by Sally Rigby
‘This can’t escalate. I want you to use every measure possible to ensure we don’t have a third body.’
‘Will do, sir. I take it you’ll authorise any overtime required?’
She’d already told the team they’d be working all hours until they solved the case, but it would be good to have Jamieson confirm it, so she wasn’t reprimanded down the track for going over budget.
‘I’ve already said, do what it takes. Public confidence is too low as it is. We need to ensure it increases. I want an update from you later today before we give a statement to the press. I want you with me again. To present a united front.’
Another press conference to take her away from her work.
‘Yes, sir. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get to the incident room.’
She walked away, relieved he hadn’t decided to sit in on her briefing with the team. Although unusual for a DSI to get involved, it did happen sometimes.
Pushing open the door to the incident room, the noise from everyone chatting hit her.
‘Let’s get started,’ she called out. When no one stopped talking, she jumped onto the nearest desk. ‘I said, let’s get started,’ she shouted.
That stopped everyone in their tracks. Now you could hear a pin drop. She might be small in stature, but she had a loud voice to compensate. She jumped down and stood by the board which now displayed both victims’ photos.
‘Thank you for your attention. Victim two. Olivia Griffin.’ She pointed at the photograph. ‘Twenty-one-year-old third-year history student at Lenchester University. Found on the grounds of the university last night. What else do we know about her?’
‘I’m going through the contacts on her phone,’ Ellie said.
‘Family?’
‘She comes from Devon,’ Matt said. ‘I’ve been in touch with the guys down there, and they’re going to let the family know and arrange for someone to make the formal identification.’
At least she wasn’t going to be the one to break the news to them.
‘It appears the murder was done by the same person as Millie Carter. Same pose. Phone in the lap. Wallpaper on phone was a photo of the victim tied up. We’re waiting for further information from pathology.’
‘Unless it’s a copycat,’ Frank said.
The team groaned in unison. She’d worked with Frank for years, and he wasn’t the brightest in the team. He hadn’t got long until retirement. But she’d miss him when he did leave. He was part of the furniture, like the knackered old chair you didn’t want to throw out for sentimental reasons.
‘It’s not likely, Frank. When we’ve given statements to the media, we’ve deliberately left out the detail of the phone in the lap with the victim’s photo on it. And even though it’s possible someone leaked the information, it’s highly unlikely a copycat could have made the scene totally identical to the first. Even copycats tend to have their own signature.’
She stared at the two photos of the victims and the one of Nathan Harris which was directly under Millie. ‘Has anyone been in contact with Millie Carter’s boyfriend, Nathan Harris?’
‘Yes, guv,’ Matt said. ‘He’s got an airtight alibi for the whole weekend, which I’ve checked. He was at his parents’ house three hours away. They were having a silver wedding anniversary celebration.’
Whitney took his photo from the board. ‘Yes. He did mention going home for the weekend. So, that rules him out.’
‘What about the person who found the body?’ Frank asked.
‘People,’ Matt replied. ‘It was a middle-aged couple who live close to the university. They were walking their dog, and it ran off into the university grounds. We spoke to them last night, but they were in shock. I’ve asked them to come in for a longer interview later this morning. I’ll—’ He was interrupted by the phone on his desk ringing. ‘Price,’ he replied. ‘I’ll let her know. Hang on a second.’ He put his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Guv, Dr Cavendish is at the front desk. She wants to speak to you about the murders.’
She rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. ‘For goodness’ sake, we don’t need help from her. We’re quite capable of working this case ourselves. Tell her if she has anything to say, to put it in an email, and I’ll get to it when I can. In the meantime, we’ve got work to do.’
Whitney ignored the sarcastic oohs and ahhs from the rest of the team and listened as Matt relayed her message. She winced a little. She hadn’t meant to be so aggressive, but she didn’t like people trying to muscle in on her territory. It was bad enough having Jamieson, with his academic background, spouting theories which had little relevance in the real world, without adding Dr Cavendish into the mix.
‘Let’s look at similarities between the victims,’ she said, dismissing further thoughts of the doctor and picking up a board pen. ‘Both students at the university. Both early twenties. Anything else?’
‘It doesn’t seem like the killer has a type,’ Ellie said. ‘Millie Carter was nearly six feet tall, with long blonde hair and with a well-built physique. Olivia Griffin was small, with short dark hair. They were studying different subjects. We haven’t found a connection yet, but we’re still looking into both girls’ lives to see if there’s any crossover.’
Whitney’s phone rang, and she saw it was Claire. ‘I need to take this,’ she said to the team. She headed to the back of the room and into her office away from the racket.
‘Claire. What have you got for me?’ Had she done Olivia’s autopsy already?
‘I haven’t yet completed my investigation, but the various aspects of the killer lead me to suspect we’re looking for the same murderer as for Millie Carter.’
Hardly a surprise.
‘Thanks. Speaking of Millie Carter, when’s the second autopsy report being done?’
‘It was completed last Friday and the body released to the family. Didn’t the coroner’s office let you know?’
‘If they did, it didn’t reach me.’
Unless they’d informed Jamieson, and he hadn’t bothered to pass it on. She’d ask him later before the press conference.
‘The funeral is ten tomorrow morning, at the crematorium.’
‘Thanks. I’ll let you get on. When will you have more on Olivia Griffin?’
‘When I’ve finished.’ Claire’s frustrated sigh echoed down the phone.
‘I’ll wait to hear from you.’
‘I’ve just spoken to Dr Dexter,’ Whitney said to the team as she walked back into the incident room. ‘Millie Carter’s funeral is tomorrow morning.’
‘Are you going?’ Matt asked.
‘Yes. You can come with me. I’ll pick you up at nine so we can get there early and watch who attends. The murderer could be there. The rest of you, continue with your investigations and report in after lunch tomorrow. We’ve got to make some progress on this. Soon.’
Chapter Twelve
George smoothed down her black coat, which she’d put on for Millie’s funeral, as tears unexpectedly filled her eyes. She didn’t do crying. Well, rarely. She blinked them away while the memory of her grandmother’s funeral last year flashed before her eyes.
She’d spent most school holidays with her grandma because her parents were working. Her dad was always busy producing medical miracles as a heart surgeon or lecturing at conferences. And her mum spent most of her time preventing atrocities across the globe as a human rights lawyer.
Her younger brother, James, also now a surgeon, often spent his holidays with friends. So, it was mainly her and Grandma. They were hardly ever at home. There was always some charity event to go to. Some stately home to visit. Or just shopping, which her grandma loved with a passion. Everyone in Harrods knew her, and she greeted them all by their first names.
Stephen didn’t understand why she wanted to attend Millie’s funeral. He thought it would be for family and friends, and just because she was Millie’s tutor didn’t mean she was duty bound to attend. But every night since she’d found the body, she’d had bizarre dreams.
Often involving Millie being alive, but she’d got to her too late and she died. She knew it came from what had happened with Camilla and wasn’t anything to do with Millie, but that didn’t make it any easier. She hadn’t told Stephen about Camilla. She hadn’t told anyone.
The drive took her just under an hour, and when she arrived at the crematorium, there were already people milling around outside. She had to park a couple of streets away, and by the time she’d walked back, they’d opened the doors.
Everyone poured in. Hardly anyone was talking. The silence was disturbing. She decided to sit towards the back and keep out of the way. The first two rows had older people in them, who she assumed were Millie’s family. The rest of the chapel was mainly filled with students. She recognised several of them from her lectures. Millie was clearly popular. She could understand why. She’d always been lovely, and George had liked her.
On the other side of the chapel, at the back, were DCI Walker and DS Price. They were scanning the chapel. When Walker looked in her direction, she nodded. Walker said something to Price, and he stared at her. She didn’t look away. She had every right to be there.
The music started, and the doors opened. The coffin, covered in a deep-red cloth, was carried in by four men. One of them had to be Millie’s father; the family likeness was uncanny. Another, younger man, had the same family look. Was he also related to Millie?
She turned away. Such a waste of life. Millie had so much ahead of her. It surprised George the body had been released so soon. Not that she was up on procedures relating to murder victims, so she’d googled it and found in cases like this, an independent post mortem would have been carried out for use by the murderer’s lawyer if they were ever caught. As much as she thought this was so the families could try to move on, she also knew it would be so the body didn’t have to be held onto by the mortuary. Saving space and money.
Many of the people attending weren’t wearing black, especially the students. The funeral was a celebration of Millie’s life. A montage of photos played on a large screen that had been erected behind the podium, from when she was young, up until fairly recently. People stood up to talk about her and how much she’d meant to them. Although it was a celebration, it didn’t stop the sobbing. When the coffin was finally put through the long red curtains, they played her favourite Adele song. A lump stuck in the back of George’s throat, and she struggled to catch her breath.
The air was stifling, and once the family had left, Whitney and Matt quickly exited the building, along with other mourners. They stood back from everyone else, scanning to see if anyone, or anything, was out of the ordinary. In her peripheral vision, Whitney noticed Dr Cavendish heading in her direction. She started to move away, but Dr Cavendish picked up her pace and cut in front of her.
‘DCI Walker.’
Whitney stopped. ‘Dr Cavendish.’
‘Do you have a moment?’ she asked. ‘I’d like to talk to you about the cases.’
‘This really isn’t an appropriate time,’ Whitney replied, gesturing with her hand at all the mourners.
‘Well, I’ve tried to speak to you before and sent you several emails, but you didn’t respond.’
‘What can I say? I’m in the middle of a murder investigation. You should understand that.’
‘I don’t understand what you have against using my help,’ she continued. ‘Plenty of police departments engage the help of a forensic psychologist in their investigations. Why not you?’
Whitney let out a frustrated sigh. ‘I’m sure you’d be very useful in certain investigations, but not this one.’
‘Why not?’
‘We have our own methods of research and finding offenders that don’t include using your type.’
Crap. Why had she said that? It gave credence to Jamieson’s view of her being stuck in the past and not prepared to embrace modern policing. Which wasn’t the case.
‘My type? What’s that meant to mean?’
‘Nothing. What I meant to say was most murders are committed by someone who knows the deceased an—’
‘Well, everything points to you dealing with the same killer for both murders,’ Dr Cavendish said, interrupting her. ‘Same pose. Phone in the lap. Left in the same vicinity.’
‘Yes. Even using our antiquated methods, we’ve figured that out. More to the point, how do you know about the phone? That detail hasn’t been released to the public,’ she challenged.
‘I overheard some officers speaking at the scene. That’s why I went to the station yesterday. Thinking you’d actually welcome some assistance, though clearly I was mistaken.’
‘It was kind of you to offer, but it’s really not necessary,’ Whitney said.
‘Do you have any suspects yet?’ Dr Cavendish pushed.
‘I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation,’ she replied.
‘So let me help. Show me the evidence, and I’ll come up with a profile you can use. Where’s the harm?’
‘Anyone can come up with a profile. It’s not hard. Let me see. The murderer’s male, with a connection to the university.’
‘Suit yourself. If you’re so precious over your work you won’t even consider taking any help offered, it’s your issue. I’m sure the dead girls’ families would be glad to hear you’re limiting your enquiries to areas of which you’re familiar. And not daring to think even slightly out of the box.’
‘Are you threatening to go to them?’
‘No. I’m not that petty. I was just pointing out a fact. Forget it. You know where I am if you change your mind.’
Whitney stared at the doctor’s retreating back. Why had she been so awkward with her? The woman was offering to help. Claire Dexter recommended her. But she’d resisted. The trouble was, she couldn’t warm to her. She didn’t like her arrogant, condescending attitude. And her posh sounding voice especially grated.
‘Why did you turn down her offer?’ Matt asked.
‘You must have read my mind. I suppose it’s because I don’t like the woman.’ She cringed at how childish that sounded.
‘You don’t have to like her,’ Matt replied. ‘I think she’d be a useful addition to the team.’
She stared at Matt. She liked that he felt able to speak openly to her. She encouraged it in all of her team. Something she’d learnt from Don Mason, a DI who retired eight years ago, and who’d been instrumental in progressing her career. She still missed him. She also knew he’d tell her to pull her head in and stop letting her emotions get the better of her.
‘You’re right. I need to put my personal feelings to one side.’
She hurried after the doctor. ‘Wait,’ she called once she was within ear shot.
Doctor Cavendish turned. ‘Yes?’
‘I could do with some help, please.’
The doctor scrutinised her face for a few seconds. ‘Okay. How would you like to proceed?’
‘Come to the station and we’ll go through the evidence. You can meet the team and answer any questions they might have.’
‘Great. I’ll meet you there.’ She turned to leave when Whitney placed her hand on her arm.
Although Whitney wanted her there, this wasn’t going to be some joint police/academic investigation, and that needed to be made clear.
‘Just to let you know. This is my investigation, and you’re invited at my request. What I say goes.’
Chapter Thirteen
Doctor Cavendish met Whitney at the front desk and followed her to the incident room.
‘Listen up, everyone,’ Whitney said as they entered the room. She headed over to one of the desks and dropped her bag onto it. ‘This is Dr Cavendish. She’s going to assist us in the investigation. She found the first victim’s body. She is also a forensic psychologist and is here to offer her insight into the case and provide us with a profile of the murderer.’
She couldn’t be a hundred per cent certain, but she thought she heard one of the team mutter, ‘What the fuck?’ Understandable, based on her attitude
before. But not polite. She glared in the direction of the comment.
She nodded in the doctor’s direction, indicating she should speak.
‘Good morning, everyone. And please call me George,’ she said. ‘As a forensic psychologist, I’m not just here to come up with a profile of the offender. Yes, I can do that, but I’m also trained to help you with the investigation. Based on factors relating to the crime, I can recommend the direction you should take your search for the offender. I can also guide you in interviewing suspects or victims of the crimes.
‘Thanks, George,’ Whitney said. ‘But for the moment we’d like your opinion on who we’re looking for. Ellie, please let the doctor know what evidence we have on both cases.’
‘So far, we have two bodies. Both students at the university. Millie Carter studied psychology, and Olivia Griffin studied history. Both were raped, strangled, and posed with their hands clasped together and brought up to their chests. They were left with their mobile phones in their laps, and the wallpaper had been changed to a photo of them in their underwear, with their wrists cable tied to the bed head and their legs splayed. The PM revealed the first victim had ketamine in her blood. We’re waiting to hear about the second victim. There was no trace evidence found on either body, apart from soap, which we assume means the victims were washed. They were moved after death, and there is no evidence of them being dragged.’ Ellie looked at Walker, who nodded at her.
‘Thank you, Ellie,’ George said. ‘Based on what you’ve told me and the similarities in the killer’s actions, we can assume it’s the work of the same person.’ She heard a titter and frowned. She obviously needed to get to the good stuff faster. ‘The murderer is male. Possibly over six feet tall, young, and fit, to enable him to move the bodies. The nature of the rape and the use of ties suggests he has control issues. It’s likely he had an upbringing during which, at times, he felt powerless. Perhaps he was moved from school to school and wasn’t able to form stable relationships with others. Or he was subjected to bullying.’ Were they going to give her marks out of ten? It was like undergoing some sort of classroom test.
