The media was hardly top of Ian’s agenda when he was conducting a murder investigation. Nevertheless, he understood the reason for his superior officer’s fear of negative publicity.
‘The point is, the less confidence the public have in us, the less likely they are to come forward and volunteer information that could result in an arrest.’
Ted gave a dismissive grunt. ‘If we focussed more on the case, and less on the media, we might actually catch this killer, and that really would help our public image.’
Ian sympathised with Ted. Immersed in the investigation, at the same time he was observing Eileen’s concerns, considering how he might behave if he were to be promoted to detective chief inspector. He wondered if he would be as efficient as she appeared so far. As a young constable, or even a sergeant, he might well have been irritated by Eileen, as Ted was. Now Ian appreciated her concern with public perception. The investigation could be turned around by one witness coming forward. And right now they could do with some help.
12
Once again the warrior sprang on to dry land. His bulging shoulder muscles strained with the effort of lugging his long, narrow boat out of the water. He dragged it up the steps and lowered it down behind the wall, until it lay concealed in a ditch. There was little risk that anyone would spot it there. The moon god had left the skies to Freyr with his rain clouds. Before the night was over, the thunder god himself might arrive to hammer out his drum roll across the night sky. Meanwhile the night was dry and dark, fair conditions for a raid.
Silently he stole along the path towards the settlement. Ahead of him, in the distance, a steady stream of cars glided smoothly across the bridge, glowing in the torchlight. Many people were out travelling, even at that late hour, but they were too far away to notice him on the shadowy footway at the water’s edge. He smiled grimly and pressed on towards the town.
Turning off the narrow path on to the broader roads of the settlement, he sensed a liveliness in the atmosphere. The night breeze carried warm smells of food and smoke, and the sound of many voices and laughter. Cautiously he concealed his axe beneath his cloak. His powerful hands were ready to seize his weapon if the opportunity arose, or the need. On his previous raid, the outlying streets of the settlement had been disturbed only by a faint hum of cars rattling along nearby roads. Tonight they were alive with the sounds of many people. He frowned. It might be difficult to find a suitable target, preferably a rich old woman adorned with precious jewellery. Even better would be a hoard like the one he had seen on his previous raid. Silently he made his way forwards.
It would be easy for a warrior of his skill and valour to withstand a group of men and women, but he was no fool. There was no point in running towards unnecessary danger. He hadn’t come here to prove his worth in battle. Tonight he was seeking treasure, not glory, and only two nights ago he had discovered exactly where to find it. His mind raced ahead of his legs, remembering the hoard he had seen. It was just round the next corner. He had only to wait for the right moment. When the street was deserted he would smash his way in, seize as much loot as he could carry, and vanish into the night. This time, he had brought three large bags with him. The haul would be worth the wait. It was going to make him rich.
He turned the corner and made his way along the street, hardly noticing the shops he passed. His eyes were fixed on the prize on the opposite side of the street. This time lights were on in the shop, illuminating shiny metal and bright jewels. A couple jostled him as they passed by. He gazed around in frustration. The streets were too busy, the pavements too crowded. He would have to return another time when people were indoors seeking shelter, not outside wandering the streets. A group of young women passed him, laughing and shrieking. One of them brushed his arm as she went by. With an involuntary movement his hand gripped the handle of his axe, but the time was not right. Tonight the gods were not smiling on his quest.
He could be patient.
13
Dana had been working for her uncle for over three years. It wasn’t exactly her dream job, standing behind the counter hour after hour, waiting for customers, but what really worried her was that the stock was so valuable. She was terrified when her uncle went out and left her alone. If anything, she was even more nervous now than when he had first left her in sole charge of the shop. She had been younger then, and hadn’t known what some of the pricier items were worth.
‘Don’t look so worried,’ her uncle told her as he prepared to go out. ‘Nothing’s going to happen. I’ve been here for sixteen years and I’ve had no disasters yet. I don’t intend to start now.’
She mumbled about being afraid someone would come in and steal some of the jewellery on display.
‘That’s what the alarm’s for. But I’ve never had to use it yet.’
The emergency alarm went straight to the police station, only by the time they arrived, any thief with legs would have scarpered.
Her uncle laughed off her fears. ‘Everything’s insured,’ he said.
‘But what if they turn violent?’
‘You don’t have to let anyone in if you’re not happy about them,’ her uncle replied.
But how was she supposed to know who was a genuine customer, and who was a brutal robber? Criminals didn’t turn up in balaclavas brandishing guns. At least, she didn’t think they did. Being left on her own was definitely the worst aspect of the job, but, as her father pointed out when Uncle Tim offered her the job, beggars couldn’t be choosers. She hadn’t exactly covered herself in glory at school, leaving with no qualifications. Her uncle’s offer had been a godsend. It was that, or scrabbling around with everyone else after jobs at Tesco or Sainsbury’s, and those were hard enough to come by these days.
‘It was different for you,’ she had whined to her mother. ‘There were jobs around when you were my age.’
‘You just have to try harder.’
As it turned out, she hadn’t needed to try at all, because Uncle Tim had been looking to recruit an assistant. She had agreed to take the job readily enough, not that her parents had given her much choice in the matter. Tim had taken her on for a probationary period, and that was three years ago.
‘At least I know I can trust you, if nothing else,’ he had told her when she had accepted his offer. Her mother had snapped at him for being rude, but Dana wasn’t insulted. She knew she wasn’t exactly Brain of Britain.
For the most part it wasn’t a bad job. At least it was a job. Some of her friends weren’t earning anything or, worse luck for them, were still at college, and here she was with cash of her own to spend and lovely jewellery to look at all day. Her uncle had given her a gorgeous ring for Christmas.
‘They’re not real diamonds,’ he had told her.
‘Who cares? It’s beautiful! Are you sure I can have it? Really?’
Tim had winked at her as he removed the price tag. ‘I’ve told you before, Dana, what it’s worth and what it can fetch aren’t the same thing. But that’s between us.’
She wasn’t sure she understood what he meant, but she didn’t care. She had a lovely new ring to show off to her mates. Life was good. Some of the gems in her uncle’s shop were so sparkly she could hardly keep her eyes off them. When he was out, she could try on anything she wanted. One day she was going to have a big real diamond ring of her very own. She had already picked one out. It had tiny little diamonds along the shoulders, and a big princess-cut solitaire in the middle. It was the most beautiful ring in the shop, and one of the most expensive.
‘One day I’m going to have one like that,’ she had told her uncle, pointing to it.
He had laughed. ‘You’ll have to find yourself a rich boyfriend first.’
‘I’ll find a sugar daddy,’ she had promised him, and they both laughed.
Uncle Tim was all right, if you caught him in a good mood. Today he was going to visit a client. He packed a selection of ri
ngs into a little black bag and tucked it in the inside pocket of his jacket.
‘How can you go out with those in your pocket like that?’ It wasn’t the first time Dana had asked him that.
Tim gave his tolerant smile. ‘They’re all insured.’
‘But what if you get mugged? They could beat you up. A girl was attacked a few days ago and killed just round the corner. They still haven’t caught whoever did it. He could be out there now...’
Tim burst out laughing. ‘For goodness sake, stop fussing. No one’s going to beat me up. No one knows what’s in my pocket. Unless you tell them, of course. Now come on, you know you’re worse than your mother. I never knew a person to be such a fusser. Don’t forget to put the alarm on and lock up properly if I’m not back in time to close up.’
‘Now who’s fussing?’
As soon as Tim left she checked the door was locked. Her uncle was probably going to be gone for most of the day. She went back behind the counter and stood near the alarm button. After a few minutes, she went over and checked the door again, even though she could see it was properly closed. Then she went and stood behind the counter again. To take her mind off the worry of being there alone, she opened the drawer and pulled out a tray of rings. Enchanted, she tried them on, one by one. Absorbed in studying how lovely they looked on her slim fingers, she didn’t notice someone entering the shop. Startled by a noise, she looked up and screamed.
14
‘So what you’re telling me is that you think it might have been the boyfriend after all?’ Eileen asked.
Ian suppressed a sigh. He wasn’t sure the detective chief inspector was really listening to him. He knew there were many aspects of the case she had to keep in mind, but he did think she could be more attentive when he was discussing a potential suspect.
‘I’m only putting Gary forward as a possibility, but I’m really not sure. If it was that clear cut, we’d have made an arrest already, but it’s not that simple. And in any case,’ he explained with exaggerated patience, ‘he wasn’t Angela’s boyfriend. He was just one of the crowd she went around with. She was sixteen.’
Eileen frowned at him. ‘I know how old she was.’
‘He wasn’t her boyfriend. He was one of her crowd,’ he repeated. ‘But, according to her friend Zoe, Gary was very keen on her. I think that’s probably why he was so accommodating about turning up to buy Angela and her friends drinks. He’s eighteen, so he could get served.’
‘You don’t need to remind me of the law on underage drinking. So – are you saying he’s now a suspect? On what grounds?’
‘Opportunity, certainly. He was there in the pub with Angela and her friends. He must have seen her leave, and could easily have followed her.’
Eileen nodded. ‘Do we know if the two of them left the pub at around the same time?’
‘It’s hard to say one way or the other because no one seems to have noticed exactly when he left. There was quite a crowd there on Sunday evening. Zoe told us she thinks Angela left alone, but we don’t know Gary didn’t follow her. He could quite easily have left, if not with her, then shortly after, without anyone noticing. He’s not the sort of boy people would notice.’
‘He could have caught up with her. Presumably he would have known her route home.’
‘Exactly.’
‘So he had opportunity. What about motive?’
‘That’s a hard one to be sure about, but Zoe said he was crazy about Angela.’
‘So he might have been rejected, disappointed in love?’
‘It’s possible,’ Ian said.
‘All of which would give him both motive and opportunity.’
‘Yes. In theory, but then the same could be true of Frank Carter.’
‘The stepfather?’
‘He could well have known where Angela was. Her phone records show two calls from his mobile on Sunday evening. He said he was worried about his stepdaughter, but he might have been checking up on her whereabouts for another reason.’
Eileen looked thoughtful. ‘Why would he have wanted her dead?’
Ian shrugged. It was a rhetorical question. There could be a reason.
‘So we have two suspects. Good work, Ian. More to do. Let’s see if we can narrow it down to one.’
Ian nodded. Somehow they had to uncover evidence that pointed unequivocally to either Gary or Frank and, with a violent killer on the loose, they had to find it quickly. At the moment all they really had was a strong impression and a bit of guesswork.
‘It had to be one or other of them,’ Eileen said.
‘Unless there’s someone else involved that we know nothing about. But it was a vicious attack which suggests it was personal.’
‘In all my time I admit I’ve never come across anything like it. Personal or just plain crazy. Let’s hope it wasn’t a mugging. We already have two suspects, and that’s one too many. Let’s see if George can shed any light on all this.’
‘Who’s George?’
Eileen gave one of her rare smiles. ‘He’s only the best profiler in the business. Bar none. We call him The Wizard. He’s coming down from Northallerton. He should be here by midday.’
Ian hoped the profiler warranted her praise. He returned to his desk and reread the statements given by Angela’s friends, Gary and Zoe. There were more statements from other youngsters who had been at the pub on Sunday evening. Some knew Angela, others had seen her that evening, laughing and drinking with her friends. Ian couldn’t focus on the documents. Leaving Ted to read through the rest of the statements he drove to Micklegate to speak to the bar staff who had been in the pub on Sunday. The landlord hadn’t been working that evening. The deputy manager had been on duty. He was behind the bar. The landlord called him over.
‘The inspector wants to talk to you about Sunday evening.’
The other man nodded and joined Ian at a corner table. He looked about thirty, thickset, with a Neanderthal brow and sandy-coloured hair. Ian couldn’t imagine there would be much trouble in the pub while he was in charge. The landlord left them to it and Ian showed the deputy a photo of Angela.
‘Yes, yes, I know, the girl that was killed,’ Freddy said, frowning at the picture, his eyes all but disappearing beneath his shaggy brows. ‘I don’t suppose she looked much like that after what happened,’ he added irreverently, ‘if what they said in the papers is true.’
Ian grunted. Somehow the local papers had managed to uncover details about the ‘Axe Murderer’ and were vying with each other to tell the story with as many gory details as possible. For once, their melodramatic accounts weren’t exaggerating. The girl’s head really had been slashed in two.
‘Yes, she was here,’ Freddy added. ‘I seen her.’
‘Did you serve her?’
All at once, Freddy looked uneasy. Shifting his bulk from one side to another, he shook his head. The tendons in his sturdy neck stood out as though he was doing something physically strenuous.
‘Freddy, you know what happened to that girl. I need to know what she had in her purse when she left here. So tell me, did she spend any money at all? It’s important you tell me the truth.’
Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Freddy glanced over at the landlord who was serving a customer. ‘This goes no further, right? I’m only telling you because of what happened to the poor girl. I’d like to help you catch the bastard. But it’s more than my job’s worth if the boss finds out I’m telling you this.’
‘Go on.’
Freddy leaned forward. ‘She did come up to the bar, yes,’ he admitted. ‘She asked for a pint of cider. I could see she wasn’t eighteen, and she was already pissed, so I refused to serve her. I let her have a packet of crisps, though, to save face. That way she didn’t have to walk away empty-handed in front of all her mates. Like I said, she was only a kid.’
Freddy sat back, seemingly relie
ved that he had told Ian about his encounter with the dead girl.
‘One more question. Did she pay for the crisps in coins?’
‘Oh, I didn’t take any money off her. I put it in the till myself.’ He gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘The thing is, I could see she’d had too much to drink. I thought the crisps might help absorb some of it. She was just a youngster. Shouldn’t have been in here drinking at all. Not that you can tell these days,’ he added quickly, glancing over at the landlord.
Zoe had been adamant they had each been paying for their own drinks. Ian had wondered whether Angela’s death had resulted from a mugging that had gone badly wrong, but that didn’t add up. A mugger wouldn’t have left a fiver in his victim’s purse. The more evidence they uncovered, the more likely it seemed that Angela’s death had been the result of a personal attack by someone she knew.
15
George was a tall, thin man with a sharp chin, pointed nose and fluffy white hair. Ian hoped his nickname, The Wizard, had more to do with his skill as a profiler than his appearance. Eileen set great store by him, and although it was early days, they were in need of help in identifying Angela’s killer.
‘I’ve read all the statements,’ George said, in a clipped voice. ‘There are a number of interesting features to this case. Forensics suggest an axe was used to kill the victim. What kind of person carries a weapon like that around with them on the street? It’s possible the killer had just bought an axe for a perfectly innocent reason, and happened to have it with him at the time, but that seems unlikely at that time of night, so the weapon used suggests the murder may have been premeditated. The aggressive nature of the attack indicates the killer is probably male. The power of the single blow excludes anyone old or frail. All of which suggests we’re probably looking for a man, not too old, out on the street at night, carrying an axe, planning a murder. None of this is necessarily the case, of course, but the balance of probabilities suggests such a profile. The target might not have been a specific individual, even if there was an intention to kill. It could have been a random victim.’
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