by Sally Rigby
‘Well, that’s a start,’ Walker said. ‘Do you think he’ll strike again?’
‘Most definitely. And soon, judging by the cooling off period between the two murders, which was only two weeks. Serial killers, which these killings have all the markers of, tend to decrease time between murders, not increase. The pose and the photos are a message from him. He’s telling us he had control over the victims. Control from tying them up. Control from the rape and ultimately, control over when they died. The pose represents them pleading for their lives. These things are inextricably linked and indicative of intelligence and psychopathy,’ George said.
Whitney glanced at her watch and hoped like hell her frustration didn’t show on her face. Doctor Cavendish might have hours to give her lectures and come up with her theories, but right now there was a killer out there. A real one. Not just an academic riddle to be discussed.
‘So, what’s the CliffsNotes version?’ she asked.
George’s jaw visibly tightened. ‘All I’m saying is everything the murderer did was calculated and planned for maximum impact. Of course, it could’ve been worse. He could have mutilated his victims. That would have shocked, but probably wasn’t the message he wanted to put across. Calculated and controlled was his message. This makes him far more dangerous. Because he’s clever. Very clever. The whole set up was too well orchestrated for him not to be.’
‘Which means catching him won’t be easy,’ Whitney said.
‘What about leaving the photos on their phones?’ Ellie asked.
‘It’s a message to us. To you. The police. It’s a taunt. He’s showing off. The same as leaving the bodies in a public place. If he wasn’t trying to impress, he’d leave the bodies somewhere they wouldn’t be found for a long time, if at all. That sort of killer gets different kicks from the death of their victims,’ George said.
‘Well, he’s playing with the wrong people. Because we’re going to find him. And it’s not up for negotiation,’ Whitney said.
‘Geographical location can also tell us a lot. Offenders tend to work in a restricted area, close to where they live,’ George said.
‘In that case, for now I’m going to confine the house-to-house to a half-mile radius around the university,’ Whitney replied. ‘Matt, you come with me to Olivia Griffin’s flat to question her flatmates. Hopefully they’ll all be there.’
‘Yes, guv,’ Matt said.
‘Ellie, go through the contact lists on both phones and look for any crossover. Then begin background checking Olivia’s family.’
‘Okay, guv,’ Ellie replied.
‘Doug. Start checking the CCTV for anyone hanging around the university over the weekend. Sue can help.’
‘The rest of you divide up. Half of you can undertake a house-to-house and half can go to the university and assist uniform in questioning the students. Except you, Frank. Stay and answer the incident room phone. PR is issuing a statement to the press, so we’re bound to get plenty of calls. Let’s go, people.’
George joined Whitney. ‘Would you like me to come with you? I can assess the people you question to establish whether they’re telling the truth or not.’
‘Thanks. But no thanks. We’ve got this. You go back to work, and I’ll be in touch when we next want your help.’
Whitney picked up her bag and headed out of the door.
Chapter Fourteen
During her drive to Olivia Griffin’s flat, Whitney pushed aside thoughts the doctor could be right, and she should be with them. Then again, Whitney could usually tell when people were lying to her, so having her there would’ve been overkill.
There was no doubt what she’d said about the murderer was useful. But the ridiculous long words she’d used seemed designed to make the rest of the team feel stupid, even if that wasn’t her intention. They might not have had the doctor’s education, but they were good at their jobs, and Whitney didn’t want them developing inferiority complexes.
It was just more evidence the real world and the academic world didn’t mix.
She wouldn’t mind some of the doctor’s height, though. Being only five feet four inches had its disadvantages. Especially when she was on the beat. Criminals used to think she was fair game when trying to avoid being arrested. Her nose had been broken several times, and the twist in the centre taunted her every time she looked at herself in the mirror.
‘Just up here on the right, guv.’ Matt’s words cut across her thoughts, and she quickly shelved the guilt over her treatment of Dr Cavendish to the back of her mind.
She pulled up alongside a block of flats and parked. They got out of the car and made their way to the front entrance.
‘Flat six.’ She looked at the row of buttons in front of her on the wall, until spotting six and pressing it.
‘Hello.’ A voice came from the speaker.
‘Detective Chief Inspector Walker and Detective Sergeant Price here to speak to you,’ she replied.
‘We were expecting you. We’re on the second floor.’
The door was buzzed open, and Whitney and Matt walked in. The block of flats was typical of the nineteen sixties concrete monstrosities which were built after the war. Square and ugly, with aluminium windows. The building had clearly been renovated at some time or other, but nothing could change the cold feel of it. The lift had an out of order sign, so they walked up the two flights of stairs leading to the second floor.
The university owned many of these buildings, and they were mainly rented out to students. They were at odds with much of the historic city. Whitney loved Lenchester. She’d been born there and had never had the urge to leave. Of course, being pregnant with Tiffany at seventeen had put paid to her moving even if she’d wanted to, as she needed to be close to her parents. Her dad had died when Tiffany was ten. He’d thought the world of his granddaughter. There were so many similarities in their personalities. They both laughed at the same jokes and would sit for hours watching nature programmes on TV. He would have loved the young woman she’d grown into.
When they reached the second floor, the flat door was open, and they walked into a large square hall.
‘Hello,’ she called.
Two girls came out from a room on the left, both pale and their eyes red from crying. She instinctively had the urge to give them both a hug, knowing that’s what she’d have done to Tiffany.
‘Hello,’ the taller of the two said. ‘I’m Hannah and this is Lizzie. Peta’s in the living room, if you’d like to come through.’
‘Thanks,’ she replied.
They followed the girls into the living room, which had two mismatched old sofas facing each other, and two single chairs. In the corner was a dining table covered in magazines and books. Dirty glasses and mugs were on the low coffee table between the sofas.
‘Thanks for seeing us,’ Whitney said, trying to put them at ease. ‘I know it’s a difficult time for you, but to catch the person who did this to Olivia, we need to get as much information as we can.’
The girls sat next to Peta on one sofa, and she and Matt sat on the other one.
‘We want to help. We’ve talked about it non-stop but can’t think of anything that might be of use,’ Hannah said, a defensive edge to her voice.
What was she hiding? And how did they decide what was going to be useful?
‘When did you last see Olivia?’ Whitney continued.
The girls exchanged glances. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. She was on full alert.
‘It’s tricky.’ Hannah avoided looking directly at them.
‘What do you mean?’
It was obvious she was being lied to. Should she have brought the doctor with her, just to confirm? No. She was perfectly capable of dealing with the situation and should stop second guessing herself.
‘We’re not sure when she last was in the apartment. She goes out a lot and often doesn’t come home,’ Hannah said, her voice strained.
It didn’t escape Whitney’s notice Hannah was doing all
the talking, while the other two sat in silence.
‘Did she have a boyfriend?’ Matt asked.
‘No. Not exactly,’ Hannah replied, after yet again looking at the others.
‘Okay, you three. What’s going on? And don’t say, nothing. Because clearly something is.’ Whitney didn’t need a fancy psychology degree to see that.
Hannah looked out from under her eyelashes and flushed a deep shade of red. She looked directly at Whitney, even though Matt had asked the question about Olivia’s boyfriend. ‘If we tell you, please don’t tell her parents. They wouldn’t understand. They’re old and uptight.’
‘I can’t make a decision like that until I know what it is. If it’s possible to keep it quiet, I will. But no promises.’
‘Olivia worked for Diamond Escorts. She needed the money to help fund her studies.’
She hadn’t heard of Diamond Escorts before; they’d obviously kept themselves under the radar. Some agencies were more like brothels. She hoped this one wasn’t. Olivia wasn’t the first student, and wouldn’t be the last, to go into that work. University fees were ridiculous. And she should know, as she’d been helping Tiffany with hers. She was grateful Tiffany had chosen to work at a garden centre to supplement her student loan.
‘How often did she work for them?’ She wrote the agency’s name in her notebook. She’d call through to Ellie and get her to check them out.
‘Maybe once or twice a week. That’s all she needed, the money was so good,’ Hannah replied.
‘What about the rest of you? Do you work for them?’ she asked.
‘No,’ they said in unison, vigorously shaking their heads.
‘We tried to persuade Olivia to stop, but she wouldn’t. Do you think it was one of her clients who did this?’ Hannah asked.
A question Whitney had been asking herself.
‘We can’t make any assumptions at this stage, but we’ll definitely check them out. Back to the last time you each saw Olivia. When was that?’
‘I bumped into her at uni on Friday morning,’ Peta said. ‘She didn’t say anything about working that evening, but I didn’t actually ask her.’
Whitney jotted that down.
‘I didn’t see her but heard her in her room on Saturday morning at around ten,’ Lizzie said. ‘Our rooms are next to each other.’
‘Are you sure it was her?’ she asked.
‘Not one hundred per cent, no. But if it wasn’t, it had to be someone who had her key. I don’t remember her ever giving her key to anyone.’
‘Okay, we’ll assume it was Olivia,’ she said. ‘Hannah, what about you?’
‘I hadn’t seen Olivia since Wednesday. But I stayed at my boyfriend’s flat on Thursday and Friday night,’ Hannah replied.
‘I’ll need his details, please, so we can confirm your story,’ she replied.
‘Why? Am I a suspect?’ Hannah’s eyes widened.
‘It’s just for our records. We have to account for the movements of those closest to her.’
Hannah went to the table and scribbled the details down while Matt continued the questioning.
‘How often would you all go out together in the evenings?’ he asked.
‘If Olivia wasn’t working, we’d sometimes go out together,’ Hannah replied.
‘Can you remember the last time?’ Matt asked.
‘Was it the party?’ Lizzie asked the other two.
‘I think so,’ Peta said, nodding.
‘Yes,’ Hannah agreed. ‘That was it. We all went to a birthday party a few weeks ago.’
A birthday party? Whitney was certain Millie had gone to a birthday party recently, too. Was it the same one?
‘Whose party?’ Whitney asked.
‘Some vet students,’ Lizzie said. ‘I know them from uni.’
‘You’re studying to be a vet?’ she asked.
‘No. I’m doing medical science, but some of our classes are held in the veterinary science building,’ Lizzie said.
‘What are their names?’ Matt asked.
‘Henry and Harriet Spencer. They’re twins.’ Lizzie replied.
‘Tell us more about the party. Did a lot of people go?’
‘It was heaving,’ Hannah said. ‘If someone puts it on social media, you can guarantee a hundred or more attending. This party was no different. In fact, the house was so full, people were crowded in the garden. We had a good time.’
‘Do you have the twins’ details, Lizzie, please?’ she asked.
Lizzie pulled her phone from her pocket and looked at the screen. ‘I have Harriet’s number.’ She called it out, and Matt wrote it down.
‘Thanks. While we’re here, we’d like to take a look at Olivia’s bedroom, if you could point us in the right direction.’
‘I’ll take you,’ Hannah said.
They followed her out of the lounge and into the hallway where she stopped.
‘Before you go, I want to tell you something in private, without the others hearing.’
‘Okay.’ Whitney exchanged a quick glance with Matt.
‘I lied about not seeing Olivia since Wednesday. I saw her on Friday night.’
‘I thought you were with your boyfriend,’ she said.
‘On Thursday night I was. On Friday, I went with Olivia on a double date for the escort agency. It was the first time I’d done anything like that. No one else knew, especially not my boyfriend, or Lizzie and Peta. And I don’t want them to. It was just a one off. Especially after what happened to Olivia,’ Hannah said.
‘We’ll have to get in touch with the agency to confirm your story.’
‘I understand. But you won’t tell anyone here, will you?’ Hannah pleaded.
‘I’m sure it won’t be necessary. I’m not so sure we can keep it from Olivia’s parents, though. And it may come out at the inquest,’ she replied.
‘I understand,’ Hannah replied. ‘Olivia’s room is the second on the left as you go along the hall.’
‘Thanks. We’ll pop back into the lounge once we’ve finished in there. Please don’t go anywhere until we leave. And ask the others not to, either.’
Hannah left them and walked back into the lounge.
Matt looked at Whitney. ‘What do you make of that?’ he asked.
‘The escort agency?’
He nodded.
‘I think it’s a sorry state of affairs that unless kids are rich, they can’t afford to go to university. The fact these girls had to resort to being escorts is disgusting.’
‘They can earn a lot of money,’ Matt said.
‘Yes. But at what cost? We all know what being an escort means. I’d be surprised if Olivia didn’t have sex with any of her clients. I just thank God I’m able to help Tiffany out. The thought of her even contemplating doing that makes me want to vomit.’
‘Tiffany isn’t the sort, anyway. She’s much too sensible,’ Matt said.
‘It must be the good example I’ve set her. Or something. Come on, let’s see if we can find anything useful in the bedroom.’
Chapter Fifteen
Whitney and Matt were back in the incident room after lunch. Olivia’s bedroom had given them little in the way of evidence, apart from her bank statements which were crazy. Olivia had been making thousands a month from her escort work. More than Whitney earned. Would she ever consider that sort of work? She could take care of herself if there was a problem. And the money would be amazing. But no. She wouldn’t swap her job as a police officer.
She headed over to where Ellie was sat peering at her computer screen.
‘Guv,’ Ellie said, once she’d noticed her standing there.
‘What have you got from the contact lists?’ she asked.
‘I split them up into male and female. There were a few similarities. They both had over a hundred contacts in there. There were ten matching females on both and eight males.’
‘Right. Let’s look at the men. We’ll speak to them first.’
Ellie handed Whitney the list, and
she scanned through it. Ellie had obviously been working hard, as she’d added their addresses and other relevant information, including whether they were students or staff, and their subjects.
‘Good work. Take Frank and make a start on interviewing all the men on this list and obtaining alibis for both dates. If you can’t see them face to face, phone them. Report back to me anyone who can’t provide one.’
‘Will do. Come on, Frank.’
He got up from the desk. ‘I can’t work too late. I’ve arranged to go out with the missus,’ he said.
Whitney rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. ‘This takes precedence over you pissing it up the wall at the pub.’
Frank scowled in her direction and then walked towards Ellie, who was waiting at the door.
‘Matt, we’re heading to Diamond Escorts.’
‘Lucky bastard,’ Frank said, turning his head and speaking over his shoulder.
‘You win some, you lose some,’ Matt quipped, grinning.
‘Give me a break,’ Whitney groaned. ‘Keep it in your pants, or I’ll go on my own.’
‘Just joking, guv.’
The office for Diamond Escorts was listed at a residential address in one of the posh areas of Lenchester. It was on the outskirts of the city and took twenty minutes to get there.
‘I’m in the wrong job,’ she said as they drew up to the gate belonging to a large modern house, built in mock Tudor style. She opened her window and leaned out, pressing the entrance buzzer.
‘Hello,’ a woman answered.
‘DCI Walker and DS Price, to see Diamond Escorts,’ she replied.
‘What’s it about?’ the woman asked.
‘We need to talk in person. Please open the gate.’
The black iron gate slid open, and she drove around the circular gravel drive until they reached the front of the house. They walked to the front door and before she had time to ring the bell it was opened by a tall, fifty-something, glamorous, well made-up woman. Whitney couldn’t help notice the six-inch heel gold shoes she was wearing and wondered how on earth she could stand in them, let alone walk.
