by Sally Rigby
‘Did you see this guy talking to anyone?’
She sensed the frustration in Whitney’s voice. The only lead they had, and Harriet couldn’t help her nail him down.
‘No. Bu—’ Harriet stopped at the sound of the front door banging. ‘It must be Hal. We’re in here,’ she called out.
The lounge door opened, and Henry walked in. She noted how drawn he looked. His eyes weren’t red like Harriet’s, but he still looked distraught. She could only imagine what they were going through.
‘Hello.’ Henry glanced at each of them and sat on the sofa next to Harriet. He took hold of her hand.
‘How’s Tiffany?’ Whitney asked.
‘She’s still in shock over Lydia. I made her a cup of tea and offered to stay, but she said she’d be fine and you’d be home soon.’
‘Thank you for looking after her. I’ll see if she wants to stay with her granny tonight, in case I have to work late.’
‘A good idea. It’s not advisable to be on your own at a time like this,’ he replied.
‘They think the killer was at our party, Hal,’ Harriet said.
Henry’s eyes widened. ‘What? Impossible. We’d have noticed anyone who wasn’t a student.’
‘We don’t know the killer isn’t a student,’ Whitney said. ‘We were talking to Harriet about a guy who sat on his own on the sofa. Do you remember him at all?’
‘I noticed him when the lights were switched on briefly, just before they sang happy birthday to us,’ Harriet said.
‘I’m not sure. There were so many people there. What did he look like?’ Henry asked.
‘That’s what we want to find out from you,’ Whitney replied.
‘All I could remember was his hair an—’
‘Please don’t prompt Henry. We need him to try to remember himself,’ Whitney interrupted.
An annoyed expression fleetingly crossed Harriet’s face, but it disappeared so quickly George doubted anyone else would have noticed it. She clearly didn’t like being told off.
‘Sorry,’ Harriet said.
‘Henry?’ Whitney asked.
‘Thinking about it, I don’t remember the lights being turned on, but obviously they did or Harriet wouldn’t have mentioned it. But I do vaguely recall seeing a guy on his own on the sofa. Holding a can of beer,’ Henry said.
‘Was it a can? I thought it was a bottle,’ Harriet said.
‘If we saw him at different times, then it could have been both. He could have started with one and then gone into the kitchen for another.’ Henry gave Harriet a tiny nudge with his elbow. There was something going on between them. He definitely took the lead in their relationship and was prompting her to agree with him.
‘Then someone would’ve seen him in the kitchen. I don’t remember him being there,’ Harriet said, shaking her head.
‘Did you spend a lot of time in the kitchen?’ Whitney asked.
‘Yes. So did Hal. We were hanging out with our friends.’
‘And you definitely don’t remember this guy in the kitchen?’
‘Not early on. No. I’m sure of it,’ Harriet said.
The questioning was leading nowhere fast. Whatever the pair of them remembered, it wasn’t much. And certainly nothing that was going to assist. It was almost like they were pretending to want to help. But she had nothing to base her opinion on. Other than her gut. Not exactly scientific.
‘I agree. He wasn’t in the kitchen when we were, which was early on, before the party really got going,’ Henry said.
‘Could you go through the photos of the party again and see if he’s in any of them?’ Whitney suggested.
‘Yes. We’ll do it straight away,’ Henry said.
Whitney stood, and she followed. ‘Thank you. And if you do see him in a photo or remember anything else, please let me know. Can you think of anyone else we can question, who might know this guy?’ Whitney asked.
‘Lydia might have known him,’ Henry said.
‘Yes.’ Harriet nodded, and started to cry again. Henry leaned in and put his arm across her shoulders.
‘We’ll go now. Remember, anything you think might help us, please phone. Any time, day or night. It doesn’t matter.’
Whitney and George left and didn’t speak until they got to the car.
‘Not very helpful,’ she said as she plugged in her seat belt. ‘Now what?’
‘Back to the beginning. Did you get the feeling they were holding out on us?’
‘Definitely.’
‘We’re missing something. Surely they wouldn’t be covering for this anonymous guy? Not if we believe he could be connected to the murder.’ Whitney turned on the engine and pulled out into the road. This time minus the siren.
‘I didn’t get that exactly. But I agree, something was slightly off. Judging by the body language, it could be something totally unconnected to the investigation.’
‘Like what?’
‘Harriet might be jealous. Henry left her alone to be with Tiffany. When you factor in they do everything together, an outsider coming in might make a difference.’
‘Tiffany hasn’t mentioned there being any tension between her and Harriet.’
‘If Harriet was clever, then she wouldn’t overtly show her feelings in case she pushed Henry away. Then again, we might be making something out of nothing. We have to remember they’re only young and have been surrounded by all these murders. It’s hard for anyone to deal with, let alone kids in their twenties.’
‘True. Do you want to call it a night? I’ll drop you back at your house. We can start again first thing.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want to go over everything one more time?’ She was conscious of time slipping away from them and was prepared to work through the night if that was what Whitney wanted.
‘No. We’ll be better with fresh heads. I want to see Tiffany and make sure she’s okay.’
‘Of course,’ she said quickly. She’d forgotten about her.
Going home would give her a chance to grab something to eat, as they’d missed lunch, and then sort out the rest of Stephen’s belongings and put them in the garage. If he didn’t collect them within the week, she’d drop them off at the local charity shop.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
After dropping George off at her house, Whitney drove home, pushing aside the frustration at their lack of progress. They had twenty-four hours to solve the crime. Yes, it was a big ask, but she’d work her arse off to do it. Giving up wasn’t on the agenda. The killer might be clever. But so were they. Her team was the best. They’d find out who the guy at the party was, and if that didn’t work out, they’d find something else.
As for Jamieson. Whatever he had in store for her, she’d deal with. And make a comeback. Okay, she’d be an outcast for a while, but eventually she’d return.
Would she see George again after tomorrow? Probably not, as she’d go back to her academic tower, with her long words and cleverness. She hadn’t liked to say anything earlier, seeing as George seemed upset, but what an idiot her ex was. George wasn’t boring. Intimidating maybe, but that was just her way. She was glad they’d got to know each other better. She liked her. Admired her.
Turning into her street, her thoughts went back to Tiffany. How was she going to cope with the deaths? She’d need her support. After parking the car on the road outside of her house, she ran down the path leading to the front door and hurried in.
‘Tiff. I’m back. Where are you?’ She dropped her bag beside the hall table and headed towards the kitchen. ‘Tiff,’ she called again when there was no answer.
She rushed into the kitchen, but it was empty. She went into the living room, but that was empty, too. Where the hell was she? Surely she wouldn’t have gone out without telling her. Henry said he left her here.
She charged up the stairs, two at a time, her heart thumping in her chest. She headed towards Tiffany’s bedroom. The door was shut, so she turned the handle and pushed it open.
Tiffany w
as sitting on the bed, wearing headphones. Why had she suddenly got all stupid about it? Henry had brought Tiffany home and settled her down. She knew that.
‘Hello, Mum.’ Tiffany glanced up from the book she was reading.
She rushed over and sat next to her on the bed. ‘I couldn’t find you. I was worried. Are you okay?’ Tiffany’s eyes were still red and sore.
‘I thought reading would take my mind off of everything. But it hasn’t. I can’t believe this is happening.’
Tiffany closed the book and placed it beside her on the bed as tears started to run down her cheeks. Whitney pulled her close into a hug, stroking the top of her head.
‘I know, love. We’re doing what we can to catch him. We’ll get him. I promise we will.’
‘You think he was at the party.’ Tiffany pulled out of the hug and sat up.
‘How do you know?’
‘Harriet texted Henry while he was here with me. It was while you were there. That’s why he left. He said you’d want to speak to him, too. Did you?’
She frowned. Why hadn’t the twins said anything? Unless they didn’t think it was important. Except Henry acted all surprised when he was told. ‘I did get to see Henry, yes. Unfortunately, they couldn’t be much help as they didn’t know the guy I’d been asking about.’
‘I was at the party. Can I help?’
‘Maybe. He was sitting on the sofa on his own, holding either a can or a bottle and looked out of it. Either drunk or high. He had longish dark hair which fell forward over his face. Ring any bells?’
Her daughter thought for a moment and nodded. ‘I know who you mean. It’s Felix Browne. I remember trying to speak to him, but he was so drunk I could hardly understand what he was saying. He was upset because his girlfriend, Jess, dumped him about six weeks ago, after three years of being together.’
Her chest tightened. The murders started after the break-up. Was he trying to get his own back? ‘Tell me about him.’ She grabbed her phone from her pocket and keyed in Matt’s number.
‘He can’t be the killer. He just can’t be.’ Tiffany held her hands up to her chest. ‘He’s on my course. He’s been here to the house. We’ve worked together on an assignment. You’ve met him.’
The killer had been in her house?
‘Hang on,’ Whitney said to Tiffany as Matt answered. ‘Matt, get over here. We’ve got a lead.’ She ended the call and turned back. ‘Tell me everything you know about this Felix.’
‘You think he’s the killer just because he was at the party on his own and drunk?’
She realised the link was tenuous, but it was her only lead, and she had to follow it through. ‘I’m not saying he’s the one, but we need to question him, if only to eliminate him from our enquires.’
‘He’s a nice guy. He’s in most of my classes and we often hang out together.’
‘And what about his ex-girlfriend? Jess. What happened?’
‘She’s also on our course. They were seeing each other before uni. They both come from Birmingham and knew each other from school.’
‘Where does she live? We’ll need to speak to her, too. What’s his behaviour like now, since the break-up?’
‘He seems like he’s always been. They’re still friends and live together.’
‘They live together?’ she repeated, frowning.
‘They have a student flat. The only difference is now they have separate bedrooms.’
‘And is Felix okay with that?’
‘I think he hopes they’ll get back together. I also think he’d rather be friends than have no contact at all with her.’
‘What about Jess?’
‘She’s cool with it. And it’s not like either of them are seeing other people. I believe they’ll get back together. I think the pressure of the course got to her, and Felix can be quite intense. But not in a horrible way. It’s just how he is.’
Whitney’s initial excitement dwindled. He could be their guy and had to be checked out, but they needed to be careful. She didn’t want to arrest him without concrete evidence because then what she was doing would become public knowledge, and the DSI would find out she’d gone against his orders.
‘Do you have their address?’
‘Yes.’ Tiffany went into her phone and read it out to her.
‘I don’t know how long I’m going to be. Shall I drop you at Granny’s, and you can stay there tonight?’
‘No. I’ll stay home. I’ve got work to do, and it’s easier to do it here.’
‘Okay. Until we’ve caught the murderer, I’ll be taking you to uni and picking you up to bring you home when you’ve finished for the day.’
‘You don’t have to. I’ll be okay. I can ask Henry.’
‘I want to. What time is your class tomorrow?’
‘It’s early. Eight-thirty.’
‘Okay. I’ll take you.’ The doorbell interrupted her. ‘That’s Matt. I’ll see you later.’ She leaned in and kissed Tiffany on the top of the head.
Running down the stairs, Whitney grabbed her coat from the banister. She opened the door. ‘Matt. We’ll go in your car.’
‘Guv.’
While they were driving, she told Matt what Tiffany had said about Felix Browne. ‘He fits the profile. Sort of.’ She’d wondered about calling George but decided against it. She couldn’t call her every time there was the slightest lead, and she didn’t want Matt to feel excluded.
The journey to the block of flats took around twenty minutes. Felix lived in one of the older blocks of student accommodation, which were situated close to the university grounds. They took the stairs to the first-floor flat and knocked on the door.
There was no answer. She knocked again, only louder. Still no answer, but the door to the next door flat opened.
‘I’m looking for Felix Browne,’ she said to the young man standing there.
‘He’s in here,’ the guy said. ‘Felix. It’s for you.’
A skinny guy came to the door, not very tall. How would he be able to lift the victims and take them to their resting places? Especially Millie Carter, who would have been at least eight inches taller than him and easily a couple of stones heavier.
‘Felix Browne?’ she asked, holding out her warrant card. ‘I’m DCI Walker and this is DS Price. We’d like to ask you a few questions.’
‘Sure. What do you want to know?’ he asked, looking puzzled.
‘We’d rather talk in your flat,’ Matt said.
‘Okay.’ Browne pulled out a key from his pocket and opened the door.
They followed him in and stood in the entrance hall.
‘You were at the party of Henry and Harriet Spencer on the twenty-sixth of October.’
‘Yes.’
‘We have eye-witness accounts saying you sat on your own drinking. Not talking with anyone.’
‘I got wasted. I don’t remember much. Why?’
‘We’re investigating the campus murders. All the young women who have been murdered went to the party. What were you doing on the third of November, the eighteenth, the twenty-fourth, and last Thursday?’
‘Why? Do you think I have something to do with the murders?’ The shock in Felix’s voice was evident.
‘We’d like to eliminate you from our enquiries. Those dates?’ Matt asked.
‘I’m not sure.’ He paused for a moment. ‘On the third, I was here at the flat.’
‘Can anyone vouch for you?’ Whitney asked.
‘Jess, I think. Oh no. She was out that evening. On the eighteenth I was at home for the weekend. My dad was rushed into hospital, and I went to see him. My parents can vouch for me.’
‘What about the twenty-fourth and last Thursday?’ she asked, already mentally crossing him off the list of suspects. List being an exaggeration, as there was no list.
‘I was here. Jess was with me.’
‘Thank you for your time,’ she said. ‘We might need to speak to you again.’
They left the flat and she turned to Matt.
‘Another lead gone.’ She shook her head. ‘We’ve got one more day to find him. We just have to hope there isn’t another murder.’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
George rose early and had showered and breakfasted by seven. She’d no idea what time the rest of the team would be arriving, but it had to be early to give them the best chance of cracking the case. At seven thirty, she switched on the kettle, got out the mugs for coffee, and put out some croissants. Just as the kettle had boiled, the doorbell went and when she answered, everyone was standing there.
‘Come in,’ she ushered, not sure how they’d managed to coordinate their arrivals.
They sat around the table, and everyone except her grabbed a croissant from the plate.
‘We found our mystery man last night,’ Whitney said.
‘I didn’t think you were going to do any more work.’ She frowned. Why was she only just being told? She could’ve helped.
‘Tiffany knew who he was, so Matt and I went to interview him.’
‘And?’
‘He’s not our man.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘He has an iron-clad alibi for one of the dates. He was home with his parents because his father was in hospital. I checked it out.’
‘So, this means we’re back where we started.’ She tried to fight back the dejection, but it wasn’t easy.
‘No, it doesn’t. With every person who’s excluded, we’re one step closer to finding our man.’
She stared at Whitney, encouraged by her determination. ‘True. Let’s look at the patterns of behaviour again. See if there’s something we’ve missed.’
She stood up, but before she reached the board, Whitney’s phone went.
‘Walker.’ She paused while listening. ‘Right. We’ll be over straight away.’ She ended the call. ‘Dr Dexter. She’s found something interesting and wants to show us. George, we’ll go.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Damn. Matt, would you mind going to my house to pick up Tiff and take her to uni? Her class starts at eight-thirty.’
