Steven Dunne - The Disciple

McQuarry looked at Drexler and shook her head. ‘What the fuck? What a royal waste of time. I’m heading back, Mike.’

‘You don’t think we should do another hour?’

‘I don’t think we should do another minute.’

Drexler looked over at her. She seemed exhausted. ‘Okay. Let’s call it a night.’

They travelled in silence for ten minutes until Drexler broke it. ‘What do you think about the Golden Nugget? Weird or what?’

McQuarry put a hand up to her face and rubbed her eyes.

‘Mike, right now I don’t give a fuck if he’s planning to kill Clinton, I’m going back to our motel, having a swim and a couple of Jacks and grabbing some shuteye. I’ve had it and so have you.’

‘I think he’s setting it all up, Ed. He times the journey and books all the rooms at the motel, so he’s unlikely to get disturbed. He scopes out the cabin farthest from the office…’

‘So what, Mike? Who cares?’ McQuarry snapped. A moment later she sighed. ‘We can’t keep doing this.’

‘But if we…’

‘No, Mike. Tomorrow I’m going to get up round ten o’clock and have some waffles then I’m going to pack my bags and drive up to Markleeville and shake Andy Dupree’s hand. Then I’m heading home.’

‘We’re giving this up?’

‘Hell yes, we’re giving this up. We’ve been out here for nearly two months, Mike. The Ghost Road Killers are in the ground, the paperwork’s done, we’ve been up Sorenson’s ass for nearly a month and, even assuming he killed Caleb and Billy Ashwell, we got precisely buttkiss for evidence. We can’t get a search warrant and we got no PC…’

‘Who needs probable cause? You know he did it.’

McQuarry sighed. ‘Know what, Mike? Even if I did know, I’m caring less and less…’

‘Don’t you care about Sorenson’s arrogance, that he wanted us to know…?’

‘No. Because, you know what, the reason he wanted us to know was so we could tie ourselves in knots, exactly like we’re doing. As far as proof is concerned, Mike, he’s squeaky clean. And if he’s lining up another lowlife like Ashwell to put in the ground then I might just be chipping in for a medal with Andy. Now I’m the lead in this and I’m telling you, it’s out of juice.’

Drexler nodded and was silent for several minutes as McQuarry drove back to the motel. ‘Suit yourself. I’ve got some vacation time coming up.’

McQuarry looked across at him in disbelief. She was about to speak, then thought better of it.

The briefing was a short affair consisting primarily of a discussion about whether it was feasible to DNA-test every adult male in Derby. Genetic material had been obtained from the fence panel but, as with the partial print, it had produced no matches from the database. Everything else had been done.

The Forensics teams had been at breaking point with three separate houses to process. The Wallis house had produced exhibits but no leads. The rope, the old mannequin, the wine bottle and glasses carried no prints, DNA or saliva. The old mattress contained about a dozen samples of DNA, which was not surprising in a derelict house. All were too degraded for sampling, suggesting they’d been deposited a long time before the Ingham murders. Other artefacts from the Wallis house had also yielded nothing.

In the North house Forensic officers were still working, but the house had been kept scrupulously clean by the killers. The tyre track found in the backyard was from a very common twenty-six-inch tyre available at hundreds of outlets nationwide. Its size and width suggested a tyre for a standard-sized mountain bike. The set of keys used to gain entry to the house hadn’t been found and searches of the surrounding area had produced nothing.

In the Ingham house only DNA material and fingerprints belonging to the victims had been collected. The footprints issue was no clearer: maybe sports shoes had been worn, maybe the prints showed two pairs of feet — one size 7 and one size 9. The fact that protective overshoes could have created prints of both sizes from one suspect further confused the issue.

The Family Liaison Officer, DC Keys, went through the background of both Ingham boys, Ben Anderson and David Gretton again. Although no angels, nothing they had ever done seemed sufficient cause to provoke such violence against them. However, the unsubstantiated allegations about the murder of Annie Sewell were still pending, as all Scientific Support services were critically overstretched.

As far as other relatives were concerned, most members of both families had given each other alibis, not surprisingly, given the time of day their sons/nephews had been killed. Nevertheless they had been printed and swabbed after assurance from Chief Superintendent Charlton that their samples would be destroyed after comparison and they were in the clear.

The final item for the briefing was the assault — the happy slapping — of the Asian boy. He still hadn’t come forward and it was decided to release the photograph for the Derby Telegraph front page. A television appeal had been mooted by Charlton but, as the incident may have had nothing to do with the eventual murders, it was deemed excessive for the time being.

After the briefing, Hudson and Brook decided that senior detectives should meet to determine future actions, so they gathered in Hudson’s borrowed office with the four detective sergeants. It was still early and Gadd, Morton, Grant, Noble and Hudson all grabbed a coffee before traipsing into Hudson’s temporary office

‘Okay, people. Leads are going nowhere and things are starting to peter out. Any suggestions?’ asked Hudson. ‘Damen, I assume you’ve reached this point in a Reaper inquiry before. What now?’

‘We do the only thing we can do. Get back on the doorsteps. The good news is that learning about the time spent by the killers in preparation at the North house means we’ve got different questions and a different time frame to ask about. Even if the killers snuck in and out of there at night, someone may have seen them. We get onto the utilities, paper boys, postmen — anybody who might have had business there in the two weeks previous. See if they noticed anything. Also get back to the local taxi firms. Mrs North didn’t walk to the airport. If that was part of the prize, one of our suspects may have arranged it in person.’ Hudson motioned Morton to make a note while Brook continued.

‘We show the pictures of the assault. Maybe someone knows the victim. We know when but someone else might know where it happened. And remember, the lad is not a suspect but a witness at this stage. We have to stress that — possibly why he hasn’t come forward before now. Also, we talk to Jason again. He’s seen one of these men. And, no matter his condition, we may get a better description.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ added Hudson. ‘There’s still life in this then.’

‘We’re in better shape than the Wallis investigation. If we can identify a suspect at least we can prove it one way or the other.’

‘Didn’t you have any suspects at all apart from Victor Sorenson?’ asked Grant.

‘We worked on the theory that Jason’s sexual assault of his teacher caught The Reaper’s eye,’ said Noble. ‘So we interviewed her and her husband. But that was it.’

Brook nodded. ‘It did cross our minds briefly that John Ottoman could have done it. He was Kylie Wallis’s primary school teacher; he had motive and the necessary intelligence.’

‘We should at least have another talk with them,’ nodded Noble.

‘Agreed,’ said Hudson.

‘I think John and I should do it,’ said Brook. ‘Familiar faces,’ he said to Grant, who shrugged. ‘We’ll do it to tick it off, but they’re not involved.’