Insidious Intent

  ‘So I need to organise a fingertip search along the verge here at first light,’ Carol said. She hunkered down, angling her head so she could look back along the ground towards the car glowing against the night. ‘Is that a bicycle tyre track?’ she asked, pointing to a muddy blur a few metres back from the rear bumper.

  Tony crouched beside her. ‘It looks like it.’

  Carol stood up. ‘Can I have the CSM over here?’ she called.

  One of the white-suited figures detached himself from the group. ‘That’d be me, ma’am.’

  Tony winced. She hated that form of address and despised officers like DSI Henderson who cleaved to it as a marker of respect. ‘It’s old-fashioned misogyny,’ she’d told Tony early on in their working life. ‘It’s a way of putting us in our place.’ He’d understood exactly what she meant. It pretended to be a display of respect but it was really the opposite.

  ‘DCI Jordan will do fine,’ she said briskly. ‘I’m not the lady of the manor, for God’s sake. Now, squat down here and turn your head so you’re at an oblique angle to the road. Speaking as an experienced Crime Scene Manager, would you say that was a bike tyre track? In that smear of mud behind the car.’

  The CSM did as he was told. He moved his head around, trying to see what Carol had noticed. Then he stopped and said, ‘Gotcha.’ He straightened up. ‘I think you might be right. We had rain this afternoon. It stopped about six, so it must have been made after that. And if I’m not mistaken, the heat from the fire seems to have baked it solid.’ He tipped a mock salute at Carol with the first two fingers of his right hand. ‘Well spotted. You think he’s left the scene on a bike, is that right? I heard you’d ordered the exits from the bike trail covered.’ He gave a tiny smirk. ‘Trouble is, on a mountain bike, you don’t have to stick to the main trail. You could be up and over Bicker Edge before we’d even had the emergency call.’

  ‘It’s not a mountain bike,’ Carol said decisively. ‘It’s a Brompton, or something similar. We know that from the last crime scene. I want a fingertip search right along the verge as far as the footbridge as soon as it’s light. If he rode along there, chances are he may have left some evidence.’

  ‘Right you are, ma – Chief Inspector. I doubt we’ll get much usable intel from the bike track. But you never know. We might get lucky and find he’s got some visible damage on the tyre.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Tony said. ‘I can’t see him overlooking something so obvious. Trust me, it’s not his style.’

  The CSM shrugged. ‘If you say so. But we’ll look anyway.’ He rejoined his team, casting a swift look back over his shoulder at Tony and Carol.

  ‘Made another friend there,’ Carol said.

  ‘I do my best.’

  ‘I’m going to ask the fire investigator whether there’s any trace of him using a fuse. I’m wondering whether he gave himself some extra time to make his getaway.’

  Tony frowned. ‘It’s worth asking. But I don’t think he’d leave anything to chance. He’ll want to be sure the fire has taken hold because the last thing he wants is for someone to walk into his perfect set-up in time to stop it going up like an auto da fe.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘Burning heretics at the stake. The Spanish Inquisition. Turning people into human torches.’ He gave her a rueful smile. ‘Sorry. You know my head is filled with inappropriate information.’

  ‘It’s not the information that’s inappropriate, it’s the time and place you trot it out.’

  Before he could reply, Carol’s phone rang. ‘Kevin,’ she said. ‘What have you got for me?’

  ‘Good news and bad news,’ he said.

  ‘As usual. Let’s have it.’

  ‘I’ve been liaising with the North Yorkshire teams tasked with monitoring the exit points from the cycle track along the riverbank. The team on the eastbound section were setting up in place to monitor it when a woman came past. She was out walking her dog.’

  ‘Aren’t they always? It’s a constant amazement to me that Flash hasn’t found me a corpse yet. So what did the dog walker have to say for herself?’

  ‘She was heading home when she saw the cops. She told them that on her way out she’d nearly been knocked over by a cyclist coming down the path hell for leather on – and this is a quote – “one of them dinky folding bikes like that Hugh Bonneville had in W1A”.’ When she said nothing, he continued. ‘It was a TV show, guv. Taking the piss out of the BBC.’

  ‘I know what it was, Kevin. Bonneville rode a Brompton bike, like we think our killer might use. So, did she see anything useful?’

  ‘She was a bit shaken, and angry at the way he was riding, so she turned to look back at him. And he left the path right where it enters the village. A couple of minutes later, she heard a car engine start up and drive off.’

  ‘She didn’t see the car?’

  ‘Unfortunately not.’

  ‘And what was the good news?’

  Kevin cleared his throat. ‘That was it, pretty much.’

  ‘So we’ve got an unidentified car going off in an unidentified direction a bit before we got our teams in place?’

  ‘Pretty much, yeah.’

  ‘Did she get a look at him at all?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s not much use. He was wearing dark-coloured lycra cyclist’s gear, including a helmet and goggles. And he had a head torch as well as the bike lights. So she was pretty much dazzled.’

  Carol sighed. ‘Well, I suppose it’s better than nothing. At least it confirms our theory that he’s making his escape on a bike. Can you pass all this on to Stacey? She’ll need to start feeding in all the ANPR data on cars hitting the main roads out of the Dales. Talk to you later, Kevin.’ She ended the call and hung her head. ‘Did you get that?’

  ‘The gist of it. Dog walker saw our man, but not enough to give a description and she thinks he took off in a car?’

  ‘Got it in one. Well, maybe Stacey can pick something up. A cross-reference to earlier ANPR info or something.’

  ‘Unless he doesn’t leave the Dales.’

  Carol raised her head. ‘You think he actually lives here?’

  ‘It’s possible. He clearly knows the area well. He knows where he can move around without triggering cameras. It’s not hard to reach Bradfield or Leeds or – did somebody say this car tracks back to Manchester?’

  ‘Not quite Manchester. It’s registered to Eileen Walsh,’ Carol said without having to think about it. She had a quirk of memory that meant she had total recall of anything she heard. It was sometimes more accurate than a recording. ‘An address in Salford.’

  ‘So it’s not unreasonable to think he might live in the area. Or maybe he has a weekend cottage. That way he can go back to his bolthole and stay put till Monday morning, when he becomes one more commuter heading out from the Dales to wherever work is. I’m not sure that helps at all, but…’

  ‘But it’s another hypothesis to throw into the pot. You’ve said often enough that when it comes to sexual homicide, murder isn’t usually where the criminality starts. So what do you see as the gateway offences here?’

  ‘Let’s walk,’ Tony said. His head always worked best when he was on the move. They skirted the crime scene and set off down the road in the opposite direction to the one the killer was assumed to have taken. The heat died away quickly, making him glad of his new anorak. The night was clear and chill and the plumes of smoke that drifted across the sky looked like a blackboard duster drawn across a child’s impression of the stars.

  ‘It’s not going to be the usual stuff. Not the animal cruelty, petty vandalism, minor sexual offences. This isn’t sexual homicide as such,’ he said, waving his arms as he spoke. ‘He’s having sex with them, I suspect. He’s set up this scenario that’s all about romance and wooing and chances are it ends up in bed. Like I said before, he acquires them at a time and place where they’re open to the idea of love. He takes them out on dates and he clearly doesn’t set their alarm bells ringing because they agree to
go out with him repeatedly. They trust him enough to agree to spend a weekend in the Dales with him. It’s completely atypical of serial sexual homicide.’

  ‘Maybe it’s all an act. Once he gets them here, maybe that’s when Mr Nice Guy disappears and he rapes and tortures them?’

  Tony realised his hands were cold and stuck them in his pockets. ‘That’s possible,’ he said. ‘And it’s hard to argue against since we have no witnesses to their behaviour towards each other. Except that the fact there are no witnesses suggests it was completely normal to the point of dull. No scenes in restaurants, no rows in the street, no complaints to friends. All we hear about him is what a gentleman he is, how attentive he was, how he was still getting over the tragic death of his wife.’

  ‘What about the wife?’

  ‘Wife, girlfriend, whatever. I don’t think she’s dead. I think she’s the woman he wants to kill. He’s a man obsessed and he’s determined to see his obsession through to the end.’

  ‘And the end is, what? Actually killing the woman he used to love?’

  ‘He still loves her but she doesn’t love him. I thought at first that the reason he might not be able to kill her was that she was dead already. But the more I think about it, the less sense that makes. Dying just feels like desertion to the ones left behind. If she was dead, I think he’d be taking out his revenge on whoever he could find to blame. Doctors who couldn’t cure her. The police officers who didn’t protect her. The driver who —’ He stopped suddenly, remembering who he was talking to. ‘Anyway, he’d be looking for someone that fitted the blame frame. That’s not what these women represent in his head.’

  ‘So you’ve decided they’re definitely surrogates?’

  ‘Yes. And killing them gives him a degree of comfort. The reassurance that he can control his world. Because she took that power and control from him when she walked out.’ Tony stopped in his tracks. ‘He’s planned this with infinite care. He knows he’s got to get this right because he needs to stay free until it’s safe for him to kill her. Whoever she is. And somewhere down the line, he will kill her. Because we can’t stop him. So until then he’ll keep on doing this again and again and again.’

  As soon as he’d spoken, Tony realised the mistake he’d made. He could see it in her eyes. The guilt she was carrying over Dominic Barrowclough’s victims was bad enough. But now she had the added weight of guilt because she wasn’t able to catch a killer. In Carol’s eyes, he knew, the world was simple. Her job was justice. All she had to do was to catch violent criminals and put them away. Doing that one thing saved lives. Every day, people went about their lives – cooking, shopping, sleeping, laughing, loving – because she’d done what she was supposed to do. But he’d just told her she wasn’t good enough. None of them was good enough to catch this killer.

  50

  P

  aula hadn’t been able to stop yawning on the drive into work. It had been after two by the time she’d driven home from Wharfedale and her body ached in surprising places from having slept on the sofa. There was no spare room now that Torin was living with them, and Paula hated to disturb Elinor’s sleep, given the long and erratic hours she worked.

  She stopped at the doughnut shop again on her way to the office. The cheery familiar greeting of the Estonian lad who did the early shift gave her a moment’s pause. When the staff behind the doughnut counter knew your name, it was time to break the habit. She’d noticed a thickening round her waist lately. She was heading towards the age range where it was infinitely easier to put it on than take it off, and Paula liked the feel of her body when it was fit too much to want to kiss that goodbye for the sake of fried dough and sugar. This, she promised herself as she paid for a dozen box, would be the last time.

  Kevin, Ambrose and Karim were already in the office, the smell of fresh coffee heady in the air. The men fell on the sweet treats like starving waifs. Caffeine and sugar, that was what everyone craved after a murder. ‘Where’s Stacey?’ Paula asked, surprised to see her office door closed and the lights out.

  ‘No idea,’ Alvin said. ‘She wasn’t here when I got in.’

  ‘Maybe Sam kidnapped her,’ Kevin said through a mouthful of Strawberry Creme Dreme. ‘Holding her hostage till she sorts out his fucked-up financial status.’

  Paula groaned. ‘Don’t even joke about it. How come none of us really grasped what a slimeball he is when we worked with him?’

  ‘He’s a clever slimeball,’ Kevin said. ‘He never felt like a mate, but I didn’t think that made him a creep.’

  ‘So, seriously, nobody knows where Stacey is?’

  ‘She’ll be doing something mysterious with a silicon-based life form,’ Alvin said. ‘So by my reckoning, that means I’m legally entitled to her doughnuts.’

  ‘How do you work that out, big man?’ Kevin reached for a Coconut Coco Sensation.

  ‘I am the big man so I need more fuel.’

  The door opened and Carol came in, the dog at her heels. She looked as if she hadn’t slept, Paula thought. She glared at the box and shook her head, disapprovingly. ‘Bad influence.’ Then she plonked herself down at the table and reached for a coffee-glazed ring. ‘I need coffee,’ she said, finding a smile from somewhere deep inside.

  Paula jumped to it. Old habits died hard, and she’d been devoted to Carol from the first day they’d worked together. Even now, when Elinor was the principal focus of her devotion, she still liked to do whatever she could to make Carol’s life easier. ‘Do you know where Stacey is?’ she asked, heading for the coffee machine.

  Carol turned to stare at the closed door. ‘No idea. I assumed she’d be here. Is Tony not in?’

  Kevin and Alvin shared a quick glance of surprise. ‘No, boss,’ Karim said. ‘And it’s not like we’d miss him with that purple coat.’

  Carol looked puzzled. ‘He set off twenty minutes ahead of me.’ It was the first time she’d publicly acknowledged the change in their domestic arrangements. Paula knew already because Tony had told her, and she’d shared the information only with Elinor and Stacey. For Carol to break her perpetual habit of personal discretion must mean something, but Paula wasn’t sure what.

  ‘Perhaps they’ve run off together,’ Kevin said.

  ‘There would be a certain communicative symmetry to that,’ Carol said with an edge of acid. ‘But with or without them, we need to get the day moving. We think the dead woman is Eileen Walsh, a nurse at Manchester Royal Infirmary. GMP are dealing with tracking down her dentist. As soon as we have a confirmation, we’ll be all over her life. Just as we were with the last two victims. And maybe this time we’ll get a break. God knows we need it. But for now, we have to sit on our hands.’ Her tone was heavy. Paula passed her a cup of judicial-strength coffee and sat down.

  ‘Can we not make some discreet inquiries?’ Karim said.

  ‘No. Not while there’s a chance it’s not her. The last thing we want is to freak out someone who happened to lend her car to her pal for the weekend.’ Carol sipped the coffee and winced at the heat. ‘The fire investigator was on the scene pretty much from the start so if there’s anything significant to discover, he’s better placed to find it.

  ‘One thing we can do, though – Paula, I want you to follow up the Claire Garrity lead that Stacey dug up from social media. Go and see the widower and see whether the pics we’ve generated ring any bells with him. The rest of you,’ Carol continued, ‘there’s not a lot we can do except go over the ground we’ve already covered —’

  Before she could say more, the door opened and James Blake marched into the squad room in full dress uniform. The chief constable was a big man, but his uniform was tailored to make him look powerful rather than fat. ‘Marvellous,’ he said, his voice dripping sarcasm. ‘Three women dead in identical circumstances, and our crack squad are sitting around eating doughnuts and drinking coffee.’

  Karim scrambled to his feet, but everyone else stayed in their seats and gave Blake the cold stare of dumb insolence. Carol wip
ed her sticky fingers on a napkin to buy a little time, trying not to show her anger and distress. Her stomach burned with acid as anxiety kicked in. ‘Good morning, sir,’ she said. ‘Have you come to join our briefing?’

  Blake scoffed. ‘Briefing? From what I hear, you’ve nothing to brief. It’s been six weeks since the McCormick woman was murdered and as far as I can see, you haven’t developed a single viable suspect. That would be bad enough, but then there was the girl in Leeds. And now I’m told another one from Manchester has been found burned in a car. What’s the problem, DCI Jordan? Is your team not up to the job?’

  ‘We’re dealing with a very sophisticated killer. He’s clearly forensically aware,’ Carol said. She could feel her throat tightening, as if tears were close. She couldn’t let herself fall apart in front of Blake, never mind her own team. Under the desk, she drove her fingernails into the sensitive flesh on the inside of her knee.

  Blake strolled imperiously around the room, studying the evidence boards that were jammed with crime scene photographs and the whiteboards covered with apparently random notes, some written by the squad officers and others by Tony. ‘There’s no order or method in this,’ he complained. ‘If we sent in a review team to assess what you’ve done so far, they’d struggle to make any sense of this.’ He turned back, shaking his head. ‘You’ve got another week to make some progress, DCI Jordan. You and your ragtag and bobtail team. Then I’m going to demand that we have oversight. A full-scale audit and analysis of what you’ve done. So in the interim, you’d better make progress. And you’d better have your case notes in the kind of order that a proper copper can make sense of.’

  There was stunned silence as he walked out. ‘Fuck,’ Paula said. ‘We are so screwed if we get a review team.’

  ‘Why?’ Carol demanded, her voice harsh.