Authors: Chris Simms
‘Certainly, sir,’ the DI replied. Jon could almost see the team rubbing their hands with glee at the prospect of interviewing the barmaids.
‘We need to map out her last twenty-four hours. Usual routine – friends and family first. Obviously Mum and Dad were abroad on holiday, but she has two aunts living nearby. The reason they didn’t come forward was because they thought she was on holiday with the parents. Nevertheless, we still need to talk to them. She didn’t have a boyfriend as far as her parents knew, but we need to verify that with her mates.
‘Vanessa, that’s your team’s shout. I also want you to get over to the family home and have a good look through her stuff. The mum doesn’t think she kept a diary, but you know how it is with teenage girls. Go through her bedroom, check the backs of her drawers, under the carpet – you probably know better than me where she might hide stuff. We’ll need the family computer, too, to see what email she’s been sending or receiving.’
As Jon watched the young DI brush her hair off her face, he wondered what McCloughlin had in mind for him and Rick.
‘Andy, I want your team to continue with your TIEs on the members of the dating agencies Angela Rowlands met up with. How many have you got left to trace?’
‘She was sent the profiles of twenty-seven men. It seems she had contact with sixteen of them. So far we’ve traced, interviewed and eliminated twelve.’
He turned to another officer sitting at the front. ‘Simon, how’s your team going with the surgeons?’
‘Not bad, boss. We’ve just got to check the alibis for three who have contracts with the Paragon Group.’
‘Good. Keep going.’ He held up a sheaf of photocopies. ‘The most recent photo of Tyler Young her parents could find. Help yourself.’ He dropped them on the table and was turning back to his office when he said, almost as an aside, ‘Oh yes, Jon and Rick, keep trawling through those videos from Piccadilly station. We need more footage before we can categorically say the woman with Gordon Dean wasn’t Tyler Young.’
Jon uncrossed his arms, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. ‘Sir, doesn’t it now appear that Gordon Dean’s murder is unconnected to the Butcher investigation? I was hoping to invest our time in following up the Pete Gray lead Rick and I unearthed.’
‘Rick and you unearthed?’ McCloughlin replied sarcastically.
‘Pete Gray is not a priority at this time. The whereabouts of that prostitute is. I want her tracked down.’
He ushered the doctor back to his office.
Shit, Jon thought, how do I let him know Gray’s DNA showed up on Angela Rowlands’s body? McCloughlin has enough doubts about my working methods without me announcing that I’ve run an illegal and unauthorised DNA test on a suspect
.
He pursued them into his boss’s office. ‘With respect sir, Pete Gray is definitely hiding something. He has free access to the type of latex glove found at the crime scene of Tyler Young, he works odd shift patterns, he drives a van with blacked-out windows, he’s a regular at singles’ nights around town. Surely that’s grounds to at least ask the man for a voluntary DNA swab?’
He glanced at Dr Heath, who was peering at McCloughlin over his glasses, one eyebrow raised.
But McCloughlin’s face had drained of colour. ‘DI Spicer, there are many more avenues to this case than the ones you see fit to create. As SIO, it’s my job to prioritise them. You’ll go through that footage if you want to stay on this investigation.’
‘And once we’ve been through it all?’
‘If there’s no sign of her, you can question Pete Gray. Now get out.’
Jon stepped out of McCloughlin’s office and into a mass of excited conversations. He went back to his desk and slumped down in his seat, wondering how to get out of the mess he was in.
Rick looked across at him. ‘Did you tell him about your dodgy DNA test?’
‘Christ, no! I’d be off the investigation by now if I had.’
Rick whistled. ‘You’re sailing very close to the wind. Though personally, my money’s still on Gordon Dean.’ He put a few finishing touches to his notes, swivelled the pad around and pushed it across the desk.
Reluctantly, Jon started reading.
Works to his own schedule. Skilled or professional role, probably ‘high end’ of sales. Has his own vehicle. Fastidious in terms of organisation and personal appearance. Familiar with Belle Vue
. Rick had a satisfied look on his face.
‘Gordon Dean fits all those criteria – every time he had to get to
Protex he’d have driven through Belle Vue.’ Irritation itched Jon’s scalp. ‘It wasn’t him.’
‘On what basis exactly?’
‘This,’ said Jon, pressing his fist into his sternum. ‘I can feel it in here. He’s not our man.’
‘Great! Discard all the techniques of twenty-first-century policing and go on good old gut instinct.’
Jon hooked a forefinger under Rick’s pad and flipped it over.
‘There’s more to this job than treating it like some frigging university course.’
Rick retrieved the pad and stood up. ‘I’m getting a coffee.’ Jon watched him go, waiting until he was out of earshot before saying, ‘Fucking little smart-arse.’
Chapter 27
The lines of halogen spotlights came on and he crossed the concrete floor, the low cellar ceiling muting the sound of his footsteps.
On the other side of the small room he stood before a counter lined with his collection of surgical instruments. He surveyed the rack of scalpels before picking one out and examining its blade, eyes narrowing under the bright light glaring down from above.
With a deft movement he released the blade from the metal handle and disposed of it in a flip-lid bin that was spattered with specks of red. Then he lifted a small foil wrapper from a box labelled:
Carbon steel. Sterility guaranteed if packet unbroken
.
He tore the foil open, lifted out the new blade, fitted it to the handle and replaced the scalpel on the rack.
Shutting his eyes, he breathed in. Unable to escape the airless room, the coppery tang of blood hung heavy around him.
So many to choose from, he thought, opening his eyes and looking at the sheets of paper beside him. Women’s names, addresses, hopes and desires were all listed there. He lifted the top sheet and ran his eyes over the form.
Should he select one of these? After a few moments’ contemplation, he decided against it. None of them felt quite right. He wanted his next job to be really special. Something that would leave the crowds of imbeciles gaping with shock.
Another woman would come along soon. They always did. As he put the forms back his eyes shifted to the collection of human teeth in the test tube. The corners of his mouth twitched with anticipation.
Chapter 28
Jon and Rick sat in the front room. Still treating each other a little warily after their argument the day before, they had now waded through the footage from every platform without success. Rick loaded the first tape from the main terminal building and sat back on the sofa with a sigh.
Jon couldn’t concentrate on the screen. ‘He’s fucking sidelined us. This is a wild-goose chase and he knows it.’
Rick half turned his head, one eye still on the screen. ‘Jon, we can do this in less than three days if we keep going.’
‘Three days! We could crack this case in hours if we go after Pete Gray.’ He began picking at the frayed armrest. ‘Look, this is a waste of time, right? Gordon Dean pops up in the Manchester Ship Canal. So why are we looking for him catching a train out of Manchester? Someone else dumped the car at Piccadilly station to make it appear like Gordon Dean had eloped. Probably the prostitute’s pimp.’
Rick was trying to watch the footage.
Jon sat forward to get in his line of vision. ‘Whatever that prostitute’s involvement in Gordon Dean’s murder, it’s a separate case from the Butcher. Tyler Young was killed and her flesh stripped off early in the evening. Dean and that prostitute are together on the CCTV film from the petrol station hours later that night. Tyler Young and that prostitute are different people.’
‘That’s not to say Dean isn’t the Butcher. He skins Young, then goes out celebrating with the mystery girl from the CCTV. Later, he ends up in the Manchester Ship Canal. We still need to track her down and find out what happened.’
‘OK, I agree the prostitute holds the key to Dean’s death. But I bet she’ll still be in Manchester, back on her old patch in all likelihood. What I’m saying is Dean isn’t the Butcher. When could he have skinned Young? We have his movements mapped out from early afternoon until three in the morning.’
Rick stopped the tape and gripped his head in his hands, growling in frustration. ‘So what do you suggest?’
Jon waited for him to look up. ‘We fuck those tapes off. Let’s tell McCloughlin we split them in two. We phone him later to say we did half each and there’s nothing on any of them.’
Rick fiddled nervously with the remote control. ‘And what do we do in the meantime?’
‘Check out Pete Gray. Ask him for a voluntary DNA swab, maybe put some questions to his colleagues at Stepping Hill hospital.’
Rick remained silent and Jon could tell he was wrestling with the decision to actively deceive his SIO. Finally he said, ‘I’ll agree to take a break from these bloody tapes, but on one condition.’
‘Go on.’
‘We go back and talk to that tattooist in Affleck’s Palace first. We take the photo of Tyler Young and see if it’s the girl Gordon Dean spent time waiting with. I still reckon he’s the Butcher.’
Jeff Wilson walked past Melvyn’s salon, glancing quickly in. Where the fuck was his wife? He knew she wouldn’t have been able to cut off all contact with her friends there. They must know where she was. The vacant-looking girl who seemed to have only just started was sitting at the reception desk, chewing a pencil. It seemed like no one else was there.
Looking at his watch, he realised he could only stay for another fifteen minutes. A business meeting beckoned. Suddenly he saw a way of finding out where Fiona was hiding. With a bit of luck, it might just work. And then he could teach the bitch a lesson for trying to leave him.
He crossed the road to a florist’s and ordered a big bouquet of flowers. Once the girl had curled a sheet of cellophane round them, she asked if he’d like a message added.
‘Actually, the lady doesn’t even know me. But we got talking once in the queue for the sandwich shop and, well, it sounds silly I know, but I think I’ve found my soulmate.’ He feigned embarrassment and was pleased to see the girl’s face soften. Would the stupid cows ever give up on their absurd faith in fairytale romance? ‘I was wondering, could you carry them to that beauty salon across the road for me? I’ll pay your standard delivery costs.’
She looked over his shoulder, an intrigued expression on her face. ‘To that one? Melvyn’s Salon?’
‘Yes, that’s where she works. I’ve been plucking up the courage to do this for days.’
‘OK,’ she smiled. ‘But you do know it’ll be £12.50?’
‘A small price to pay, believe me. The lady’s name is Fiona. Fiona Wilson.’
After writing down his message, she carried the bouquet across the road and into the salon. When she walked in, Zoe’s eyes widened in hope at the huge spray of flowers.
‘Hi, there,’ the florist announced cheerfully. ‘A bouquet for
Fiona Wilson.’
Zoe looked disappointed. ‘She’s taking some time off work.’ The florist’s shoulders slumped. ‘Oh. Well...that’s a shame.’
She turned towards the door.
‘Hang on!’ Zoe exclaimed. ‘Her home address is here somewhere.’ She opened the appointments book and turned to a load of loose bits of paper at the back. ‘Yes, I thought it was. They can go to Flat 2, 15 Ridley Place, Fallowfield. Here, I’ll write it out for you.’
‘Thank you.’ The florist took the piece of paper.
Back in her shop she felt a surge of sympathy over her customer’s concerned expression. ‘Don’t worry. She’s off work for a while, but I’ve got her home address.’
‘Really?’ Jeff Wilson replied. ‘That’s smashing.’
When they walked into the tiny tattoo parlour, Jake was sitting behind the desk, blowing smoke rings at the ceiling. Jon hooked a finger through one and then withdrew it, the gesture making the pale loop bend and waver.
‘Gents, good to see you again.’ Jake sat up, not bothering with any clever comments. Jon stood aside to allow Rick up to the desk.
‘Jake, we won’t take up any of your time. The girl who picked the Betty Boop tattoo on the same day as Gordon Dean was in here getting his ladybird. Is this her?’
He laid the photo on the desk.
Jake leaned forwards and studied it. With his head still bowed, he said, ‘She’s the Butcher’s third victim, isn’t she?’
Jon and Rick said nothing and he looked up. ‘The papers said she had a distinctive tattoo on her lower abdomen. It’s her, right?’
‘We’re not at liberty to say,’ Rick replied, voice tight.
Jake’s eyes narrowed and moved to Jon. ‘It is. That’s heavy shit.’ He let out a whistle and picked the photo up. ‘Yes. I’m pretty certain that’s her. She’s got the line of earrings and everything.’