‘I didn’t see. When she stormed off, the shouting woke my brother so I had to come back inside. You should ask the guy down at number forty-eight.’
Kate pulled away. ‘Why?’
‘He was busy loading something into his car as she headed down the road. I think he asked if she was okay just as I was going back in.’
Chris Jackson’s face popped into Kate’s head. ‘Who’s the guy at number forty-eight? Describe him for me.’
Georgie wiped her nose with her hand. ‘Um… I’m not sure… big nose, fat face, and an even fatter belly. He looked like an egg in a leather jacket.’
‘An egg?’
‘Yeah, he had this line of hair like a bird’s nest just above his ears, but I could see the street light reflecting off the top of his head.’
Kate frowned, as the description didn’t fit the picture they’d pulled from Facebook, but it didn’t rule out the possibility he wasn’t an accomplice. ‘This person who spoke to Daisy: you’d seen him before?’
‘Yeah, a couple of times mowing the lawn, but never spoken to him. He’ll probably be able to tell you which way she went.’
40
Several centimetres of snow had already fallen on the path down to the road and the dark sky above them suggested the flurry was set to remain a while longer. Kate wrapped the scarf tightly around the lower half of her face and pulled the lapels of her coat up.
She turned and took a final glance at Georgie. ‘You shouldn’t blame yourself for what happened. We all make mistakes. The key is learning from them. You’d better get back inside before you catch your death.’
Georgie forced a smile, which quickly evaporated as she closed the door.
Kate continued down the path, her footprints indenting the snow as she made her way carefully along the pavement. It was barely three o’clock, but the sun was nearly out of sight, and it felt much later. She could just make out a queue of traffic on Highfield Lane at the end of the road, as panicked workers battled to make it home before their routes would be blocked by snow. It would be a nightmare getting back to the station.
Kate glanced at her Audi as she shuffled past. There was already snow gathered on the roof, and she could barely see the windscreen wipers beneath their blanket of white. There was no point in moving it the short journey to number forty-eight. Lights were on in most of the houses, making number forty-eight stand out as a property with no sign of life beyond the snow-covered lawn and empty driveway.
Kate closed her eyes and tried to imagine Daisy walking this way on that Friday night. Was this why she’d stopped and waited before switching off her phone? If Georgie was right and the owner of the house had asked her if she was okay, had they engaged in conversation? Would an upset fifteen-year-old really talk to a stranger while on her way home?
Kate looked back at the house: semi-detached, with a satellite dish hanging from the chimney pot. Probably a three-bedroom property, at a guess, but the exterior brickwork looked like it had seen better days. There was no gate on the path leading to the green front door where the paint was beginning to flake. Net curtains hung in each of the windows, but pressing her face against the glass, she couldn’t see any furniture inside, the only light coming in from the window.
Pulling out her phone, Kate dialled the office. ‘Ah, Laura, you’re back. Great. Can you do me a favour and check HOLMES2 for the reports on the house-to-house enquiries? I want to know whether anyone managed to speak with the residents at forty-eight Abbotts Way.’
There was a pause on the line. ‘One sec, ma’am.’ Another pause. ‘No, it seems three attempts were made to contact the residents of number forty-eight, but there was never an answer. After the third attempt, a search was run for a phone number, but there is no telephone line connected to the property. Conclusion was that the property is vacant.’
‘Who reached that conclusion?’
‘Olly’s name is on the report, ma’am.’
‘Do me another favour, Laura, and see what you can dig up on the owner of the house. Check council tax records, whether it’s listed on any estate agent sites as available for sale or rent. Call me back as soon as you have something.’
Kate hung up and moved back to the property. Finding no sign of a doorbell, she thumped a gloved hand against the door, leaning closer to listen for the sound of noise. Her footprints on the path were virtually gone already. She thumped the door again, and this time crouched down so she could lift the flap of the letter box.
The overpowering smell of bleach hit her immediately and then something else, something terrifyingly and unmistakably familiar: strawberries. Her heart began to beat faster as the adrenaline kicked in.
Kate dialled the office again, but this time her call was direct to the supe. ‘Sir, I’m seeking authority to attempt entry to a vacant property in connection with the Daisy Emerson disappearance.’
‘Reasoning?’
‘A witness puts her in the vicinity of the property the night she went missing, and there is a stench of cleaning products coming from within; the same kind left in the school gymnasium. I’ve attempted to establish contact with the property’s occupant, but without success. I believe there’s a chance Daisy could be inside.’
‘How secure is the door?’
Kate rested the phone between her good shoulder and cheek, pushing against the door, but it didn’t budge. ‘At a guess, it’s double-locked. I’m going to need the battering ram, sir.’
‘I’ll get someone over there ASAP and have paramedics and SSD standing by.’
*
The door frame splintered on the third heave, and the second officer managed to manoeuvre it out of their way. The syrupy stench of strawberry was far worse inside, and Kate was grateful to have the scarf over her mouth and nose, to block some of it out.
Kate rested her foot on the bottom step of the staircase. ‘One of you wait outside in case our guy suddenly returns, the other check downstairs; I’m going up. Be careful not to disturb any evidence, and shout if you find anything.’
Taking a deep breath, Kate delicately moved her foot to the next stair. With each step up, the cocktail of chemicals and artificial flavours grew more intense. The carpeted stairs strained and whined as if each was carrying the weight of Kate’s dread.
At the top of the staircase, she found four closed doors, and based on the downstairs layout, she predicted that the two central doors would be to bedrooms, and then it was a toss-up to determine which of the other doors led to the bathroom, and which to the third smaller bedroom. Composing herself, Kate opened the door immediately to her left. Despite the dim light filtering through the frosted glass, she could see the shower cubicle and cistern, where several flies flickered about.
Leaving the door ajar, she crept along the hallway, ignoring the two central doors, and reaching for the furthest one. Threadbare carpet aside, the small room was empty, a thick layer of dust clinging to the window ledge.
‘Nothing going on down here,’ the constable called up from the foot of the stairs, startling Kate. ‘Place is empty: no food in the cupboards, and no sign of a fridge. Looks like it has been empty for some time.’
‘Thanks,’ she called back. ‘Stay where you are until you hear from me.’
‘Ma’am? Snow’s laying heavier outside, just letting you know.’
Kate coiled her fingers around the handle of the door where the fresh candy-floss aroma permeated most strongly. She closed her eyes and prised it free. The hinges creaked, as it slowly swung open, rustling against something on the floor. Kate forced her eyes open, already anticipating the scene before her, but nothing could have prepared her for what she saw: bright red sprays of blood covered every wall; all around her thick, sticky, crimson puddles of blood had dried on the plastic sheeting which covered every inch of the carpet; overhead, the ceiling was covered with a poppy field of dangling rose and strawberry-scented fresheners. The gymnasium had been horrific, but here the blood covered every possible surface, as if less care
had been taken, as if the blood had been fresher.
Kate stepped back, crashing against the hallway wall, holding her breath and willing herself not to pass out.
The constable must have heard the thud, as he called up. ‘Is everything okay, ma’am?’
Kate focused on her breathing, summoning the strength to say her next words. ‘Get SOCO here now!’
41
By the time the scene-of-crime vans arrived, the snow had stopped and there were several children skipping and playing in it beyond the perimeter that had been set up. Blue swirling lights lit up the entire street and almost all of the houses had their lights on, and Kate could spot the occasional curious face at the window in her periphery as she worked. It was understandable: it’s not every day that this many police officers turned up at the house next door.
Kate shuddered against the memory of what she’d just seen. What kind of monster was she dealing with?
‘Kate, Kate,’ Ben called from his car, as he looked for a space to leave his vehicle. With three SSD vans already abandoned in the road, space was at a premium.
Ducking beneath the cordon she approached the passenger side and climbed in. ‘I think there are some spaces further up the road,’ she said, pointing where she meant.
‘Is it as bad as they’re saying?’ he asked, switching off the stereo, so they could talk without interruption.
Kate felt the sting of tears at the corner of her eyes, and opted to nod, fearful he would pick up on the crack of emotion if she dared speak.
‘As bad as Friday?’
‘Worse.’
He spotted a space and drove straight into it, before killing the engine. Turning to face her, he gently brushed the fringe out of her eyes. ‘How are you holding up?’
She nodded.
‘I know you have to remain strong in front of your team, but you don’t need to do it in front of me. I know how brave you are, and it’s okay to admit that something like this has—’
She looked away to avoid the temptation to break down. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Were there any parts left up there?’
‘I-I-I didn’t stay long enough to notice. Maybe.’
Reaching out he placed his large warm hand over hers and squeezed it. ‘I’d better go and take a look. You know where I am if you want to talk.’
‘I need the blood processing as quickly as possible. I need to know if Daisy Emerson was… was one of the victims.’
‘I’ll work with SSD to compare the profiles.’
She manoeuvred her thumb so it could gently squeeze the back of his hand. ‘I’d better get back to the office and update the team. Our work’s only just beginning.’
*
Staring out at the city covered in a blanket of snow, it looked so picturesque; festive, almost. With the sun long since set, and the street lights reflecting off the tiny crystals of ice, it would make a warming holiday photograph, and it amazed Kate how a sprinkling of snow could help mask the evil lurking beneath the surface of her city.
‘You okay, ma’am?’ Patel asked, handing her a fresh mug of coffee, while the rest of the team began to gather in the incident room for the final catch-up before she sent them home to their families.
‘It was another bloodbath,’ she whispered. ‘I never thought I’d ever witness anything as gruesome as Friday night, but this… we have to catch whoever it is. Promise me we’ll catch him.’
‘With you running point, ma’am, he doesn’t have a chance of escape.’
She forced a thin smile to acknowledge the support, but smiling was the last thing she wanted to do.
Standing to address the team, she wasn’t even sure where to begin. ‘I’m guessing most of you have heard about the horror show at forty-eight Abbotts Way? If you haven’t, picture the crime scene photographs captured at the sports hall at St Bartholomew’s and you’ll have a pretty good guess of what I’ve just come from. Someone out there is hard at work dismembering bodies. This could be the worst case any of us will ever deal with in our careers.’
She paused and reached out for the printed image of Chris Jackson, sticking it to the board. ‘We know that Daisy Emerson was seen in the vicinity of forty-eight Abbotts Way the night she went missing, and SSD are rushing through testing the bloodwork at the scene to see if any is a match for Daisy. Until those results are in, we need to keep all of this in-house. The last thing I want is more leaks to the media adding to the speculation.’ She glanced at Quinlan. ‘We need to let SSD process the scene. But, while we’re waiting for that, our priority must be to find Chris Jackson, the self-employed photocopy engineer who we have on site at the school on Thursday and Friday, and who hasn’t been seen since the discovery was made in the sports hall. Laura, where are we with tracing his vehicle?’
‘Nothing back from the neighbouring counties. It’s as if he just up and vanished. Mobile phone is still off and there’s been no activity on his debit or credit cards.’
‘Thanks, Laura,’ Kate said. ‘Commit this face to memory, people. It is not in my nature to jump to conclusions, but when a person of interest in a murder investigation goes dark like this, it usually means he is planning to strike again. We know our killer dismembered Maria Alexandrou at St Bartholomew’s, and someone else at Abbotts Way. That second victim could be Petr Nowakowski, or it could be Daisy Emerson, or worse still, an as-yet-unidentified victim. Ladies and gentlemen, we are going to have to do everything within our power to stop him. I want a patrol car at Jackson’s home in case he shows up there. Ewan, he has a Facebook page for his business, which must mean he probably has a private one too. Do your magic and find it. I want to know who his friends are, whether he’s married or dating, where he likes to go on holiday. Somewhere in there will be a clue as to where he’s currently hiding out.’
Freeborn nodded.
‘Vicky, check his phone activity for where he’s been prior to switching it off. If he’s been scoping out somewhere he can stay, maybe he’s been dumb enough to leave a trail we can follow.’
Rogers fixed Kate with a nervous look. ‘I was just called by the student who’d claimed to have seen Daisy at the bus stop in Portswood. He’s now retracted his statement, admitting he was nowhere near the area that night. Seems one of his housemates dared him to do it.’
‘So Georgie Barclay is confirmed as the last witness to see her.’
Rogers nodded.
‘CCTV, ma’am?’ Patel piped up.
‘Yes, of course. I know vehicle recognition can’t find him now, but let’s see where Jackson was the night Daisy went missing. Can we place him in the area of Portswood? What about near the homes of Maria Alexandrou and Petr Nowakowski in the days before their disappearances? The man Georgie Barclay described at number forty-eight did not match Chris Jackson, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have an accomplice.’
‘I’ll take that, ma’am,’ Laura volunteered.
Kate nodded her thanks. ‘Humberidge, I want you to stop looking into Barry Emerson’s activities for that night, and focus on finding anything to tie Jackson to Daisy, Nowakowski and Maria, as well as anything that directly links our victims. Cover every possible scenario. We need to establish whether he’s hunting them, or whether they’ve been opportunistic crimes.’
For once Humberidge didn’t argue, and Kate was grateful for that.
‘It’s getting late, and they’re threatening more snow overnight. Work for as long as you feel you can and then get home and get your heads down for a few hours and get in as early as you can tomorrow.’
Kate dismissed them and turned back to face the picture of Chris Jackson, wondering just how long he’d been planning this spree.
42
As the clock hit nine, Kate had nothing but pride for the half dozen detectives who were still feverishly busy working the phones and their computers. Fuelled by Patel’s strongest coffee blend and adrenaline, everyone was working flat-out. Kate herself would happily work through the night if it brought them to their kille
r sooner.
‘Ma’am,’ said Laura, approaching the desk, and stifling a yawn, ‘number forty-eight has been on the market for nearly a year.’
This was news Kate had been half-expecting, owing to the lack of furniture in any of the rooms, and the thick layer of dust on each of the windowsills.
‘For sale or to let?’
‘Sale. Found it on Zoopla, but it’s very low down the list.’
‘Is there an estate agent listed? I didn’t see a For Sale sign in the garden.’
‘Local firm in town is listed, but their office is now shut, so I’ll have to go see them in the morning.’
‘Do we know whose name the property is currently registered in? Who’s selling it, I mean.’
‘I tried contacting the land registry people, but again their offices are closed for the day, so have sent them an email, which I will follow up first thing.’
‘Council tax?’
‘Will also have to be contacted first thing, I’m afraid.’
Kate fought back her own yawn and failed miserably.
‘You ought to get home, ma’am. It’s been a long day.’
‘I’m not going until the last of you have given in,’ Kate smiled, appreciating her colleague’s concern.
‘You do realise that none of the team will leave here until you go, or you send us home. Nobody wants to feel like the first to turn in, because that would mean giving up on Daisy and the others. In fact, you might need to order breakfast now.’
Kate looked around the office. Patel was pinching the bridge of his nose, straining to keep his eyes open as his head rested on his flexed arm, the phone pressed to his ear. Beyond him Vicky was mid-yawn, and next to her Ewan was stretching his arms high over his head. In fact, the only one who didn’t appear to be feeling the fatigue bug was Olly, who was pacing back and forth behind his desk, also with a phone glued to his cheek.
Cold Heart: Absolutely gripping serial-killer fiction Page 20
