  “In a roundabout way. It came about because of Oliver Frodsham’s murder. We interviewed a student called Alice Brough who, coincidentally, is a friend of my Megan’s. This Alice told me she has a twin brother, Alfie. According to Alice, he disappeared when they were children. But her father insists he never existed. I find the whole thing very odd. She has shown me evidence — a birth certificate and photo of them together.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. Why would the father do that?”

  “Alice put two and two together and made five. It’s a pretty far out theory and I’d like to know if there’s any possibility of it being true. Please, Jason. Just this once.”

  “You owe me one,” he said, “alright? And I won’t forget.”

  “No problem.”

  “But I’ve a meeting to go to first. I’ll make a few phone calls after that and text you.”

  “Thanks, Jason. How’s the forensics coming on?”

  “I was going to ring you, as it happens. We’re still working on the items we’ve collected, but Frodsham’s mobile is interesting. We found his prints and DNA, as you would expect, and prints from the homeless gentleman who handed it in. But there were also prints and traces of DNA from one other person. I’ve run them through the database, and there is no match.”

  “Thanks, Jason. Let me know the minute you find anything else.”

  They knew that Frodsham used the mobile to contact only certain people. That fourth person must have been important. It was a puzzle that Rachel would have to work on. Another mystery was what had happened to it after the killing. It was possible the killer had taken Frodsham’s belongings, but not the mobile. John Jones, the homeless man, had used it and handed it in. The only explanation she could think of was that the killer had lost or forgotten about the mobile. Given what was on it, there was no way the killer would want it found. Rachel wondered how Jones had got hold of it. Perhaps he’d stolen it, thinking it was valuable. There’d have been time when the killer left the arch to dump Frodsham’s body in the canal. If that was the case, did the killer realise it was missing?

  Rachel made a note to check with John Jones the next morning. If she could find him.

  Amy knocked on her door. “Ma’am, Hugo Franklin is able to see us this evening. He’s currently in a meeting but will meet us at his office in town once he’s free.”

  “I thought I told you to go home,” Rachel said.

  “He’s a hard man to pin down. I rang on the off-chance and bingo.” Amy smiled.

  Rachel could have done without it tonight. The day had been bad enough. “Okay. But we go straight home afterwards, agreed?”

  “I’m quite happy to go alone, ma’am. I’ll take a uniformed officer with me.” This surprised Rachel. It wasn’t like Amy to volunteer to do anything.

  “I appreciate that. It’s getting late and I could do with getting home. You know about the contamination. Here’s the forensic report on the soil samples.” She handed Amy the document. “We want to know what Franklin has planned for that land, if anything. Get the measure of the man. Report back in the morning.”

  Amy nodded. Rachel regarded her for a moment. “You’re alright with this? No other pressing engagement?”

  “No, ma’am. I rang his secretary and got a positive response, that’s all.”

  Chapter Forty-four

  Amy Metcalfe was determined to get her act together. She’d seen the way Jonny worked. He was keen and good at the job. If she wasn’t careful, he’d be the one moving up the ladder, not her. Doing the donkey work, helping the boss tie up loose ends would certainly help.

  Speaking to Franklin was a start. She’d never met the man, and apart from what she’d read in the press, she knew nothing about him. But he was the person in Manchester to go to if you were interested in anything to do with housing or land.

  Amy was shown up to his office. He was waiting for her, a tray of coffee at the ready.

  He waved her over to a chair. “I’m sorry you’ve had to wait so long. Some of these meetings go on for hours, and I’ve been out of the area for the last couple of days. So, what have I done to attract the attention of the police?” He gave her a tentative smile.

  “Nothing, I hope.” She smiled back. “We’d just like your input in a case we’re investigating. It concerns a piece of land between the railway arches by Piccadilly and the canal. We’d like to know what you have planned for it.”

  “Ah yes. ‘Weaver’s Croft,’ as it was once known.” He took a file from a pile on his desk and opened it at a map. “The mills have gone now, in particular the spinning mill. It was replaced in the twenties, but that one has now fallen into disrepair as well.” He smiled. “We’ve been dancing around this stretch of land for years, so it’s still untouched.”

  “Are there any plans to sell it?”

  “That would be tricky for the buyer. That’s why it’s still undeveloped. The land is heavily contaminated from the old dyeworks that operated alongside the spinning mill. Whoever bought the land would have to pay to have it cleaned up, and that would be expensive.”

  A perfectly straightforward answer, no attempt to dodge it. No conspiracy there then. “Has anyone shown any interest at all?” Amy asked.

  “A few developers over the years, but as soon as we put them in the picture they backed o
ff. Money is tight and there are better sites available within the city boundaries.”

  “Are you aware that there’s a rumour circulating that a report has been produced stating that the land has been cleaned up and is fine?”

  He laughed. “Nonsense! Now that would put me on the wrong side of the law.” He regarded Amy and the uniformed officer for a moment. “Am I allowed to know who’s spreading this rumour?”

  “We don’t know ourselves, to be perfectly honest.”

  His mouth pulled into a thin line. “When you do, I’d like to know. I might sue.”

  She nodded. “I’d like a list of all interested parties, please.”

  “I’ll get my secretary to sort that for you in the morning. Why is this land so important?”

  “A young man was murdered there recently. His body was thrown into the canal. We were misled into thinking the land was related to the murder, and that it was about to be sold.”

  Franklin shook his head. “How sad. I don’t recall us being contacted. I take it your people did search the area for clues or whatever?”

  “Yes sir, but we had a little difficulty finding out who owned the land. We put in a request to the land registry but it took a while.”

  “I see.”

  “Can you think of anyone who would want to make you look like the bad guy in this? Perhaps make out that you had produced a report stating that the land had been cleaned up and was ready to market?”

  Franklin shrugged. “I have enemies, of course. Business rivals. If that’s what’s happened, it could be any of them.”

  “Have you upset anyone in particular who you think might go to these lengths to blacken your name?”

  “That’s quite a question. No, I can’t.”

  “Do you know a man called McAteer?” Amy asked.

  “Not personally, but I know the name.” He frowned.

  “Has he shown an interest in the land?”

  “As far as I’m aware, none whatsoever.” Franklin appeared to be genuinely surprised at the question. “I’ll organise that list of interested parties for you, but I can tell you now, it numbers no more than three or four. And McAteer doesn’t figure. Was it him that spread the rumour about the land?”