Cavendish & Walker Box Set

by Sally Rigby

  ‘And what sort of sculpting do you do?’ she asked, assuming there were different types and feeling rather inadequate for not knowing more. Not a position she was used to being in.

  ‘My work is what’s known as figurative realism. Which means it depicts realistic figures. You might have heard of the sculpture Boy by the Australian, Ron Mueck. It’s a five-metre depiction of a crouching boy.’

  ‘Yes, I have. It’s in Denmark, isn’t it?’ she said, relieved to have seen it, and now not feeling so out of her depth.

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Have you exhibited in any of the prestigious galleries?’

  His face clouded over. ‘Not for the want of trying.’

  She could’ve kicked herself, as typically she’d said the wrong thing and touched a nerve. ‘Do you have anything in local galleries?’

  ‘I have an exhibition coming up in two months, in Oxford.’

  ‘I’d like to see it,’ she said. ‘Tell me something else about you.’ She wanted to keep the conversation off herself for as long as possible.

  ‘Not a lot to tell. I come from a small village north of Dublin. My parents still live there. I have a younger sister who’s a journalist in London. I’m thirty-six-years old, single, and never been married. And that’s me.’ He shrugged.

  ‘What brought you to Oxford?’

  ‘I followed a girl here after university. That didn’t work out, but I stayed, as I liked it so much. Right. Enough about me, now it’s your turn.’ He flashed a disarming smile.

  ‘Are you ready to order?’ The waiter’s intervention was timely.

  ‘Can you give us a few moments? We haven’t yet decided,’ Ross said.

  He handed George the menu, which she gratefully took, happy for the reprieve. She studied it in silence.

  ‘I’ll have one of the specials, please. Crumbed fish with home-made chunky fries and salad,’ she said after a few minutes.

  ‘I’ll join you,’ Ross said. He beckoned for the waiter to come over, and he took their order. ‘Back to you,’ Ross said, once they were alone.

  She drew in a breath. ‘Okay. I’m thirty-four, soon to be thirty-five. I’m a forensic psychologist, although my initial career choice was medicine, like my father.’

  ‘I remember your father,’ he said, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘I’m sorry how he treated you. He’s always the same, but that aside, he’s a genius when it comes to surgery. One of the best in the country.’ Why on earth had she felt the need to praise her father, as if his behaviour could be excused?

  ‘So why didn’t you pursue medicine?’

  ‘I got accepted at med school, but it turned out I couldn’t handle blood. The sight of it made me vomit.’ It had taken several years before she’d been able to discuss it so dispassionately.

  ‘That’s a good enough reason.’

  ‘But I’m glad, as I discovered forensic psychology, which is my passion. I also spend a portion of my time with the Lenchester CID, helping them on murder cases.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that sometimes involve blood?’

  ‘I’ve got it under control now. After many hours in a hypnotherapist’s chair, I can handle most things blood related.’

  ‘Tell me about your family.’

  ‘I have a younger brother, who’s following in my father’s footsteps, and my mother’s an international human rights lawyer.’

  ‘A highflying family, that’s for sure.’

  ‘What about your parents?’ she asked, wanting to pass the discussion back to him.

  ‘My dad’s an electrician and has worked for the same company for the last thirty years, and my mum is a doctor’s receptionist.’

  She could imagine her father’s response if he knew that. He was such a snob. Her mother wasn’t so bad, but he more than made up for her.

  ‘Yet both you and your sister work in England.’

  ‘There are more career opportunities here. I get back to Ireland as often as I can to see my parents, especially as they’re not getting any younger.’

  ‘That’s good of you. I only see my parents twice a year: June, and December, for Christmas lunch.’

  ‘That’s very regimented.’

  ‘It works for us, as we’re all very busy.’

  Not to mention she wouldn’t want to see them any more than that. People might think that callous. She called it self-preservation.

  ‘What about hobbies? Do you have any, other than real ale?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t have time for any, apart from doing jigsaws, and I do those as they help me think. They enable me to compartmentalise, especially when we’re working on a case.’ Could she sound any more boring? Why couldn’t she be interesting, like Whitney? Did she really mean that? She didn’t know. It wasn’t something she’d considered in the past.

  ‘What have you worked on recently?’

  She wasn’t meant to discuss a current case, and Whitney would be livid if she did. But she should be fine mentioning one from the past, especially as it would likely be published in her research. ‘The most recent one involved men who’d had their genitals removed before being murdered as retribution for grooming young girls for sex.’

  ‘I remember those murders. It seems to me they got what they deserved.’

  ‘A lot of people would agree with you, but vigilantes can’t be allowed to take matters into their own hands. We have a legal system for a reason, and nobody should be above it.’

  ‘Are you working with the police at the moment?’

  ‘I am, but I can’t discuss the case.’

  ‘What about your colleagues at the university? How do they feel about you working with the police? Especially as Lenchester University is well known for its affectations?’

  How did he know that?

  ‘They’re happy in respect of the research outputs, but it did affect my promotion prospects. I was up for Associate Professor a few months ago but got passed over.’ She could talk about it now without getting too annoyed. But it surprised her how easily she’d blurted it out, considering he was a virtual stranger.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Don’t be, it’s water under the bridge. I’m happy doing what I do.’

  ‘Let’s change the subject,’ he suggested. ‘Favourite film of all time.’

  She flashed him a smile, grateful to be moving on. ‘That’s easy. La Dolce Vita. Have you seen it?’

  ‘Hasn’t everyone? It’s one of my favourites, too. I’d say it has more cultural influence than most current films. Even though it was released in 1960, it tells us a lot about celebrity and can be applied to life today.’

  A film buff. That surprised her. Not many people enjoyed the types of films she did. She’d assumed he was going to be the same. If anything, he seemed more knowledgeable about them than she was.

  ‘I couldn’t agree more. What other films do you like?’ she asked, feeling a lot more comfortable now the focus was off her.

  ‘Art house films are my favourite. Have you seen The Rules of the Game?’

  ‘No, but it’s on my list.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. It’s about the idle rich in France. It doesn’t only take an ironic look at their pretentions, it also shows the hypocrisy going on in Europe at the time. When it’s next showing locally, I’ll take you.’

  Was he asking her on another date already?

  For a while they sat in silence. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. She already liked that he didn’t feel the need to fill every moment with conversation.

  After the meal arrived, Ross discussed his work and the processes involved in its production. It was fascinating. When she glanced at her watch it was already ten-thirty.

  ‘I have to go. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow, and a half hour drive to get home. Thank you for a lovely evening.’

  ‘It’s my pleasure.’

  When he returned from paying the bill, they walked back through the pub, which wasn’t as busy as it had been earlier, and out into the
car park.

  ‘Nice car.’ He nodded appreciatively when they’d reached where she’d parked.

  ‘Thanks. I love driving and fast cars.’

  ‘A petrol head and real ale drinker. I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.’ He laughed.

  She wasn’t quite sure what he meant but wasn’t going to question him. ‘Thank you, again, for a lovely evening.’

  He leaned in and gently kissed her on the lips. It was like a bolt of electricity shot through her. She pulled back.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’ Guilt was etched across his face.

  ‘You didn’t. It just took me by surprise.’

  ‘Can I see you again?’ he asked.

  Did she want to? Yes, she believed she did.

  ‘You have my card. Give me a call.’

  Chapter Nine

  Tuesday, 11 June

  Whitney was peering over Frank’s shoulder looking at some CCTV footage, when the door opened and George walked in. She headed over to her.

  ‘Good morning, George,’ she said, unable to hide the smirk on her face. She was desperate to find out how the date had gone.

  ‘How’s it going?’ George asked as they walked towards the board.

  ‘We’ve got some witnesses coming in to be interviewed following the press conference. But what I really want to know is how it went last night.’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell. I went out for a meal with Ross, and we had a nice time.’

  ‘Are you seeing him again?’ She was frustrated at the woman’s inability to spill the beans.

  ‘He did ask me if I’d see him again, and I said yes.’

  ‘That’s great. So, you’re dating.’

  ‘No. I’m just seeing him again.’

  ‘Come on, George. Admit it. Tell me what’s he’s like.’

  ‘He’s tall, with fair hair, and blue eyes.’

  She shook her head. ‘And that’s it, is it? What does he do? Where does he live? How old is he? Give me the details.’

  ‘I’ll tell you later. This isn’t the time. We’re too busy.’

  Whitney rolled her eyes. George could be such hard work sometimes. Even if she was right about them needing to get on with their work, it wouldn’t have hurt if she could’ve gone into a little more detail.

  ‘Okay. Let’s start with the briefing. Attention, everyone. Get me up to speed on where we are.’

  ‘I haven’t yet got a complete list of people who paid for tickets using a credit card, as I’m waiting for the other stations to give me the details,’ Ellie said. ‘Also, some passengers paid cash, so I’ve asked the stations to send me their CCTV footage from the ticket offices. We have the times when the cash tickets were purchased, which will help when we look through it.’

  ‘Good work. What about people who contacted us following the press conference?’ She scanned the rest of the team.

  ‘Only four people got in touch. One lives in Coventry, one lives in Banbury, and two are from Lenchester. We’ll be interviewing them today,’ Matt said.

  ‘Doug, where are we on the background checks of all of the employees at the different stations?’

  ‘It’s in progress. There are a lot of staff, especially in Newcastle and Leeds.’

  ‘The Super has been in touch with the RF. The use of chloroform, the random selection of the victim, and the fact the murder took place on an older train, has led them to believe this is the work of the serial killer they’ve been looking for in connection with twelve murders across the country over the last two years. They’ve sent us their files, as have the forces where the other murders took place. The RF is also going to send two officers to assist us.’

  A massive groan echoed around the room.

  ‘Typical of them wanting to take over,’ Frank said. He could always be relied on to say what everyone else was thinking.

  ‘Well, they’re not coming just yet, so we’ll get on with solving this before they arrive. But remember, when they do arrive, we’ll extend them the same courtesy we do all of our visitors.’ Whitney couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth, especially as she knew she’d find it difficult to work alongside them.

  ‘Do we know who’s coming?’ Doug asked. ‘I’ve got a friend who works there.’

  ‘No idea. Okay, carry on with what you’re doing. George and I are going to go through the files from the previous murders, that have been sent from the other forces and the RF, to see if anything stands out which could assist us.’

  Whitney took George back to her office. The files were piled up on her desk.

  ‘How did you get everything so quickly?’ George asked.

  ‘The files were emailed in, and I had one of the admin staff print everything out for us. I figured we could go through them while waiting for the witness statements.’

  There was a knock at the door and Matt popped his head in. ‘I’m just about to interview a Mrs Zena Bratt who was on the train the entire journey, sitting in the second to last carriage. Do you want to come with?’

  ‘Good idea,’ Whitney said.

  ‘Do you need me as well?’ George asked.

  ‘No. You stay here and go through the files. Your time’s better spent looking into the previous cases.’

  Whitney and Matt left the office and made their way to the interview room, where the woman had been left.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Bratt,’ Whitney said as they opened the door. ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Walker. You’ve already met DS Price. Thank you for coming in to see us.’

  ‘When I heard about it on the news, I got in touch straight away. I can’t believe this all happened while I was on the train.’ The woman pressed her hand to her chest.

  ‘Can you tell me, in detail, about the journey you took?’ Whitney asked.

  ‘I’d been to see my sister who lives in Newcastle. She hasn’t been well recently and suffers from angina. She lives on her own and needed some help. Her children live overseas, so I’m the only one.’

  ‘How long were you with her?’ Whitney asked.

  ‘Two weeks. I wanted to stay longer, but my husband asked me to come back home. He was fed up of having to fend for himself.’

  ‘And you caught the eight-thirty train from Newcastle on Sunday,’ Whitney confirmed.

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘How did you pay for your ticket?’

  ‘I paid with cash, on the day. I didn’t book in advance because Sunday is always quiet, and I knew there’d be plenty of room on the train.’

  ‘What time did you arrive at the station?’

  ‘I was there by seven-forty-five. A taxi picked me up from my sister’s house at seven-fifteen, and the journey took half an hour.’

  ‘Where did you go once you arrived?’

  ‘To wait for the train,’ the woman said, frowning.

  ‘Did you go into the waiting room, or did you stay on the platform?’ Whitney elaborated.

  ‘I sat on a bench in the waiting room for half an hour and then went onto the platform.’

  ‘While you were in the waiting room, who else was there?’ Whitney asked.

  ‘I was the only one in there first of all, and then, after about fifteen minutes, a couple came in, followed by another woman and a man, both on their own.’

  ‘Did you notice anything unusual about any of them?’ Whitney asked.

  ‘No. They sat quietly.’

  ‘Would you recognise them again?’

  The woman was silent for a few seconds. ‘I’m not sure. Possibly not, apart from the woman who was part of the couple. I remember she was wearing a straw hat, which had big flowers on the side.’

  ‘When you went outside to sit on the platform, how many people were there?’

  ‘By that time, it was quite busy. Other trains were coming into the station. Maybe around fifteen people were on my platform. Across the other side I could see a few people waiting, too.’

  ‘Did you see anything out of the ordinary? Or anyone acting susp
iciously?’ Whitney was asking these detailed questions to lead her gently to the actual journey, hoping it would prompt something.

  ‘No. I’m sorry. Nothing.’ Mrs Bratt slowly shook her head.

  ‘That’s fine. You’re doing really well. We appreciate your help. Could you take me through when you got onto the train?’

  ‘I got on about halfway down the platform. I never like to go in the first two carriages, as they’re usually the busiest, and it can be noisy. I walked through the train until I came to the next to last carriage. I sat on one of the seats pointing in the direction we were heading. I can’t travel with my back facing the way we’re going, as it gives me motion sickness.’

  ‘Was anyone else in the carriage with you?’

  ‘There was another woman, and just as the train was due to leave, a man came hurrying through and sat down a few rows in front of me on the right-hand side.’

  Could this be the killer?

  ‘Can you describe him for me?’

  ‘He was in his thirties and was wearing jeans and a dark grey hoodie. He had on a dark baseball hat and he wore sunglasses, which I thought strange, as it wasn’t sunny and it was first thing in the morning, but I just thought he had a hangover or a headache.’

  ‘Did he stay seated all the time?’ Whitney asked.

  ‘He got up and went out of the carriage. The one which linked with the last one. I assumed he was going to the toilet. He wasn’t gone long. Maybe five minutes.’

  Was he casing the last carriage? Had he earmarked Hugo as his target?

  ‘Did he look at you at all?’ Whitney wondered if she would have been the victim if there hadn’t been another person in the carriage.

  ‘Not that I know of, but I was reading.’

  ‘Did anyone else get into the carriage?’

  ‘Two people got on at Leeds. A young girl in her twenties, and an older woman. They weren’t together.’

  With so many people in the carriage, he clearly wouldn’t have done anything there. Far too risky.

  ‘The next stop, Coventry. What did you notice?’

  ‘The man in the hoodie got off.’

  Damn.