The Uber dropped Lulu and Conrad in front of the Museum of Science and Industry. Conrad rode on Lulu’s shoulders as she crossed the road and walked down the steps to the Staffordshire arm. There were several groups of teenagers sitting on the concrete steps of the Castlefield Bowl and the sickly sweet smell of marijuana wafted in their direction.
Lulu had shared fish and chips with Conrad in the police canteen. Phil had joined them and tucked into sausages and mash. He had decided to work late, making his way through the HOLMES files, trying to find a link between Sergeant Sawyer and Fraser Robinson and the four men who had died in London.
Lulu walked along to The Lark. Brianna was sitting on the rear deck of Cloud Nine with a young bearded man who was presumably her husband, Sean. They both waved as she approached their boat.
‘Finished your chores?’ asked Lulu.
‘You’re never finished on a boat, you know that,’ said Brianna. ‘It’s never-ending.’ She introduced Sean, and he smiled at Conrad.
‘I love the way he rides on your shoulders,’ he said. ‘We had a cat once, a tabby. She was lovely but one day she just upped and went.’
‘That’s a pity,’ said Lulu.
‘It was the strangest thing,’ said Brianna. ‘We were just outside Liverpool and she just jumped onto the towpath and walked away. Not even a backward look. We ended up staying for two weeks but she never came back. We put posters up but no one ever called.’ She sighed. ‘It was the not knowing that was worst. Not knowing what happened. We assume she got hit by a car, but she never really went near roads.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Lulu. She reached up and patted Conrad. ‘I know I’d be distraught if I lost Conrad.’
Sean held up his glass of beer. ‘Would you like a drink?’
‘I’ve had a long day, so I think I’ll have an early night. Maybe tomorrow?’
‘We’re leaving tomorrow,’ said Brianna.
‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ said Lulu. ‘Safe travels, anyway.’
‘You too, Lulu,’ said Brianna.
Lulu walked over to The Lark and climbed on board the rear deck. Conrad jumped down onto the seat and watched as she unlocked the door.
‘I think I’ll have some chamomile tea before I turn in,’ she said. ‘Would you like some water?’
‘Please,’ said Conrad. He followed her down the steps into the cabin.
Lulu put the kettle on to boil and poured Evian water into a bowl for Conrad. ‘Do cats do that?’ she asked. ‘Just walk away without a backward look?’
‘They can’t be expected to leave a note, can they?’ said Conrad. ‘And they can’t use phones, obviously.’ He lapped at the water.
‘You know what I mean,’ said Lulu. ‘You never hear about dogs leaving to live somewhere else, do you? A dog is yours for ever. Someone might steal them – I know that happens – but generally they stay home, no matter how badly they’re treated.’
‘Dogs are dogs,’ said Conrad. ‘They’re not very bright.’
‘But I have known people whose cats have just gone to live in someone else’s house. Sometimes they pop back and forth between the two homes but sometimes they never come back.’
‘Cats choose where they want to live,’ said Conrad. ‘Dogs pretty much do as they’re told.’
‘Well, I hope you don’t leave me,’ said Lulu.
‘I’m very happy with you,’ said Conrad. ‘I couldn’t be happier.’
‘What about before me? Who did you stay with? That day you walked along the towpath in Little Venice. Did you have an owner then?’
Conrad snorted. ‘I have never had an owner, Lulu. I’ve never been owned.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. What’s a better word than owner?’
‘Companion works for me,’ said Conrad.
‘Then that’s the word I shall use,’ said Lulu. ‘Did you have a companion then?’
Conrad sat down and looked at her, his head tilted to one side. ‘I was alone when I met you. I had been for several months.’
‘Okay. I didn’t mean to pry.’
‘No, it’s a fair question.’
‘And what happened to your previous companion? Did you leave?’
Conrad sniffed. ‘He died.’
‘Oh, Conrad, I’m sorry. It’s none of my business, and I’m sorry I asked.’
‘No, it’s perfectly reasonable for you to ask.’ He shrugged. ‘Sometimes humans die and he died. So I was alone for a while and then I found you.’
‘All’s well that ends well.’
‘That’s what they say.’
‘Really, I’m sorry that I pried.’
The kettle began to boil and Lulu was grateful for the interruption. She made herself a cup of chamomile tea and then sat down on the sofa. Conrad jumped up to join her. ‘How long do you think we’ll stay in Manchester?’ he asked.
‘With any luck, until we solve the case,’ said Lulu. ‘But to be honest, we don’t seem to be making much progress.’
‘DI Friar has charged Mrs Pearson and her boyfriend with the murders of Mr Pearson and Dickie McNeil.’
‘Yes, but they were never our cases; they were collateral damage, really. Nothing to do with the killer we’re looking for.’ She smiled. ‘And well done finding those blood spots in the alley.’
‘Oh, I think you’d already realized that Dickie had been killed somewhere else.’
Lulu sipped her tea. ‘I suppose so.’
‘And you were fairly sure that Mrs Pearson had killed her husband.’
‘Well, I knew that it was someone who was close to Mr Pearson. That was why they wanted to throw suspicion on our serial killer.’ She sighed. ‘It’s so frustrating. I’m sure the key to solving this is on HOLMES somewhere.’
‘Phil seems to think so, too.’
‘He does, that’s why he’s still there.’
Lulu had left Phil sitting at his HOLMES terminal, drinking coffee. His boss had been on the phone, asking Phil how much longer he’d be in Manchester. His expenses had started working their way through the system, and while there was money in the cold case budget, bed and breakfast at the Midland was burning through it at a fair pace. Phil had been told that if he hadn’t made any progress over the next two days, it might be time to call it a day and leave the job to DI Friar and her team.
‘Did you have many unsolved cases?’ asked Conrad.
‘Not many,’ said Lulu. ‘But some, yes.’
‘It must be frustrating.’
‘It is. Very. But I really hoped that the two murders in Manchester would help us solve our case. Instead, it’s just made it all the more confusing. We thought we were on the trail of someone who was targeting gay men. Hate crimes. But it doesn’t look like Sergeant Sawyer and Fraser Robinson were gay. And assuming it is the same killer, he followed them from London, which means they were targeted. And if he targeted his two victims in Manchester, there is a very good chance that the victims in London were also targeted.’
‘That makes sense,’ said Conrad.
‘But that means there must be a connection,’ said Lulu. ‘Something that connects the victims to the killer. And probably something that connects the victims. But we didn’t find anything.’
‘Well, back then it probably looked like a series of random killings. Like you said, hate crimes.’
‘We did think they were random killings, yes. But HOLMES is able to spot any connections there are, even when we’re not looking for them. If a white car is spotted at several crime scenes, HOLMES will tell us. If the victims frequented the same bars or worked at the same company, HOLMES will flag it. It’s doing that all the time, behind the scenes. Looking for connections. And in this case, it didn’t find any. Not one.’
‘Well, I can see connections, even from the little I know.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘As you’ve pointed out, all the victims are men. And now it seems that all the victims were in London at the same time. Before the killings started, yes, but at the same time nonetheless.’
Lulu nodded but didn’t say anything.
‘They’re all white, and none of them was bald.’
‘Okay.’
‘And the victims in London were all middle-aged.’
‘That’s true.’
‘Now, the victims here in Manchester were what?’
‘Sergeant Sawyer was forty-two and Fraser Robinson was thirty-five.’
Conrad wrinkled his nose. ‘Ah. So Fraser Robinson definitely doesn’t fit the pattern, does he? Sergeant Sawyer would have been in his late thirties when the killer was active in London and Fraser Robinson would have been barely in his thirties when the murders started. But both were in Manchester by then.’
‘True. But I do hear what you’re saying. They were all very similar physically.’ She smiled. ‘Though I’m not sure baldness is a factor. But the thing is, as I said, other than the physical and age similarities, HOLMES didn’t find a single connection between the men.’
‘Because maybe the connecting data isn’t in the system.’
‘Everything goes into HOLMES,’ said Lulu. ‘Every interview, every statement, every step of the investigation.’
‘Bear with me for a while,’ said Conrad. ‘What about connections between your suspects? The Three Little Piggies.’
‘Nothing. Believe me, we looked. They lived in different areas of London, had different jobs, went to different schools, supported different football teams. We checked phone records and they didn’t speak or text. We even went back through Gordon Wallace’s courier deliveries for two years to see if he had ever delivered anything to the other two. He hadn’t. And we checked with Butler’s taxi firm and he had never picked up either of the other two.’
‘But you did say that Butler had picked up two of the victims.’
‘Which is why he was on our radar. But he never picked up either of the other two Little Piggies. And now, of course, he’s dead. So he’s no longer a suspect.’
‘He could be a dead suspect. Just because he’s dead doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved in the first three murders.’
Lulu nodded. ‘That’s true. Fair point.’
‘Now, you say there are no connections between the Three Little Piggies, but I can see some.’
‘None of them is bald?’
‘There’s that. And they are all white and male, about the same age. They were all in their early twenties when you were looking at them.’
‘That’s true. Butler and Edward Parker were both twenty-two, and Wallace was twenty-three.’
‘You obviously think that the fact they all had a full head of hair was a coincidence, but what about the age thing?’
‘People of the same age tend to hang out together. I’m not sure that counts as a coincidence.’
‘Except you said you couldn’t find evidence of that. They didn’t hang out together, so far as you know. So is the age thing a coincidence? They all three just happened to be in their early twenties?’
‘Well, clearly you don’t think it is.’
‘I’m looking for patterns, Lulu. And I think there is a pattern here. The victims in London were all about the same age, weren’t they? Late thirties, early forties. But the Three Little Piggies were in their early twenties in London and would be in their late twenties now. HOLMES looks for connections, and in this case it hasn’t found any. No connections between the victims, no connections between the suspects. And the only connections you have between the victims and the suspects are some DNA, which might be circumstantial, and some CCTV evidence, also circumstantial.’
‘That’s a pretty good summation of the position, yes.’
‘Assuming that HOLMES is as good as you say it is, and assuming that there are connections to be found, that can only mean that the data isn’t available to the computer.’
Lulu frowned. ‘I suppose so.’
‘So the question that I would ask is: what connections could there be between a group of middle-aged men and another group of men in their twenties?’
Lulu shook her head. ‘I have no idea.’
‘Well, if there had been something, you would have found it. So let’s move the goalposts.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Let’s go back in time. Let’s go back, say, fifteen years. What connection could there be between a group of ten-year-old boys, and a group of adult men?’
Lulu’s mouth opened. ‘Oh, my goodness me.’
‘You didn’t go back that far, did you?’
Lulu shook her head. ‘No, we didn’t. There would be no reason to.’
‘But you see it now, don’t you?’
‘Yes, Conrad, I do. Oh, my goodness. Of course.’