Evans took a seat near the rear of the room, next to Kelly Flowers, so he could access the video when the time came. The chairs had been neatly arranged in rows of ten to form three semicircles facing the whiteboard.
It was eight o’clock on the dot when Tyler, Dillon, and Holland entered the conference room. The extended team of thirty officers stood up respectfully and all conversation died.
“Thank you. Please be seated. You might as well make yourself comfortable because we’re going to be here a while,” Holland informed them grimly. “Right, we’re entering the second week of Operation Crawley. I want to start by thanking you all for your hard work and your dedication to duty. I’m aware that some of you have already worked seven long days on the trot, and you will probably have to work another seven before you get a day off. The only consolation I can offer is that your bank balances will all be considerably healthier by the time this investigation concludes.” That was certainly true; most of the command had just worked two twelve-hour shifts at double time after he’d cancelled their weekend leave. In addition, he dreaded to think how many hours of time-and-a-third overtime Tyler’s team had clocked up during the first week, not to mention all the double time they had earned on the day that the case had broken, when they had been called in on their day off. At this rate, the command would be facing bankruptcy before the killer was put behind bars.
“So far, all we’ve had to show for our valiant efforts are three victims and a shit load of bad press.” Holland allowed himself a brief smile. “But we’re still very much in the race. The forensic and CCTV work you’ve all been breaking your backs to get through is finally beginning to pay dividends, and a much clearer picture is emerging. We’re breathing down the bastard’s neck, and it’s only a matter of time before we take him down. DCI Tyler will update you on some interesting developments in a moment. First, the Commissioner has asked me to pass on his best wishes and inform you that he has complete trust in you, even if you are bleeding his budget dry!”
“Phew! That’s a relief,” Bull said, theatrically wiping his brow. Everyone laughed, including Holland, and the atmosphere lightened a little.
“When poor Tracey Phillips died last Monday,” Holland continued, “we all hoped that she was a one-off. None of us expected another murder, let alone two, to happen so quickly afterwards. Since then we’ve all been on tenterhooks because we half expect another one to occur at any bloody second.”
“Thanks to Chief Superintendent Porter goading the killer on TV,” Murray said, and his words generated several nods of agreement and a few derisive groans.
“Indeed,” Holland allowed. “Now, it has to be said that AMIP has been put in an unenviable position. The eyes of the nation are focused on us, with everyone and their dog demanding a quick result. Well, it might not happen quite as quickly as everyone wants, but I have no doubts whatsoever that we’ll get them their bloody result in the end. So, that’s it from me. DCI Tyler and his core role officers are now going to talk us through what we’ve achieved so far.” With that, he sat down next to Tyler.
“Thank you,” Tyler said. “I want to start by reiterating what the boss has already said and add my own thanks for all your hard work to date. We’re dealing with a serial killer who appears to be driven by a pathological hatred of women. We don’t know what has made him like this, or why he has chosen now to start his killing spree. He strikes randomly, but at least his attacks are confined to one division. This is great news if you live in Walthamstow or East Ham but pretty shitty if you happen to live or work in Whitechapel. Results are finally starting to come in. We’re going to talk through what we know about each victim and look at the forensic, CCTV and witness evidence relating to each one. I would normally ask Chris to take the lead on this as OM, but he’s been rushed off his feet for the past few days carrying out some High Priority actions for me, so his deputy, Tim, is going to walk us through the investigation and I’ll do my usual and interrupt as we go along. Over to you, Tim.”
Tim Barton stood up and took centre stage. He flipped through his briefing notes, aware that everyone was waiting for him to start. Clearing his throat, he began.
“Okay. Victim number one: Tracey Phillips, a twenty-two-year-old white female, unmarried, with no permanent love interest unless you count her pimp, Claude Winston…”
“Evil slag,” Dillon growled under his breath.
“…who is currently recovering in hospital from injuries he received after his face accidentally collided with a platform floor…several times…while he was resisting arrest.”
This revelation brought laughter, a few cheers, and smiles all around. Dillon sat there quietly, the picture of innocence. Holland raised a finger to his lips and the room quickly quietened down.
“Unfortunately, while he’s looking at some very serious jail time, we now know he’s not responsible for Tracey’s death.” Barton turned the page before continuing.
“She leaves behind a five-year-old child and an elderly mother. Tracey was a South London girl, a prostitute, who worked around Commercial Street and lived in a nearby squat. The last confirmed sighting
