entered Julie Simpson, would rule out the possibility of it being a woman. Unless that woman was a six-foot, sixteen-stone bodybuilder.’
Phil nodded. Thought of someone who fitted that description perfectly.
‘Go get him, Phil,’ said Nick.
Phil nodded. Left as fast as he could.
19
‘Okay,’ said Phil, striding into the bar. ‘Gather and pool. What have we got?’
Everyone looked up.
‘Just briefly,’ he said, ‘before we go home.’
It didn’t look like anyone was about to go home. In fact the bar looked like his team had moved in for the duration and had no intention of leaving until the killer was caught and the baby found. Anni was writing up reports at her desk, Marina next to her. The Birdies, DC Adrian Wren and DS Jane Gosling, sat at their desks, Adrian tall and rake-thin, Jane round and squat. They looked to Phil like an old music-hall double act, but they were two dedicated coppers.
Ben Fenwick entered.
‘Come and join us,’ said Phil.
The overhead lighting compensated for the evening darkness outside, keeping the room unnaturally, even depressingly, bright. The whiteboard in front of the bar displayed grisly before-and-after shots of Claire Fielding, Julie Simpson, Lisa King and Susie Evans: one from life, one from death. Before: smiling, displaying contentment or the hope that being alive held. After: lifeless and soulless. Arrows pointing outwards from them, bloodied husks reduced to components and clues. To the right, a map of Colchester, the scenes of death highlighted. Below that, a photo of Ryan Brotherton. A marker invited anyone to fill the remaining white space with facts, supposition, hypotheses. Make links, illuminate secret, occult connections, bring order to chaos, provide answers. Next to the board was a TV on a stand with a VCR/DVD combination underneath.
‘Where’s Clayton?’ asked Anni.
‘Following something up,’ said Phil. ‘He should be with us shortly.’
‘Glory-hunter,’ said Anni, just loud enough for Phil to catch. He knew Clayton had his eye on bigger places than Colchester, higher rank than DS. This was probably the perfect case for him to move up on the back of. If they got a result.
Phil fixed her with his eyes, chastised her, but let her words go. This wasn’t the time or the place.
‘Right,’ he said, ‘it’s roughly seven hours since the bodies of Claire Fielding and Julie Simpson were discovered, and that baby’s still out there. Let’s go. Anni?’
Anni checked her notes, told the team about her findings at All Saints Primary. Chrissie Burrows, Geraint Cooper and Julie Simpson, celebrating Claire’s pregnancy. How they were more than friends, a support group for Claire Fielding. Because of Ryan Brotherton and what he had threatened. Phil stepped in.
‘Ryan Brotherton,’ he said, ‘previous for ABH, assault. Done time in Chelmsford for it, too. Domestic-abuse- related, all directed against women.’
Marina put her head down, started writing.
‘And he threatened to kill the baby if Claire didn’t have an abortion?’ asked Fenwick.
‘With his own hands,’ said Anni.
The sides of Ben Fenwick’s mouth twitched as if they wanted to smile but weren’t yet allowed and his eyes lit up. ‘Looks like we have an early front-runner,’ he said.
‘We’ll see,’ said Phil. ‘We paid him a visit.’ He told the team about the trip to the metal yard, Brotherton’s response and his new girlfriend covering up for him. ‘She was clearly lying.’
‘Do you know why?’ asked Fenwick.
Phil shook his head. ‘Habit? First response? I don’t know. I’d like to talk to them both again, separately. But I’m sure he’ll be keeping her on a short leash at the moment. I’ve got the post-mortem from Nick Lines.’
He shared it with them. The blade used, the drug, the size and build of the attacker.
‘I’m liking this Ryan Brotherton more and more,’ said Fenwick.
Phil didn’t answer him. ‘But Lines did say we have only a limited window to find the baby alive. If it’s not being looked after, it could be just hours. A day at the most.’
Silence as his team took in the words.
Phil turned. ‘Adrian, Jane. CCTV? Door-to-door follow-ups? ’
‘Nothing as yet from CCTV,’ said DS Jane Gosling, ‘but we expect the tapes from the block of flats and the streets by tomorrow morning. We’ve looked into possible sex offenders in the area, anyone known to us with any kind of deviant behaviour that might overlap with this. Nothing. There was this, though. A couple of residents in the flats reported seeing a large figure dressed in a long overcoat and hat in the area last night. No sign of them after what we assume to be the time of death.’
‘Brotherton?’ said Anni.
‘Could be,’ said Fenwick. He had a hunter’s gleam in his eye.
‘Right,’ said Phil. ‘I think we can assume that this was done to get Claire Fielding’s baby. Julie Simpson’s husband has been interviewed, and while we can’t be entirely certain, I’m pretty sure she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
‘Like Claire,’ said Anni.
‘Absolutely. But if it’s all about Claire, then that’s one thing. However if this is the same person who murdered Lisa King and Susie Evans, it could be the baby they’re after. Either way, that doesn’t necessarily rule out Brotherton.’
‘What d’you think, Phil?’ said Fenwick. ‘ Gut feeling. Is it him?’
Phil frowned. ‘If it had just been this one incident, these two murders, then I would have said yes. Case like this, it’s almost always the husband or boyfriend. Well, nine times out of ten. But because of the other two…’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He’s lying to us, but I think we need something more definite. We need to find a connection.’
‘We need to find the baby,’ said Anni.
‘Let’s pull him in, then,’ said Fenwick, balling and unballing his fists. ‘Get him in the box, sweat him. See what he has to say then.’
Nods all round the room.
‘Good,’ said Fenwick. He stood, impatient to be doing something. ‘That’s a plan, then. First thing in the morning, Phil, get him in. Get him talking. Get him singing.’
More nods, more assents. The team were buoyed, focused on their target. A voice cut through their thoughts.
‘There is one thing you haven’t fully considered.’
All heads turned to Marina. She was looking up from her notebook, waiting until she had all their attention.
‘What?’ said Fenwick, clearly irritated at the interruption.
‘That it isn’t him.’
20
‘Stop it, stop it, stop it…’
Hester clamped her hands over her ears and stomped round the room, angrily shaking her head. No good. The baby’s wailing still penetrated. She clamped her ears harder, opened her mouth.
‘La, la, la, I’m not listening… no, no, no, I can’t hear you…’ Shouting at the top of her voice, stomping all the harder, her eyes screwed tight shut, flinging her body round, letting all the impotent rage out.
