Lulu was at Piccadilly Station just after nine o’clock in the morning, and Detective Inspector Phil Jackson stepped off the train from London a few minutes later. He waved as he walked along the platform towards her. He was in his forties and his hair was already turning grey, a good-looking guy who in some photographs was the spitting image of Denzel Washington in the film The Pelican Brief. His skin, the colour of burnished mahogany, came from his Barbadian father but the twinkle in his brown eyes definitely came from his Irish mother. He was wearing a dark blue suit and carrying a battered leather briefcase and had an Adidas holdall slung over one shoulder.
‘Trouble seems to follow you, boss,’ he said.
‘Trust me, it was the last thing I wanted to happen,’ said Lulu. ‘Come on, we’ll need to get a taxi to their HQ. We can check you in to your hotel later.’
‘And nice to see you again, Conrad,’ said Jackson.
Conrad meowed at him and he laughed. ‘I just love the way he talks.’
‘Me too,’ said Lulu. She headed towards the taxi rank.
‘So you brought your boat up to Manchester?’
‘Yes, I wanted to see a friend of mine here and I was at a loose end in Maida Vale so I thought I’d give it a go.’
‘How long did it take you?’
‘Almost three weeks.’
He laughed. ‘You know it took me two hours and sixteen minutes.’
‘I can believe that. Narrowboats aren’t about speed.’
Phil laughed. ‘Clearly not.’
‘That’s what makes life on a narrowboat so enjoyable,’ said Lulu. ‘It’s a slower pace of life. You feel more in touch with the landscape around. For you, travelling from London to Manchester is just two hours watching fields flash by. For me, it was a true journey. I met people on the way, I visited places I’ve never seen before. I have a real understanding of just how far apart the two cities are.’
‘I can imagine telling my bosses that I’ve got to look at a case in Manchester and that I’ll be back in six weeks.’
‘That’s exactly what travel was like back in the seventeen hundreds,’ said Lulu. ‘Most people were born, lived and died in the same village. Now look at you. Mum from Galway, dad from Barbados, living in London, and you’ve holidayed in the US, France, Spain, Thailand.’
He grinned. ‘I was in Vietnam last year.’
‘How was it?’
‘Hot.’
They reached the taxi rank and climbed into a black cab. ‘I didn’t realize they had black cabs in Manchester,’ said Phil after Lulu had told the driver where they wanted to go.
‘They do. Along with flushing toilets and central heating.’
Phil chuckled. ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it. I mean I always thought they were a London thing.’ He lowered his voice and leaned towards her. ‘So you think the Choker is back?’
That was the nickname that the investigators had given to the serial killer they had been pursuing, though it had remained firmly within the ranks.
Lulu nodded. ‘There have been two killings here and the killer used the same knot. Both victims were male.’
‘Gay?’
‘Not sure. Certainly one of the victims had a wife. The investigators took him at face value but they might have to take another look at his private life.’
‘We came up against that in London, remember? The parents of two of the victims swore blind that their sons weren’t gay, but it became obvious that they were – they were just hiding it.’
‘And there have been no other cases in the past . . . How long has it been?’
‘Since the last killing? Five years. The killings just stopped. Then your consultancy came to an end and the investigation was gradually wound down.’
‘And there’s been no cold case follow-up?’
‘There was no evidence, boss. No fingerprints, DNA or fibres; nothing that would get a conviction, anyway. And we’d run out of leads. To be honest, the only way he would have been caught would be if he had started killing again. We were just happy that the killings stopped.’
‘Obviously you need to brief the investigators on our cases. I was a bit rusty, I’m afraid.’
Phil patted his briefcase. ‘I’ve got all the latest here, but nothing substantial has changed since you left.’
‘How long can you stay for?’
‘Well that’s the good news. There’s a cold case budget which is flush with funds at the moment so they’ve said I can stay for at least two or three days, maybe longer if there’s an indication that we might solve our cases. They’ve even sprung for a decent hotel. I’m booked into the Midland. That’s where Mr Rolls is said to have met Mr Royce, according to Google.’
‘And we all trust Google, don’t we?’ said Lulu.
The taxi pulled up in front of GMP headquarters. Lulu took out her wallet but Phil shook his head. ‘I’m on expenses, remember,’ he said. He paid and asked for a receipt.
They climbed out of the cab. Phil looked around. ‘Not exactly in the middle of things, are they? I suppose they don’t want passing trade. And I can’t see beat bobbies setting off from here.’
‘Beat bobbies?’ said Lulu. She laughed. ‘What century are you from?’
‘I walked a beat, boss. And so did you. And we’re better police because of it.’
Conrad sat contentedly on Lulu’s shoulders as she took Phil into the building and asked for DI Friar at reception. Within a couple of minutes DC Townsend came down to meet them. Lulu introduced him to Phil and the two men shook hands. ‘DI Friar said you should brief our team straight away, if that’s okay with you,’ said DC Townsend.
Phil held up his briefcase. ‘I’ve come prepared.’
‘Excellent,’ said DC Townsend. He nodded at the holdall. ‘Are you staying?’
‘My bosses say I can stay for a couple of days, at least.’
‘Even better,’ said DC Townsend. He took them to the lifts and up to the second floor, then along a corridor to a door with a sign that read ‘MIT 2’ which Lulu figured stood for Murder Investigation Team 2.
‘What’s MIT 1 working on?’ she asked.
‘Three drug dealers were killed earlier this month,’ said DC Townsend. ‘An Albanian gang is trying to take over the cocaine market in the south of the city and they don’t seem to care how many people they have to kill on the way.’
‘We’re having a similar problem in London,’ said Phil. ‘The Albanians are in a whole different league.’
‘And getting intel on them is next to impossible,’ said DC Townsend. ‘They only deal with their own people.’ He pushed open the door and a couple of dozen expectant faces looked in their direction. DI Friar was standing between two large whiteboards which were plastered with photographs and printouts. She smiled at Lulu and waved, and then waggled her fingers at Conrad. Lulu waved back.
DI Friar walked over to them. Lulu introduced her to Phil. Phil put down his briefcase and holdall and they shook hands. ‘Thanks so much for coming up for this,’ she said.
‘This case has always bugged me,’ said Phil. ‘If the Choker is still active, I want to help.’
‘The Choker?’
‘That’s what the team called him,’ said Lulu.
‘I hope Dickie McNeil doesn’t get hold of that,’ said DI Friar. ‘I wouldn’t want that splashed over the Manchester Evening News.’
DI Friar looked at her watch. ‘Superintendent Dennis Knight is on the way. It’d be great if you could wait until he’s here. He’s in overall charge and I know he’s keen to hear what you have to say.’
‘Not a problem,’ said Phil. He picked up his holdall and briefcase and put them on a table. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m just off the train, I haven’t had time to check in to my hotel.’
‘We’ll get a car to take you to your hotel when we’re done,’ she said. ‘In the meantime, let me run our two cases by you.’ She took them over to the nearest whiteboard. ‘This was the first. Three weeks ago. Forty-two-year-old Derek Sawyer’s body was found on Heaton Park golf course in the north of the city.’ She tapped a photograph of a length of white rope, similar to the picture that had been on the front page of the Manchester Evening News. ‘The knot was very unusual, at least to our eyes. But then we found out that it is commonly used by sailors. The body was naked and had been washed, so there was no forensic evidence at all.’
There were several post-mortem photographs, including shots of marks on the victim’s neck, wrists and ankles. Phil looked at the photographs and his eyes widened. ‘I know him.’
‘You what?’ said DI Friar.
‘He’s a cop.’
‘Yes, with the GMP. A sergeant.’
Phil shook his head. ‘No, he was with the Met. We were at Hendon together. More than twenty years ago.’
DI Friar looked over at DC Townsend. ‘Did we know this?’
‘We knew he had done five years with the Met before he transferred here. It’s in the file. But it was never considered significant.’
‘We might be reconsidering that now, obviously,’ said DI Friar.
‘But if he left London, what, at least fifteen years ago, that would be long before the Choker was active,’ said Lulu. ‘Maybe it’s a coincidence.’
‘How well did you know him?’ asked DI Friar.
‘Not at all, really,’ said Phil. ‘We were just there at the same time. I played football against him a couple of times, and I remember seeing him around. But our paths didn’t cross again after we graduated. Back then there must have been close to thirty thousand cops in London.’
The double doors opened and a uniformed superintendent walked in. He was in his late forties, tall and thin with the dour expression of an undertaker. His hair was receding and he had dark patches under his eyes. He walked over to DI Friar and greeted her with a curt nod.
‘Superintendent Knight, can I introduce you to former superintendent Lulu Lewis of the Met, and DI Phil Jackson.’
‘Good of you both to come,’ he said. ‘We’re hoping you’ll provide some insight.’
‘DI Jackson was just telling us that he knew the first victim.’
‘That’s right, Sawyer was with the Met for a few years, wasn’t he?’ said the superintendent. ‘Do you think it’s relevant?’
‘I was just saying that it could be a coincidence, and he did leave London before our killer started killing, but it’d definitely be worth looking into,’ said Lulu.
The superintendent spotted Conrad sitting on a chair and he frowned. ‘Why is there a cat in the incident room?’
‘He’s with me,’ said Lulu.
The superintendent smiled for the first time. ‘He’s very well behaved.’
‘He is,’ said Lulu.
‘It’s unusual to take a cat around with you.’
‘Conrad is a very unusual cat,’ said Lulu.
The superintendent smiled again. ‘I’m sure he is.’ He looked back at DI Friar. ‘So what’s happening now?’
‘I was just briefing DI Jackson and former superintendent Lewis on our two killings, and then DI Jackson will tell us about their cold case killings.’
‘Then I’ll sit in, if that’s okay with you.’
‘Of course, sir.’ As the superintendent dropped into an empty chair by the windows, DI Friar went back to the Sawyer whiteboard. ‘So, as I was saying, Derek Sawyer’s body was found on Heaton Park golf course three weeks ago, naked, and the body had been washed. Sergeant Sawyer was married, no children, no financial problems, no ongoing disputes. He was last seen leaving for work on the day he died, and his car was parked not far from North Manchester Division Police Station, where he was based. He didn’t report for duty that day so the assumption was that he was abducted on the way in to work. No CCTV coverage of the area where he parked, and no eyewitnesses. As of today, we have no active leads to pursue.’
‘Did any of his cases bring him into contact with anyone who might do something like this?’ asked Lulu.
‘Sergeant Sawyer was office based, nine to five, working for the Youth Engagement Team. They work full-time with universities and students in Manchester, basically keeping young people safe. So, no. He wasn’t up against violent criminals.’
‘Do you think he was targeted, or was it random?’ asked Lulu.
‘A very good question, and one we haven’t found an answer to,’ said DI Friar. ‘We haven’t been able to find a reason why he would have been targeted, but if it was random, why take a police officer? Surely they would have chosen an easier target if it was random.’ She walked over to the second whiteboard. There were half a dozen photographs on display. Two were head-and-shoulder shots of a middle-aged man with thinning blond hair and a sprinkling of freckles across a snub nose. ‘Fraser Robinson, thirty-five years old, worked in a city centre barber’s. Lived with his parents, left work five days ago and his body was found the following day by a man walking his dog on Stretford Meadows. It’s a seventy-acre park to the south-west of the city.’
‘Thirty-five is a bit old to be living with his parents,’ said Lulu.
‘He had his own business, but it went bust during Covid,’ said DI Friar. ‘He lost the business and his house, his wife divorced him and he moved back in with his mum and dad.’
‘How far from where the first body was found?’
‘Eight or nine miles as the crow flies. But it’s on the other side of the city. A half-hour drive, probably.’
‘And was any attempt made to conceal either of the bodies?’
DI Friar shook her head. ‘They were both dumped. Not in plain view but not concealed.’ She tapped at a photograph of a section of knotted rope. ‘An identical knot was used. A round turn and two half hitches. And again, there was nothing in Mr Robinson’s background to suggest a reason why he might have been targeted. No recent problems at work or at home. No conflicts that we know about. Never been in trouble with the police.’
‘Drug use?’ asked Lulu.
‘Occasional marijuana user,’ said DI Friar. ‘His parents had asked that he didn’t smoke inside the house and he stuck to that arrangement. Obviously the body was only discovered four days ago so the investigation is still very active, but we appear to have a second random victim with no forensic or CCTV evidence.’
‘Did you find any connection between the victims?’ asked Phil.
‘None. But we are still looking.’
‘I read in the paper that Sergeant Sawyer had a wife. Was there any suggestion at all that your other victim was gay?’
DI Friar frowned. ‘No, Fraser Robinson also had a wife – although they did get divorced. Why?’
‘Of the four victims in our cases, three were gay,’ said Phil. ‘Two were killed after visiting gay bars in Soho. It was a very strong line of inquiry, but sadly it didn’t lead anywhere.’
‘Perhaps you could start your briefing,’ said DI Friar, gesturing at the empty whiteboard. ‘And I’m sure there’ll be a lot of questions.’
‘No problem,’ said Phil. He went over to his briefcase and took out a file. He walked over to a table close to the whiteboard, opened the file and took out a photograph. ‘We had four victims, their deaths occurring over an eighteen-month period,’ he said.
DI Friar passed him a pack of Blu-tack and Phil nodded his thanks. He stuck the first photograph onto the board, a head-and-shoulders shot of a middle-aged man, then added another three photographs. Then he picked up a marker pen and began writing names under the pictures. ‘Ian Pettigrew. Nick Hurst. William Eccles. John Dunne.’ He then wrote a series of dates below the photographs. ‘The victims were all gay, with the exception of the third victim, William Eccles. Mr Eccles had a wife and a young child. We suspected, but were never able to prove, that he had something of a double life.’
‘Bisexual? Having affairs?’ asked DI Friar.
‘We could never prove it,’ said Phil. ‘We knew for sure that Hurst and Dunne had been active in the Soho gay bar scene. As part of the investigation we would visit the bars at various times of the day and night and show patrons photographs of the victims. Several men said they thought they remembered seeing Mr Eccles but we could never find corroborating CCTV, and generally there was a lot of drinks and drugs involved, so memories could be hazy.’
‘But you think the killer was targeting gay men?’
‘That was one of our main theories,’ said Phil. ‘Mr Hurst and Mr Dunne were openly gay and were regulars in Soho. Mr Pettigrew was less open about his sexuality, but his laptop was checked after his death and there were videos on there that told the true story.’
‘What story, exactly?’ asked DI Friar. ‘What sort of videos were they?’
‘Gay sex, generally of a violent nature. And some bondage.’
‘Bondage? Similar to the method used to kill our victims?’
‘Similar, yes. But not identical.’
‘The thing is, so far as we know, neither of our victims were gay,’ said DI Friar.
‘Well, we didn’t know that Mr Pettigrew was gay, or at least liked gay porn, until some time into the investigation. And we never proved for a fact that Mr Eccles was gay. Or bisexual. So it might be worth you having another look at your two victims.’
He took a map from his briefcase, unfolded it and stuck it to the whiteboard. There were four red circles on the map. ‘The bodies were dumped in different areas across London. Always on parkland, always under or close to trees. Never closer than fifty yards to a road. We believed that the bodies were carried some distance and then dumped. So either the killer was quite strong, or he had help.’
‘So you considered the possibility of two killers working together?’ asked DI Friar.
‘We had no evidence that there were two, but the method of disposal suggested that two would have been able to do the job more efficiently than one. But we never found footprints and there was never any CCTV footage.’
He stuck another four photographs on the board. Crime scene pictures. Naked bodies with ropes around their necks.
‘All were found naked and with ropes still around their necks. All the lengths of rope came from the same source, but it was a common brand and sold in literally hundreds of stores across the country. Three-strand nylon rope, made by a company called Marlow.’
‘Ours were both three-strand nylon rope, but the brand was Kingfisher,’ said DI Friar. ‘Very common.’
‘In all four cases there were marks on the wrists and ankles which had been caused by the same type of rope,’ continued Phil. ‘According to our pathologist, each victim had been bound with their hands behind them and placed face down on the ground. A noose was then placed around the victim’s neck and the other end of the rope tied to the ankles. The victim would then slowly strangle themselves, their legs would drop and pull the noose tighter.’
DI Friar nodded. ‘Snap.’
‘We never made that public,’ said Lulu.
‘We hadn’t planned to either,’ said DI Friar. ‘But Dickie McNeil published it in the Evening News. So it was torture, right?’
‘We think the killer wanted them to suffer,’ said Phil. ‘It wouldn’t have been a quick death.’
‘That’s the conclusion our pathologist reached,’ said DI Friar. ‘Either because it gave the killer sexual gratification, or because there was a personal angle. Revenge.’
‘But the victims were never sexually abused?’
Phil shook his head. ‘No. No evidence of that.’
Superintendent Knight stood up. ‘This is all very interesting,’ he said. ‘Fascinating, in fact. There’s no question that there are many, many similarities between the two sets of killings. So it’s almost certainly either the same killer, or a copycat. But here’s what’s worrying me, DI Jackson. If all that detail was passed on to the Serious Crime Analysis Section, why wasn’t it passed on to us when we registered our cases?’
‘I can’t answer that,’ said Phil. ‘Yet. But I will find out.’
‘DI Friar and I have discussed this and we definitely kept in touch with the SCAS,’ said Lulu. ‘So yes, we need to find out what went wrong.’
‘I have a contact at the National Crime Agency,’ said the superintendent. ‘I’ll take it up with her, see if we can work out what happened. And did you turn up any suspects at all during your investigation?’
‘We did,’ said Phil. He looked over at DI Friar. ‘Do you have another whiteboard?’