by Sally Rigby
‘No problem, guv.’
‘Thanks. Ellie and Frank, go to the station and start compiling what we’ve got so we can hand it over. It will look suspicious if none of us are there. We’ll meet you in the incident room later. I still have my report to write up. We’ll take my car,’ she said to George. ‘I’ll drop you back here later.’
They picked up their files and belongings and headed out of the door. George locked up behind them and followed Whitney to her car, which was parked on the opposite side of the road.
‘No siren, then?’ she asked as they took off down the road.
‘Not today. I like to pick my moments. You never know who’s taking note.’
‘You know, even if we don’t find the murderer, it’s not from lack of trying. We’ve done what we can. Maybe this other DCI will be able to come up with something. Do you think he’ll want my help?’
‘Seriously, you’re going to work for him?’ Whitney’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles were white.
‘I want to find the murderer.’
Whitney’s eyes stayed focused firmly on the street ahead. ‘And you think I don’t?’
‘I didn’t say that. All I meant was I’m prepared to offer my help to anyone who needs it. Surely you don’t begrudge that?’ She was conscious of all the good feelings between them slipping away.
‘Forget what I said. If Masters wants you to help, then do it. Anything to stop these murders.’ Whitney’s voice cracked, and she wanted to comfort her but didn’t know what to do. If she gave a reassuring touch, she was sure Whitney would pull away. So she sat there in silence for the rest of the journey. And Whitney didn’t offer any conversation either.
As they arrived at the morgue and were about to go in, Whitney’s phone rang.
‘Walker.’
‘It’s Matt. I’m at your house, but there’s no one here.’
‘What? Are you sure?’ She frowned. Where the hell could Tiffany be?
‘I rang the bell several times and peered through the window, but the place seems deserted.’
‘Thanks, Matt. Leave it with me.’ She ended the call. ‘Damn.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s Tiffany. She wasn’t at home when Matt went. Give me a second. I’m going to call her.’
‘No problem.’
She keyed in the shortcut, shifting from foot to foot, unable to keep still.
‘Mum?’ Tiffany replied after several rings.
‘Where are you? Matt Price has just been home to take you to uni.’ She tried to hide her annoyance but wasn’t very successful.
‘I’m with Henry. We’re going out for breakfast.’
‘What about your class?’
‘I didn’t feel like going. Not after everything that’s happened. Henry didn’t want to go in either, so we’re just going to hang out. Do you mind?’
‘I wished you’d called me. You knew I was going to take you.’ She glanced at George and rolled her eyes. ‘It’s up to you. Are you going in later?’
‘I don’t think so. I’ll ask Henry to take me home, to save you.’
‘Okay. As long as you’re not going home on your own. I’ll see you later.’ She ended the call and shook her head.
‘Is everything okay?’
‘Tiffany decided not to go to uni today. She’s with Henry. They’re all still upset over Lydia, obviously. I understand; I just wished she’d phoned me, so I didn’t worry after Matt found her missing.’
‘The main thing is you know where she is.’
‘True. Come on. Let’s see Claire.’
She pushed open the double doors, and they went into the lab, heading to the back. Lydia Parker’s body was on the table, and Claire was standing next to her, her hands on her hips.
‘What have you got for us?’ she asked, walking up to her.
‘And good morning to you, too,’ Claire said.
‘Good morning.’ George grinned.
‘Having good manners never hurt anyone.’ Claire arched an eyebrow.
‘Point taken,’ she said. ‘What’s this interesting evidence?’
‘I’ve looked at all the evidence on the bodies and compared them. The rape. The ligature marks on the wrists and ankles. The drugging. The washing. Etc. Etc. But when we get to the strangulation, this body is different.’
Whitney and George peered at Lydia’s body. ‘What’s different?’ she asked.
‘The bruising’s the same,’ George added.
‘Is it?’ Claire asked.
They looked intently again, and then exchanged a glance.
‘Yes,’ George said. ‘Four finger marks on one side, and the thumb mark on the other.’
‘Look again,’ Claire persisted.
‘Claire, stop with the playing around. We don’t have time. Just tell us.’ She shook her head in frustration.
‘The bruising is reversed. This strangulation was carried out by a right-hander.’
They both stared at Claire.
‘How can everything else be identical and this different?’ she asked.
‘Could the killer have hurt his hand and used his other one?’ George suggested.
‘Doubtful. Most people don’t have the power in their non-dominant hand. Strangulation with a single hand requires considerable strength,’ Claire replied.
‘So where does that leave us?’ she asked. ‘We’re looking for a very strong, ambidextrous man. It’s not doing it for me.’
They were losing valuable time.
She paced the floor, staring at the body as she walked past. What was it telling her? ‘Do you think there were two men?’
‘There’s no evidence of a second person being involved,’ Claire said. ‘If there was, I’d expect to see slight differences. Like the vaginal bruising, for example, is the same. The ties have been put on in exactly the same way.’
‘What if they both had their roles, only this time the man who usually did the strangulation couldn’t, so the other person had to? Then everything else would still be the same,’ George said.
‘And if there were two of them, carrying the bodies wouldn’t have been an issue.’ Whitney nodded in agreement.
‘Then again, if we had two men abducting a young woman, surely there would’ve been more of a struggle? We’ve assumed the victims knew their attacker because there was no indication of a struggle. But even so. Two guys with one girl. It should’ve rung warning bells. Especially after the first murder and the police warnings to women,’ George said.
‘Unless the second man came after the first had drugged them,’ Whitney said.
‘True,’ Claire agreed.
‘Shit,’ George muttered.
Whitney came to an abrupt halt and stared at George. ‘What?’
‘Shit. No,’ George repeated, her face drained of colour.
‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ Whitney demanded.
‘What if the two people aren’t both male? What if one is female? No warning bells, then.’
‘How likely is that?’ she asked.
‘You’d be surprised. There are many instances of husbands and wives who murder together. But that’s not what I’m thinking. One man. One woman. Both closer than husband and wife even. Both loved and trusted by everyone who knows them—’
Whitney’s hand slapped across her mouth as the realisation hit. ‘The twins. No, it can’t be. Tiffany’s with Henry now. I’ve just spoken to her.’ She grabbed her phone from her pocket, her fingers trembling as she called. ‘Answer, damn you. Answer.’ She let out a relieved sigh when it clicked. ‘Tiffany, it’s Mu—’
‘Can’t speak. Leave a message,’ Tiffany’s voice sung out.
‘Tiffany, it’s Mum. Call me.’ She ended the call and immediately tried again. But it went straight to voicemail.
Were they jumping to conclusions? It seemed a bit of a leap to go from possibly two people to it being the twins. Except it all fitted. The party. The victims knowing their abductor. Giv
ing each other alibis.
Fuck.
This couldn’t be happening. It had to be a mistake. Henry could be the murderer, and he’d got Tiffany.
She started as George tapped her on the arm. ‘Come on. Let’s go to the twins’ house. We’ll get there before they can do anything to Tiffany. We’ve got a head start. They’re totally unaware we’ve made the connection. Trust me. It will be okay.’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Whitney put her foot down and got to the twins’ house in record time. She was lucky they hadn’t crashed. There had been a couple of near misses. George had been continually calling Tiffany on Whitney’s phone, but every time it went to voicemail.
Why hadn’t she known Tiffany was in danger?
She was her mother.
Mothers are meant to sense those things.
Her stomach cramped. She’d die if anything happened to Tiffany. She’d never forgive herself. She’d … Tears welled in her eyes, and she brushed them away with the back of her hand. How could they all have been taken in by the twins? She usually had a nose for bullshit, but not this time. They’d conned everyone. No one had a bad word to say about them. They were fun to be with, great friends to everyone, and popular.
She brought the car to a screeching halt outside the house, and they both leapt out. She got to the front door first and banged hard.
‘Answer the fucking door,’ she yelled.
George peered into the front window. ‘No one in the living room. Shall I go around the back? There’s probably an alley in Billington Road.’
‘We’ll stay together. I’ll come with you.’
They raced around the corner and into the alleyway. When they got to the twins’ house, she opened the gate, and they ran through the overgrown garden to the kitchen door.
She tried the door and it was locked. Grabbing a stone, she went to break the glass.
‘Wait. There might be a key out here somewhere.’ George moved a couple of the flower pots, but there was nothing there.
Crap. George was right. The broken glass would warn them. She had to get it together. It was Tiffany in there, and she could be hurting. But she couldn’t save her unless she acted rationally. She scanned her surroundings and spotted a garden gnome about three feet away. Underneath was the key. ‘Got it.’ She hastily put it into the lock and turned it. As the door opened, she ran in. It was silent downstairs. She put her fingers to her lips and stealthily crept up the stairs with George behind.
The first door they came to was Lydia’s bedroom. Whitney pushed it open, but it was empty. The bathroom came next and that was empty, too. As were the other two rooms.
‘They’re not here,’ George said.
Whitney sat on the end of the bed, her head in her hands. Where was Tiffany? Why wasn’t she answering? She mentally shook herself. This wasn’t helping. ‘This looks like Henry’s bedroom. We need to search it.’
‘Did Tiffany say they were going to come back here?’
‘No. All she said was they were going out for breakfast.’ Was she overreacting? Had they got it wrong? Could Tiffany be perfectly okay, just out in a café somewhere?
She looked through some of Henry’s possessions. ‘You know, this doesn’t look like the bed used in the photos. This is a slat bed with no headboard, but in the photos the bed had one. The victims were on the same bed. We could’ve got this all wrong.’
‘Maybe.’
Her attention was diverted by a small notebook beside the bed. She opened it and read. Millie Carter. Jelly, ice cream, sprinkles. Drinks cider. Likes small men. Party girl. Olivia Griffin. Pizza. Whore. She scanned the rest, and bile shot into her mouth as she read Tiffany’s name. ‘No.’ The notebook fell from her hand, banging on the wooden floor.
‘What is it?’ George rushed over.
She took hold of the notebook, and shoved it in front of George. ‘Look.’
George’s eyes widened as she read down the list of entries.
‘Fuck. That’s confirmed it.’
She gasped for breath, and her legs gave way. George caught her. She needed air. She had to get out of there. But she couldn’t give in. Tiffany’s life depended on it. She pulled out an evidence bag from her pocket and held it out for George to drop the notebook in.
‘What now?’ George asked.
‘Back to the incident room. We need to find out where they could be. Where the actual murders took place. I’ll place some officers close by, in case they come back here first.’
She forced to the back of her mind any thoughts about what was happening to Tiffany. For the first time in her life, she needed to park her emotions and allow logic to help. She could breakdown after they’d found Tiffany. Because they’d find her alive. They had to. Anything else was out of the question.
‘Listen up, everyone,’ Whitney shouted once they were back in the incident room. ‘We have our man. Actually, it’s a team. The twins, Henry and Harriet Spencer. They have their fifth victim, but we don’t know where they are. We have to find them. And find them fast.’
‘Do we know who the fifth victim is?’ one of the team called out.
Whitney glanced at George, her face falling.
‘It’s Tiffany Walker,’ George said.
Silence fell over the whole room, the collective shock palpable.
‘But remember, we have the advantage here. They have no idea we suspect them. The last time Whitney spoke to Tiffany, they were going out for breakfast,’ she added.
‘Thanks, George. I’m okay to continue,’ Whitney said with determination.
‘Sure.’
‘We’ve been to their house and it’s empty. I’ve found some evidence linking Henry to the murders, so he’s definitely our man. And his sister, Harriet, is his accomplice.’
‘What evidence, guv?’ Matt asked.
‘A notebook detailing the young women and information about each of them. Millie’s love of jelly and ice cream. Olivia being an escort. Tiffany …’ Whitney’s voice cracked, and George rushed to her side.
‘It was mainly their likes and dislikes. What they wear. Where they go,’ she said, finishing off.
Whitney flashed her a thankful look.
‘What do you want us to do?’ Frank asked.
Whitney visibly pulled herself together, drawing in a long breath. ‘We need officers out of sight, close to the house, in case they go back there. We don’t believe the murders took place there, as all the beds are different from the one in the photos.’
‘I’ll take lookout on the house and get someone from uniform to come with me. In plain clothes, so we won’t be spotted. We’ll get the fuckers. I promise.’
‘Thanks, Frank.’
‘Ellie. I want you to run background checks on the twins. Anything you can find out about them, going right back to them as children. There must be a clue in there somewhere. We’re going to find the bastards before they can lay a finger on my daughter.’ Her voice cracked again, and she coughed to hide it.
‘I’ll go over everything we have so far, and look for anything that might help,’ George said.
‘Good idea. I’m going to see the DSI. Fill him in on where we are. We’ll need more officers on-board.’
‘I don’t think it’s a good idea, guv,’ Matt said.
‘Why?’ Whitney asked.
‘As soon as he knows the killer has Tiffany, he’ll make you to stand down. You know that.’
Whitney shook her head. ‘You’re right. I didn’t think it through. Matt, you liaise with uniform. We need officers on the lookout everywhere.’
‘I’m onto it.’
‘Okay. Everyone go. Check in regularly.’
The team left the incident room, leaving Whitney, George, and Ellie. Ellie sat at her computer, and Whitney and George stared at the board.
‘What if we can’t find Tiffany until it’s too late?’ Whitney asked.
‘Not going to happen. We’ll find her. We’re not some amateur sleuths. We have the knowledge and expe
rience.’
‘You’re right. Thanks.’
‘Okay. First, we need to go through the board together. It’s going to make a big difference now we know who the killers are,’ she said.
She peered at the board, chewing on her bottom lip. ‘Okay. Come on tell me something.’ The faces of five girls stared back at her. Aside from all being students, there was no similarity in terms of looks or subjects they took. They were all in Godwin College. The same as the twins. Why? What was significant about Godwin?
‘Ellie, in your research into the twins, please will you look to see if Godwin College figures somewhere.’
‘No problem,’ Ellie replied.
‘You think Godwin has something to do with it?’ Whitney asked.
‘I’m not sure. It’s interesting all the victims were from there. The twins, too. It’s not like they didn’t have friends outside of Godwin. So, why only choose victims from there? It might tell us something.’
‘Okay.’
‘Guv,’ Ellie called out. ‘I’ve found something on Henry Spencer you’ll want to know.’
Whitney and George hurried over to Ellie.
‘What is it?’ Whitney said.
‘Ten years ago, he was admitted into St Peter’s mental institution. His parents had him committed. He had a breakdown. He was in there for six months before being allowed home.’
‘Do we know what caused the breakdown?’ she asked.
‘I can’t get into his records.’
‘Do you have the name of the doctor who signed him off?’ Whitney asked.
‘Yes. A psychiatrist called Joel Martin. I’ve got his number. Shall I contact him?’
‘No. I’ll do it. It’s better coming from one professional to another,’ she said.
‘Agreed. You carry on with your research into Godwin,’ Whitney said.
George phoned Martin, but he was out of the office, so she left a message with his assistant.
As Whitney was engrossed in a conversation with Ellie, she went back to scrutinising the board.
Four photos of four girls tied up on the bed. All identical. Except—she got up close to the one of Lydia. It was taken from a slightly different angle. They hadn’t noticed it before, mainly because it hadn’t appeared different, and they hadn’t looked in such detail. She leaned in. The bottom of the window was on show. In the corner was a tiny sticker.
