The driver of the Uber was called Marko and he was Ukrainian. He had fled the Russian invasion of his country and now lived with his wife and four children in Manchester. He hadn’t known where the police headquarters were, but Lulu had helped him input the destination into his satnav.
‘You want to know something funny?’ he had said once they were on their way. ‘My name is Marko, which in my language means warlike. But because Putin is warlike, I have to flee my country.’
‘I think that’s ironic rather than funny,’ said Lulu. ‘And rather sad.’
‘Life is sad,’ said Marko, nodding in agreement. He kept looking at Conrad in his rear-view mirror. ‘Your cat is so beautiful,’ he said.
‘Yes, he is,’ said Lulu.
‘Does he go everywhere with you?’
‘He does. Yes.’
‘You are so lucky. I had to leave my cats in Ukraine.’
‘That’s a pity.’
Marko nodded. ‘We were ready to leave and we couldn’t find them. We looked everywhere but then we had to go. That was almost two years ago.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘The black one was called Vuhillya, which means coal. And the white one was called Snihovyy.’
‘Snowy?’
The driver’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘You speak Ukrainian?’
Lulu laughed. ‘Not a word, but I could see where you were going. Maybe they will be there when you go back.’
Marko shook his head. ‘We will never go back. Manchester is our home now. Our life here is much better than it was in Ukraine.’ He shrugged. ‘But I miss my cats.’
‘I bet you do,’ said Lulu.
The Prius pulled up in front of the police building. Marko twisted around in his seat. ‘It has been a pleasure driving you,’ he said. ‘Please remember, Marko, five stars.’
‘Definitely,’ said Lulu. She gathered up Conrad and climbed out of the car. She held Conrad in her arms as the car drove away.
‘So basically he abandoned his cats in a war zone,’ said Conrad. ‘Good to know.’
‘He had to make a choice, I suppose.’
‘Exactly. I hope Coal and Snowy are okay and that they found more worthy owners.’
Lulu lifted him up so that he could sit on her shoulders. ‘I would never abandon you,’ she said.
‘Oh, I know that. And please don’t give him five stars.’
‘I won’t, if that’s what you want.’
‘I do,’ said Conrad. ‘Can you imagine how his cats must have felt, being abandoned like that?’
‘I can, yes.’
‘Well, there you are then. No stars.’
‘Well, I have to leave at least one.’
Conrad sniffed. ‘That’s one too many, in my opinion.’
Lulu walked into the police HQ, went over to the reception desk and asked to see DS Morris. A bored civilian worker pointed at a line of white plastic chairs and told her to wait. Told, not asked or suggested; it was an order issued the way a headmaster might talk to an unruly child. Lulu didn’t express her displeasure, she just smiled sweetly and thanked the woman. In Lulu’s experience, confrontation never stopped a person being rude, it just made the situation worse.
She had the copy of the Manchester Evening News with her so she read through it while she waited for DS Morris. Conrad was curled up on the seat next to her. He was snoring softly when DS Morris eventually arrived. ‘Mrs Lewis, I am so sorry to have kept you. I was briefing the CPS on a case and it took for ever.’
‘Not a problem, DS Morris. I know how busy you all are these days.’
Conrad uncurled himself and sat up, his ears swivelling around.
The detective smiled at Conrad, then looked back at Lulu. ‘How can I help you? Did you forget something? Or remember something?’
‘It’s about this, actually,’ said Lulu. She held out the newspaper. ‘This lead story, about the serial killer.’
DS Morris took it and scanned the article. He wrinkled his nose. ‘Ah, yes. Journalist Dickie McNeil. The bane of our lives. He’s always poking his nose where it isn’t wanted.’ He gave the paper back to her. ‘If you’re going to suggest that your Mr May is the serial killer, I can tell you that we did check but he wasn’t in Manchester during the time of the first murder.’
‘No, it’s not that,’ said Lulu. ‘The thing is, I might have some information about the case.’
‘Really? You said you only arrived in Manchester yesterday.’
‘That’s right. But the cases that this Dickie McNeil is writing about are similar to ones that I came across in London. I ran Major Investigation Teams for a time, initially as a chief inspector and later as a superintendent. And after I retired, I went back occasionally as a consultant.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ said DS Morris.
‘Well, the last thing you want is a retired detective telling war stories,’ she said.
‘It sounds like you had an interesting career,’ said DS Morris.
‘Oh, I did,’ said Lulu. ‘The thing is, could I possibly speak to the SIO on this case? I might be able to help.’
DS Morris nodded. ‘Let me see who the senior investigating officer is,’ he said. ‘Just wait here for a moment, please.’ He walked away and took his mobile phone from his pocket.
‘He seems nice, doesn’t he?’ said Conrad.
‘Most police officers are,’ said Lulu. ‘Despite what you read in the papers. You always hear about the bad apples, but the vast majority of men and women who join the police sign up because they want to help people. They certainly don’t join for the pay.’
‘He has an especially good aura.’
‘Really?’
‘There’s a lot of orange in it. People with orange auras tend to be creative problem-solvers who aren’t scared of taking risks. And his aura absorbs the colours of the people around him.’
‘Like empathy?’
‘Yes, a bit like a chameleon. It has a calming effect on those around him. He’s the sort of person that cats are naturally drawn to.’
‘Oh Conrad, you’re not going to leave me, are you?’
Conrad walked over to her and gently butted her arm with his head. ‘Of course not.’
DS Morris made one call, then another. Then he put his phone away and came back to her. ‘We’re in luck,’ he said. ‘DI Julie Friar is SIO and she’s up in the canteen as we speak. She’d be very happy to have a chat.’
‘Excellent,’ said Lulu. She bent down so that Conrad could jump onto her shoulders, then stood up and followed the detective over to the lifts. They rode up to the third floor and then walked along a corridor to a set of double doors that led to the canteen. It was like police canteens the world over, a counter with various items of food on display, a board with prices and a list of specials, and a bored cashier. There were a couple of dozen people eating, a mix of uniformed officers, detectives in plain clothes and civilian workers.
DS Morris took Lulu over to a table by the window. DI Julie Friar was in her mid-thirties. She had short black hair and elf-like ears and was wearing a white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up. There was a dark blue blazer hanging over the back of her chair. Sitting opposite her was a young man in a grey suit and a blue tie. DI Friar was working her way through a plate of fish and chips while her companion was pecking at a salad.
‘DI Friar, this is Mrs Lewis. She used to be a superintendent with the Met. She came in with regard to an attempted robbery at Castlefield Basin. The perp was on probation and will be back behind bars soon, but Mrs Lewis has some information to share with you regarding the murder cases that you’re investigating.’
DI Friar looked up and nodded. ‘Sorry to be eating, but it’s the first chance I’ve had all day. Please, sit down. And help yourself to a chip.’
‘That’s fine, I had lunch earlier,’ said Lulu. She held up the newspaper. ‘Then I saw this.’ She sat down.
‘I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to love you and leave you,’ said DS Morris. ‘I’ve a statement to take and the witness is at the Royal, so I have to get my skates on. Mrs Lewis, I’ll leave you with DI Friar. It was nice meeting you again.’ He smiled at Conrad, who was still sitting on Lulu’s shoulder. ‘Nice seeing you again, too, Conrad.’
As DS Morris headed out, Lulu sat down next to DI Friar. Conrad jumped off her shoulder, landed softly on the floor. ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ said Lulu, gesturing at Conrad.
‘I’m fine,’ said DI Friar. ‘But Pete here is a dog person.’
‘No, I’m fine with cats,’ said her companion.
Conrad jumped up onto the chair next to the man and he reached over and stroked him behind the ear. Conrad purred with contentment.
‘Thank you so much for agreeing to see me,’ said Lulu.
‘I’ll take any help I can get on this case,’ said DI Friar. ‘All the leads I’ve chased up so far have proven to be dead ends.’ She nodded at the young man in the suit. ‘This is DC Peter Townsend. Pete, to his friends.’
‘As in The Who?’
‘The what?’ he said, frowning.
‘The rock group. The Who. Roger Daltrey, Pete Townshend, John Entwistle and Keith Moon.’
DC Townsend shook his head. ‘Sorry.’
‘You’ve never heard of The Who? “Pinball Wizard”? “My Generation”? Quadrophenia?’
DC Townsend laughed. ‘Before my time, I guess.’
Lulu was about to ask him how old he was, but realized that might imply criticism. ‘The Rolling Stones?’
‘Oh, yes, I’ve heard of them,’ he said.
‘That’s a relief,’ said Lulu. ‘I was starting to feel like a dinosaur. So you’re the bag carrier?’ A bag carrier was a senior investigating officer’s shadow; everywhere the SIO went, the bag carrier went too. Every decision the SIO made was recorded in the Book 194, also known as the key decision log. At any point in the investigation a senior officer could examine the Book 194 to check that all protocols were being followed.
‘I am, yes. Though in Manchester we call them scribes. Would you like a coffee or tea? The coffee is quite good here.’
‘Yes, I had some earlier today. Coffee would be lovely. And if Conrad could possibly have some Evian water, that would be great.’
DC Townsend nodded approvingly. ‘He knows his water.’
‘He’s not a fan of tap water,’ said Lulu. ‘He doesn’t like the taste of chlorine.’
‘Who does?’ DC Townsend looked at DI Friar. ‘Skinny latte, no sugar, extra shot?’
‘Perfect,’ she said.
DC Townsend went to the counter. ‘In my day, one of my main tasks was to keep my SIO supplied with cigarettes,’ said Lulu. ‘I suppose that’s also a thing of the past?’
DI Friar smiled and pushed up her left shirtsleeve. There was a nicotine patch just above her elbow. ‘Pete makes sure there’s always one of these in his wallet.’
Lulu chuckled. ‘Times have changed.’
‘And I didn’t want to say anything, but I’m a huge Who fan. Always have been. Way better than the Stones. But he’s Townsend without the “h”. I loved it when they used “Won’t Get Fooled Again” as the theme tune for that CSI show.’
‘That show changed the public’s perceptions of how the police work, didn’t it? They expect every case to be wrapped up within an hour by just taking DNA samples and tapping a few keys on a computer.’
DI Friar nodded. ‘The number of times I’ve been told that all I have to do is to run the DNA sample through the database. If only it was that simple.’
DC Townsend returned with two coffees, which he placed on the table, then he took a bottle of Evian water from his pocket. ‘Ah,’ he said, as he realized that Conrad could hardly drink from the bottle. ‘I’ll be right back.’ He went over to the counter and returned with a saucer. He poured Evian water into the saucer and placed it on the chair next to Conrad before sitting down.
DI Friar finished her fish and chips and pushed her plate to the side. She nodded at the newspaper. ‘So, you have information regarding the so-called serial killer as featured in the Manchester Evening News?’
‘Is the story true?’
‘The lurid headline is down to Dickie McNeil, the reporter who wrote the story. Well, I say reporter, he’s a pain in the arse, he really is. He used to be a cop but left under a bit of a cloud. He wrote a book that basically slagged off the Manchester Police, then reinvented himself as a crime reporter. He’s still got a lot of friends on the force, and they feed him stuff.’
‘But the story is basically true?’
DI Friar shifted uncomfortably in her seat. ‘Nothing he says is untrue,’ she said. ‘It’s the way that he spins it that’s the problem. I mean, yes, we have had two similar deaths three weeks apart. That is a fact. But does that mean we have a serial killer in Manchester? I don’t think it does.’
‘You’re right,’ said Lulu. ‘Two killings isn’t a serial. The usual definition of a serial killer is a person who murders three or more people, with a cooling-down period between killings.’
‘Exactly!’ said DI Friar. ‘But serial killers sell newspapers, so Dickie gave one to the Manchester Evening News and they ran with it.’
‘And what he says about the special nautical knot. Is that true?’
‘That’s what is so annoying,’ said DI Friar. ‘We were keeping back the information about the knot that was used. We figured that was something only the killer would know, so we could use it down the line. The fact that Dickie knew about it means that he has access to someone on our team. Or someone in the coroner’s office.’
‘It says in the paper that the knot was a round turn and two half hitches.’
‘That’s right. It’s a very specific knot, apparently. And it was used in both murders.’
Lulu smiled thinly. ‘I’ve come across that knot before. In a series of London murders that were never solved.’
DI Friar’s eyebrows shot up and she looked across at DC Townsend. He was just as surprised. DI Friar looked back at Lulu. ‘Well now, you definitely have my attention. Tell me more.’
‘I headed up a number of murder investigation teams in the city. After I retired, I consulted on a serial-killer case for the best part of two years and sadly never got anywhere. The killer’s victims were all middle-aged white men, killed by strangulation. All were strangled with rope tied in a round turn with two half hitches, a common nautical knot. Sailors use it to tie their vessels up to posts or rings. Basically, the rope goes twice around the post and is then tied off. Very secure, and very tight. I use it myself on my narrowboat.’
DI Friar nodded. ‘Snap,’ she said. ‘Same knot.’
‘Our victims were all dumped naked, with the rope in place. No DNA, no fibres, no forensics. Almost certainly killed somewhere else.’
‘Snap.’
Lulu nodded. ‘So it looks as if it could well be the same killer.’
‘Either that or it’s one heck of a coincidence,’ said DI Friar. ‘There was no sexual activity linked to our murders.’
‘Snap,’ said Lulu. ‘We were working on the theory that they were hate killings. The fact they were naked was to minimize forensics rather than because there was a sexual component.’
‘That’s interesting,’ said DI Friar. ‘But if that’s the case, why didn’t we hear anything from SCAS?’
The Serious Crime Analysis Section was set up following an inquiry into the Yorkshire Ripper investigation. The prolific serial killer would probably have been caught much earlier if there had been a national database holding details of serious sexual offences committed across the UK. SCAS was established to be such a database, and it was later expanded to include sexually motivated and motiveless murders. There were SCAS contact officers based in all the UK’s police forces whose job was to funnel pertinent information to the database. The data was then fed into the Violent Crime Linkage Analysis System, which was available to police forces around the country. One of the first things the Manchester Police would have done early on in the investigation would be to have put details of their murders into the SCAS system to see if there was a match with previous cases.
‘SCAS should certainly have all the details.’
‘Nothing came back,’ said DI Friar.
She looked over at DC Townsend and he nodded. ‘No matches,’ he said. ‘Did you have any suspects at all?’
‘Initially we had lots of suspects,’ said Lulu. ‘Nearly four million adults take part in boating activities every year, and there are more than a million boats owned by UK households.’
‘So you assumed that the killer was a sailor?’ asked DC Townsend.
‘It’s a very specific knot,’ Lulu said. ‘Anyway, nothing came of it. But after the third murder we were able to use CCTV footage to give us a few possibilities. I remember we had three names that we were very interested in – they were referred to as the Three Little Piggies.’ She grimaced. ‘All three suspects were overweight – what can I say?’
‘But you didn’t charge any of them?’
‘No. It was a few years ago now, so I’m a bit fuzzy on the details. But I can probably get one of the detectives up here with the file, if you’d be interested.’
‘I think we’d be very interested,’ said DI Friar.
She looked over at DC Townsend and he nodded. ‘It couldn’t hurt,’ he said.