It was with a heavy heart that I set off to meet up with Connie. It seemed to me that most of her life had been filled with tragedy. As a young child, it had been made clear to her, by both her mother and her father, that she was not wanted; following that she had to endure the painful empathy of her visions, and then her mother had committed suicide whilst she herself was interned in the psychiatric hospital. And so it went on. Now, somehow, I had to tell her of the death of Sheila, our friend. God only knew how she would take it; she was nothing if not resilient, but perhaps this might prove one loss too many.
When I arrived at the college Steve was still waiting for Connie to emerge; I was early. I warned him not to say anything to Connie about Sheila’s murder, (other than what Jim had instructed her to be told) gave him directions to Jim’s apartment and said I would go up there with them.
I pulled into the parking area outside Jim’s apartment block, furnished, as he had suggested, with spare keys. I nodded ‘good afternoon’ to the rather suspicious porter, took the lift up to the third floor and let myself in to wait for Connie and her police escort. As was normal with Jim’s flat, the place was a mess, with clothes thrown anywhere and everywhere.
It occurred to me that Connie and I would need to do some shopping, more especially Connie. At least I could transfer most of my things from my own flat; she would literally have nothing but the clothes she was wearing.
I went into the kitchen and did the very ‘British’ thing and put the kettle on for tea. A few minutes later the doorbell went and I let a very sombre Connie into the flat. Steve Harrison, she informed me, was waiting downstairs in the car.
Once again she pre-empted me. “It’s Sheila, isn’t it?” she said. “I just felt something was wrong so I made Steve drive me past Ashworth House and there were lots of police cars outside. At first I thought it was you, but Steve assured me you had just been on the phone. So I put two and two together: it had to be Sheila. Oh, Angie!” she said, bursting into tears and putting her arms around me. “Why? Sheila was such a lovely person; she wouldn’t harm anyone. Why did he have to do this to her?”
“I don’t know, Connie,” I said softly; “I really don’t know. We’re dealing with a maniac – a complete evil, twisted, sadistic nutter. Poor, poor Sheila...”
We stood there in the hallway for quite a while, holding each other protectively, sharing our common grief. Then I took her hand and led her into the apartment. She wiped her eyes, then took off her coat.
“Does Jim Robbins really want to speak with me, Angie? Or were you just trying to soften the blow?”
“A bit of both, I suppose. Jim doesn’t want either of us to stay at Ashworth House any longer – for obvious reasons.”
“Is he suggesting we stay here then?” she asked, glancing around the room.
“Yes. He reckons it’ll be safer for us both. There’s better security here than we had at Ashworth, and that’s his main concern really.”
“Why you, Angie? Me I can understand, but why do you need security?”
“Oh he phoned me up with a charming little message… A warning, Connie. He’s after both of us. So we’re in this together. Can you handle that, sweetheart?”
She nodded tearfully. “It gets worse, doesn’t it? How are we going to stop him? Steve told me they found 11 bodies at the mine. Jesus! Think of the horror of it, Angie. Eleven little children. And now Sheila, who wouldn’t hurt a fly. He won’t think twice about killing us, will he? We’re just a bloody nuisance to him.”
I didn’t know what else to say. But I couldn’t help thinking it was insensitive of Steve to tell her about the number of bodies; it was also unnecessary, even though she would have read about it in the papers soon enough, I guessed.
We were both drinking tea when Jim arrived. He said ‘hello’ to Connie, before asking me if I had said anything to her. I gestured that I had.
“We are all of us terribly sorry, Connie. And I know what a good friend Sheila was to you both.” He took her hand. “We’re going to catch him, sooner rather than later. Has Ange explained why I want you both to stay here for the time being?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“And are you alright with that? We’ll try to make you as comfortable as we can, and hopefully it won’t be for long. But you do realise, don’t you, that until this is over there can be no college? We think it’s an unnecessary risk in the circumstances. But that doesn’t mean you can’t do some work while you’re here, young lady!” He pointed towards the computer on his desk against the far wall. “That machine’s got a modem, so you’ll be able to hook up directly with the college. And if we have a word with them I’m sure they’ll be able to keep you up to scratch with your studies. Okay?”
“Yeah, fine. Has Doctor Simmons been told yet?”
I confirmed that I had contacted him, and that, in turn, he would be getting in touch with Sheila’s family. “He’ll let us know eventually about the funeral arrangements,” I informed them.
“Do we know how she died?” Connie asked.
Jim shook his head. “It’s too early to say. We’ll have to wait for the autopsy result – that won’t be until tomorrow. But we have found an eyewitness; a lady in the flower shop opposite the house says she saw a priest at the door, just before lunchtime.” He shrugged. “She didn’t think anything of it, but, then, why should she? Also, she says she didn’t see him leave the house, which must mean, as I suspected, he shed his disguise and let himself out the back way.
“So,” he went on, “we now know how he gained entry. He seems to like disguises: the last time he was dressed as a park ranger; now a priest. I’ve got people checking out the local costume hire shops – you never know, maybe we’ll get lucky. Oh,” he said, almost as an afterthought; “you were right about the phone. The call was untraceable.” He checked his watch. “I have to go - want to come with me, Angie?”
I held my hands out, as if to say: “Just look at me.”
“I badly need a bath, Jim. Where can I meet you?”
“I’m going back to the NEC. I want to speak to the pathologists.” He looked at me, frowning. “Come on, Ange; you can bathe later.”
“Is that where the children are?” Connie asked. “The exhibition centre?”
He nodded, saying nothing. “I’ll tell Harrison to stay here with Connie until Pauline Whatever-her-name-is comes on duty.”
“Wilkins,” I said, grinning; “her name is Wilkins.”
Jim and I left after he had given young Steve strict instructions about opening the door. I was still feeling shattered, so God only knew what Jim must have been feeling like; at least I had had an hour’s sleep.
We had driven some distance when Jim said, “The medical examiner thinks Sheila died either by strangulation or loss of blood from the knife wounds; it has to be confirmed but he’s pretty sure that he must have grabbed her by the throat almost as soon as he got inside the door. Then he half carried, half dragged her upstairs, to finish off his work. The doc also tells me that the knife wounds are not post-mortem – that explains all the blood – which means they could have been concurrent with death.” He shook his head – a gesture of disbelief or dismay at this insight.
“So, we know he was in a hell of a rage,” I commented. “It will be interesting to hear what Paul has to say about that, but it does seem as though he’s rapidly losing control – if he hasn’t already lost it.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “And I reckon your telling him we know who he is – or, rather, who he was – will have given him another push towards the edge. That’s what I’m banking on.”
“How so?”
“Well, I reckon he’s going to get more and more desperate, and I’ve given some further thought to that in the context of the security arrangements for you and Connie. You see, we want him to take a kind of quantum leap in terms of risk – something totally outrageous, where he’s bound to expose himself. Now, I’ve figured that he’s less likely to chance something like that if he sees we have the apartment surrounded with a tight ring of security. So we slacken it a little. Sure, we maintain a visible level of security – this guy isn’t stupid – sufficient to convince him it isn’t a trap, but not tight enough to discourage him from trying something.”
“Wait a sec, Jim. You’re losing me here. Surely you’re not saying you will deliberately let him know where Connie is ensconced, and then reduce the level of security in order to entice him? Are you?”
I watched his face and saw his mouth tighten, the way it does when he is resolved to do something. “Christ! You are, aren’t you? I don’t believe this, Jim. What the fuck gives you the right to play with someone’s life like that? We’ve already had one murder today, and you’re suggesting we invite him to commit a second one.” I felt my hands clenching in anger. “How will you justify it? In the cause of duty? Or have you something more ingenious in mind?”
“Knock it off, Ange. No one’s talking about putting Connie at serious risk. The security’ll be in place, don’t you worry about that. He just won’t see it – that’s all. Not until it’s too late.”
“And just how do you achieve that? Are you going to fill the apartment with armed response officers?”
“Something like that,” he confirmed. “Look – give me a break, will you. I haven’t worked out the detail yet, when I have I’ll let you know. But it’ll be safe. Trust me. Now, can we give it a rest? It’s been a very bad few days for all of us, and you’re not making it any easier.”
“Well, pardon me!” I exclaimed, and then lapsed into silence. There wasn’t a lot more I could say at the moment, but I was damned if I was going to allow him to use Connie’s safety in some kind of enticement trap – especially where this monster was concerned. For the present, I thought, I would keep my counsel. But – trust him? Like hell I would!
Our heated debate was quickly put to one side after we arrived at the temporary morgue and engaged ourselves in discussion with the pathologists. There were four of them carrying out the macabre task of establishing the cause of death of the 11 children, and also determining those characteristics that would help in identification.
The senior pathologist, a woman in her mid-fifties who I knew (from attending post-mortems at the Birmingham morgue), was able to tell us that one of the bodies was already identified as that of Josephine Marsden; but, so far, she was unable to tell us if the body of Lisa, the child taken from the park, was amongst the others. She also informed us that a team of experienced counsellors were on hand to help the parents, who would be contacted progressively to corroborate identification of the children.
So far, five of the eleven autopsies were complete; the cause of death was identical in each case. Each of the children had been sexually violated, either concurrently with, or consecutive to, death by strangulation. A police officer, in accord with the law, was in attendance at every one of the autopsies. From the grim looks on their faces I would have suggested they were also in need of counselling.
Forensics had finished at the site, but I noticed a couple of the team were present in the temporary morgue, no doubt examining the remains of the children for any further forensic evidence. It was an unenviable task; in some cases the bodies were in an advanced state of decomposition. And I thought my job was difficult enough; I positively shuddered at what they had to be going through.
Just then, Jim called me over.
“We’re wanted back at the station,” he said curtly. “The superintendent wants us in conference. Evidently he’s already contacted Paul Simmons – he’ll be joining us there. And so will Detective Chief Superintendent Thompson from the National Crime Squad,” he added.
“Are they taking the case away from us?”
“Dunno. It sounds like it, though; but I don’t expect Phil Connors to give in without a fight.
“Let’s go and find out, shall we?”
We didn’t speak on the way back to the station. Obviously we were still angry at each other following our altercation earlier. I was damned, though, if I was going to hold out an olive branch, however childish that might seem. It also crossed my mind that, if we were removed from the case, then it might be no bad thing, given Jim’s nonsensical idea to use Connie in a honey trap. Or was I just being bitchy, I asked myself.