the tall mills and warehouses that lined the old Duke of Waterford canal. It reflected off the high windows, making them look like black panels set against the weathered red and ox-blood bricks. She turned into his building, running up worn stone steps that led into an ornate Victorian lobby. Anyone would think this had been a merchant bank or a town hall rather than a warehouse for woven woollen fabrics, she thought, taking in the marble and elaborate tilework.
Unlike most of the flat conversions, this building actually had a doorman in a discreet dark suit rather than an intercom. ‘How can I help you?’ he said as she approached.
‘I’m here to see James Blake.’
‘Is he expecting you?’ He ran a finger down a ledger open in front of him.
‘No, but I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see me.’ Carol gave him a challenging stare. It had defeated stronger men than him.
‘I’ll just call him,’ he said. ‘Who shall I say it is?’
‘Carol Jordan. Detective Chief Inspector Carol Jordan.’ Now she could afford the charming smile.
‘Mr Blake? I have Carol Jordan here to see you . . . Yes . . . Fine, I’ll send her up.’ He put the phone down and ushered her towards the lifts. When the door opened, he reached past her and pressed the button for the top floor. Before she could enter, her phone rang.
She held up one finger. ‘Sorry. I have to take this.’ She stepped away from him and answered the call. ‘Kevin,’ she said. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Looks like we’ve found Niall.’ The heaviness of his voice told her the lad hadn’t shown up at his mother’s flat with an unrepentant grin.
‘Where?’
‘Between Bradfield and Manchester, on a forestry road by the big Stonegait reservoir.’
‘Who found him?’
‘We don’t know. It was an anonymous tip on the triple niner. From a phone box in Rochdale. I went over with a team from Southern. We found him right away. Looks like he’s been there a few hours. The wildlife’s been snacking. It’s not pretty.’
‘Same MO?’
‘Identical. This is number three, no doubt in my mind.’
Carol massaged her scalp, feeling a dull headache beginning at the base of her skull. ‘OK. Stay with it. I’m about to talk to Blake. Tony had some interesting stuff to say. Is Sam still at the mother’s?’
‘I think so. Stacey too. Not that she’s the one you’d choose for the death knock.’
‘Get an FLO round there from Southern to liaise with Sam. I’ll be back at the office once I’ve talked to Blake. This is a nightmare,’ she sighed. ‘Those poor bloody kids.’
‘He’s on a tear,’ Kevin said. ‘He’s hardly pausing for breath now. Just culling them.’ His voice cracked. ‘How’s he doing it? What kind of animal is he?’
‘He’s managing to do it so fast because he’s got them groomed and prepped already,’ Carol said. ‘And because he doesn’t spend time with them once he’s taken them. We’re going to get him, Kevin. We can do this.’ She tried to project a confidence she didn’t feel.
‘If you say so.’ His voice dragged. ‘Talk to you later.’
Carol closed her phone and leaned her forehead against a marble pillar for a moment before she gathered herself together and headed back to the patient doorman and the lift.
Blake was waiting by the doors when she emerged. She suspected he was wearing what passed for casual in his wardrobe - an open-necked Tattersall check shirt tucked into fawn twill slacks, leather slippers on his feet. She wondered what the other tenants made of someone so lacking in what passed for cool in these parts. ‘DCI Jordan,’ he said, his voice and expression equally sour.
‘They’ve just found Niall Quantick,’ she said.
He jumped on her words with hope. ‘Alive?’
‘No. It looks like the same killer.’
Blake shook his head gravely. ‘You’d better come in. My wife’s here, by the way.’ He turned and made for one of the four doors on the landing.
Carol hung back. ‘I didn’t come here to tell you about Niall. I’ve only just heard about that. Sir, we’ve got a complicated situation here and I need you to sit down and listen to me with an open mind. Talking about it in front of your wife is probably not an option.’
He glared at her over his shoulder. ‘You want me to come into the office?’
Before she could reply, the door ahead of him opened to reveal a trim woman in a uniform Carol recognised. Caramel cashmere sweater, single strand of pearls, tailored trousers, kitten heels and immaculately waved hair. Her mother had friends who looked like this, who read the
Blake introduced them, the veneer of politeness kicking in automatically. Carol was aware of Moira Blake’s scrutiny and classification as her husband spoke. ‘I’m afraid DCI Jordan has something that won’t wait till tomorrow, my dear.’
Moira inclined her head slightly. ‘I imagine she’d rather talk to you alone, James.’ She stepped to one side and waved Carol into the apartment. ‘If you’ll give me a moment to get my coat, I’ll take myself off for an exploration of the neighbourhood. I’m sure there are many little gems my husband hasn’t discovered yet.’ She disappeared behind a Japanese screen that separated the sleeping area from the main living space, leaving Blake and Carol to exchange awkward, hangdog looks. Moira returned with the inevitable camel coat over her arm and kissed her husband on the cheek. ‘Call me when you’re free,’ she said.
