by Mel Sherratt
Perry nodded. ‘You mean EVE?’
‘Yes. I’ll talk to Nick once he gets here. There’ll have to be another press conference, and we’ll ask anyone name Eve to come forward.’
Allie put Perry on organising house-to-house enquiries while she went to interview Frank Dwyer’s neighbour. She walked up the path to a tidy semi-detached house that adjoined Dwyer’s property. In amongst several council-owned properties, this one was privately owned but with no airs and graces to make it stick out too much from the rest. An elderly, brindle-coloured Staffordshire bull terrier came waddling over to greet her as she was ushered into the hall. Allie put out a hand for him to sniff before stroking him, recognising his easy-going nature.
‘It’s not true what they say about Staffies.’ Mrs Green smiled when she saw Allie petting him. ‘My Freddie wouldn’t hurt a fly.’
Allie followed her into a room with heavily patterned carpeting and a deep pink dralon three-piece suite. A cream shaggy rug lay in front of a coal-effect gas fire; there was a pine-coloured coffee table with a crocheted mat and a bowl of rose potpourri on top. After the dire surroundings next door, Allie felt instant warmth at the homeliness and order here.
‘Have you lived in Queens Road for long, Mrs Green?’ she asked.
‘Yes, just over twenty years now. I was widowed at thirty-five and brought up four boys. I never found anyone to marry after Harold had gone.’
‘That’s such a shame. I bet you would have stolen someone’s heart.’
Mrs Green smiled and patted the silver curls in her hair.
‘What about Mr Dwyer? How long had Frank been living there?’
‘He came not long after me, I think.’
‘Did you get on with him?’
‘Mostly.’ Mrs Green moved to sit on the armchair in the window. ‘I’ve never had any trouble with him, but he kept himself to himself.’ Freddie followed and flopped down at her feet.
‘Was he married? Did you ever see any family visiting?’
Mrs Green leaned in closer to Allie, who had sat on the settee near to her. ‘I never saw him with a woman.’ She nodded knowingly. ‘At first, I thought he was a loner. But then he moved a man in with him.’
‘And is he still living there now?’
‘No, he left.’ Mrs Green paused for a moment, eyes flicked to the ceiling. ‘It was about ten years ago now. Shame, he was such a lovely man. Used to tend to my garden and hedges for me without any asking.’
‘Any idea why they split up?’
Mrs Green’s hands went into her lap. ‘No, Frank never really spoke much about it. I did try to ask him a few times – you know, say that I hadn’t seen Mario for a while – but he wasn’t forthcoming. So I stopped. He always looked sad when I mentioned his name, though.’
‘And you didn’t see him with anyone else, you say?’
She shook her head. ‘He very much kept himself to himself.’
Allie took a moment to write everything down in her notebook.
‘Do you know any more about how it happened?’ Mrs Green asked then.
‘We’re still making enquiries and looking into things.’
‘You could ask that young lad who’s been hanging around. See if he knows anything.’
Allie looked up.
‘Danny, his name is.’ Mrs Green looked pleased that she was telling them something new. ‘He seems like a nice lad, from what I’ve seen of him. But he is that – just a lad.’
‘What does he look like?’
‘Like any teenager, I suppose.’
‘Tall or short? Fat or slim? Black or white? Blonde hair, fair or dark?’ Allie offered.
‘He’s white. I’d say he was tallish – definitely slim, with brown hair.’ Mrs Green nodded. ‘Short and spiky looking. Always wears one of those hoodie tops. Not with the hood up, though.’
‘That’s great. Any idea where he lives?’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t.’
‘You’ve not seen him going into any other houses around here?’ Allie questioned, hoping to jog a memory.
‘No, and I’ve only seen him on the scene recently. He hangs around outside the Co-op. You might find him there.’
‘On Hanley Road, opposite the Sneyd Arms?’
‘Yes, that’s the one. Most nights I see him there when I’m walking Freddie. It’s a bit disgusting, if you ask me, him being so young.’
‘What do you mean?’ Allie probed.
But Mrs Green looked awkward. ‘Well, who am I to judge what goes on behind closed doors?’
Allie decided to leave it alone for now and stood up.
Mrs Green patted the dog on his back. ‘Move out of my way, Freddie.’ She nudged him gently with the toe of one foot. Freddie lifted his head and promptly put it back down again.
Allie held up a hand. ‘I’ll see myself out,’ she smiled.
Outside, she went to the next neighbour’s house, hoping to shed more light on the boy called Danny. Someone else might have seen him too. But an hour later, she was no further forward.
After speaking to a few of the officers who had turned up to help, she left them checking the rest of the surrounding properties. She sighed loudly, running a hand through her hair. Three murders and practically a whole team working on finding the suspect and it seemed like nothing was going to fit.
Frank Dwyer’s house was still being processed when Allie noticed Nick’s car parked further down the street. She spotted him in the garden, shrugging out of a white suit, and went over to him.
‘Suits you, sir,’ she grinned.
‘Ha ha, very funny,’ he smirked. ‘Did you get any leads?’
‘A young boy named Danny has been hanging around Frank’s house. I’m on my way to the Co-op to check out their cameras. Apparently he hangs around there most evenings, as well as here for the past few weeks, according to the next door neighbour who called it in.’
‘Did anyone else mention him to you?’
‘No. They didn’t say much else either.’
Perry came out of a house three doors down and joined them.
‘Anything?’ Nick asked again.
‘Nothing useful.’ Perry shook his head.
‘This is so bloody frustrating!’ She looked at them both in turn. ‘What the hell are we missing?’
Chapter Seventeen
Following the murder of Frank Dwyer, everyone was on full alert. Allie had called in at the Co-op to ask the staff about the boy called Danny. They’d identified who he was on their CCTV: Mrs Green had mostly been right in her description of him. As well as leaving her contact details with Mrs Green, Allie had also left her phone number with the staff at the shop, asking them to contact the station when Danny next turned up. Later, when she got to her desk, she began to check through what had come in and waited for the evening’s briefing. Another press conference had been set up for straight afterwards.
At six p.m., the incident room was full. People sat on the edges of desks, a group in the corner trying to recall any local cases where there had been more than two victims but so far drawing a blank. Conversation buzzed. Allie was going through a list of witness statements when DCI Trevor Barrow came into the room. This was the first time he’d addressed the briefing since the case had started. It made her feel as if they weren’t doing their jobs properly. Three people were dead and they were still putting two and two together, nowhere near making four.
Trevor walked over to Nick’s desk, spent a few moments chatting to him. Early fifties with a distinctive head of grey hair, rimless glasses framing blue eyes, he commanded respect: everyone went quiet and gave him their full attention as he turned to address them. He pointed to the whiteboard at his side.
‘We now know from forensic evidence that our suspect is male. He’s killed three people.’ His eyes flitted amongst them. ‘Monday, January fifth
. Mickey Taylor – forty-two, married with two daughters. Lived in the city all his life. Went to Reginald High School, was a troublemaker by all accounts, but no form since leaving. Married to Kath Clamortie since they left school. Mickey was found stabbed on the towpath in Etruria early morning. Found on his person was the letter E – a magnetic, plastic letter.’
He pointed at the board again, this time at the photo of a woman with long blonde hair. ‘Then we have Suzi Porter – original name Sandra, maiden name Seymour. Wednesday, January seventh. Also forty-two, married twice with two young sons. Also went to Reginald High School, and at the same time as Mickey Taylor. She’s been in the city mostly too, except for four years when she moved to London. According to her second husband, Kelvin Porter, she’s been back in Stoke for the past seven. He was at work and was seen on camera at the time of the murder. Ex-husband, Joseph Tranter, has an alibi but we’re looking into that. Nick, you still working on his girlfriend?’
‘Yes, I gave the job to Allie,’ said Nick.
‘I caught up with her this morning,’ Allie explained. ‘Apart from having a bit of doubt in her mind about the relationship Joe Tranter might still have with his ex, she came forward with nothing else. I’ll leave her to stew and then chase her up again. I know she’s hiding something.’
Trevor nodded. ‘Also, when we were questioning Tranter about his whereabouts, it came to light that he looks after the offices of Car Wash City for Terry Ryder.’ A murmur went around the room and he held up his hand. ‘Yeah, we knew about it, but we don’t want Ryder to gather that. Suzi Porter was murdered in her home two days after Mickey Taylor was killed. There were signs of a struggle downstairs – things on the coffee table knocked to the floor, drops of blood in front of the fireplace – before she was tied to a chair in the kitchen. She could have known her killer as there was no forced entry.’
‘Or he could have forced his way in,’ Sam piped up. ‘If she opened the door to him.’
‘Indeed.’ Trevor nodded again. ‘Now, Joe Tranter says he was at home with his girlfriend, Rhian Jamieson, which is the woman Allie is questioning. The magnetic letter found on her was a red V. Did I mention that the E found with Mickey Taylor was green? I’m not sure if the colours are significant – do shout out if you can think of anything.’ Trevor then pointed to a photo of a man lying on a cream carpet. ‘Frank Dwyer.’
‘Sam’s been finding and collating his info,’ said Nick. ‘Sam?’
‘Frank Dwyer was sixty-seven, never married. Long-term male partner moved out years ago and he’s been living alone since. He was a P.E. teacher at Reginald Junior School in the eighties. Known to us since he behaved inappropriately with one of the pupils at the school in 1983. There was no forced entry into his property either. Still trying to trace next-of-kin. Also, we’re looking through photos and emails on his PC.’
‘Thanks, Sam. And here’s the strange thing.’ Trevor circled a photograph of a pizza box with a marker pen. ‘A pizza from Potteries Pizza was either delivered to Dwyer’s address in Queens Road, or he brought it back himself. Then it was smeared all over his face. What was left ended up on the floor – not sure what that was all about. Who’s checking out pizza places?’
A hand was raised at the back of the room. ‘There’s eighteen of them in the city, three in each town. The nearest outlet is too far for Dwyer to walk to, and neighbours say he didn’t own a car. He walked to the local pub most nights.’
‘Good. We need to check with the owners of ones nearby to see if they can recall who came in to buy it. And rule out Dwyer as well – he could have gone for a late-night walk if he was hungry.’
‘They also do online orders too, sir, so we’re looking in to the timing of those,’ Sam added.
‘I wonder why he left the pizza box there,’ said Perry. ‘Wouldn’t you take that with you?’
‘Maybe he forgot it in the spur of the moment?’ a voice shouted up.
Perry shrugged. ‘Possible, I suppose.’
‘Would you like me to collate all the information once I have it?’ asked Sam.
‘Thanks. Keep me informed.’ Trevor looked at the photo of Frank Dwyer. ‘Only one stab wound this time but a purposely placed deadly one to the neck. Found on him was the letter E. Blue.’
‘Eve,’ Allie spoke quietly.
‘Yes, it could be,’ Trevor concurred. ‘And if it isn’t, it might be the beginning of another name.’
‘Or an anagram,’ added Nick.
Trevor nodded. ‘So – links. Each victim had a coloured letter about their person.’ He ticked off with his fingers. ‘Each victim was stabbed. Each one has a connection to Reginald Junior or High School. Mickey Taylor was killed outside but neither of the other two murders had forced entry into their homes. Anyone?’ He looked around eagerly.
‘Forensics are due back to see if sexual intercourse took place with Suzi Porter before she was tied up,’ said Nick. ‘Although we know it’s not looking likely, we need to rule it out.’
‘So if it wasn’t rape, what’s the motive for the killings?’ asked Allie. ‘More often than not, murders are carried out quickly, on the spur of the moment. Maybe whoever killed Suzi knew that her husband wouldn’t be back until late – knew he could spend some time with her?’
‘Someone he works with?’
‘Someone she works with?’
‘Both are options.’ Trevor raised his hand as another murmur went around the room.
‘Beside the wounds that killed her, there were no defence marks,’ noted Allie. ‘She had a cut to the face but nothing else.’
‘So he most probably punched her to unconsciousness, tied her to the chair –’
‘With binding he could have brought with him.’
An involuntarily shiver coming from Sam to her right caught Allie’s line of sight.
‘Some sort of revenge attack?’ added a detective constable at the back of the room. ‘Most people think she’s a diva. She’s probably upset more people than we have.’
A little canned laughter.
‘If Joe Tranter wanted to get back at his ex, don’t you think there are better ways than killing her?’ said Allie. ‘For instance, she gets paid for her looks. Why not maim her physically in some way? I think that would be more of a punishment to her.’
‘Good point, Allie. We won’t rule anything out yet.’ Trevor pointed at her. ‘Keep me in the loop when something positive comes to light.’ Another pause as he straightened the knot in his tie. ‘Before I go ahead with the press conference, has anyone any more ideas about the letters E, V and E and what they mean?’
‘They could be part of a large number of words, too,’ noted Perry. ‘In which case we’re looking for a needle in a haystack.’
Trevor raised his hand one last time for hush as groups broke off to chat. ‘There’s going to be a lot of phone calls to follow up on, guys, so let’s keep our wits about us. Everyone is going to be talking serial killer even without knowing of the magnetic letters but we still need to keep that information back for now. Nick, Allie, I’d like you along with me.’
The press interview was with the police only. The families involved would all know about the letters found on their loved ones and Allie knew that the DCI couldn’t risk anything getting out just yet.
‘We’re looking for anyone with the name Eve, or Evelyn, who has any connection, no matter how slight, to any of the named victims – Michael Taylor, Suzi Porter, previously known as Sandra Seymour, and Frank Dwyer – to come forward.’ Trevor picked up a photo and held it up for the camera. ‘This is Frank Dwyer. Does anyone know him? He was sixty-seven years of age and lived in Queens Road in Sneyd Green. We’re still trying to locate his family.’ He looked directly into the camera. ‘Do you know any of the victims and their connection to a woman name Eve? Have you any connections to anyone called Eve? If so, can you check with them to see if they have any
information, to see if they are missing? Is your name Eve? If anyone has any information, it’s vital that they contact us on the number shown on your screen right now, so that we can talk to them.’
‘Before there’s a fourth victim?’
Trevor’s eyes shot quickly to the back of the room where a small man in a brown crumpled suit stood with his Dictaphone.
‘There are no concrete connections yet . . .’ He raised his eyebrows questioningly.
‘Pete Simpson, Staffordshire Post and Times. Is it likely there will be more?’
‘Let’s keep to the facts we have rather than make any kind of speculation, Mr Simpson.’ Trevor turned away from him sharply. ‘We’re looking for a woman called Eve for now.’
‘Why is the name Eve important to you?’
‘We’re not at liberty to discuss that further at this moment.’ He pointed to a woman to his right. ‘Next question.’
‘Do we know if Eve is old or young?’
Allie stared into the crowd of press as the DCI answered the questions one by one, admiring his cool once again. Christ, he was good at it. She knew she’d probably slip up if she had to face such a barrage on something so serious while keeping back vital evidence.
A few minutes later, Trevor called a stop to it. As everyone began to leave, Allie beckoned to Simon Cole, from The Sentinel, standing at the back of the room. They’d known each other as long as she had worked in the force. Simon always had a smile on his face unless the story he was working on was sombre. He was a cheap date, getting drunk on only a few pints of lager on the occasions she’d gone out with him as part of a larger group. Extremely well-liked and good at his job, unlike Pete Simpson from the Staffordshire Post and Times, whom Allie wouldn’t trust with anything, Cole was always professional. She wondered what his thoughts were on this case.
‘I don’t think it has anything to do with the schools,’ he said as they stood in the corridor afterwards, chatting. ‘People dislike me as much as the police because of my job, I reckon. Any one of us could be next.’
