Tania Carver - The Creeper

Fiona Welch sat at the far end of the row, head down, making notes, her BlackBerry next to her, pen stuck in the corner of her mouth, fingers absently playing up and down the length of it. Beside her, Mickey Philips was trying hard not to be transfixed. Phil didn’t know whether to be amused or angry. He didn’t like the profiler. Couldn’t get on with her. And that made him wonder just how accurate her profile would be.

There were others in there too. Milhouse had managed to drag himself away from the computer screen, eyes blinking behind his thick black frames, like a miner emerging into the light. The Birdies sat behind him, together, as always, the wiry Adrian Wren contrasting with the large Jane Gosling like an old variety act. Beside them were other detectives, drafted in from other teams to help out with the case. Phil knew some of them personally, some only to nod at. It didn’t matter. They didn’t have to know each other. As long as they got their jobs done.

Fenwick turned away from Rose, gestured for her to sit down. Then he crossed the room, stood in front of the whiteboard.

‘Thanks, everyone,’ he said, looking round the room. ‘Let’s get started. Phil?’

Phil stood up, walked to the front. He hated speaking in front of people, even his own team, preferring to just get on with the job. But he knew it was necessary and he was getting better at it. No panic attacks now.

‘Right,’ he said, wasting no time. ‘This is what we’ve got so far. Julie Miller. Missing, presumed dead. Just waiting for confirmation from her PM.’

‘Nick said he’d be across soon to join us,’ said Adrian.

‘Good. Zoe Herriot. Dead. Murdered.’

‘Why do we presume it’s the same person for all of this?’ said Mickey. ‘Isn’t her death different? Don’t serial killers find a way of killing and stick with it?’

Phil saw Fiona from the corner of his eye. She tentatively raised a finger to answer but he didn’t want her to. Instead he answered for her. ‘We’re not sure this is a serial killer, Mickey. Or the work of one person. But all the other evidence would seem to point that way.’ He turned, pointed to the board. ‘Adele Harrison. Missing. Dead or alive, we don’t know. Suzanne Perry. Missing.’ He drew his finger in a line between Suzanne, Adele and Julie. ‘Note the similarities. All dark-haired, all approximately the same height, same build. Same age, or thereabouts. Dark eyes. Now look at Zoe Herriot. Blonde, blue-eyed. Not the same at all.’

‘But Suzanne Perry and Zoe Herriot were both speech therapists,’ said Anni, ‘and Julie Miller’s an occupational therapist. There’s a connection.’

‘Definitely,’ said Phil. ‘So are we getting the patient lists cross-referenced?’

‘Yep,’ said Anni.

Phil noticed Rose didn’t rush to reply. ‘Good. Rose?’

Rose Martin looked at him as if she wasn’t going to speak just to spite him. But he was in no mood for her games. He kept staring at her. ‘Rose?’

She sensed the steel in his voice. Started to speak. ‘Same as Anni. I’ve got some of my old team going over Julie Miller’s casework, checking for overlap. I’ll let you know.’

‘Thank you.’ He saw Fiona Welch moving about in her seat like she wanted to say something, tried to ignore her. But he knew he couldn’t. She had written her report – in record time, he had to admit, not sure that was a good thing – and it was time for her to deliver it.

But not just yet.

‘Mickey, how’s the van hunting coming on?’

Mickey looked up from his notepad. ‘It’s going. We’re looking for a black Citroën Nemo. There’s photos coming round to all of you and the uniforms. I’ve narrowed it down to Colchester owners and I’m going through them now.’

‘Let me know if you need any more help. Jane?’

‘Nothing so far on CCTV from the quayside,’ said Jane Gosling. ‘Cameras don’t extend to where the body was left. The door-to-door in the flats opposite hasn’t given anything up either.’

‘Thanks.’ He sighed. Felt a slight constricting of his chest. Maybe he had spoken too soon about not getting panic attacks when speaking in public. He ignored it, hoped it would go away. ‘That’s everything so far.’ He glanced over at Fiona Welch. She had her papers in front of her and was sitting up straight, like the teacher’s favourite, ready to be called to the front of the class to show them all how to unravel some impenetrable equation. He had to let her speak. It was her turn.

‘Well, if there are no questions, I’ll hand over to-’

He got no further. The door opened and Nick Lines came striding in. Everyone turned at his entrance. The normally unflappable pathologist was out of breath, his tie askew, his forehead beaded with sweat. For him that was the equivalent of huge disarray.

‘Apologies for the late running of this service,’ he said, walking straight to the front of the group, joining Phil before the whiteboard. ‘I have the results of the post-mortem. And some preliminary DNA results too.’ He paused, eyes taking in all the people watching him. He didn’t seem impressed by their reactions.

‘Do you know what that means?’ he said, loudly.

There was a general shaking of heads.

‘It means I pulled a hell of a lot of strings to get the results in record time. So you should be grateful. Very grateful.’

‘I’m, erm, sure we all are,’ said Ben Fenwick, stepping forward, giving his politician’s smile. ‘And I’m sure that… well, I think I speak for the whole team when I say that.’

Nick Lines raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m sure you think you do, Ben.’

Phil hid a smile.

Nick was soon serious again. ‘But it’s a good job I did get them.’

‘Why?’ said Phil.

Nick took his time, waited until he was sure he had everyone’s full attention.

‘Because the body we found on the quay, the one I’ve just finished the post-mortem on and received DNA samples from, is not Julie Miller.’

Time stood still as the whole room took in Nick Lines’ words.

Phil was the first to speak. ‘You’re sure about that? Definitely not Julie Miller?’

‘As certain as I can be about anything,’ Nick said, dead-panning the room. ‘No matches at all.’

‘Then if it’s not Julie Miller…’ Mickey was speaking for everyone.

‘Oh God,’ said Phil. ‘I think I know…’

‘Adele Harrison?’ said Anni.

Phil nodded. ‘Looks like it. Unless there’s another one somewhere that we don’t know about.’

‘Let’s hope not,’ said Fenwick. He turned to Nick. ‘How soon can we get another DNA test done?’

Nick raised his eyebrows. ‘Won’t be cheap.’

‘This is an upgraded case. High-priority. The money’s there.’

Nick screwed his eyes up, thinking. ‘Few days at best. Sooner you want it, the more money it costs.’

‘Do it,’ said Fenwick. He turned to Phil. ‘Where does this leave us?’

‘Revising everything we had until now. If Julie Miller’s still alive we have to assume it’s not for long unless we can find her. Same goes for Suzanne Perry.’

‘Clock’s ticking…’ said Fenwick, unnecessarily.

‘Right,’ said Phil, trying not to feel annoyed at his superior’s pointless interruption. ‘Based on what we’ve seen so far, whoever’s doing this seems to be following a pattern. Abduct the girl, keep them a while, torture them, kill them.’

‘Let their bodies go,’ said Fiona. ‘Give them back.’

‘Good point, Fiona,’ said Fenwick, giving a smile he probably thought was charming but if he had used it on a woman in a bar or nightclub she’d have made her excuses and left.

Rose Martin was still looking at him, though, Phil noticed.