The Doll's House

90

‘Ok, let’s pull together what we’ve got.’

It was lunchtime and Helen had gathered the team in the incident room. Sanderson and Lucas had returned from their hunt, McAndrew had sifted Roisin’s possessions – it was the first time in a while that the whole unit had been in there. Helen watched them as they assembled – taking in who stood next to who, who avoided who and more besides. It was clear to her that there was still unease within the team. Division? Cliques? It was too early to say, but it alarmed her. She had no time – Ruby had no time – for internal squabbling.

‘So we have three confirmed victims and one missing woman. Pippa Briers was murdered three to four years ago, Roisin Murphy roughly two years ago. Isobel Lansley is our most recent victim – Jim Grieves estimates she was murdered within the last eighteen months. They all share a look – black hair, blue eyes – and each murder victim has a distinctive bluebird tattoo on her left shoulder. DC McAndrew’s diligent work with Roisin’s family and ex has helped confirm that Roisin did not have that tattoo when she went missing. Same goes for Pippa.’

‘And Lansley?’ questioned DC Lucas.

‘We’re yet to interview her parents. They’re based in Namibia – have been for some years – but we’ve informed them of developments and we’re flying them over,’ DC Grounds replied.

‘Sooner rather than later, please,’ DS Fortune chivvied.

‘So we can assume that the killer tattooed the women,’ Helen continued. ‘Why? To mark them as his? To make them resemble someone else? For entertainment? What is its significance?’

Silence from the team, so Helen carried on.

‘What is the importance of their look? Why them? I would like Lucas and McAndrew to lead on breaking down these women’s lives to see if we can pinpoint where he might have come into contact with them. What were these women’s regular commitments, where did they work, socialize, exercise? We need chapter and verse, so we can compare for overlap.’

McAndrew and Lucas nodded, though neither looked overjoyed. Helen didn’t care – she was going to force this team to work together.

‘Next up, access. According to Sinead Murphy, Roisin had four keys to her council flat. Sinead had one in her purse, the other three were recovered from her flat, after she vanished – we found them in her boxed possessions.’

‘So she knew her abductor?’ DS Fortune offered.

‘It’s possible, as there was no sign of a break-in or a struggle at her flat. But Roisin had a small social circle and hadn’t mentioned anyone she knew who worried her or who were new on the scene. So we should also think about people you might let into your flat. People in uniform – police officers, paramedics, gas and electricity inspectors, charity workers. Would these women let these kinds of people in? Let’s go back to the families, see what we can glean.’

‘How does he get them out?’ Finally DC Stevens had spoken. He didn’t say much Helen thought to herself, but his question was on the money.

‘Isobel Lansley had traces of something sticky in her hair. We sent it off for tests and found that it was an industrial solvent,’ Helen replied. ‘It’s called trichloroethylene.’

‘What’s it used for?’ Sanderson asked.

‘All manner of things,’ Helen answered. ‘Cleaning work surfaces, degreasing metal parts, you find it in boot polish and dry-cleaning chemicals, plus historically people have used it to get high.’

‘And would it knock you out?’

‘It was trialled as an alternative to chloroform in the 1920s, a form of anaesthetic, before being taken on by industry – so there’s no question it could incapacitate you. As with chloroform, a soaked rag over the mouth and nose would do the trick.’

The team were silent once more. This latest development was sinister and unnerving.

‘To administer it, he would have to get close to them,’ said DC Lucas, picking up the thread. ‘But there were no breakages, no sign of a struggle in Ruby’s flat, so…’

‘She must have trusted them enough to let them get close,’ DS Fortune offered.

‘Or the victims were already asleep,’ Sanderson interrupted. ‘We know Ruby had had a big night out. She could have conked out and then…’

More silence.

‘Let’s go back to the flats,’ Helen continued. ‘I know this was a while ago, but check if any of the long-term residents remember seeing any authority figures around the flats late at night. Anything that struck them as unusual. There has to be a reason why this guy never leaves a trace. How does he get in?’

The team broke up, directed to their tasks by an energized DS Fortune. Helen watched them go. Progress had been modest, but finally they had a few pieces of the jigsaw, providing the unit with a well-needed morale boost. Perhaps they were finally inching close to understanding their killer’s MO.

Helen’s reflections were interrupted by her mobile phone ringing. She was surprised to see it was James calling. Her downstairs neighbour, a handsome junior doctor at South Hants hospital, had been friendly at first, but had backed off when it became clear that Helen had no interest in being another notch on his bedpost. Puzzled, Helen answered it quickly.

‘James?’

‘You better get back here, Helen.’

‘Why what’s up? Please don’t tell me there’s been another leak.’

‘They’re in your flat.’

‘Who?’

‘Police. Half a dozen of them. You need to get back here NOW.’