“Yes. Do you want to listen, or…?”
“Sorry, yes. I’m just knackered. Harry is being a little…” He sighed. “Anyway, what did you discover?”
She handed over the pile of freshly printed paperwork and sat silently while he read the first, then the second, and then frantically flicked through the rest. His face was ashen. “Holy fuck,” he finally said, looking up at her. “What the hell have we got here?”
“Something bigger than we all assumed. And whoever it is, is now here.” She leant forwards and put her arms on the desk. “How many names you got left on your list?”
“Nine or ten, I dunno.” He yawned. “Sorry, it just…Harry was up all night again. She isn’t too impressed with the idea of a new baby.”
“Dale, fucking focus,” she hissed. “I love your kids, but time and fucking place, alright?” Her left hand dragged through her hair. “Look, give Jeff the rest of your list. Then I want you to get all of the names put aside so far and start going through them. Find out where they’re from, where they work, places they’ve lived.” Sitting back in her chair, she added, “This is it. I can feel it. Someone is going to stand out.”
“Alright, I can do that. What about you?”
“I need to speak to the Chief.”
~Grave~
It took hours, but as each detective finished up their original list, they started on the next. Anything that linked any man to any place where a murder had taken place was noted down. Whitton ordered in pizza. Six large boxes lay open on the desk, the insides now demolished as hungry bellies were fed.
“Fuck me,” Dale said to himself loudly enough that everyone stopped what they were doing. “I think I’ve got him, Soph.” He turned to face her, his face as serious as she had ever seen it. Standing, she moved across the room and leant in over his shoulder to look at the screen.
“Jesus,” she agreed. Straightening up, she blew out a breath. “Run it by me,” she said, her eyes glued to the murder board, to Anita’s face.
“Jonas David William Robinson.” He said the name clearly and concisely.
“Fuck off, the defence solicitor from the court?” Andy Bowen asked, his own voice incredulous as Saint nodded.
Whitton’s head swiveled towards the interruption, and Saint continued on. “Age 57. Married to Dr. Lydia Jane Thomson. He was born in Harrogate. Lived there until he was twelve, when his mother died and he ended up moving in with an aunt. His dad was on the scene but in the navy, so away a lot.”
“Where did the aunt live?” Whitton asked, her eyes back on the photo of Anita.
“York. That’s where he stayed until Uni. He went to Durham. Got his law degree and then…”
Whitton turned back to face him. “The mother, what did she die from?”
Saint opened another tab and tapped away on the keys, reading from the screen as the information appeared. “Natural causes. Nothing suspicious about it.”
She pinched her lower lip between her fingers while she thought about it. “Something set him off, something that wasn’t fair. Something where someone got away with it.”
Dale nodded. “Yeah, but what? It says here, he got his law degree and then first job straight out of Uni. We don’t get our first Grave Murder until 1993. By that time, he is what? Thirty years old?”
“Ansu? You and Colleen, start going over his cases. See if there is anything that stands out.”
“Guv, one problem with that.” It was Jeff who now offered his opinion. “He never murders anyone from his own cases.”
“That’s true, but the likelihood is, whatever set him off is personal. And if it’s not a family member or someone linked to him, then maybe it’s a case that went wrong. Just look will you, cross those T’s, alright? I want this fucking airtight by the time we take this to the CPS.” She raised a brow. “They won’t want to touch it unless it’s an absolute. And once we tip our hand, he knows we know.”
“He has worked or lived in or around every murder site,” Dale added. “And the first one here happened one month after him and his wife moved in.”
“She’s a vet,” Whitton said under her breath and then much louder. “The wife, she’s a vet. When I ran into him at the court, he said she ran a practice from home. Hayes was injected with ketamine. So were most of these victims.” She held up the pile of papers. “Let’s get all of our ducks in order, timelines, everything, and then I want warrants for a search. I want tyre prints ASAP.”
“It’s going to take some time, Guv.”
She knew that it would. In her old life she would work them all through the weekend until every I had been dotted, every T crossed, and they’d chased down the culprit. But that wouldn’t work this time. An image of Rachel flashed into her mind and she remembered that in the morning, she was moving in, something Whitton was looking forward to. “I know. Look, get what you can done today. Then Monday we go at it, all hands on deck. Alright?”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Saturday morning found Whitton awake too early. She picked up the hire vehicle and drove it over to Dale’s. As soon as he opened his mouth to moan about the time, she thrust a coffee into his hand and smiled.
“I know it’s early. I just want to get this done without scaring her with any of the details. Then we can come up with a plan. I don’t wanna talk shop in front of Rachel, alright?”
His brow raised at her. “A plan? Alright, I can go with that.” He sipped the coffee. “So, how much stuff is Rachel planning to bring?”
“No idea. She can bring anything she wants; I’ll make room. I want her there,” she said firmly.
Dale smiled. “It’s good to see you this happy, Soph.”
She glanced at him quickly before putting her eyes back on the road ahead. There wasn’t much traffic around, but she wanted to concentrate. “I feel different with her,” she said, chancing another glance to make sure that he wasn’t laughing at her. His face was open, smiling casually as he sat back and sipped more coffee. “With Yvonne I was always so…”
“Intense, miserable, hard work?” he said, grinning more widely now.
An arched brow shut him up. “Yeah, probably. I prefer focused, dedicated, and hard-working.”
They both laughed. She indicated right and waited in the road to take the turn.
“But, seriously. I love her, like, I really love her, and I really want this to work out, more than anything. I’d even give the job up, if she asked me.” She took the turning and moved up a gear.
“Fuck, you have got it bad. You’d give up chasing bad guys, late nights, and dealing with morons?” He laughed again. “I dunno, life without Whitton? Wouldn’t be the same.”
“I didn’t say I was going to!” She shook her head, laughing as the little cottage came into view. “Anyway, let’s get this done.”
~Grave~
Rachel picked up a box and set it down on the table, unpacking it slowly. It hadn’t taken long to get the things she wanted to take with her into the van. Dale and Sophie worked like troupers, joking around, barely a complaint from either of them. But now, as Sophie perched on the edge of the sofa drinking a cup of coffee, Rachel wasn’t sure what to make of her silence. Every so often she would suck in a deep breath and exhale slowly, deliberately. Her knee bounced rhythmically, and she had that look on her face that said she was contemplating something serious.
“Is everything ok?” Rachel asked when Sophie swallowed down the last of her drink and placed the cup on the coffee table with a gentle chink.
Her dark head whipped around as she forced a smile on her face. “Yeah, course.” She stood up and fidgeted with her trousers before crossing the room and peering into the box that Rachel was working through. “Need a hand?”
“If you want to. Where do you want me to put these?” She held up a pair of ornamental figurines, but in reality, she meant the entire box, which contained a few of the new treasures she had been collecting in the months since The Doll Maker.
Sophie’s dark eyes captu
red hers and held them, her brow furrowing. “Anywhere you want to. This isn’t my home, and your things.” She put down the bubble-wrapped ornament she had picked up. “This is our place, our things. I don’t want you to just fit in around me; I want you to overwhelm me with your presence. I want to see you everywhere I look. I want to come home from work, close that door, and leave all that is dark behind me and be wrapped up in you.” She stepped forwards and took the figure from Rachel’s hand. Linking their fingers, she smiled. “I love you. You light up my world with all that you are, and all these remind me that you’re here, you’re with me, lighting me up and dragging me out of the darkness.”
Rachel all but whimpered as she snaked her arms around Sophie’s neck. “Take me to bed.”
Sophie grinned, kissing the tip of her nose. “As much as that idea really appeals to me right now, I have to go out and I need a favour.”
Rachel pouted. “Where is more important than right here?” She started to undo the buttons on her shirt, putting her ample cleavage on display. Her body was a weapon, armed and primed.
Laughing at her antics, Sophie kissed her quickly. “I promise, I won’t be long. I just need to speak with the pathologist.”
“You’re turning me down for Tristan?”
“I am not turning you down, I am pressing pause and holding that thought.” This time when she kissed her, she let it deepen, pressing herself against Rachel’s soft flesh. “I won’t be long.” She removed herself quickly and moved towards the door.
“Fine, what’s the favour?” Rachel called out after her.
“Can I borrow the cottage, just for a few days?”
Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “Just what are you up to?”
“I just need somewhere out of the way so me and the boys can work in privacy.”
Rachel nodded and turned back to the box, but Sophie’s words drew her back to her lover.
“Just…bear with me, okay? When I get into work mode and you feel like I’m not here, remind me, don’t let me linger in the dark too long.” It was the most honest she had ever been with a romantic partner. It felt good to ask Rachel for help and not just bottle it all up like she had with Yvonne.
“Always, Detective. Now, go do your thing, and Sophie?” She smiled seductively and undid another button to her blouse. “Seriously, don’t be long. I need some attention.”
Heat rose in an instant. Expelling air slowly from her lungs in a deliberate attempt to compose herself, Sophie grinned back. “I won’t be long.”
Chapter Forty
Tristan Barnard had never been invited anywhere by DI Whitton that didn’t involve a crime scene or a pub to celebrate. He was intrigued with the casual offer to pop round to Rachel’s for a catch up. So here he was, walking up the pathway of a very quaint-looking cottage with a for sale sign. All was not as it seemed, he considered.
It was even more confusing when DS Saint opened the door and he entered into a room filled with other detectives hard at work on laptops and other screens set up at the dining room table.
“Well, Whitton, I have to say I am a little disappointed. Our first date and all.” He took his lightweight jacket off and looked around for somewhere to hang it. Saint took it off him and did the job for him.
“I needed to speak to you away from…well, you’ll see. Take a seat.” She offered him one of the high-back dining chairs next to Jeff. “We know who our vigilante is.”
His eyes widened as he turned to face her. “Okay?” He sounded hesitant. He’d been dragged away from his lab, away from prying eyes and listening ears. He didn’t like where this was heading.
“It’s Jonas Robinson,” she stated and nodded to Jeff. The image of a smart man in his fifties and then stills of the same man wearing a blue boiler suit appeared on the screen. “Here.” She pointed to the last image. “This is an internet café in town. He sent me an email from here, and then when he left, he dropped this.” She held up an image of the matchbook.
“I know about that, I processed it.” He half smiled at her. “What’s your evidence that this was him?” he asked, turning away from the screen, not wholly convinced just yet.
She licked her lower lip and reached for a pile of paperwork. He took it when she held it out to him. “Each of these is a related case. Going back years. York, Bristol, Kent and all the surrounding areas. In each case, Jonas worked or lived there.”
“But you don’t actually have any evidence other than the DNA from the Kent case?”
“Once we get a warrant, I think we will find all the evidence we need. We have a tyre print remember, and the skin cream you found. The problem is, we are talking about a very experienced defence lawyer, and I want to make sure we have this wrapped up so tight that he has no chance to wriggle his way out of it,” she explained while her team nodded in unison.
“And we need you to play ball with any potential evidence we might find,” Saint chipped in.
Barnard stood up abruptly. “If you’re asking me to participate in planting evidence, then the answer is no. That would make us just as bad.”
“Chill, Doc.” Jeff smiled. “We ain’t gonna plant evidence.”
“Then what?” He turned back to Whitton and found her grinning.
“I need a scapegoat.”
~Grave~
Monday morning brought a downpour. The heavens opened and rain came down in sheets. Whitton ran from her car into the station and was drenched. Running a hand through her hair, she heard a wolf whistle from one of the uniforms as they passed. Looking down, she realised that her shirt was practically see-through. “Terrific,” she mumbled to herself. At least she had had the good sense to wear a vest under it.
“Whitton, my office,” Turner called out across the room as she walked through the door. “Get a coffee.”
Coffee in hand, she knocked on the door and opened it. Her boss looked up at her. The usually calm and put-together detective looked disheveled and out of sorts. He smiled, proffering the chair while he finished up his report.
“Where are we?”
“We have everything linked and yet, nothing concrete that a good defence lawyer couldn’t swat away as circumstantial.”
“And you’re sure it’s him?”
“100%.”
“I trust you Whitton. I give you far more leeway than I do anyone else. I read your email. Don’t fuck this up; if it’s him, I want the evidence and I want him put away.”
“Yes, sir.”
~Grave~
The courts were quiet as Whitton strolled in through security. A quick nod to Tom and then she was perusing the boards. Court One looked her best bet. She took long strides towards the stairs and then climbed them two at a time. When she reached the waiting area, she took a moment to catch her breath and calm herself.
The room was almost empty, just a couple of teenagers in clean hoodies and an older woman looking nervously around her. It was obvious to Whitton’s trained eye which ones had been here before and which one was a first timer.
She slipped inside the court room and took a seat at the back, scanning the room quickly to see if Jonas was there. He wasn’t, and she considered briefly whether to try one of the other rooms. She quickly stood and headed towards the door, reaching for the handle, when it opened and in walked the very man she had been hoping to chat to. He smiled at her instantly, and she felt the urge to punch him in the face surge up, but she controlled her reactions and politely returned the smile.
“DI Whitton, what brings you here?” He spoke with such confidence in himself. In another world, Whitton had liked him. He was a good lawyer.
“Actually, I wanted a quick word with you, if you have a moment?”
He checked his watch. “Yes, I can spare a couple of minutes. I’m not due to perform for another half an hour,” he confided, leaning in to her as he spoke. “Let me just drop my stuff off.” He held up the briefcase in his hand as evidence.
“Great, I’ll wait for you outside.”
The tw
o teenagers now had a brief with them as they sat looking bored and uninterested in the entire proceedings. She recognised the solicitor and gave an acknowledging nod his way just as the door behind her opened and Jonas stepped out.
“So, what can I do for the best detective in Woodington?” He grinned at her, and now she saw nothing but a smarmy charlatan in front of her. She remembered the email, the arrogance oozing from him.
She looked around and then, touching his elbow, led him to the hallway where nobody could overhear. “The thing is, I was hoping for some advice.”
“Of course, go on.”
“Okay, this is obviously just between you and me, right?”
He smiled once more. “Of course.”
“So, the thing is, we think we made a mistake with Galahad Benson,” she admitted, her eyes sinking to the floor in embarrassment.
“Oh, right. In what way?”
“The DNA sample, it’s too degraded. Look, I know he is your client, but we both know he did it.” She looked him square in the face and noted the flicker of something in his eyes: jubilance. “Of course, you have to defend him anyway. I can’t even begin to imagine how you deal with it,” she added sympathetically.
Her change of direction threw him for a moment. “Sorry. What?”
She lowered her voice to all but a whisper. “You know, when we all know the fuckers are guilty, but…” She left it unspoken and shrugged, but he got it. “I’m just saying, I know it’s probably the shitty part of your job, right?”
“Well, yes, of course. We’re not monsters, regardless of how the prosecution paint us.” He laughed
“Exactly, I know you’re just doing your job. We all know that. It’s just a fucking craw in the throat ya know, when we work so hard to catch them and then…”
“I can assure you, Detective, that I take no pleasure in seeing my guilty clients go free; however, the law is what it is. I remember when I first started out, one of the first clients I had was a vicar. A man of God, for Christ sake. Accused of molesting a nun, would you believe that?” He shook his head. “Got off because the jury couldn’t accept that a man of God would do such a thing.”
Grave Decisions Page 16
