‘Not something you see every day,’ Connelly said.
‘She was on the game,’ Khan said, having learnt to use the talk of the street. He should have been appalled, but he wasn’t, just jaundiced that so much depravity existed.
Windsor came out of the room and over to where Isaac was standing. ‘Well, DCI,’ he said, ‘it seems that you’re starting to ratchet up the count. How many this time? A new record?’
Isaac understood where Windsor was coming from. One murder leads to another. Too many recently. He had hoped for an easy solution to the body at the cemetery, but it wasn’t to be.
‘A name?’ Isaac asked.
‘Janice Robinson. Does it mean anything to you?’
‘It does.’ Isaac took out his phone and made a call. ‘Sunbeam Crescent, as fast as you can,’ he said.
‘Female, twenty-one, heroin user, in reasonable health considering, possibly malnourished,’ Windsor continued.
‘We know who she is. What else?’
‘Four knife wounds to the chest area. A prostitute.’
‘Was it professional or a client?’
‘Come in and look for yourself.’
Isaac, used to crimes of violence, walked over to the woman’s body, looked down at her lying on her back, her face in repose as if she was asleep.
‘Attractive once,’ Windsor said. He and Isaac were used to murder. Neither would be fazed by what they were seeing; neither would have any trouble eating afterwards, sleeping that night.
‘Blood?’
‘Not as much as you’d expect. Whoever did this put a towel or something similar over the top of her and the knife.’
‘The weapon?’
‘It’s not here, surprising really. An amateur wouldn’t have thought about that, and the man had the nerve to take a shower afterwards.’
‘Fingerprints, hair?’
‘With the number of men she’s serviced? We’ll do our best, and we should get something off the body. Hopefully, we can disseminate the most recent. It should help, but if the man’s not got a criminal record, details on the database, then it’s going to be difficult.’
‘There should be evidence of him on her,’ Isaac said.
‘No sign of seminal fluid. He might have looked at her, but that’s it. No sexual activity, not from him.’
‘Professional? I asked you before.’
‘I can’t tell you, not from what we have here. Covering the body with a towel to restrict blood splatter indicates some forethought. But the man could have been a fanatical cleanliness freak, as can be seen by his showering.’
‘A professional wouldn’t have concerned himself; an arrogance on his part, thumbing his nose up at us.’
‘Why is it so important. And what would a hired killer want with a woman of easy means?’
‘You’ve read the report on the Jane Doe?’
‘Yes.’
‘Brad Robinson, the fifteen-year-old youth who found her with his girlfriend, Rose. Janice Robinson is his sister, or she was.’
***
Neither Larry nor Wendy saw the body when they arrived at the scene. The woman was dead, she was the sister of a witness at another murder, that was enough for them to know.
‘Did anyone see anything?’ Wendy asked.
‘Around here?’ Larry’s answer. ‘No answers, no talking, and definitely not to us.’
‘The other houses? Prostitution?’ Isaac asked.
Larry was the man who knew what happened in the area at street level, more than either Wendy or Isaac. ‘I’m surprised she was hawking her wares here,’ he said. ‘Not that they would care either way what she was up to, but there are families here. There was a drug dealer up the road, he died two years ago. At number 68, there’s Old Seamus O’Riley, but he’s doing five years for robbery with menace. Apart from that, no one I know, and they’re not likely to talk.’
‘Too close to home?’
‘Has a door-to-door been conducted?’ Wendy asked.
‘I was leaving that up to you,’ Isaac said.
‘You’d be wasting your time,’ Larry said. ‘If they had seen something, and they may well have, they’ll not talk, and if they do, don’t trust it.’
‘An aversion to the police?’
‘There’s that, but they’d be scared, not sure who it is, and if the man can murder one woman, he can kill another.’
‘A serial killer?’
‘How would we know?’
The three moved away from the front of the house and walked up the street. The two women who had previously been gossiping disappeared inside one of the houses, two of the children following.
‘See what I was saying,’ Larry said. ‘It’ll be quiet in the street for a couple of nights. At least one benefit.’
‘It’s Brad Robinson’s sister,’ Wendy said. ‘It’s not a time for humour.’
‘Apologies. Have they been told?’
‘Wendy, do you want to do it?’ Isaac asked. The most challenging part of a police officer’s job, telling the next of kin. He had done it enough times, so had Wendy and Larry.
‘I’ll do it,’ Wendy said. ‘Confirmed?’
‘A driving licence. It’s her. The mother can identify her. Later today if you can, before Pathology’s checked her out, done what they need to do.’
‘Before we move on,’ Larry said. ‘Professional?’
‘It could be. The man had minimised the blood splatter, but the knife wounds weren’t precise.’
‘So, it’s either a professional wanting to appear to be an amateur or an amateur who had read up on the subject, had a thing about prostitutes.’
‘The man showered afterwards which tells us a couple of things,’ Isaac said.
‘No criminal record, or none that we can prove, or else he’s got a phobia about blood.’
‘Or he’s a cleanliness fanatic.’
‘Rose Winston,?’ Wendy said. ‘Is she at risk?’
‘We don’t know,’ Isaac said. ‘Make sure she and her family are updated. And ensure that her house has a uniform and a patrol car patrolling the streets nearby.’
***
Due to the sensitivity of the situation, Wendy drove to the Robinsons’ house in Compton Road; Larry headed to the school that Brad Robinson
