The lack of sleep didn't help Wendy one bit as she walked into the incident room late that night to meet with Culverhouse in the light of the latest killing.
‘Sorry, Knight,’ Culverhouse said, his hands raised, palms outward in mock apology on seeing her face. ‘Unfortunately people aren't considerate enough to wait until daylight to get murdered.’
‘Is it fresh?’
‘No, she was killed the night before last. The pathologist reckons it was between seven in the evening and three in the morning. Rigor mortis already set in, yadda-yadda. Pathology have got the details.’
‘Do we have a positive ID?’
‘We do. Another easy one. It's starting to look like the killer wants these girls to be identified but I can't figure out for the life of me why. Grace Norris, an eighteen-year-old college student. A devout Catholic and local church volunteer. On the plus side, another Bible basher off our streets. On the other hand, bang goes my prossie theory.’
‘So you're finally accepting that Nicole Bryant wasn't a prostitute?’ Wendy asked, smiling.
‘No, I'm accepting that Grace Norris wasn't a prostitute.’
Wendy sighed and shook her head. ‘Definitely the same MO?’
‘Without a shadow of a doubt,’ Culverhouse replied. ‘Absolutely identical.’
‘So what the hell does link these women?’
‘If I knew that, Knight, I wouldn't be farting about here at three o'clock in the bastard morning. I'd be tucked up in my jim-jams with a mug of Horlicks.’
Tell me about it, she wanted to say.
‘Oh, but SOCO said there was one slight deviation from the MO,’ he added.
‘Right. So not absolutely identical after all?’
‘Oh no, it was absolutely identical all right. But this time he raped her.’
‘Raped her? He's not raped them before,’ Wendy said, surprised.
‘I know that, Knight. Hence the slight deviation.’
‘But why now?’
‘It looks as though he's stepping up his game. We've got some sort of cat and mouse game on our hands.’
‘Did SOCO say whether intercourse occurred pre- or post-mortem?’
‘If you mean did the bastard shag her when she was dead, we don't know yet. We're still waiting for forensics to get their turkey basters out.’
They sat down and examined the profiles of each victim, one by one. Their photographs were laid out on the table in front of them, a joyful family photo juxtaposed with the anguished death mask of each woman. Each letter of each of their names struck fear and anger into Wendy's gut.
ELLA BARRINGTON
MARIA PRESTON
NICOLE BRYANT
GRACE NORRIS
So their names were getting shorter. Ella Barrington: fourteen letters. Maria Preston: twelve letters. Nicole Bryant: twelve letters. Grace Norris: eleven letters. Would the next victim's name have ten letters in it? Would he finally stop killing once he'd found someone with a two-letter name? Wendy told herself this was a ridiculous theory and cursed her lack of sleep.
As the minutes and hours ticked by, conversation returned to Robert Ludford.
‘Guv, I'm really not sure about this whole idea of getting involved with him. If he really is the murderer, he's stepped up his game big time with this one. I really don't think it's safe.’
‘What other option do we have, Knight? We can't barge in and arrest him or search his house because the only evidence we have on him is that he once read a book on a similar type of knot that was used in the murders. Even that is circumstantial, but not circumstantial enough to be ignored. No, we can't do anything else but watch and observe him. Conventional surveillance would be useless, especially as you and he are already close and he seems to want to confide in you and speak to you about the case.’
‘What if he's just after information?’
‘Then we'll feed him red herrings. We'll soon find out if he's linked then.’
‘I don't know, guv. I still don't feel safe.’
‘You're a police officer, Knight,’ Culverhouse said, lifting his coffee mug to his lips and taking a slurp before banging it back down on his desk. ‘You're not meant to feel safe. Case closed.’