The incident room was eerily quiet that morning, a mixture of tiredness at most of the officers having been up all night and the anguish at having been bettered — twice — by what they had already begun referring to as the Mildenheath Ripper.
Culverhouse’s main worry was that there was no way he was going to be able to head the press off after this. The heavy police presence in the town hadn’t gone unnoticed, but it didn’t seem to have sparked panic. Suzanne Corrigan had been persuaded not to run any stories involving mentions of the Ripper up until now, and the team had been very careful not to make details of the last two killings known to anyone outside the force. But he knew it would be nigh-on impossible for it to remain that way.
All in all, that meant that Mildenheath would be on the verge of public hysteria. A serial killer never went down particularly well anywhere, but in a town like Mildenheath, it would go down about as well as a skid mark on a hired wedding suit.
He would have to speak with Suzanne Corrigan. The details of the killings simply could not be leaked, else some canny member of the public would piece things together inside twenty seconds and the announcement that another murder was due on the ninth of November would be all over the town within minutes. Come that date, there’d be people out on the street with burning lanterns and pitchforks, which wasn’t what anyone wanted.
‘Needless to say, the link between the original Ripper killings and what’s been happening in Mildenheath over the past few weeks is now pretty indisputable,’ Culverhouse said to the assembled officers. ‘It seems that the Ripper is now following the canonical five, which means that we’re looking at one final victim, due to die on the ninth of November.’ As he said this, he realised how bizarre it sounded. It was six weeks away, and already he was predicting the death. ‘Debbie?’
DC Debbie Weston stood and made her way to the front of the room as Culverhouse sat down. ‘The fifth Ripper victim was Mary Jane Kelly,’ she said, holding up a contemporary sketch of the woman. ‘There are a number of notable aspects about her which might lead us to identifying the modern day equivalent in our Ripper’s mind. We’ve got a much longer timeframe this time. Mary Jane Kelly was born in Ireland but moved to Wales as a child and spoke fluent Welsh. She got married at sixteen and her husband was killed in a coal mine explosion a couple of years later. Some sources say they had a child, but others say they didn’t. Apparently, she worked as a prostitute in Cardiff,’ Debbie said, before Culverhouse interrupted her.
‘Well there’s a fucking surprise. What is it with serial killers and prostitutes around here? I’m surprised there’s any of the fuckers left after the nut jobs have finished their killing sprees.’
Wendy shot him a look.
‘Your brother excepted, of course,’ Culverhouse added.
‘My brother is a monster. I know that much, guv.’
‘Yes. Well. At least now we know he’s not alone in his particular penchant, don’t we?’
Debbie Weston duly noted the awkward silence and continued. ‘Mary Jane Kelly moved to London in 1884, which was four years before she was killed. That might be pertinent to our Ripper’s fifth intended victim, too. There are records of people saying she was violent and abusive when drunk, but fine when sober.’
‘Well that narrows it down, doesn’t it?’ Culverhouse interjected. ‘Might as well warn every old trollop propping up the bars in every pub in town. That’ll take most of our six weeks.’
‘We’ve got a fair bit to be running with,’ Debbie replied. ‘The Irish and Welsh connection, possibly fairly new to the area, potentially working as a prostitute or escort, married young and widowed early. We should be able to draw a fairly narrow shortlist.’
‘Starting with what?’ Frank Vine butted in. ‘The PNC? Only any use if she’s known to us. If she’s moved here within the last four years or so she won’t be on the census. We can’t just put a big sign in the town centre saying “Irish and Welsh hookers with dead husbands, call us now.”’
‘I think we can afford to be a little more tactful than that,’ Culverhouse said, the irony of his comment completely lost on him. ‘We’ve got six weeks, potentially. If we have to knock on every door in the town, we will. It can be done. Our killer seems to be fairly well connected to the social scene. He knows people’s backgrounds. We’re potentially looking at someone in a position of trust, but still with an anatomical or medical background. I’m thinking doctors, surgeons, potentially dentists.’
‘Pub landlords?’ Steve Wing added.
‘How many pub landlord do you know with advanced anatomical knowledge, Steve?’
‘Well, not many, but there must be some who went through medical school. Or who’ve read up on it. What I mean is they’d be in a position to know people’s lives and backgrounds. And their habits. We know that at least two of our victims regularly drank in local pubs. Hairdressers hear quite a lot about people’s lives, too. They work with scissors and knives and stuff.’
‘Steve, I...’ Culverhouse started to talk but quickly realised there was no point. ‘I think we need to look at all GPs working in the area for a start. He obviously knows people from the town and their life stories and histories, so it’s unlikely to be a doctor living locally who works elsewhere. Far more likely the other way round. Surgeons are probably less likely in terms of hearing people’s life stories. Perhaps we also need to look at counsellors. Especially ones with medical knowledge. I don’t think there’s any record of our victims all visiting a counsellor, though. Get onto that one for me, Luke,’ he said, pointing at Baxter. ‘I want to see records on all four victims to date. I need to know their GPs, any medical history of doctors they’ve seen in the past ten years. It’s likely our man’s been planning this for a while. I also want to know their hairdresser, the pubs they drink in — everything that might connect them to someone who’d know all about their lives. That way we might find a link.’