‘What’s your thoughts, Prof?’ The question was uttered more in hope than expectation, for it seemed to Gus that Carlton was as bemused as he was.
As if surprised to see he wasn’t alone, Carlton blinked at them, pushed his glasses up his nose and, apparently reoriented, placed his cup back on the table before shaking his head. ‘I just have no idea, Gus. If pushed, at present, I’m inclined to think that, although misguided, Jimmy’s story could stand up. Of course it needs more investigation and…’ He placed his hand over Corrine’s and squeezed, as if reluctant to burst the bubble that had brought an I told you so smile to her face. ‘Definitely more concrete evidence and a range of analysis techniques and scrutiny from many experts.’
At the psychologist’s final words, Corrine’s expression had changed from flushed hope to pallid despair and Gus was relieved when his phone vibrated and he could leave the table to take the call.
‘Dad? You OK? Did you get a chance to look at the reports I sent you?’
His dad’s gruff familiar voice made Gus smile despite the desperation of the situation.
‘Aye, Angus Ah did. I won’t bore you wi the usual caveats about my opinion standing up in court and all that, but I’ll give you my impressions. First up, whoever strangled Jude Cameron, I doubt very much it was Jimmy – unless of course he has abnormally small hands for a male?’
Dr McGuire posed his last statement as a question and Gus brought up a mental image of Jimmy Cameron’s fists. They were big. Almost the same size as Gus’s dad’s hands – and strong enough to do ample damage to his own face. ‘Jimmy’s hands are about the same size as yours are, Dad – maybe even bigger.’
‘Hm, well that tells me that he definitely didn’t kill his wife. The measured hand spans documented in the PM report are just too small to be his.’ He paused, making a tut tut tut noise with his tongue as he thought. ‘I reckon that this never came up in court or in Jimmy’s defence because he confessed and was so insistent about his guilt that they closed the file. However, the fact that the hands that strangled Jude Cameron may have been child’s hands makes it difficult to link that murder with the ones of Helen Robertson and Tracie Cameron. Of course, we know poor Rory’s mum’s death was a suicide – poor tormented soul. However, what I can do is tell you that it’s conceivable that whoever strangled Helen and Tracie could be the same person and furthermore, that same person could be responsible for the current spate of strangulations in Bradford assuming the measurements taken from the bruising are consistent. I hope that helps you, laddie, but I’m going to hang up, now. Need to whisper sweet nothings to the woman of my dreams. See you later on today?’
And leaving Gus with a ‘yuck’ TMI feeling, Fergus McGuire hung up. The information he’d given Gus, although inconclusive in many respects, was certainly indicative that perhaps Jimmy was telling the truth … or maybe only some semblance of it. About to head back to the table, his phone rang again. ‘Compo, have you got something for me?’
‘Yes, was just phoning to tell you I got what you wanted about Rory’s exhibition, I’ve just sent it to your laptop. You’re gonna want to check it out, boss.’
Despite the slight irritation at Compo’s gangster imitation, Gus thanked the younger man and diverted away from the table and back to his hotel room. He was eager to see what Compo had found. He was only halfway there when a text alert made him look at his phone screen. Talk of the devil.
Oops, boss, forgot to tell you, Jules regained consciousness but is still a bit out of it. Keeps waffling on about the killer staring at her from the attic – LOL!
Gus reread the text. Something niggled at the back of his mind. It was just out of reach and it annoyed him, then he remembered. His dream, the previous night had been his subconscious way of telling him this. Jules wasn’t raving – she was trying to give them a clue. Hitting speed dial, Gus breathed heavily and before Alice had even finished her breezy greeting, he said, ‘Jules is right. The bastard watches them, watches us, he sees every damn thing we’re doing. He loves it. He stays up in that attic space for hours, do you get it, Al?’
For a few seconds all he could hear was the sound of Alice’s breathing, then, ‘So, you’re suggesting that he … what? Hides in the attic after killing them? But that won’t work, Gus, how could he get out when we leave a uniformed officer there at the scene after we leave? And there’s no way he could have got past us before we searched the attic for forensics after Jules’s accident.’
Impatient that Alice couldn’t see what he could visualise so clearly, Gus ran his fingers through his dreads. ‘Fuck, Al. Keep up. He’s a ghost, isn’t he? The bastard has sussed that all those terraced houses have through running attics. Few terraces have full walls erected dividing off the attic space – this smart fucker accesses an attic further up or down the street and uses it to gain access and egress.’
Alice started to yell instructions to the team and Gus inhaled sharply. They had something to go on. Something more concrete than before. They were on his tail now and Gus was damned if the fucker would escape. No more deaths on my watch.
‘Gus, you still there?’ Without waiting for his reply, she continued, ‘I’ve sent teams to each of the three ritual crime scenes to check for likely access points. Good catch, Gus. We needed that. I’ll keep you
