Rose leaned forward. She wasn’t in the mood for this. She was behind in the investigation, and she didn’t want Brennan and his acolytes to take over. She needed to catch up quickly. ‘Mr Laverty. I will get a warrant. But that takes time. However, if you wish to cooperate and willingly allow my team access to your patient records then you won’t be officially blamed.’
He frowned. ‘For what?’
‘For the next death. Because the way things are going, there will be one. And if there is, I’ll make sure everyone knows you held us up.’
Laverty looked down at his desk. Reluctantly, he nodded.
Rose smiled. ‘Thank you. I’ll get someone on to it straight away.’
But not me, she thought. I’m going to follow some other leads.
‘Are there any of Julie Miller’s colleagues here? I just want a word.’
‘Haven’t you done all that?’ Laverty, miserable now, wanted her out of his office.
‘I have but… let’s just say I’m pursuing another line of inquiry.’
Mine, she thought.
‘Julie? Yeah. She was lovely.’
Amy Hibbert was walking through the corridor on the way to see a patient. She had asked Rose to walk with her. Small, compact, with bobbed, blonde hair, she seemed the opposite of Julie Miller.
‘You and her started the same time, is that right?’
She nodded. ‘We kind of clung together, you know? Till we got settled. Went for lunch, that kind of thing.’ She shook her head. ‘Can’t believe it…’
‘It gets people that way. Amy, did Julie mention any boyfriend to you?’
She shook her head. ‘She wasn’t seeing anyone. Between boyfriends, she said.’
‘Was there anyone who was interested? Did she mention that?’
Amy Hibbert screwed up her eyes. Rose knew what she was doing. Sometimes people just wanted to help. Even if they didn’t know anything or had nothing to contribute, they wanted to help.
‘No,’ she said eventually, looking disappointed, ‘not really.’
‘Not really? What d’you mean?’
‘Well, she said she had friends who were boys. But they weren’t anything more than that.’ A sad smile. ‘She wondered whether hanging round with them was stopping her getting a boyfriend.’
‘Do you know the names of these boys?’
Amy shook her head. ‘Not really. We were supposed to meet them one night, all go out together. Never happened. Never will now…’ She stared off into the distance, lost in her own thoughts.
Rose straightened up. ‘Thanks, Amy. Do you think it would help looking through Julie’s Facebook page?’
‘Might do.’
‘If I saw anyone there you know would you help me identify them?’
‘If I know them.’
Rose smiled. ‘Thanks, Amy. You’ve been a big help.’
She touched the girl on the shoulder. Amy tried to smile.
Rose’s phone rang. She checked the display: Phil. She was considering ignoring it but decided he wouldn’t be phoning unless it was important. She picked up.
‘Where are you?’ he said, no preamble.
‘Doing what you told me to. Chasing down information on Julie Miller.’
‘Good. Need you back here by six thirty. The profiler’s done her report and wants to share it with us.’ From the tone of his voice she could tell what he thought of it.
‘That’s quick,’ she said.
‘Isn’t it.’
Rose put her phone away, thanked Amy, headed out of the hospital.
She needed to think. Find another connection.
Do it her own way.
49
Phil looked round the room. The last time he had been in the bar for a briefing during a major case like this Marina had been here too. And Clayton, his old DS. Both gone.
But one returning. Hopefully.
He pushed those thoughts aside, concentrated. It was still light outside with just a crepuscular hint creeping across the sky. The nights getting longer and warmer, summer on its way. The board was in front of the shuttered bar, the tables and chairs pulled in a loose semi-circle round it. Fenwick was standing to one side, discussing something in hushed tones with Rose Martin. Anni had sat down in the seat next to him, a pile of papers and files over on her desk that she kept glancing at as if it was pulling her back. She looked exhausted. Probably they all did.
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.’
