by Bill Rogers
ALSO BY BILL ROGERS
THE SI JOANNE STUART NATIONAL CRIME AGENCY SERIES
The Pick, The Spade and The Crow
The Falcon Tattoo
DCI TOM CATON MANCHESTER MURDER MYSTERIES
The Cleansing
The Head Case
The Tiger’s Cave
A Fatal Intervention
Bluebell Hollow
A Trace of Blood
The Frozen Contract
Backwash
A Venetian Moon
Angel Meadow
The Cave
Breakfast at Katsouris (short stories)
INDIVIDUAL WORKS
Caton’s Manchester (eight walks based on the Manchester Murder Mysteries)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organisations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2017 by Bill Rogers
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542049986
ISBN-10: 1542049989
Cover design by @blacksheep-uk.com
This book is dedicated to the memory of those who died as a result of the events of the 22nd of May 2017 in Manchester.
It is also dedicated to those who worked tirelessly and selflessly in the immediate aftermath to support the injured, bereaved, and traumatised, and those professionals and others who will continue to support them in the years to come.
Finally, it is dedicated to the indomitable spirit of the citizens of Manchester, Greater Manchester, and the North West of England, who have yet again shown the capacity to treat triumph and disaster as the same. Who through their small acts of kindness, their prayers, and their comradeship have brought comfort to the grieving, and demonstrated so eloquently that acts of terror are ultimately self-defeating.
In the words of the Mancunian poet Tony Walsh
‘Forever Manchester . . . Choose love.’
Contents
Start Reading
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone . . .
That plaits the manes of horses in the night,
And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,
Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes.
Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare, circa 1595
Chapter 1
SUNDAY, 30TH APRIL
‘It’s quiet tonight.’
Tricia stuffed her trainers into her bag.
‘Is there something we don’t know?’
Mandy followed the other woman’s gaze. There was a solitary girl on the corner of Fairfield Street. Trackie bottoms and a hoodie, mobile phone glued to her ear. Magda turned up whatever the weather. Her pimp made sure of that.
A car, its headlights dimmed, crawled past, and accelerated away.
‘Checking the goods,’ Tricia observed. ‘He’ll be back.’
Two minutes later the same car appeared and turned into the railway arches. They watched as Magda stepped forward, more in hope than expectation, then gave him the finger as he drove past.
The car slowed as it approached them.
‘Good luck,’ said Mandy, stepping back a pace.
They had a pact to take it in turns, unless the punter insisted on choosing one of them rather than the other. It was what best friends did.
Tricia placed her hand on the car roof, leaning forward as the driver lowered the window. The transaction was clearly acceptable because Tricia made her way to the passenger door, opened it, and looked across at her friend.
‘You take care,’ she said. ‘See you in a bit.’
‘You too,’ Mandy replied, her eyes focused on the driver. The punter smiled at her briefly before averting his gaze. He was fiftyish, clean-shaven, respectable-looking. But you never could tell. That was why they took precautions, in more ways than one. As the car set off, she made a mental note of the make, and number plate. Just in case. Hopefully it would never happen. Hopefully. She watched the rear lights recede until the car turned a corner, and disappeared.
Twenty minutes later Tricia had still not returned. Several cars had crawled by, but none had stopped. Magda had moved on to try her luck closer to Piccadilly station. A car approached. A BMW saloon packed with young men, the high-octane beat of the stereo reverberating around the arches. The car slowed to a halt. The windows rolled down.
Mandy’s pulse began to race. She felt in her bag for the reassuring presence of the spray, and the rape alarm.
She need not have worried. Like dozens before them, they only wanted to hurl insults and abuse. To inform her of all the things they would love to do to her. A final flurry of obscene gestures, three blasts of the horn, and off they sped with a screech of tyres, and the smell of burning rubber. The remnants of the bass beat echoed through the tunnel. Silence returned.
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Standing in the cold and dark, Mandy found herself falling prey to a sense of foreboding. She gave herself a hug for reassurance. Shortly the drizzle would abate. She would try her luck on Fairfield Street. There she would have the security provided by street lights. She shivered, zipped up her parka, and started walking.
From the shadows of the alley beside the Star & Garter public house, he watched as the woman turned left, and walked slowly and provocatively towards Ardwick, her soft, silky, shoulder-length hair swaying in time with her hips. Just like his mother’s.
His heart lurched. A predator observing its prey. He sensed instinctively that this was the one. He patted the zipped pockets of his jacket, and then, both for remembrance and protection, he stroked the locket hanging from the chain around his neck. Finally, he made sure that he was not himself the focus of unwanted attention, and set off after her.
Chapter 2
MONDAY, 1ST MAY
Jo relaxed while Rico worked his magic.
He had persuaded her to try a new style. A short crop cut with loads of texture, with the promise that it would broaden her face and give her a slightly mischievous expression. Jo liked the sound of that. Her existing style had become increasingly severe. She needed a little frivolity in her life.
‘Have you finished, Trenton?’ Rico asked.
The apprentice held up his broom, and the bag full of hair.
‘Yes, Mr Romano.’
‘Good. Now you can go and tell those students to tidy the magazines and wash up the cups and saucers in the kitchen. As soon as you’ve done that, you can come back here, and watch me finish this cut and blow. And before you go, turn up the volume on the television for Miss Stuart.’
‘Yes, Mr Romano.’
‘He’s a good boy,’ Rico confided. ‘I have hopes for him.’
Jo barely registered what he was saying. Her attention had been grabbed by a news headline about the discovery of a woman’s body. Rico’s arm kept blocking her vision, but she could hear the commentary.
‘Greater Manchester Police have issued a statement confirming the body is that of a woman in her mid-twenties and that they believe there are suspicious circumstances surrounding her death. When asked if they have reason to suspect that it may be linked to the discovery of the bodies of several other women in the region that are part of an ongoing murder investigation, their spokesman declined to answer.’
Jo’s pulse quickened. It had been over three months since Operation Juniper resulted in the capture of the region’s most prolific serial rapist. She had spent that time preparing pretrial evidence while she kicked her heels, waiting for the Independent Police Complaints Commission to decide if the discharge of her weapon, and the consequent wounding of the suspect, had been lawful and proportionate. Last week their decision exonerating her had come through. Now she was desperate for another challenge.
Rico stood back to admire his handiwork.
‘Perfetto, even if I say so myself,’ he declared. ‘Veramente bellissima!’
Jo was delighted with her new look but anxious to pay as quickly as possible and get to her office on The Quays.
As she turned to say goodbye, the door swung inwards and she collided with a young man who had entered carrying a stack of cardboard boxes, three of which fell to the floor.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, staring down at a mass of curly black hair as the young man bent to pick the boxes up. ‘I wasn’t looking.’
‘Don’t worry, Joanna, you go,’ said Rico. ‘No harm done.’
Chapter 3
Jo held her security pass against the entry pad, and glanced at her watch. Ten minutes past nine was not bad, she reflected, given that she had been to the gym, and had her hair done. She heard the click, and pushed the door open.
Max Nailor, her fellow senior investigator, and Ram Shah, the serious crime analyst, were in relaxed conversation by the coffee machine.
‘What time do you call this?’ Max asked.
She slipped her jacket off, and hung it over her chair.
‘Where’s Andy?’
‘He called to say he’s stuck in traffic in Trafford after dropping his kids off at school,’ said Ram. ‘And Dorsey’s setting up a video link next door. Harry wants a word. Do you want a coffee to take through with you?’
‘No, thanks. Just had one.’
She went to join them.
‘I was just asking Ram how his mother’s attempt to find him a bride is going,’ said Max.
‘You’re incorrigible,’ Jo replied. ‘Don’t listen to him, Ram.’
‘Don’t know what that means,’ Max retorted. ‘I’m only a simple police officer, remember.’
‘It means, among other things, persistently unruly and unmanageable,’ she said.
He grinned. ‘That’s what my governor at the Met threatened to put on my annual performance review.’
‘Have you seen the news?’ she asked. ‘About the body they’ve found?’
They nodded in unison.
‘I didn’t catch the location,’ she said.
‘A wooded track just off Pin Mill Brow,’ Ram told her. ‘Do you know it? You’re the local.’
‘It runs alongside the River Medlock, into woodland.’
‘GMP aren’t saying much,’ said Max. ‘But the press are hinting that she was a prostitute.’
Jo nodded. ‘It makes sense. That close to the city’s largest red-light district.’
‘How many are there?’ said Ram.
‘Three within a mile of the city centre.’
‘Ready to go!’ Dorsey Zephaniah, the unit administrator, stood at the far end of the office holding open the door into the conference room. As the three of them walked towards her, Andy Swift burst into the room.
‘It’s hell out there,’ he said, tugging off his helmet. ‘That’s the last time I do the school run.’
‘You did the school run on your bike?’ said Ram. ‘Where did you put the girls? In the saddlebags?’
‘I dropped them off in the car,’ the psychologist replied. ‘Drove it home, and came in on my MZ Charly. He’s a jam buster.’
‘You’d better get in here now,’ Max told him. ‘The Boss is on the video link.’
‘I love what you’ve done with your hair, Ma’am,’ said Dorsey. ‘Very sassy.’
‘Thank you for noticing,’ Jo replied.
‘I’d have mentioned it too,’ Max muttered, ‘but I was worried that might be considered politically incorrect.’
‘For future reference,’ she said, ‘anything above the neck is fine. As long as it’s complimentary.’
They followed Dorsey into the conference room, and took their seats, facing the screen.
Harry Stone looked tired, and drawn. And it wasn’t just the quality of the video link. Jo was surprised how much he seemed to have aged in the nine months since the team had been created.
‘I assume you’ve all seen BBC’s North West England news?’ His tone was sombre. ‘The body discovered close to Piccadilly station?’
There was a general murmur of agreement.
‘Good,’ Harry continued. ‘Because GMP have made an official request for our assistance. Not merely with this investigation, but with two others which they believe to have been committed by the same perpetrator.’
‘The two working girls found murdered in the borough of Wigan?’ Max asked.
‘Precisely. It will soon become official. It looks as though they have a serial killer on their hands. Or should I say, on our hands. The Chief Constable specifically asked for the assistance of the National Crime Agency, and specifically of the Behavioural Sciences Unit.’
‘When you say assistance, Boss,’ said Jo, ‘what exactly are they looking for?’
Harry leaned back, as though distancing himself a little before replying. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Gordon Holmes will head up the Force Major Incident Team Syndicate as senior investigating officer. I have agreed that the Behavioural Sciences Unit will provide intelligence,
analytical and technical advice, and you, SI Stuart, will undertake specific investigative activities agreed with the senior investigating officer.’
Jo heard a sharp intake of breath beside her. ‘What about me, Boss?’ asked Max. He looked and sounded both disappointed, and surprised.
‘This is no reflection on you, Max,’ said Harry. ‘Firstly, the SIO specifically asked for Jo because the two of them go back a long way.’
Max began to protest, but Harry’s meaty hand filled the screen.
‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘I know what you’re about to say, and I’ll save you from having to say it. Just hear me out. GMP wants to keep our involvement low-key at this stage. You can hardly blame them given the way in which the media focused all their attention on us last time, and the time before. There was barely a mention of Greater Manchester Police. That made for some awkward discussions at regional liaison meetings, and a fair amount of bridge building.’
Jo knew that he was referring to her. The fact that she had been the one to confront both predators, and had twice narrowly avoided being killed had led to sensational headlines that exaggerated and distorted the role of the NCA while minimising that of GMP. The last thing anyone wanted was to undermine the relationship between the NCA and regional police forces while it was still being shaped.
‘However,’ Harry continued, ‘I informed the Chief Constable that the deployment of the BSU was my responsibility, and that on this occasion I felt it was important that both of my senior investigators be involved. My understanding, Max, is that you’re still tied up at court with the Lancashire rape case – Operation Gannet.’
‘I’ve been back and forth to Crown Court,’ Max told him. ‘But the case for the defence concludes this afternoon, and then it will just be a matter of the judge’s summation, and waiting for the verdict of the jury.’
Harry allowed himself a thin smile. ‘In that case you can catch up with this new investigation as soon as the verdict is in. I want you all to follow the same protocols as the last major investigation. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, Boss,’ they chorused.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘In which case, SI Stuart, I suggest that you get over to the crime scene as quickly as possible, and take Mr Swift with you.’
For Max’s sake, Jo did her best to hide her excitement, but she couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
