‘Where are you going?’
‘I need to call Emma.’
‘She can wait. Aunty Geraldine’s here.’
‘But I’ve got to speak to her about our project.’
‘Chloe, don’t tell me you’ve got homework for tomorrow?’
‘It’s not for tomorrow but I need to ask Emma about it. Aunty Geraldine doesn’t mind, do you?’
‘Well, I’d like to see more of you, but if you need to speak to Emma, then that’s OK with me, as long as I have a hug first.’
Chloe grinned and ran up and flung her arms around Geraldine.
The rest of the evening passed in stilted conversation with Celia. Geraldine considered telling her sister she had contacted social services about tracing her birth mother, but decided against it. If the reunion with her mother went well, she would be open with Celia, happy to deal with her curiosity. But the topic might remain too painful to discuss freely, and once she knew about it, Celia was bound to keep asking her about it.
Arriving home, Geraldine kicked off her shoes and went into the bedroom where she sat down, opened her bedside drawer and took out the one photograph she had of her mother. Sadness overwhelmed her. She put the photograph carefully down on the top of her bedside cabinet and stared at it, thinking about Celia and Chloe. Girls were naturally close to their mothers but Geraldine had never felt accepted by the woman who had brought her up, even before she had known about her adoption. Although she had always been kind and patient towards her, Geraldine had never felt her adoptive mother sympathised with her or understood her on a deep level.
‘That’s hardly a suitable career for a girl,’ was all her mother had said when Geraldine had announced that she was joining the police force.
Geraldine knew it was deluded to imagine she was closer to a stranger in a photograph than to the woman who had raised her. Perhaps it was merely wishful thinking that she felt a tacit bond with the woman whose face she shared. Remembering Mrs Henry’s grief at the mortuary, she wondered whether her own mother had grieved at the loss of her baby, and if she still yearned to see her again.
37
NOT ALWAYS SAFE
Jill ran out, slamming the front door behind her, literally shaking with anger. Adam had gone too far this time. It was one thing making snide comments about her admittedly spiteful sister, but when he started on her parents as well that was intolerable. They had only been thinking of Jill when they’d suggested delaying the wedding until Adam found another job.
‘There’s a bloody recession on,’ Adam had fumed. ‘Or haven’t they noticed yet? What the hell are they thinking? That I just waited until the invitations were sent out and then deliberately jacked in my job? Do they think I want to spend the rest of my life living off my wife?’
‘Don’t be so stupid. You know that’s not it. They’re just concerned, that’s all. Wouldn’t you be?’
‘If a daughter of mine was going to marry someone like me, you mean? I’ve never been good enough for your bloody parents, have I? But of course, they’re paying for the wedding so I don’t get a say in it, do I?’
A light rain was beginning to fall as Jill hurried along the street listening to the soft thud of her footsteps on the pavement and the distant hum of traffic. A fine spray shimmered in the light of a streetlamp and she shivered, but having stormed out in such a fury she could hardly sneak back for her umbrella. She was confident Adam would come after her before long, although if he didn’t show up soon she wasn’t sure what she would do. She’d come out without her bag. No phone. No money.
There was no sign of Adam when she reached the end of the road, damp and disgruntled. It wasn’t his first outburst but she understood he was under a lot of pressure. Being made redundant just when they were planning the wedding had been terrible timing, especially as he had only been at the firm for eight months so wasn’t even entitled to any sort of decent redundancy package. He’d been so pleased with his new job and now it had all gone down the pan. Of course he’d find another position, he would have to, but while Jill was resigned to the likelihood that it was going to take a while, Adam was still struggling to come to terms with his situation. None of that excused his behaviour though. It wasn’t her parents’ fault that he was temporarily unemployed.
Jill waited on the corner, hoping Adam would turn up soon. He must have heard the front door slam, must have noticed she’d gone. She heard a car draw into the kerb. Turning round, she was disappointed to see it wasn’t Adam, but a stranger in a black car.
The driver wound his window down and peered up at her. He looked worried.
‘Are you alright, Miss?’
Jill drew back and glanced along the road but there was no sign of Adam.
‘I’m fine,’ she stammered, turning away.
‘Can I offer you a lift home?’
Jill was startled to hear the stranger’s voice right next to her ear. He must have got out of his car and approached her noiselessly. She swung round and took a step back, uneasy at such close proximity.
‘I said I’m fine, thank you. I’m just waiting for my boyfriend. He’s meeting me here.’
‘He shouldn’t keep you hanging around on a street corner at this time of night, and in the rain too,’ the stranger said, pulling his hood further over his brow. He spoke pleasantly, making no effort to move close to her again, and Jill felt reassured.
‘I expect he’s been held up in the traffic,’ she lied. ‘I think I’ll just walk home. It’s not far.’
‘I can give you a lift if you like. It’s alright, I’m a police officer. Only you’re getting wet and - ’ he paused. ‘It’s not always safe to be waiting around on the street after dark. It’s not very sensible, really, is it? You never know who might be watching you.’
Jill shivered. He made it sound so sinister.
‘It’s fine, I’m fine, really,’ she assured him.
The man pulled out an identity card.
‘Here’s my ID. You should have asked to see it before now,’ he reproached her. ‘You don’t know me. I could be anyone.’
Jill nodded. He was right. She looked back along the street and to her relief she saw Adam running towards her.
‘Here’s my boyfriend now. My fiancé.’
She turned to the policeman but he was already back inside his car, closing the door. He must have left the engine running, because before she could step over to thank him the dark car roared off down the street.
‘Who the hell was that?’ Adam shouted as he ran up. ‘That man? What was that all about?’
‘It’s alright, he was a policeman. He just stopped to see if I needed a lift.’
‘Is that what he told you?’
‘He was alright, Adam. He just offered to drop me home.’
‘And you don’t think that’s dicey? Some stranger asks you to get in his car with him at night and you think that’s alright?’
‘Don’t be so paranoid. I told you, he was a policeman. I think it’s nice to know there are police around keeping an eye on things. At least he was worried about me. You just left me hanging around on the street on my own at night in the rain - ’
‘I didn’t leave you anywhere. You rushed out and nearly got yourself picked up by a stranger. What the hell was he doing, offering you a lift like that? I should’ve punched his lights out.’
‘I told you, he was a policeman.’
‘Yeah right. That’s what he said. You’ve no idea who he was.’
‘Of course I know who he was. You don’t think I’d talk to any stranger who comes up to me on the street? God, do you really think I’m that naïve?’
‘A policeman in a hoody?’
‘It’s raining, Adam, or hadn’t you noticed? I’m telling you, he was a policeman. The first thing I did was ask to see proof of his identity. I’m not an idiot.’
Adam grunted.
‘As soon as we get in, you’d better phone the police and check if he really is who he said he was. For all you know, he coul
d be a pervert.’
‘If you say so, although I’ve no idea who he is. And did you see his car number?’
‘Me? You were the one talking to him. Now, come on let’s go home. You’re soaked.’
Adam seized Jill’s hand and together they hurried back along the glistening pavement.
38
A DIFFERENT ANGLE
Having traced the car in which Jessica Palmer had travelled - or been transported - Geraldine hoped they were finally on the track of her killer. When she arrived at the station the next morning, the atmosphere in the Major Incident Room was buoyant. Several officers she barely knew congratulated her on the successful turn the investigation had taken.
‘It’s far from over yet,’ she replied. ‘It was simply luck we came across the star pendant so quickly.’
Cautiously, she shared their optimism and was privately pleased with herself for having noticed it was missing, and sent round a message to look out for it.
The detective chief inspector was less effusive. He summoned her to his office where his praise for her efficient detective work was brisk.
‘Now we have something to go on it’s imperative we sort this out quickly,’ he told her. ‘The papers have started going to town saying we have a twenty-first century Jack the Ripper on our hands and all that bollocks. We can’t afford to let this go on much longer without a result. I’m not having a high profile failure on my patch.’
He glared at her as though she was personally responsible for the killer remaining at large.
‘Is that why you want to find the killer?’ she asked, put out by his belligerent manner. ‘To stop the papers criticising us?’
‘Of course not,’ he snapped. ‘But we need to get a result soon. Here in the Met we’re expected to work at a faster pace than you’ve been used to. I expect you’re already discovering it’s not like the home counties here.’
Geraldine didn’t answer but she thought she understood where the blame would rest if they didn’t find the killer. It seemed the detective chief inspector wasn’t the only one fighting to protect his reputation.
‘What do you expect?’ she imagined Reg defending himself to the borough commander. ‘I’m sent some inexperienced county DI, wet behind the ears, who thinks she’s still operating in a Kent backwater. I do what I can, sir, but a murder investigation is a team effort and a team is only as strong as its weakest member. I didn’t have the right team behind me.’
Geraldine frowned. For all the excitement in the Incident Room, the lead had taken them from a villain who worked for a car theft gang, past a burnt-out heap of twisted metal to an electrician who had forgotten to post his paperwork to the DVLA after selling his car.
There was a timid knock on Geraldine’s door soon after she had settled back to work.
‘Yes?’
She smiled encouragement at the young female constable peering anxiously round the door.
‘I don’t know if this is important, ma’am. I wasn’t sure whether to come and tell you straight away or not bother you - ’
‘What is it?’
The constable took a deep breath.
‘Kentish Town have transferred a call here from a woman who phoned to report that a man offered her a lift yesterday evening and I thought you might want to speak to her as he was a stranger, or shall I - ’
‘Put her through, constable.’
‘Yes ma’am.’
Ten minutes later Geraldine knocked on Reg Milton’s door to tell him a young woman had been approached by an unknown man on Sunday evening in Kentish Town.
‘A woman called Jill Duncan was out on her own, waiting on the corner of a street for her boyfriend. They’d had a row and she’d flounced out of the house without her keys or phone. While she was waiting for the boyfriend to come after her, a driver stopped to offer her a lift.’
‘And?’
‘Don’t you think we should follow it up? A strange man attempting to pick a woman up on the street, in the area where the killer’s operating - ’
‘Kentish Town?’
‘It’s not far away. It could be him.’
Reg Milton looked pensive.
‘We can’t go around pointing the finger of suspicion at every man who chances his luck with a woman. Think about it, Geraldine. The woman who phoned in was approached while she was hanging around on a street corner. What was she wearing?’
‘I don’t see what that’s got to do with it,’ Geraldine snapped, although she knew very well what he meant. ‘And even supposing he took her for a prostitute, that doesn’t mean the man who approached her isn’t the one we’re after.’
Reg seemed inclined to agree until he discovered the woman was white and sober at the time of the approach. Geraldine argued that wasn’t necessarily significant.
‘She was a young woman out on her own in the area we know our killer’s operating in. It fits his pattern. He wasn’t to know she wasn’t drunk.’
The detective chief inspector gave an abrupt nod.
‘Let’s assume for a moment you’re right. Was this witness able to give us any information? Did she get the car registration number?’
‘No.’
‘Or identify the make of car?’
‘No. Only that it was dark, possibly black.’
‘And was she able to describe the man?’
‘Not really. She said he was tallish, but he was wearing a hood and she didn’t really get a look at his face. And he told her he was a police officer but there’s no record anywhere of the incident. I checked.’
A dark flush spread across Reg Milton’s face.
‘Are you telling me you think the killer is one of us?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘What exactly are you saying then?’
Geraldine hesitated, sensing the detective chief inspector’s suppressed fury.
‘If the killer’s impersonating an officer, if he’s using fake ID – well, it could be a lead - ’
‘A lead?’
He glared contemptuously.
‘Has it really not occurred to you that anyone can mug up fake ID, enough to fool women who are drunk or high on drugs, at night, in the dark?’ he demanded. ‘Even supposing this woman had a lucky escape from the man who killed Palmer and Henry, how does that move us forward when she can’t tell us anything about him?’
He passed his hand across his face in a weary gesture.
‘Well, go ahead if you want to, have her in, question her if you think it’s worth your time, see if she knows anything useful. But don’t bring this report to me again unless the woman has something specific to tell us. We need to find the killer, not write a bloody book about where he might or might not be carrying on. Speculation, Geraldine. It’s all speculation when we should be looking for hard facts. And you’re to keep any suggestion of the killer calling himself a police officer strictly between us.’
‘But - ’
‘You know how people talk. If this gets out, the rumour might spread that we suspect the killer’s one of our colleagues, and anything like that is only going to undermine morale. The case is tough enough, with the black community accusing us of institutional racism, without adding to our problems. So, not a word to anyone else. Is that understood?’
He paused.
‘That’s a direct order, Geraldine.’
Geraldine understood that the detective chief inspector couldn’t allow suspicion to threaten the team spirit of the investigation. Nevertheless she felt uneasy at his readiness to conceal a report that might help alert the public to the killer’s methods.
The detective chief inspector’s suppression of information played on her mind as she sat in her office with Sam, going through everything Douggie Hopkins and William Kingsley had told them.
‘Do you think William Kingsley’s information is reliable? He was a bit vague, wasn’t he?’
‘He was trying to be helpful,’ Sam said.
‘Someone trying to be helpful is no use to us at
all. If anything it tends to make witness accounts less reliable. What we want is clear dispassionate facts. What else do we know about the killer?’
‘He has a driving licence.’
‘How many times have you been told not to go jumping to conclusions?’
Geraldine paused, distracted by her earlier conversation with the detective chief inspector. She couldn’t discuss her disquiet after her senior officer had specifically forbidden her to tell anyone the killer might be impersonating a police officer. Her earlier mood of optimism had faded, and the intermittent ringing of phones and buzz of voices passing along the corridor outside her room wasn’t helping her concentration. But she felt guilty about venting her irritation on Sam.
‘Let’s go for a coffee,’ she suggested and was relieved when Sam returned her smile.
Seated in the canteen Geraldine continued thinking aloud. As she talked, Sam leaned forward as though eager to hear every word, and Geraldine warmed to her young colleague. Years of experience weren’t the only consideration. Sam Haley was a decent human being, acute with people, and not afraid to voice an opinion or admit when she was wrong. She didn’t want to crack the case just to further her personal reputation and advance her own career. Like Geraldine, she was committed to the principle of justice, in this case seeking justice for two dead women. It was too late to do anything to help them, but their murderer must not be allowed to go unpunished – or to claim any more victims. Until he was caught, nothing else mattered.
‘There are too many unknowns about Robert Stafford’s movements,’ Geraldine went on. ‘Let’s approach it from a different angle and think about the victims. We have two bodies, both now identified. They appear to be totally unconnected. Even if they lived within a few miles of each other, that’s a long way in London. They came from completely different backgrounds and their lifestyles were poles apart. Jessica lived from week to week, barely surviving on what she earned from the massage parlour.’
‘The place ought to be shut down. It makes my blood boil when I hear about young women being exploited like that. And for what? Because no woman in her right mind would willingly go near some stinking filthy bastard of a man like Robert Stafford who - ’
Death Bed Page 17
