Paul made his way across the incident room towards Jim’s office, whilst I went to check my desk for messages. The incident room was still a hive of activity, only now, following the press and photofit release, the detectives were mostly dealing with the volume of calls from the public.
There was one message for me from the Birmingham newspaper wanting to know if I would agree to an interview – which I promptly ignored; the second was from Emma at forensics. I called her back straightaway.
“Hi, Angie. How’s things?”
“You have some news?” I said, almost breathlessly.
“Yes,” she said hesitantly. “Can you come over to the office?”
“Can’t you tell me now, Emma?”
“I’d rather not; not on the phone. It’s too sensitive.”
“I’ll be right over,” I said, thinking to myself: “God, I hate mysteries!” I rang down to the desk to order a car, grabbed my handbag and hotfooted it downstairs. The forensics office was situated quite close to the Bullring, probably within walking distance, but I was in a hurry, And with the driver dropping me off at the front entrance, I didn’t have to worry about parking. It was a fairly modern building, although you wouldn’t think so from its current appearance. Already it was looking shabby, with cracks showing down two of its walls, and some of the tiles were missing from the entrance canopy. It also could do with a fresh coat of paint.
“So?” I said, after being shown into Emma’s small and cramped office on the second floor. “What have we got?”
Emma looked at me, rather gravely, I thought. “Take a seat Angie,” she offered, pointing to the only vacant chair. “You’ll need to be sitting down to hear this.”
I complied, trying to contain myself, as Emma handed across a sheet of fax paper covered with what seemed to me, at least, meaningless hieroglyphics.
“How am I supposed to read this, Emma?” I demanded. “Its just mumbo-jumbo.”
“Sorry. I was forgetting. Those figures represent the preliminary results of the saliva swab from the child’s clothing. And we have a provisional match!”
“Provisional? What does that mean?”
“It means that, until it’s confirmed forensically, you won’t be able to use it in a court of law. But other than that it’s pretty conclusive.”
I held out a hand. “Emma, please; stop keeping me in suspense. Who the hell is it? And why couldn’t you tell me this on the phone?”
“I couldn’t tell you, Angie, because I want to make absolutely certain before this information is publicised, that the result is definitive and not merely provisional. I’m telling you because I know you and I trust you to keep it confidential for the time being. And the answer to your question is that the DNA matches with the sample we took over four years ago from one of those seven murdered children. At least, we’re almost certain it does; but, as I said, to be 100% positive we still need to make more tests. Obviously, we can’t give you a name; whoever this character is, he hasn’t had any run-ins with the police. But there’s very little doubt: it’s the same man.”
“Jesus!” I exclaimed, letting out a breath. A thousand thoughts raced through my mind at the implications of this news.
One thing, though, stood out more clearly than anything else: it was Connie’s remarks that day I was called to the hospital because she was so terrified. “He’s here,” she had said; “that horrible man is here.” In my own mind I was convinced that what she was really saying then was: “He is back.” And I was right!
I sat in the chair for a while, too stunned to say anything. Somehow, I had to get my head around this development.
“Are you okay, Angie?” I heard her ask.
“I don’t know. I don’t know that I’ll ever be okay again.” All I could think of was what Connie must have gone through, her very real fear, her terror, that this creature might be pursuing her, even closing in on her. And I shuddered.
Emma ran me back to the station in her car; I was till too dazed to think clearly, and I think she was afraid I might wander off somewhere. It had crossed my mind that day at the hospital that we could be dealing with the same man. But that was all it had been: a fleeting moment cultured from Connie’s oblique comments that she had seen the killer somewhere before. Now we had the evidence, I wasn’t sure just how we would be able to use it – except that my instincts about Connie’s safety were well founded. The security we had placed around her now seemed grossly inadequate; my young friend, self-evidently, was in grave danger.