Some of them nodded. McMann wasn’t one of them.
‘This is a situation nobody wants but we have to ensure your hard work isn’t wasted. Come and see me if you want to talk… and McMann?’
He looked up, green eyes hooded.
‘A word?’
He nodded and rose; chair squeaking under him.
Fabian turned and walked to the racks of dirty trays positioned on the far side of the canteen. When he turned, McMann had joined him. He was taller than Fabian and obviously worked out as much as Whiting had. ‘When you’ve finished here can you come up to the office? I need to get going on this as soon as possible.’ He noted that behind his reddish-brown moustache, McMann had a cleft lip.
McMann nodded irritably.
‘You were as close to this as DI Whiting, so I’d really appreciate your input.’ But Fabian could see McMann was reluctant. ‘Metcalfe thinks you should stay on the team. That you’ll be valuable to me. Is he right or not?’ he asked him directly.
McMann nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Prove him right and me wrong. Anything you need to tell me about where things were before Whiting was taken into hospital?’
‘We were pursuing a few different lines of enquiry.’
‘I’m not Metcalfe. I know how things have been and not through any lack of application. You’re all exhausted but I just need to know what I shouldn’t waste my time on.’
McMann pursed his lips and surrendered his attitude. ‘I’ll collate everything we have on Janet Wells so far.’
‘Good. In half an hour. I want anything you think’s relevant and reasons why you’ve dismissed anything you think isn’t.’
McMann looked a little dazed.
Fabian headed back upstairs. That was one meeting he was glad to have over but in spite of the task ahead he could feel a familiar excitement and energy returning.
Chapter Eight
‘Four murders, four similar sets of injuries, same weapon.’ Banner took the photos of the victims down from the pinboard.
‘Can’t we just all relocate to this side of the office?’ Finch indicated the empty chairs around them.
Fabian shook his head. It didn’t seem right commandeering the space that the late DI’s investigation had occupied less than a day before. ‘It’s not going to take long to shift.’
Finch sighed and nodded at the laptop on Whiting’s desk. ‘Anyone coming to help out?’
‘McMann said he was on his way up.’ Fabian took the printouts of the victims’ faces from Banner and examined the features of each. Three females of varying ages and one middle-aged male. One black woman, two white women and one white man. Ages ranged from Keeley Riding’s seventeen to Janet Wells’s seventy-two. Had they been randomly attacked?
Banner took down a map. ‘One in west London, one in south-west London, one east and the other central. Whoever it was covered some miles to kill them.’
‘A ploy to conceal their own neighbourhood or do they have a job that demands they travel around?’ Fabian took it from her and examined the highlighted areas.
‘Not a single witness,’ she reminded him.
‘None that have come forward anyway.’ Fabian paused as McMann walked into the office. ‘You know Detective Sergeant Banner and Detective Constable Finch.’
He nodded warily at them.
‘There’s a spare desk here. Move your stuff and then we’ll have a chat.’
Fabian wandered back to his own desk, sifting the faces in his hands. The only obvious thing the victims had in common was that they were all cold and mutilated now, united by the same blade. Perhaps their murders had been opportunistic? But the killer had broken into Janet’s home. Had they been watching her, or had they simply been passing by and taken a chance?
‘I’d like to drive out to the last crime scene.’
Finch was used to Fabian thinking out loud. ‘On it.’
Fabian seated himself at Whiting’s laptop and accessed the victims’ details via his login. Candice Langham, the first victim, lived in a wealthy part of Ealing, west London. Twenty-two, law student and only just married to her husband, Marcus, in June. Not much older than Tilly. He could understand how her slender features and perfect smile could have attracted unwanted admirers.
She was attacked around eleven p.m. in a private residents’ car park behind her home on Saturday, the eighth of September. The security camera had been vandalised and disabled shortly beforehand. It looked like whoever stabbed Candice had planned it. But had they waited specifically for her? Her handbag still had her purse inside and had been found beside her body, so it didn’t appear it was a mugger randomly targeting wealthy householders. Her new husband had an alibi as he’d been working the weekend and at a board meeting that had dragged on into the small hours.
Forty-three-year-old Joe Middleton drove a cab in Fulham for Blue Dragon Taxis. He was divorced but had three children to support. He’d had a minor stroke in 2016 and still had weight issues. His head was severely shaved and his pinched expression radiated stress. He’d been knifed around midnight, on Saturday, the fifteenth of September, as he’d walked home alone on his way back from a night out at his local pub. A road cleaner had discovered his body under Carlton railway bridge.
Fabian clicked between Middleton’s photo and the one taken at the crime scene, his blank dead expression almost appearing to sneer because of the blade injuries to his lips.
Keeley Riding was a gaunt teenager, seventeen only three days before she was attacked in the back garden of her Tower Hamlets council home on Thursday, the twenty-seventh of September. She’d been charged with drug possession when she was fourteen and it looked like her live-in boyfriend was a petty dealer. The back garden had been easily accessed over a fence that bordered the local park and her body hadn’t been found until the following afternoon. Her time of death had been around eleven the night before.
Janet Wells looked frailer than her seventy-two years and had mobility issues. She’d lived in assisted living quarters for the past four years after her husband had passed away. She had no children and very few people came to visit her. But she was the only victim that had been murdered inside. Sunday, the seventh of October, the day before yesterday, around ten o’clock in the evening.
Fabian clicked through the morgue photos for each victim. Their vacated eyes misted by the same last person they’d come into contact with. Four disparate people all murdered with the same weapon at night. Aside from the blade that had been used, Whiting had found nothing else to connect them.
Was this an individual selecting a location and aimlessly attacking people unfortunate enough to be walking by? There were no fingerprints and only a partial footprint in the dirt at the rear of Keeley Riding’s overgrown back garden that might not belong to them. What was the significance of the facial mutilation? A clumsy attempt at a signature? The killer clearly wanted the police to know the murders were the work of one person.
Fabian sensed there was something more significant, more thought-out under the blunt execution, however. Would their break-in at Janet Wells’s home embolden them? And had they already selected their next target?
Chapter Nine
Fabian tried to imagine just how terrified Janet Wells had been to wake up to an intruder in her bedroom. Her cramped Pimlico retirement flat was on the first floor and overlooked a square of lawn that could only be entered via the small visitors’ car park.
‘Nobody passes by here. They specifically targeted this room.’ He lifted the net from the pane.
Banner nodded. ‘If it was on a whim, breaking in to one of the downstairs apartments would certainly have been the easier option.’
‘Easy enough to climb up here from the balcony below. Maybe Janet had left her window open.’ Fabian examined those of the lower apartments. They were all sealed but after what had happened he was sure the residents were being extra cautious.
‘There was no sign of a break-in but the security here is pretty lax. No
cameras out there or in the car park. They’ve never had anything like this happen before.’
Fabian turned to the bed. The indentation from Janet was still in the mattress, and there were blood spatters over her yellowing pillow and the studded pink headboard. ‘Why go to so much trouble if he could have attacked somebody outside like the others?’
‘She was defenceless. And they had privacy.’
Fabian shook his head. ‘The staff have all been questioned?’
‘Yes. There were only three of them on duty and they were all in the reception area for the evening. That is covered by cameras.’
‘Nothing was stolen?’
‘Nothing the staff are aware of. Janet Wells kept her money in the safe. There wasn’t anything to take.’
‘Except all her medication.’ Fabian glanced at the canisters arranged in rows on her bedside table. ‘We’ve already got the visitors’ database. Nobody has been to see Janet this year.’
‘And Whiting’s team was checking the camera footage.’
‘Let’s go further back. They could have been walking around here weeks before. And we should find out if there are any security cameras in the adjoining buildings. There’s an off-licence opposite. They might have one.’
‘Finch is already looking into it.’
Fabian walked to the side of the bed, the other side was against the wall. He was standing in exactly the same spot the killer would have while he slashed Janet’s face. ‘Langham, Middleton, Riding, Wells.’
The names of the four victims resonated around the low ceiling and walls.
Banner put her hands into her parka and hunched her head forward. ‘The names seem… comfortable with each other.’
‘Like the guest list at a royal wedding?’ Fabian had already put them through his computer.
‘Middleton for sure. Langham? I’ve had lunch in the hotel.’
Fabian had only ever walked by it. ‘You move in more exclusive circles than I do.’ But he was convinced there was something relevant there. ‘I don’t want to make it five names before we make sense of it.’
‘It’s been nearly two days. What was the shortest interval between deaths?’
‘A week. That doesn’t mean we can count on them giving us the same amount of time though. See what Finch can scare up from those cameras and I’ll see you back at the office.’
Chapter Ten
Fabian had broken a lot of promises to Harriet. Today had been taking Tilly to her uni digs. She hadn’t sounded surprised when he’d called her the night before to say he’d have to let her down but she had made him speak to Tilly. She’d just got back from breaking it off with Toby and sounded pretty upset.
Fabian told her why he wasn’t able to take her, and her response had been as stoical as ever. When she’d put him back on to Harriet her monotone said she knew it was pointless arguing. Fabian supposed she was just glad her life didn’t constantly revolve around those kinds of conversations any more.
He had promised to feed the cat that evening though and had a window of several hours to prove he was still reliable. He’d have to detour but he owed Harriet big time, for the past couple of decades at least.
He let himself in and realised it was the first time since their separation that he’d been inside the house alone. He closed the front door and it reverberated emptily. Harriet had left the hall lamp on, so he made his way to the little dining room at the rear.
‘Tibbs?’ No, that was the last cat. He’d forgotten this one’s name. Tilly always wanted a cat around the house but when Tibbs died she’d said he was the last, especially as she was off to uni. It was Harriet who had insisted during the summer they get a new one. She was obviously thinking of the time she’d be spending alone. Bacardi, he remembered now. It was Harriet’s favourite tipple and it actually seemed appropriate for a male.
The moody tortoiseshell slunk out from its basket under the window radiator and stopped in the middle of the scratched-up oatmeal rug to eye him as if he were an intruder.
‘All alone then.’ He wondered whom he was actually addressing.
Bacardi cowered slightly as he approached and tensed as Fabian picked him up. He quickly relaxed, however, and vibrated happily as he stroked him. ‘Little tart,’ Fabian whispered into his ear and carried him into the kitchen.
Once he’d filled up his bowls and replenished his water Fabian glanced at the calendar on the side of the fridge and felt immediately guilty.
Spigo’s. 8
That was tomorrow. Another date? That had been their restaurant – for romantic and family pizzas. Harriet knew Mario, the owner, so why would she stop eating there? But surely she wouldn’t be comfortable sitting across their table with someone else. No, he couldn’t see her considering that. She was probably meeting friends.
He wondered why that made him feel relief. She was entitled to see whomever she wanted. But, up until now, she hadn’t seemed particularly bothered about pursuing anything serious. Maybe she was again thinking about the amount of time she’d been spending alone in the house.
Fabian watched Bacardi noisily chomping through the tinned cat food and knew he should go, but felt reluctant to leave. He walked back into the hallway and headed for the front door. Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, he looked up them and considered taking a peek in Tilly’s room. It had been such a long time since he’d been inside. But it felt wrong to even put a foot on the bottom stair. He should call her. Do it now. He took out his phone and dialled. Her recorded voice greeted him. He hung up and decided to send her a text.
Fabian found himself walking back into the little dining room. It was quiet there and he needed some thinking time. Better here than trying to find a peaceful corner of the office. Bacardi was prowling back out of the kitchen, so Fabian picked him up again and sat down with him in Harriet’s armchair.
The cat settled into his lap.
‘Sorry we didn’t get our road trip. Hope you’ve unpacked those survival provisions—’
He deleted the second sentence. Sounded like he was trying to mitigate his absence that morning.
‘Hope you’re settling in and let me know if I’m cool enough to visit. If not, I can do it under cover of darkness. Enjoy yourself and, from time to time, remember those inconvenient things called studies. Sleep tight. xx’
Fabian sent the text and waited. She often replied immediately, but nothing came back. Was she angry with him? She was probably just busy. He stroked Bacardi and recalled something he needed to check following his conversation with Banner.
Not all the victims’ names were hotels, but Fabian clicked onto the website for The Langham in Portland Place. He hit the map at the side and his eyes skated over to Langham Place. His finger dragged the map and he magnified it.
Fabian sat bolt upright and Bacardi leaped from his lap. ‘Jesus.’
Chapter Eleven
Fabian hurriedly locked the front door after him and trotted up the path to his car. He had just crossed behind it to reach the driver’s side when he became aware of someone sitting in the front seat of the car on the other side of the road. The car interior was in darkness, but he immediately recognised the face of the man there. He’d sunk down into his seat on sight, but his features were still bathed in orange streetlight.
It was Tilly’s boyfriend – now ex-boyfriend – and his smile of recognition seemed a little too delayed as Fabian approached.
He rolled down his window. ‘Hi there, Mr Fabian.’
‘Toby,’ Fabian said warily. The young man was always a little awkward around him. But it looked like he wanted to avoid being seen. What was he doing there when he must have known Tilly had left that morning?
‘Sorry, I was miles away.’
Fabian waited for him to explain himself.
‘I-I came to speak to Mrs Fabian, but she wasn’t in.’
‘She’s out until later.’ That still didn’t justify his hanging around outside. How long had he been in the house? Ten, fifteen minutes? And
that was if Toby had knocked soon before he’d arrived.
‘Do you know what time she’ll be back?’
Fabian shook his head. He was eager to get back to the station. But Toby’s presence felt unsettling.
‘OK. Maybe I’ll get on my way.’
‘Anything I can help you with, Toby?’
‘I’ve been driving around tonight. Trying to make sense of it.’
‘I see.’ Fabian realised he was probably still numb after Tilly had ended things the night before. But from what Harriet had told him Toby had been more eager to stay together than Tilly. ‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Toby. But with Tilly going to university it was probably for the best.’
Toby nodded, dismissively. As if he’d heard it before.
Fabian knew Tilly would have let him down as gently as she could but Toby looked as if he’d taken it hard.
‘Is she settling in OK?’
Fabian noticed Toby was turning his phone over between his hands in his lap.
‘She’ll be busy finding her feet the next few days but I expect we’ll hear from her when she’s ready.’
‘Looks like the door’s closed on me now anyway.’
Fabian fought the temptation to look at his watch. He wanted the conversation done but still… Toby’s vigil there concerned him. He tried again. ‘You going to be OK, Toby?’
Toby didn’t answer. Kept flipping the phone over in his palms.
‘Did you want to talk things over with… Harriet?’ He still had to make the conscious effort not to call her his wife when he was talking about her to others.
Never Say Goodbye: An edge of your seat thriller with gripping suspense (Detective Tom Fabian Book 1) Page 3
