Dan was finding it hard to concentrate as he waited for Peter to be ushered into the holding cells beneath the court.
The journey along the motorway had been stop-start, an accident extending the rush-hour crawl, and all the time he’d been focused on Pat Molloy. Eileen was right. Pat’s disappearance was unusual, and it was time for the police to get involved, but that wouldn’t gain him any special treatment from the judge. He had to focus on the case.
That didn’t stop him from worrying though. Pat was ill. He could have collapsed somewhere.
His attention was dragged back to the case by the thump of boots on the other side of the glass screen. The door opened and Peter was brought in.
When Dan first started out, lawyers used to sit in the same room as those being held for trial, but there’d been too many phones and drugs smuggled into prisons to allow that to continue. Criminal law didn’t attract the talent it used to, and it was now the last resort for the chancers and failures, and those too willing to ignore the rules.
Peter sat down and leaned forward, so that his face was almost touching the glass, steaming it up immediately. ‘Day two.’
‘We need to talk. I’ve got a new strategy.’
Peter’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’m listening.’
Dan reached into his bag and pulled out a folder filled with paper, coloured separators dividing the different cases. ‘There are eight women here, all of whom disappeared near a canal, plus Rosie Smith. These go back seventeen years. I’m going to show the jury that there might be someone else involved, another person attacking women, the canals being the link. If I’m forced into it, I can produce more, but nine is a good number. Before I do that though, I need to know that the person behind these isn’t you.’
Peter looked at the folder and let out a deep breath. His eyelids flickered and some colour jumped into his cheeks.
‘Peter? You okay? It will only work if there’s no trace of you in these cases.’
‘Go on then, tell me what you’ve got.’
Dan had printed pictures of the women and put them into a separate section. He pulled them out. ‘This is the first one,’ and he put a picture against the glass. ‘Annie Yates. She went missing seventeen years ago, and then Sharon Coates a year later,’ and he put her picture alongside. ‘Both lived in Yorkshire. One a young mother, the other a sex worker.’
‘A prostitute.’ Peter’s lips curled when he said it. ‘Call it by its proper name.’
‘It’s just a word, and arguing about that isn’t important right now. Look at the pictures. Do you know about them?’
He glanced at them before shaking his head.
Dan put the pictures back and picked out two more, slapping them against the glass. ‘What about these? Eighteen months after Sharon, there was Claire Watkins, then Katie Boardman a year later. Claire lived here in Highford, and Katie the next town along the canal.’
Peter winced and looked away. ‘Stop it, I don’t know them.’
‘I need to know, Peter.’
‘I said, stop it.’ His voice rose in its intensity.
‘There’s Rosie Smith too.’ Dan waved her picture. ‘You know about her case.’
‘I’ve had enough of this.’
‘I haven’t even started yet. There’re four more left.’
Peter sprung to his feet and banged on the door.
‘I just need to know, Peter. Will your name come up in these investigations?’
Peter turned round, tears in his eyes.
‘I need to know, Peter. Are you the monster who took these women, who killed Rosie?’
‘I’m no monster,’ he said, and as the door opened, he rushed through.
Dan was aware of his fast breathing, the race of his heart, as he collected the papers.
When he came out of the cell complex, Dan went straight to the robing room to look for Francesca McIntyre. He couldn’t see her as he looked around the door and, when he asked, a barrister bumbled that she’d already gone to the courtroom.
Dan let the door slam behind him and marched after her, his footsteps echoing along the tiled floor.
The atmosphere changed as he opened the courtroom door. It slowed him down every time, with sound deadened by deference and thick carpets.
Francesca was in the well of the court, cracking a joke with the court assistant, no one else present. Francesca had learned the first rule of being a good lawyer: notice everyone. The ushers, the security guards, the cleaners, the people behind the counter in the court canteen. Treat them well and they can make your life a lot easier. Look down on them and they’ll delight in making your day more difficult, and deservedly so.
‘Mr Grant, good morning. More fun and games today? I hope so.’
Dan smiled, but her sarcasm irritated him. ‘I’m here to entertain. There is one thing I need you to do though. Or rather, I need your witness to do it – DI Murdoch.’
‘Apart from give evidence truthfully, what on earth can you mean?’
‘I’m going to ask her about a number of cases where women went missing near to the Leeds-Liverpool canal.’
Her eyes narrowed for a moment. ‘And she’s expected to know?’
‘She will if she looks them up. She was told about them some time ago, months even, so none of this is new.’
‘Told about them? What do you mean?’
‘An informant suggested there was a link. Murdoch wasn’t interested.’
‘And what should she be looking for?’
‘To see whether Peter Box’s name ever came up in them.’
The court assistant busied herself with paperwork, avoiding whatever argument she feared was about to start.
Francesca held out her hand. ‘Show me.’
Dan opened the folder and put it on the desk. ‘Help yourself, but the material stays with me.’ He reached into one of the sections and pulled out a list. ‘This should be enough for her to locate the right cases.’
Francesca glanced down the list. ‘This is your defence now, that there is some undetected serial killer on the canals?’
‘If Peter didn’t kill Lizzie, someone else did.’ He tapped the folder. ‘That might be your answer.’
‘Why didn’t you write in with this stuff? It’s going to delay the trial this morning, and if you want to spend the day annoying the judge, go ahead, but that’s what he’ll ask.’
‘I was approached last night by someone who has an obsession about this. His son was killed and he’s convinced someone is pushing people into the water, or attacking them. I sifted through it last night and came up with these. Criticise me all you want, but the police have known about it for longer than I have.’
‘And you’re going with this? It’s all a little bit, you know, late-night trash TV.’
‘The sort of TV watched by ordinary men and women, you mean? Like the twelve jurors? I agree, it’ll go down well.’
She pursed her lips. ‘What will you do if Peter Box’s name does appear as a suspect? Will he accept the game is over and plead guilty?’
‘He hasn’t shown any willingness so far, but you know there’s still a risk the jury will think there’s an untold story here. If you can show that he’s come up as a suspect in these other cases, I’ll agree you can raise it in evidence, on one condition.’
‘Which is what?’
‘That I can raise his absence as a suspect if he doesn’t.’ He held out his hands. ‘Your move now.’
She folded the sheets of paper and marched towards the door. ‘I won’t be long. You can explain it to the judge.’
As the door closed, the court assistant looked up. ‘At least it’s getting interesting now.’