DI Friar took Phil and Lulu up to the canteen. ‘I missed breakfast,’ she said. ‘Didn’t even have time for coffee.’
‘You and me both,’ said Lulu. They lined up at the counter and ordered full English breakfasts, with toast and coffee. Conrad jumped down off Lulu’s shoulders and stuck close to her heels.
‘I’ll get these,’ said Phil, taking out his wallet.
‘He’s on expenses,’ explained Lulu.
‘I never turn down a free meal,’ said DI Friar.
DC Townsend arrived and joined the queue at the counter. Lulu and DI Friar went over to a table by the window while Phil used a debit card to pay for their food. Conrad slipped under Lulu’s chair and curled up there.
‘So how did it go in Canal Street?’ asked DI Friar as she tucked into her breakfast.
‘Better than we expected,’ said Lulu. ‘We found someone there who remembers seeing Gordon Wallace. Recently.’
DI Friar frowned. ‘One of the Three Little Piggies?’
‘The very same. A waiter in a place called the Rainbow Bar is sure he saw him a week ago. They had an argument over drinking outside. What is it they call it? Vertical drinking?’
DI Friar nodded. ‘You have to sit if you want to drink outside in most places these days. And this guy is absolutely sure it was Wallace?’
‘He seemed to be. But obviously it’s an old picture. I didn’t get the waiter’s name but he’s quite recognizable: balding with a ponytail. There seemed to be plenty of CCTV cameras around. We didn’t ask to see it – not our jurisdiction, of course.’
‘I’ll get it checked,’ said DI Friar. She buttered a slice of toast. ‘What about Sergeant Sawyer and Fraser Robinson?’
‘We found a few serving staff who thought they might have seen Fraser Robinson, but none of them was certain. And several people recognized Sergeant Sawyer from the newspapers but none remember him being in Canal Street. But the guy who saw Wallace is fairly sure that Wallace was there at the same time as Fraser Robinson, a few days before Robinson died.’
‘That makes interviewing Gordon Wallace a priority, obviously.’
Phil arrived at their table and sat down.
‘I was just telling DI Friar about our Wallace sighting,’ said Lulu.
‘It’s a game-changer, that’s for sure,’ said Phil.
‘So what we’ve got – potentially – is a serial killer from London pursuing victims who have moved from London to Manchester. It can’t be random.’
‘That’s the conclusion we came to, yes,’ said Phil. He reached for a bottle of ketchup and poured a liberal amount over his sausages and bacon. ‘But it’s all circumstantial.’
‘We don’t know where Wallace is, or if he’s working, do we?’ asked DI Friar.
‘He’s probably on probation, so let me check,’ said Phil.
DC Townsend appeared at their table and sat down opposite DI Friar. He had a bowl of muesli and another bowl of blueberries, strawberries and raspberries on his tray, and a glass of orange juice. ‘I picked up some nicotine patches on my way back,’ he said.
‘You’re a star,’ said DI Friar.
‘Tell me about the Canal Pusher,’ said Lulu.
‘What?’
‘The Canal Pusher.’
‘Who’s been filling your head with that nonsense?’ asked DI Friar, stabbing her fork into a sausage.
‘Just something we heard.’
‘Down on Canal Street, I assume.’
‘We were told that there have been eighty or so bodies fished out of the canal.’
‘Canals, plural,’ said DI Friar. ‘And yes, that’s true. But it’s over the past twenty years or so. How many bodies are fished out of the Thames?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, I do. Fifty or so. Every year. And I don’t see the Met looking for a serial killer. The Canal Pusher is an urban legend, the sort of story that Dickie McNeil would write.’
‘So there’s nothing to it?’ said Phil.
‘I’m not saying that there haven’t been murders where the body has ended up in the canal. Or that people don’t get mugged and then thrown in. That does happen. But a serial killer . . . no.’
‘But most of the victims are gay men?’ asked Lulu.
‘Men, yes. But then most murder victims are male. Last time I checked the stats, it was about seventy per cent, across the country. Yes, some of them were gay, but not the majority.’
‘So what do you think is happening? Eighty is a big number.’
‘It’s a handful each year, about the same as you’d see in Amsterdam. Why does it happen? There are canals close to pubs and bars throughout the city. Drunks get too close to the edge and fall in. Maybe they stand on the edge to pee. Maybe they get depressed while drunk and throw themselves in. We investigate each and every case and more often than not there’s no suspected foul play. It’s just bad journalism, trying to sell papers by preying on the community’s fears.’
‘Do you think Dickie McNeil is going to write that the serial killer has claimed a third victim?’ asked Phil.
‘I’d put money on it,’ said DI Friar.
‘And what’s your game plan?’
‘Identify the victim, that has to be our priority. And then look at who might have wanted him dead. The fact that they went to all the trouble of trying to blame it on our serial killer suggests that he – or she – is close to home.’
‘Will you handle the investigation, even though you’re sure it’s not the same killer?’
DI Friar nodded. ‘I’ll ask my boss if we can use the same MIT,’ she said. ‘We can’t yet rule out that it isn’t the same killer, and it makes sense to run the three cases together. But I’ll brief the team accordingly. I’ll get someone down to Canal Street to check the CCTV at the Rainbow Bar. Did your waiter say what day he saw Wallace?’
‘He wasn’t sure. A week ago, maybe. Wednesday or Thursday, he said. But he might remember if pressed.’
DI Friar nodded. ‘Once we know the date and time, we can start checking other bars. I’d love to know if Wallace was definitely following Fraser Robinson.’
‘You and me both,’ said Lulu.