Chapter 24
‘It’s definitely one of ours,’ Laura said.
‘Fantastic. Tell me everything.’
She’d just got back from a briefing with the police in Buxton, after which she’d attended the post-mortem of Kate Barrett. And she had returned bearing gifts.
The first photograph she slid across to me made me wince inside, and regardless of anything else she was about to tell me I knew she was right, that this was our guy.
The photo had been taken at the scene. It showed a close-up of the remains of a woman’s face, hair splayed out on the blood-soaked tarmac on which she was lying.
The damage wasn’t as extensive as to our victims, but it was close enough.
The killer had been interrupted, after all.
I pictured David Barrett, a man I’d never seen, plummeting across a field in an attempt to reach his wife – and the whole time the man ahead of him was just striking her repeatedly in the head.
It was more an emotion than an image: a frantic, keening sensation of desperation, anguish.
Because he had not been in time. Most of the injuries were to the right-hand side of her head and mouth.
The latter hung open, the destruction obvious.
Her right eye was lost under blood; her nose hung off, leaning away from it.
The remaining eye stared upwards, as clear and empty as the sky it must have dully reflected.
‘Okay,’ I said.
‘From the full report alone, it’s him.’ Laura took the photo away again. ‘Her husband managed to give a full statement, the poor bastard. He didn’t understand. He said the guy could have easily got away with the scooter, if that was what he wanted. There was no way he needed to do what he did.’
‘Because he never wanted the scooter,’ I said.
‘My guess too. It wasn’t about that.’
I shook my head.
Laura said, ‘I know.’
‘Show me the rest.’
She passed me more of the other crime scene photos. I flipped through them one by one, then put them down on the desk, feeling numb.
‘Full results of the PM aren’t in yet, obviously. I left halfway through.’
‘But?’
‘Polythene was found in the wounds.’
I nodded. I’d been expecting that – or something, at least. If Laura had left halfway through, it must have been because she’d seen enough to be satisfied.
‘Not been confirmed as that yet,’ she said. ‘But I’m convinced. This is our guy.’
‘Okay.’ I leaned back in the chair and put my hands behind my head. Stretched. ‘So now what?’
‘I’ve left Buxton to it for now. They’re keen to follow up everything at their end – which is good for us, obviously. As things stand, they’ve only got one to deal with. But we’ll be co-ordinating from now on. Young’s negotiating, but I don’t see any problems.’
‘Can’t they just take the whole thing off our hands?’
Laura gave me a sly smile. ‘No such luck.’
‘What are they like?’
‘The Buxton PD? They’re okay. Seem sharp enough. The DCI in overall charge is a guy called Franklin.’
‘Franklin?’ I said. ‘What’s he like?’
‘Seemed on top of things to me. Reiterated the need to work together. Pool resources. That side of things will be okay, I think.’
‘Are they asking for anything?’
‘Not so far. Co-operative, like I said. They’re going to come over tomorrow for the daily briefing: bring us what they have and take a little of what we’ve got. Share it all and see if anything leaps out.’
I nodded slowly.
‘In the meantime, we need to get all the data relating to Kate Barrett factored in to our investigation. In case it’s part of the pattern.’
‘If there is one,’ I said.
‘Yeah.’
But even if there was, how were we supposed to make sense of it? It was hard enough thinking in terms of our city, never mind expanding the investigation to neighbouring towns. Was he going to take it nationwide? Had he left us for now – possibly even for good?
And then there was the Buxton connection, which was definite now. Who was Franklin? Had I ever encountered him before? The name wasn’t familiar, but I wasn’t sure.
That tightening again. The storm clouds gathering.
Laura misread my expression. ‘I know.’
I nodded, but thought:
No. You don’t.