“Sorry, Tim,” Jack gave Tim Barton a sympathetic smile, “I know you only came out of the MIR two months ago but you’re going to have to return for a little while.” He needed to compensate for having a novice OM in charge by supplying an ultra-efficient Receiver, and Tim was definitely that
Barton stood up. “I guess I’d better grab a pen and pad and start taking notes of the meeting,” he said.
“Sorry, Tim,” Kelly whispered as he moved past her to collect his writing materials. She had recently completed the three-week HOLMES user’s course at Farrow House but was not yet ready to go in the MIR unsupervised.
Barton winked conspiratorially at her. “Don’t fret. If Todd’s not back in time for the next one you can do it,” he promised.
Tyler waited until Barton returned before continuing. “While I’m on the subject of MIR personnel, the four ladies sitting at the back of the room are our HOLMES inputters and typists.” He nodded to them and was rewarded by smiles. One of the girls giggled nervously as other heads in the room followed Tyler’s gaze. “I’d also like to welcome Brian Johnson, who recently transferred into the Command from Whitechapel. Brian is an analyst and he’ll be working with us during this investigation. Hopefully, his past association with the borough will prove very useful.”
All heads turned towards a dumpy looking, middle-aged man, whose comb-over was failing miserably in its attempts to conceal his receding hairline. He sat at the rear, and was noticeably detached from the rest of the group.
“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m DCI Jack Tyler, the SIO. This,” he indicated Dillon, who was sitting to his left, “is DI Tony Dillon, the IO.” The IO – or Investigating Officer – was the deputy SIO. Dillon saluted them Benny Hill style.
“And this,” Jack said, pointing to the man sitting to his right, “is DS Steve Bull, the Case Officer.”
With the introductions over, Tyler gave an overview of the case, which took about twenty minutes. Five minutes in, Sam Calvin burst through the room’s swing doors looking tired and dishevelled. He smiled sheepishly, apologised for being late, and sat down next to George Copeland.
Jack had noticed that a few of the seconded detectives, obviously peeved at being torn away from their own heavy caseloads, had looked somewhat disgruntled when the briefing had started, but by the time he had finished outlining the case he was pleased to see that they were all sitting up and paying attention.
Jack played them the scene video as he talked them through the initial police response. He occasionally paused the tape to fire questions relating to the initial response at Bartholomew, who without exception consulted his notebook before answering. Then, Tyler directed a barrage of forensic-related questions at Calvin, who had all the relevant information stored inside his head.
“George,” Tyler said, turning his attention to Copeland.
“Guv?”
“The money found on the victim, thirty quid, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right, three crisp new tenners if memory serves.”
“Yes,” Calvin confirmed. “They were in pristine condition and could have come straight from a cash machine.”
“That’s interesting,” Tyler said. “What are your views on sending them off to the lab to be treated for fingerprints, Sam?”
Calvin nodded thoughtfully. “Might be worth a shot,” he said. “Especially as they are new notes and won’t have been handled by all and sundry. Are you thinking the killer might have given the money to her for sex?”
“Don’t know,” Jack admitted, “but it’s a distinct possibility, and one we should look into.” A thought struck him. “Who here has been involved in financial investigations?” he asked, looking around the room hopefully. After a few moments passed, during which there was much shaking of heads, Deakin raised a reluctant hand, hoping his honesty wasn’t going to result in him being saddled with extra work.
Reading his mind, Tyler smiled. “Chris, I know you’ve got more than enough to do without this, but in light of your being the only person in the room with the necessary experience, I need you to get the serial numbers from the notes and make some enquiries to see if we can locate when and where they were issued. I’m guessing the answer will be a local hole in the wall.”
Deakin nodded. “Very probably,” he agreed. Forcing a smile, he tried to sound enthusiastic. “Leave it to me. I’ll get the details from George and start making some enquiries.”
Jack winked at him. “Thanks, mate. Okay, on to the family. Kelly’s our FLO. What have you got for us?”
Kelly explained that although the family was devastated, they were holding up as well as could be expected. She had obtained some sketchy background information, but nothing to influence the direction of the enquiry. Tracey’s mum knew she was taking drugs and, on the game, but she didn’t know where she bought her gear or where she sold her body. “Apparently, Tracey went completely off the rails a few years ago, after her father died, and since then her mother has never been able to break down the barrier she put up between them,” Kelly told the assembled detectives. “Her relationship with the kid, April, was more like that of a big sister than a mum. Rita has always performed the maternal role. The only other thing of note is that for the last few months Tracey has spent most of her time living in a squat on this side of the river. Rita doesn’t know where, just that it’s in the East End.”
Tyler looked at the analyst. “Brian, can you see what you can dig up for us. It might be important, it might not, but we need to know where she was putting her head down at night, and who with.”
“Leave it to me,” Johnson said, making a note in his daybook to allocate that task to one of the researchers after
