Jack had just finished reading the background statement Kelly had taken from Mrs Phillips. Its content had saddened him. He noted, wryly, that everything about this case seemed to either sadden or enrage him. It probably wasn’t the healthiest range of feelings to be flitting between.
He couldn't help thinking about the poor little girl who had been so cruelly orphaned. She was as much a victim as Tracey, if not more so, and now she would grow up deprived of a mother’s love and guidance, never knowing that special bond that exists between parent and child. Jack, who had been blessed with two wonderful parents, grieved for her.
The inquest was due to open at the local Coroners Court the following morning, and Rita Phillips wanted to attend. Unfortunately, she was under the illusion that her daughter’s murderer had been caught. That was his fault. When they’d nabbed Winston, Jack had authorised Kelly, in her role as Family Liaison Officer, to inform Mrs Phillips that they were confident they had the person responsible for her daughter’s death in custody. He now realised that the disclosure had been a little premature, and he should have waited until charges were brought. He had meant well, of course, but he should have known better. In his haste to ease the old woman’s pain, he had ignored the lingering doubts he had. Now he would have to pay the price for making such a stupid balls-up.
“Mrs Phillips, I wanted to tell you this before it hits the news,” he began awkwardly. There was no easy way to say it. “The killer has struck again. There’s been another murder. In fact, there have been two. It means the man we have in custody can’t possibly be the person who murdered Tracey. I’m so sorry.” Jack rubbed his eyes, trying to massage away the pain that was starting to develop behind them.
Silence.
He listened to her shallow breathing over the telephone, awaiting a response. His apology had sounded painfully inadequate, even to him.
“I see,” she eventually managed, her voice choked with despair. The swift capture of the man Rita believed responsible for Tracey’s death had partially eased the searing pain she felt inside. While it wouldn’t bring Tracey back, it would prevent anyone else from suffering like she had, and it would ensure that the killer was punished for his hideous crime. If the murderer escaped, it would make a mockery of British justice and everything that she and her late husband had believed in all their lives.
“Mrs Phillips, please don’t give up hope,” he implored her. “We are doing all we can, I promise you.”
“I know you are, Mr Tyler. It’s just…it’s just so hard.” He could tell from the timbre of her voice that she was close to tears. The TV was loud in the background, a children’s programme if he wasn’t mistaken. He wondered if the little girl was sitting there with Rita, listening to her Granny, not really understanding what was going on but instinctively knowing that something was wrong. He imagined how agonisingly hard it must be for Rita Phillips, holding a difficult and painful conversation like this with him, and then having to pretend that everything was fine, for the little girl’s sake. He prayed that neither he nor anyone he loved would ever have to go through anything remotely similar to what Rita and April were suffering right now.
“Look, Mrs Phillips, I’ll arrange for DC Flowers to pick you up from home tomorrow at nine a.m. I’ll be at Court myself. This is only a preliminary hearing, and it won’t take long. We can sit down together and talk properly afterwards.”
“That’s very kind of you, but it’s no trouble to get the bus,” she insisted. Rita was determined not to become a burden.
Tyler had dealt with so many spongers over the years, people who expected to be waited on, hand and foot. But Rita Phillips didn’t fit into that category; she had pride. She was a fiercely independent woman, determined to stand on her own two feet. “Mrs Phillips – Rita – it’s not a bother. Besides, you’re an important witness to us and we don’t want you being hounded by the press.” He hoped that explanation would satisfy her. In truth, it was most unlikely that she would ever be called as a witness, or that the press would harass her.
“Oh, I see,” Rita said, and her voice softened. “Well, in that case, I’d be most grateful for a lift.”
“Good. I’ll arrange it with Kelly Flowers and I’ll see you in the morning.”
After the call, Jack leaned back, hoisted his feet onto his desk and crossed his ankles. Folding his hands across his stomach, he let out a long sigh and swore profusely. The conversation had left him feeling extremely maudlin. It was a good thing that he ran a ‘dry’ office. If there had been a bottle of Jack Daniels sitting in his bottom drawer, he doubted he would have been able to resist a shot or two.
They needed a break, something to crack the case wide open, but lady luck just wasn’t smiling down on them. It seemed as though they’d been working this case for months instead of days. With two live crime scenes on the go, every member of his team, plus all the other officers who had been drafted in to support them, was stretched to the limit. Even his OM and Receiver were out pounding the pavement today.
Jack glanced at his watch. It was four o’clock, already. The day was flying by. Tyler had personally spoken to the Coroner’s Officer at the mortuary to clear the way for the two urgent special post mortems. The one on the girl from Mitre Square would be done first thing tomorrow, which meant he should get the preliminary report by early afternoon.
The SPM from the Hanbury Street murder would be carried out tomorrow afternoon, which meant he would have the prelim on her
