Mr and Mrs Robinson lived in a terraced house in Gorton, five miles to the east of Manchester. DI Friar parked in the street, a short walk away. The houses were almost identical, weathered brick with a door and a single window facing the pavement, and two bedroom windows upstairs. Most of the cars parked in the road were more than five years old but the houses were well cared for.
DI Friar walked along to a black door and pressed the bell. After a few seconds a grey-haired woman in a floral apron opened the door. She blinked her eyes behind thick-lensed glasses, and then smiled when she recognized DI Friar.
‘Hello, Mrs Robinson. This is Detective Inspector Jackson and Mrs Lewis. I told you about them on the phone.’
‘Come in, come in,’ said Mrs Robinson, and she took them through to a small sitting room. ‘Please sit,’ she said. ‘I’ll get my husband. He’s in his shed.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘It’s his refuge. He always hides away in his shed when he’s unhappy. Would you like tea?’
‘Tea would be lovely,’ said DI Friar.
Mrs Robinson went back into the hallway. Lulu looked around the room. There was no television, just an old-fashioned radio on a table by the window. There were two armchairs either side of a Victorian fireplace. There was a pile of knitting next to one of the chairs and an ashtray and a pack of tobacco next to the other. Facing the fireplace was a high-backed three-seater sofa in a floral pattern that matched the chairs. There were packed bookshelves to the right of the fireplace. Lulu went over to look at the books. They were mainly romance novels – Barbara Cartland, Jilly Cooper, Nora Roberts and Danielle Steel. All were well-thumbed paperbacks that had clearly been read several times. There were three framed photographs on one of the shelves. A black-and-white wedding photograph of a much younger Mrs Robinson with a tall, good-looking man with a killer smile, a young Fraser Robinson wearing a brand-new school uniform, and finally a picture of their son in his thirties, standing in front of a barber’s shop and holding a giant pair of scissors. Next to him was a pretty young woman wearing a tight T-shirt and jeans. There was a logo of flaming scissors across her shirt and below them the name of the shop – A CUT ABOVE. Lulu smiled. Fraser was grinning at the camera and his chin was up proudly, clearly pleased with himself. He had the world at his feet, he was his own boss and had a pretty wife by his side. Little did he know that in a few short years it would all be over. Covid would steal his dreams and a serial killer would take his life. She shuddered at the thought and turned back to look at DI Friar, who had walked over to the window and was looking at the radio.
‘How long had Fraser been living back home?’ Lulu asked.
‘About two years,’ said DI Friar. ‘When his company folded, the bank took his house, and the ex-wife took the car and the furniture. He still owed money to the bank, so most of what he earned went to pay off the debt.’
‘And where was he last seen?’
‘He went to a pub a short walk away from here. The Lamb and Flag. The landlord remembers seeing him but doesn’t remember him leaving.’
‘CCTV?’
‘Some footage, but two of the cameras weren’t working, so all we have is him buying drinks at the bar.’
‘Drinks plural? So he was with someone?’
DI Friar nodded. ‘Two pints of lager. We’re assuming that he was drinking with another guy.’
‘Women drink pints,’ said Phil.
‘They do, yes. But we have no footage to confirm either way.’
‘And the parents didn’t worry that Fraser didn’t come back from the pub?’
‘They go to bed early,’ said DI Friar. ‘Fraser had his own key, it wasn’t unusual for him to stay out late. It’s not as if he had a curfew.’
‘A curfew?’ said a voice at the door. Lulu turned to look at the man who had spoken. He was in his late sixties, grey-haired and wearing a tweed jacket and baggy grey trousers and holding a polished wooden pipe.
‘Hello, Mr Robinson,’ said DI Friar. ‘I’m sorry to bother you again.’
‘It’s no bother,’ said Mr Robinson. ‘Now what’s this about a curfew?’
‘I was just asking DI Friar whether it was unusual for Fraser to be out late at night.’
‘He was a night owl,’ said Mr Robinson. ‘Always was, even when he was a schoolboy. We’d have to shake the boy awake some mornings.’ He walked stiffly over to his chair and slowly lowered himself down. He eased himself back with a grimace that suggested he suffered from a bad back, then looked over at Lulu. He waved for her to sit on the sofa. She sat down and Phil joined her. ‘My wife says you are from London?’ said Mr Robinson.
Lulu nodded. ‘Inspector Jackson and I worked on several cases in London that were similar to what happened to your son. Can I say how sorry I am for your loss? And thank you for agreeing to see us.’ Conrad jumped up onto the sofa and sat next to Lulu.
Mr Robinson’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Conrad, but then he switched his attention to Lulu. ‘I’ll do whatever’s necessary to catch the bastard,’ he said. He frowned. ‘I didn’t read anything in the papers about murders in London.’
‘It was some time ago,’ said Lulu.
Mr Robinson’s frown deepened. ‘I read the papers every day. And there was nothing on the radio.’
‘Our cases were five years ago.’
Mr Robinson tilted his head on one side and squinted at her. ‘So whoever killed my son was killing five years ago? In London?’
‘The killings we investigated were similar, so yes, we think it is possible that it’s the same man.’
DI Friar held up her hand. ‘It’s a possible line of inquiry, Mr Robinson,’ she said. ‘We are still pursuing local leads, obviously.’
‘You told me last week that you didn’t have any leads,’ said Mr Robinson.
‘Well, we’re still looking for CCTV footage, and canvassing for witnesses.’
Mr Robinson made a soft snorting noise. He looked back at Lulu. ‘Did you have any suspects?’
‘We did, but nothing concrete. Can I ask you – did Fraser often stay out late at night?’
‘I told you, he’s a night owl.’ He grimaced and corrected himself. ‘He was a night owl.’
‘And where did he go? At night?’
‘The pub, I suppose.’
‘Did he have many friends?’
‘Some.’
‘He wasn’t with any of his friends the night he disappeared,’ said DI Friar. ‘We spoke to them all.’
‘What about girlfriends? Did he have anyone special?’
Mr Robinson shook his head. ‘Not that we knew about.’
‘Was he still upset about his divorce?’
Mr Robinson frowned again. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I just wondered if he perhaps wanted to get back with his ex-wife. Or if he was looking for someone else.’
‘Debbie is gone for good,’ said Mr Robinson. ‘She had another fella before the ink was even dry on the divorce. As soon as Fraser’s business went under, she was off.’
‘And no children?’
‘That’s right. No children.’
‘Was that Debbie’s idea, or your son’s?’ Mr Robinson’s eyes hardened and Lulu realized she had touched a nerve. ‘They are such a financial responsibility, children,’ she added hurriedly. ‘I really don’t know how young people manage.’
Mr Robinson opened his mouth to say something but he was interrupted by the arrival of his wife, bearing a tea tray.
‘Let me help you with that,’ said Phil, hurrying over to her. He took the tray and placed it on the coffee table. ‘I’ve brought some biscuits, just in case anyone is peckish,’ said Mrs Robinson.
‘Could I possibly use your bathroom, Mrs Robinson?’ asked Lulu.
‘Of course,’ said Mrs Robinson. She pointed at the door. ‘Up the stairs, second on the right.’ She began pouring tea into cups. Phil leaned forward and helped himself to a Hobnob.
Lulu stood up. ‘Thank you so much.’ Conrad jumped down off the sofa.
‘Oh, does he go everywhere with you?’ asked Mrs Robinson.
‘He does, pretty much,’ said Lulu. ‘You don’t mind, do you? Conrad gets nervous if he doesn’t know where I am.’
‘Conrad can go wherever he wants,’ said Mrs Robinson. ‘He seems so well behaved.’
Lulu opened the door and went up the stairs. Conrad ran ahead of her and waited for her at the top. ‘I don’t get the least bit nervous,’ he said.
‘Well, of course you don’t,’ whispered Lulu. ‘But I needed a reason for you to be coming with me, didn’t I?’
There were three doors leading off the landing. Lulu eased the first one open. There was a large double bed and two heavily varnished dark oak wardrobes. A faded cotton nightdress lay on the bed, and three bottles of tablets sat on one of the bedside tables. It was obviously the Robinsons’ bedroom. She closed the door, passed by the toilet and opened the door to the bedroom at the rear of the house. Conrad slipped in first. Inside was a single bed and a suitcase on top of a chest of drawers.
Lulu closed the door and tiptoed over to the suitcase. She opened it. There were clothes inside, a couple of pairs of training shoes and a washbag containing toiletries. At the bottom of the case were half a dozen books of hairstyles and cutting techniques. They were well thumbed and spotted with yellow and pink Post-it notes.
‘What are we looking for?’ asked Conrad, who had jumped onto the bed.
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Evidence that he led a double life?’
‘That would be too easy,’ said Lulu. ‘But Mr Robinson suggested that Fraser’s wife left him when the money dried up.’ She frowned and rubbed her chin.
‘Do you think she had another reason?’
Lulu shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps.’
‘Maybe we could talk to her.’
Lulu nodded. ‘I’ll ask DI Friar.’
‘Covid ruined a lot of lives,’ said Conrad, looking around the room.
‘It certainly did.’
‘He can’t have been happy, losing his wife and his business and having to move back in with his parents.’
‘I suppose not.’ She raised her eyebrows as she pulled out a small plastic bag filled with cannabis buds.
‘I don’t suppose that’s catnip,’ said Conrad.
Lulu found a pack of Rizla cigarette papers and a cigarette lighter. ‘It doesn’t mean anything, of course,’ said Lulu. ‘Lots of people smoke cannabis these days.’ She put the cannabis, cigarette papers and lighter back into the suitcase. There were socks, underwear and folded shirts in the chest of drawers. She knelt down and checked under the bed, but there was nothing there.
‘Well, it doesn’t look as if he’s hiding anything,’ said Lulu as she straightened up.
‘If there was anything, it would probably be on his phone,’ said Conrad.
‘That’s a good point,’ said Lulu as she headed for the door. ‘I wonder why DI Friar didn’t mention it.’
Lulu went downstairs. ‘Sorry about that,’ said Lulu as she went back into the sitting room. ‘I think I drank too much coffee this morning.’ She dropped down on the sofa next to Phil.
Mrs Robinson was now sitting in her armchair, facing her husband. He was drinking his tea. Phil was on his second or third Hobnob and DI Friar was still standing by the window. Mr Robinson slowly lowered his cup, his eyes fixed on Lulu.
‘So, let me ask you a question,’ he said. ‘Do you think the killer knew Fraser when he was in London? You think he followed him back to Manchester?’
Lulu’s eyebrows shot skywards. ‘Fraser used to live in London?’
‘For two years. Not long after he finished hairdressing college. He said he wanted to make it big in London, that Manchester was too small for him. But he only lasted two years before coming back with his tail between his legs.’
‘You didn’t tell me that Fraser used to live in London,’ said DI Friar.
‘You never asked,’ said Mr Robinson tersely.
‘Did he ever talk about his time there?’ asked DI Friar. ‘Who he met? Any problems he might have had?’
‘I think he was too embarrassed to talk about it,’ said Mr Robinson.
‘He thought he was a failure,’ said Mrs Robinson. ‘He had a couple of jobs, but the pay wasn’t great, and it costs an arm and a leg to live in London. He stayed with us for a few weeks but then he got a job at a barber’s in Deansgate and after a couple of years he had saved enough to open his own place. He and Debbie got a house together and I really thought he had his life sorted. Then we had the Covid, and everything changed. He lost his business and the house, and then Debbie left him.’
‘Why didn’t they have children, do you think?’ asked Lulu.
‘I think they were trying, but you don’t like to pry, do you? We would have loved a grandchild, obviously, but Fraser never reacted well to pressure.’ She forced a smile but there were tears in her eyes. ‘I hear that Debbie’s pregnant now. So that’s nice, for her.’
DI Friar took a step forward. ‘I really think we’ve taken up enough of your time, Mr and Mrs Robinson.’
Lulu and Phil got to their feet. ‘And again, I am so very sorry for your loss,’ said Lulu. She bent down so that Conrad could jump up onto her shoulders.
‘Just get the bastard who killed Fraser,’ said Mr Robinson through gritted teeth. ‘That’s all we ask.’
‘We will do,’ said Lulu.
‘You promise?’
The question caught Lulu by surprise. She knew that making a promise like that went against all policing rules. You could promise to do your best, you could promise never to give up, but you could never promise to get a result, because that was often in the lap of the gods. She looked over at DI Friar, who was staring at her anxiously. DI Friar’s eyes narrowed and Lulu got the message, loud and clear. There was no way that she could promise to catch the killer, but she knew that just then it was what the Robinsons needed to hear. She looked back at the couple and nodded. ‘I promise,’ she said.
Mrs Robinson dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and her husband nodded grimly. Lulu could feel DI Friar’s eyes burning into the side of her head but she ignored the sensation and walked into the hallway with Phil.
Mrs Robinson let them out. Her husband stayed in his chair.
DI Friar spent a minute or so talking to Mrs Robinson on the doorstep, before joining Lulu and Phil at her car. ‘Well, that took me by surprise,’ said DI Friar.
‘My promise, or the fact that Fraser was in London at the time of the killings?’ said Lulu.
‘Both.’ She smiled thinly. ‘I understand why you felt the need to promise, but it does make you a hostage to fortune.’
‘We’re going to catch him, I’m sure of that.’
‘You can feel it in your bones?’
‘Sort of, yes. We will catch him. I know we will.’
‘I certainly hope so.’ DI Friar wrinkled her nose. ‘So we now know that both the victims here, Sergeant Sawyer and Fraser Robinson, were in London at some point. That can’t be a coincidence. But they had both left London long before the killings started.’
‘Mr Robinson asked the right question, didn’t he? Did the killer follow them to Manchester?’
‘If he did, it changes everything, doesn’t it? It means that they weren’t chosen at random. They were targeted.’
‘We never found a connection between the London victims,’ said Phil. ‘They lived in different parts of London, no common interests, no work connections, different schools. They appeared to have been chosen at random. Other than the possible gay connection.’ He nodded. ‘You’re right – if the killer did target Sergeant Sawyer and Fraser Robinson, then there’s every chance he also targeted the victims in London. Which means we’re missing something.’
DI Friar unlocked the car and they all climbed in.
‘Suppose that, despite all the evidence to the contrary, Sergeant Sawyer and Fraser Robinson were leading double lives,’ said Lulu. ‘Suppose they were gay, or bisexual. How might that work in Manchester?’
‘The same as anywhere else in the world, I suppose,’ said DI Friar. ‘Linking up on the internet. Grindr and such. Swipe right, swipe left.’
‘Did you find Mr Robinson’s phone?’
‘We didn’t. Or any of his clothes. Even his watch was gone.’
‘The same with Sergeant Sawyer, obviously.’
DI Friar nodded. ‘Just the body and the rope.’
‘I don’t mean to try to teach anyone to suck eggs, but did you get the records of the phones from the phone companies?’
‘We did. Sergeant Sawyer’s phone went off shortly after pinging the cell phone tower near where he worked. Mr Robinson’s phone was last active at the pub down the road. That was where he was last seen.’
‘So do we think the killer switched off the phones after he abducted the victims?’
DI Friar nodded. ‘I think most people know that they can be tracked through their phones these days,’ she said.
‘Yes, it’s a brave new world, isn’t it? Mobile phones and CCTV have transformed the way the police conduct inquiries. Back when I was a PC, you’d be knocking on doors and speaking to people. These days it’s all technology-led.’
‘We did do a fair amount of door-knocking, too,’ said DI Friar. ‘But it gave us no leads. Both men disappeared into thin air.’
‘And there was nothing untoward in their phone messages or social media.’
‘Neither were on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram,’ said DI Friar. ‘And there was nothing in their text messages to cause concern.’
Lulu nodded. DI Friar had clearly covered all the bases. ‘In the London cases, two of our victims frequented gay bars in Soho,’ said Lulu. ‘Is there a similar area in Manchester?’
‘There is,’ said DI Friar. ‘It’s down on Canal Street. Though these days you’re as likely to see a hen night or stag night there.’
‘I wonder if it would be worth canvassing the area, showing photographs of the two of them and seeing if anyone remembers seeing them.’
DI Friar wrinkled her nose. ‘I think that might well backfire on us,’ she said.
‘How so?’
‘If word got out that we suspected a gay link in the murders, we might start a panic. Dickie McNeil would be sure to find out and the story would be splashed all over the Manchester Evening News. It could do more harm than good. And for what? A hunch?’
‘More a line of inquiry than a hunch,’ said Lulu. ‘But I take your point. What if Phil and I did it off our own bat? We could say we were trying to find our friends.’
‘Lie, you mean? I’m not sure that would be a good idea. You’re attached to my inquiry, which does give you some sort of official status. It wouldn’t reflect well on the force.’
‘We could go in the afternoon, and just speak to the staff. We’d be careful, I promise.’
DI Friar grimaced. ‘I wish you hadn’t asked me,’ she said. ‘If you’d just gone ahead and done it, I wouldn’t have been involved.’
‘Don’t ask, don’t tell?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Then just forget I ever mentioned it,’ said Lulu.
‘I already have,’ said DI Friar. She smiled. ‘So can I drop you somewhere?’