Chapter Twenty Nine
Chris drops a newspaper onto the table that sits between the two sofas in the staffroom. “It’s all over the news.”
There’s a photograph of Lauren smiling up from the front page and the headline Manhunt for the Yorkshire Dipper.
“The Yorkshire Dipper!” I want to be angry, though Lauren would probably approve of this headline. To me, it’s making light of all the tragedy that has taken place. Bloody newspapers! “Is there any news on the latest woman?”
“She’s been put into an induced coma and is in intensive care,” Paula says. “Until the swelling on her brain goes down. Apparently she has some lung damage that they’re monitoring, but it sounds as though she’ll pull though.”
I reach for the paper. The dog walker who saved the woman has helped produce an e-fit. I look into the eyes of the monster who killed Lauren and feel sick. He’s wearing a hoodie like the man we’ve seen on the CCTV and there’s a familiarity in his face that I can’t put my finger on. He could be someone I have dealt with in the past. I stare at the image until it blurs in front of my eyes. I then decide that if I stop looking at it, a memory might just return to me of its own accord.
“DI Jones has called a meeting in the incident room,” Paula strides into the staff room and flicks the switch on the kettle. “I’ve heard a rumour as well that Ingham has been pulled off the case completely.”
“Who told you that?” The plastic sofa squeaks as Chris leans back on it.
“Tina in the office. But that’s between us and these four walls.”
“Why?”
She walks back to the doorway and glances along the corridor outside. “Partly to do with his head not being where it should be.” Tina was in the room when he was told to take some time off. She had to take the minutes of the meeting. “He admitted that his marriage break-up has interfered with work. Apparently.”
“What was it you were saying about Ingham the other day Paula? Before DI Jones caught us bitching.”
“I can’t remember.” Paula squints in the overhead fluorescent light. “What was I on about?”
“Why his marriage broke up. Something to do with Ingham’s next-door neighbour being friends with his wife.”
“Oh yes, after he caught his wife at it. Can’t blame her really! But she drank a lot, according to Sue, and he’s got issues with alcohol.”
“Ingham - no,” I say. “He can’t have. I’ve never seen him have a drink at any of the work’s dos. Not that he’s ever stayed that long. He only ever shows his face and leaves.”
“It’s not that he’s got a drink problem. It’s the other way around.” Paula goes on. “His mother was a drunk, and walked out when he was thirteen. He didn’t see her again and found out when he was in his twenties that she’d died from liver failure.
“That’s rough.”
“Pat, his wife, told their neighbour that she was taking the brunt of things. She tried to stop drinking completely, but used drink as a crutch when times were difficult.”
“Plenty of people too. But they must have thought something of each other to stay together so long.” Chris stands and the rest of us follow suit.
“Who knows? Sounds a toxic marriage. In all sorts of ways.”
“He seems straight down the line, though.” From what I’ve gathered about Chris, he always sees the best in people. “You wouldn’t have guessed he had all this marriage problem stuff swirling around inside him.”
“I don’t care what he’s had going on at home. He messed up with this investigation.” Everyone looks at me. “If it wasn’t for him, perhaps some of those women might still be alive and I wouldn’t be having to cancel my wedding and plan my fiancée’s funeral instead.” For the time being, until they catch the maniac, Ingham can have the full force of my anger and all the blame. “I’m glad he’s been kicked off the case. He wants sacking if you ask me. At least now, the person responsible might be caught before anyone else is killed.”
Tina puts her head around the door. We’re all just stood looking at each other. “The meeting’s starting. I’ve been asked to come and get you all.” She puts her hand on my arm as we file past her. “How are you doing? I’ve been thinking about you these last few days. I can’t believe you’re even here.”
“I need to keep busy. And if I can help catch this nutter before he gets someone else…”
“I know.” We walk towards the incident room. “It’s still touch and go for that other woman. I don’t think it’s safe for any woman to be out on her own.”
“Mark.” Chris catches my arm before we go in. “I know how bitter you feel towards Ingham and I don’t blame you. But things not happening as quick as they did, it’s down to all of us, not just him.”
I stare at him. “How do you work that one out? He was in the charge of the investigation.”
“Well for the first couple, it was probably safe to assume they were accidents. I admit he could have done more but he was away, wasn’t he… when the sixth one happened.”
“I can’t remember.”
“I dropped him at the station for some police federation conference.”
Tina curls her head around the door of the incident room. “We’re ready to start.”
“Right!” DI Jones leans his elbows on the table. “First, I want to communicate that women, and it seems to be just women, in this area, are at serious risk until we catch this man.” He points to the e-fit. “We need to relay that information to everyone, and we have to be patrolling the at-risk areas. And second. I’ve cancelled everyone’s leave, which at this time of year, is minimal anyway, and I’m asking for as much extra staffing as possible until we get him. Some of it will be paid. Some of it will have to be taken in lieu – just keep a record of what you work on the system.”
There’s some shuffling of feet and muttering in the room.
DI Jones ignores it and carries on. “The river deaths inquiry has now been joined with this one. I am now leading the entire investigation and would ask you all, for your continued support and effort. As you know,” he looks at me. “This awful series of deaths has impacted on one of our own. We have to get this man off the streets.”
“It should never have got to this,” Paula mutters, looking around the room at all the photographs of the women.
“There have been some discrepancies and in the inquiry so far, admittedly.” DI Jones scratches his head. “Along with me taking over the day-to-day, DCI Towers will be overseeing everything. We are very much in the firing line for our perceived failings up to now.” He sweeps his gaze over us all. “It could easily end up in the hands of the Police Complaints Commission. So all I can do now, is offer my full commitment to this inquiry and implore you all to get behind me and do the same. I can’t undo what’s happened already, but I can make it my absolute priority to do what needs to be done from here on in.”
“DCI bloody Ingham’s head should roll for what he’s done.” I say, squinting in the sunlight that’s seeping through the blinds. I have got to blame someone. “Or more for what he hasn’t done.”
DI Jones’s expression remains calm. “I’ll speak to you privately Mark if that’s OK. Right, if I could have everyone’s attention please. We need to be building a clear picture of who it is we’re looking for. I know it’s overly pixelated, but we can see from the still image here that he dresses in hoods, baggy clothes and trainers.”
“So it’s someone fairly young, Sir?”
“No, according to our dog walker, he’s in his forties at least - he has brown eyes and dark hair.”
“Well, that’s a bit nondescript. It sums up about a third of the men in Yorkshire.”
DI Jones continues, whilst referring to the e-fit and CCTV still of the man on the board. “We’re looking for someone of about six foot, medium build and pock-marked skin. The dog walker reckons he would recognise him again and when the second lady comes around, she’ll hopefully be able to provide more information.”
&nbs
p; “If she comes around,” Paula says.
DI Jones ignores her. “So, I’m going to give all of you individual responsibilities.” I listen peripherally as he doles out door-to-door zones, poster and social media campaigns and patrolling areas.
He designates two officers to take over sitting in shifts at the hospital, and two officers to speak again to the families of the river victims. The second of these tasks is to establish any further commonalities and also find out the likelihood of a complaint being made by the victims’ families and hopefully mitigate against them.
He gives me the job of getting the TV re-construction organised. “These yield excellent results usually,” he says. “And this case is becoming so high profile now, that lots of people will tune in to watch. Can you get on with that ASAP?”
“That’s not exactly a big job,” I argue. “It’ll take me, what? Two hours tops.”
“It’s a very important task and with respect Mark, you shouldn’t even be here.”
“I’m pig sick of people saying that to me. Look at me. I’m holding up. And whilst there’s breath in my body, I’m going to help catch him. I want to be involved with the visits to the families. I need to keep busy.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” The entire room is watching our ping pong discussion. “It would help me,” I continue. “And I can help them. After all, we are going through the same thing.”
DI Jones looks at Chris and Hutton, the officers he has given the visitations to. Neither of them says anything, which in police code means it is fine to go ahead. “OK,” he says after a brief pause. “After you’ve sorted the reconstruction, that’s most important, then you can help with visitations. But I don’t want you asking the questions. You should be the one who takes notes. And if it becomes too much, it’s fine. Take time off if you need to.”
“I will. And thanks Sir. I need to be working on this.”
After the meeting concludes, I follow DI Jones to his office.
“You’ve every right to have a grudge with DCI Ingham,” he begins.
“A grudge doesn’t cover it, to be honest with you. If he’d only done what he was supposed to have done straight away, then God knows how many lives could have been saved.” I think back to his dismissal whenever I made suggestions. “He knew best all along. That’s not what policing is about – we’re a team, aren’t we?”
DI Jones sighs. He looks as tired as me. It’s the first time I’ve seen him with the shadow of a beard – he’s obviously flat out with this. I, on the other hand, have four days’ worth of beard. What’s the point of shaving or anything anymore? Lauren’s not here.
“You must remember Mark, in front of your fellow police officers and work colleges, you need to remain respectful of rank. If I’ve to remind you of this again, I will pull you from all involvement in this case and send you home. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Now the only thing I can say, and I’m not defending DCI Ingham, is that he’s not been himself. You know yourself, what mental anguish takes out of you.”
“But he’s been dealing with people’s lives, Sir. He could have delegated. I was his Sergeant when he was in charge of the river inquiry. He wouldn’t let me in, apart from the surface aspects of the case. If he was having problems, then he should have had time off to sort them out, instead of doing a cack-handed job here.”
“That’s what he’s doing now. Having time off, that is. Obviously, there’ll be an internal investigation into perceived failings with the case and with not realising that DCI Ingham was struggling so much.”
“But it’s too late.” Nothing is ever going to bring Lauren back. Under normal circumstances I would sympathise with a colleague in distress but these are not normal circumstances.
“Mark. Trust me. I’m with you on this. And I’m blown away by your commitment to your work. Particularly with what you’re going through. I understand your need to keep going and to know you are contributing to catching this man. And like I said earlier – I need as much manpower as possible right now.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I might take a little time off when we get to Lauren’s funeral…”
My voice trails off. Lauren’s funeral. I hate that word. It’s real. The melon returns to my throat and for a second, I feel like I might break down in front of DI Jones.
“Are you OK? Silly question. Course you’re not. How could you be?”
I need to distract myself. “The reconstruction,” I begin. “What do I need to do?”
“Tina has got the number. After you’ve contacted them, it’s just a matter of following their procedure. They’ll take all the facts from you, times, location etc and ask for photographs. They will then set up and stage the reconstruction.”
“Do they have actors for that or would I have to sort something out?”
“Either.”
“My sister-in-law has a look of Lauren. Their hair is a similar length and colour. My family are all wanting to do something useful. Wanting to help.”
“We need to get it out as soon as we can. There were four days between what he did to Lauren and this latest attack.”
“There were gaps with the river drownings, weren’t there. On average, two a month. So are we telling the people putting the reconstruction together that the river deaths are definitely linked to Lauren and the woman who’s in hospital?”
“I think we are correct to link the two cases. But equally, we need to keep our minds open. And DCI Ingham could have been right all along in treating the drownings as accidents. It is a terrible stretch of river. And as we know, there have been plenty of accidental deaths there over the years. The attacks on Lauren and Denise could have happened in isolation.”
“I would be more inclined to agree with you if it wasn’t for Lauren having been stalked before she died. And he was hanging around the river that night I took her to the Yorkshire Arms. The e-fit also aligns with the CCTV. It’s just a shame we’ve nothing close up of him.”
“Do you know Mark?” DI Jones leans back in his chair and clasps his hands behind his head. He has a slight smile on his face. “I can’t believe how well you’re coping.”
“I’m not coping as well as you think, Sir. I just want him caught. Before he does it to someone else’s wife or mother.”
Chapter Thirty
Joanne’s Family
I stand behind Chris and Hutton as Chris knocks on the door. We’ve agreed that it is not necessary to say who I am; that my fiancée has been murdered. Lauren had a different surname to me, so the connection won’t be made. Besides, all the families we are visiting will be absorbed with their own grief. They don’t need to be made aware about mine, and I have been ordered by DI Jones to keep a professional distance.
I just need to be a part of things. To feel as though I’m doing something useful. At least at work, I’ve got some semblance of normality. At home, I’m the grieving husband and must support everyone else too. Besides, I am finding it tough being around Lauren’s things. She’s everywhere at the house and I can’t stand it.
We’ve rung ahead and made an appointment to see Joanne Mason’s mum and fiancé. They already know that we’re now investigating what looks like a serial killing rather than an accident, plus linking what happened to Lauren and the other woman, Denise, to the river deaths. A man answers the door.
“Robin Gilmore? I’m Sergeant Robert Hutton. We spoke on the phone a little while ago. These are my colleagues, PC Chris Canvey and Sergeant Mark Potts.”
The man looks shattered. But there’s an anger in his face as he looks us over. I want to tell him I know how he feels. But obviously I can’t.
“Come in.” His voice hard to read. We follow him through to a room where a woman rises from a chair as we walk in. “Though I don’t know what you’re doing here.”
“Sit down,” she says. “Can I get you all some tea?”
I want to say yes, but Hutton politely decli
nes before I can say anything. In a strange way, it’s a comfort to be around people going through the same thing as I am. I sit in an armchair nearest the lounge door whilst Hutton and Chris sit side by side on the two-seater sofa. The woman sits back down and Robin joins her, bolt upright. The room is stuffed with mahogany furniture and dust particles dance in the sunlight which streams through the window.
“Myself and my colleague, PC Chris Canvey, are going to ask you a few questions, if that’s OK?” Hutton gestures to himself, then to Chris and me. “Sergeant Potts will take notes.”
“You must be Joanne’s mum, Carol, is it?” Chris smiles at her. I can see the resemblance. He nods towards a sideboard where many photographs, which must be of Joanne at an entire range of life stages, smile back at us.
“Yes. Thank you. I don’t think she liked being told we were alike though.”
“So what can we do for you?” Robin sits back on the sofa and stares at Hutton with a chill in his eyes. “I don’t see what we can tell you that we haven’t told you before.”
“It’s brought it all back to be honest,” Carol says. “Just when after three months of counselling, I was starting to feel a fraction more acceptance, I’m back to where I started.”
“Me too.” Robin follows my gaze to what looks like a fairly recent photograph of him and Joanne stood together, looking like they’re at a party. “That was our engagement party,” he explains. “We would have been married by now. But that aside, I’m bloody furious that you weren’t out there earlier, looking for whoever did this to her.”
Carol places a hand on his arm. “It wouldn’t have brought her back, love.”
I nod, a torrent of emotion running through me as I busy myself in rummaging for a pen in my jacket and taking out my pocketbook.
“Your daughter, your fiancée,” Hutton nods at each of them. “As you know, was the first in a spate of similar incidents.”
The Yorkshire Dipper Page 17
