Rob opened his mouth.
The DCS held up a finger. “I know what you’re going to say, that it’s premature, but we’re not actually admitting we’ve got the guy. And, it’ll keep the Commissioner happy.”
Rob hated the politics in policing.
“I’ll get DS–”
“I want you to do it, Rob. The public has faith in you. You’re a hero in their eyes. Take Jo with you. She looks great on camera and it’ll be good to have a woman up there.”
Rob barely resisted rolling his eyes.
“I know, I know,” he said, reading Rob correctly. “I hate it too, but it’s just the hoops we have to jump through.”
“I’ll let Vicky know.” Rob got to his feet.
The press accumulated on the pavement outside Richmond Police Station, cameras poised, microphones buzzing. The air crackled with anticipation. The SIO was making an announcement, which meant a major development in the investigation.
Rob, prepped by Vicky and sporting a tie for the first time in over a year, walked purposely out of the front door and came to a halt in front of a podium, behind which stood an enormous array of bristling microphones.
Jo, immaculate in one of Vicky’s “you never know when you’re going to need them” white, silk blouses, stood a few yards back.
Lenses snapped and video cameras began rolling.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, good afternoon,” Rob began. “I’m Detective Chief Inspector Rob Miller from Richmond police. I would like to take this opportunity to give you an update on the ongoing investigation into the deaths of Arina Parvin, Rosie Hutton, Elise Mitcham, Chrissy Macdonald, Angie Nolan, Lucy Chang and Anna Dewbury.”
He glanced up at the blur of expectant faces.
“I am pleased to inform you that following a recent breakthrough in the case, we are now looking at one individual in connection with these murders.”
A murmur spread through the group. Frantic clicking. Then an impatient silence.
“We can’t divulge the individual’s name, for obvious reasons, but we would like to reassure you that we expect to have this person in custody soon. Thank you.”
What a crock of shit. He only hoped the Commissioner bought it.
Placing his folder under his arm, he walked back into the police station, Jo at his side.
“That was a waste of a perfectly good silk blouse,” she murmured, as they pushed their way through the revolving doors. “And I take offense at being the token female.”
“Bloody politics,” he grumbled, heading straight for the stairs. “But if it gets the press, the Commissioner and Major Crimes off our back, it’ll be worth it.”
She sighed. “I suppose you have a point. Let’s just hope we haven’t raised expectations unrealistically. We don’t know anything about this guy, yet.”
“Well, we’ve given him fair warning we’re coming for him.”
The Shepherd stared at the television. Where had he seen that woman before? There was something about her confident glare, cocky walk. Usually he was good with faces, but he couldn’t place her. It wasn’t recent, he knew that much. She was a figure from his past. From long ago.
He wasn’t bothered by what DCI Miller had said. The man was an idiot. He might look like he knew what he was doing, but they were way off the mark on this one. There was nothing linking the girls back to him. No DNA. No witnesses. No trail. He’d made sure of that. They hadn’t even questioned him.
In custody soon. What a joke.
“I hope they catch him,” commented his partner. “A man like that should be locked up.”
He turned around, pasting a smile on his face.
“Couldn’t agree more. The police seem to have it in hand. Shall we go out for dinner this evening or would you rather order a take-away?”
“Do you mind terribly if we order in? I’m knackered.”
She was a primary school teacher in Hammersmith, west London. Before he met her, he had no idea teachers worked so hard. Six weeks off in the summer. How bad could it be?
But the stories she’d told about difficult children, staffing shortages, inadequate facilities. The endless preparation, marking and grading… And for what? Most of her class couldn’t speak English anyway.
They only saw each other a few nights a week. Neither of them had the time for anything more.
“No worries, love. Indian okay?”
“Lovely.”
She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
That’s it!
She was Rachel’s sister. The tomboy.
Wow, she’d certainly blossomed. A late bloomer. Back in the day she’d been a grubby little thing with messy hair and scrapes on her knees. What was her name again? Something boyish. Jack? Jules? Jo! That was it.
So, little Jo had become a copper. Given what had happened to her sister, perhaps it wasn’t all that surprising. People needed answers. It was a pity she’d never find them.
“I’ll give The Curry Garden a ring,” he said, getting out his phone.
He put Jo out of his mind. He wasn’t interested in her.
She was one of the lucky ones.
50
“Paul Daley is a licenced independent social worker,” said Jenny. “He works for the charity on a part-time basis.”
“In what capacity?” asked Rob.
Jenny swallowed. “His job is to listen and respond to young people who have got in touch via phone, online chat or email. He then offers support for whatever is bothering them, whether it’s bullying, abuse, self-harm or family relationships.”
“Jesus,” hissed Rob.
The rest of them stared at her, horrified. A child-killer in that job. It was unthinkable.
“According to the charity spokesperson, he’s really good with the kids. He’s one of their best counsellors.”
“I’ll bet he is,” muttered Mike, his hands curling into fists on the table. The south Londoner had a jagged scar running along his jawline, but Rob had never asked him where he’d got it.
“That’s not all,” said Jenny.
Could it get any worse?
“He also works as an assessor for child protective services.”
“You’ve got to be kidding?” Rob ran a hand through his hair.
“Nope. He’s the one who decides
