“If you ring them they should be able to tell you which hospital they went to.”
“I owe you, Julian. DI Calladine will be pleased too. We need this, we really do. We’ve got another one this morning. The DI and Ruth are with Doc Hoyle now.”
“I know. I was there earlier, helping the doctor. I’ve got a whole lot of samples to work on, so I’d better get back to the lab. I’ve got to go to the undertakers. The hearse she was found in needs going over with a fine toothcomb. I’ll be in touch if I get anything else.”
He smiled at her.
“When this is sorted I’ll take you out for a slap-up dinner,” she promised. “Don’t let me forget!”
No he wouldn’t. It was a start. When the time came he’d make sure he had a raft of suggestions ready so she didn’t try to wheedle out of keeping her side of the bargain.
* * *
Imogen rang the manufacturer right away, and found out that the plate had gone to a local hospital.
“I’ve found it, sir!” She practically shouted down the phone to Calladine. “Well, I had a little help from Julian, but we’ve got the info on the orthopaedic plate.”
That was the best piece of news Calladine had heard all week—apart from finding Cassie Rigby.
“You’ll never believe it but she was treated locally too—at the Infirmary in Central Manchester. I’ve rung them, and the records people are digging out the details as we speak.”
“Great work, Imogen. Thank Julian for me too. Did the records people say how long?”
“They are going to courier them across to us—should be anytime soon. I’ll bell you when we get them.”
“Ruth and I are still at the mortuary. When you get a name let me know and we’ll go into town and talk to whoever treated her.”
Ruth was sipping tea—hot, sweet tea—trying to get her head back together after the nightmare of the PM room.
“I wish I wasn’t such a wimp. But it gets to me, Tom. That poor girl—what she must have suffered! Her, and the other one too.
What is this nutter doing? What are his reasons—if he has any, that is?”
“People who do these things have their own rationale for their behaviour. Inside his twisted mind it’ll make perfect sense. It’s just the rest of us that are left guessing.”
“There are more out there, aren’t there? It’s the numbers. We’ve got number five and now three, so there’s bound to be more. I’m right, aren’t I?”
Calladine nodded. Somewhere out there were numbers one, two and four. Knowing that made him edgy. He had questions he couldn’t answer, such as had this bastard taken anyone after Vida
5? Did he, even now, have his latest victim imprisoned somewhere?
Was he torturing some other girl to death? Where did he find them?
And how come they were all so anonymous? These questions and more swirled around in his head. He needed to make sense of everything they’d got up to now. He needed to get back to the nick.
“The good news is we’ve got a lead on the plate. Imogen is going to ring back, and with a bit of luck we’ll get a name. Then we really will have something to go on.”
* * *
The something was a student called Madison Benneti. The hospital confirmed that they’d fitted the orthopaedic plate just over three years ago, and that she’d been a student at the university in Manchester. She’d given her address at that time as the halls of residence, so the university was their next call.
“The person you need to see is a Mrs Johnson,” a receptionist told them. “She was Madison’s course tutor and she’ll know what happened to her.”
Wishful thinking. Joanna Johnson had no idea what had become of Madison Benneti, nor did she seem to care.
“One day she’s here, doing fine, the next she’s gone. Students can be like that sometimes. They get a place here, then they find they don’t like the course. Studying wasn’t really Madison’s thing;
that was pretty obvious from her grades. I’m afraid she had an agenda of her own. Madison made no secret of the fact that she’d come to the UK specifically to look for a husband—a rich one.
Rumour had it that she’d finally met him. Who he was, I couldn’t tell you, but that was always her plan from the off.”
“Came to the UK from where?” Ruth asked.
“From the USA. New York, I believe.”
So definitely not local, then.
“We’re going to need a proper address. We need to contact her family urgently,” Calladine told her.
“From what I remember, Madison didn’t get on with her parents.
Look—I don’t know why you’re here, but take my word for it, Madison Benneti is probably married to her Mr Perfect by now, and living in the lap of luxury.”
“Madison is dead, Mrs Johnson. She was murdered. So I think you should give us that address, because they need to be told, don’t you think?”
Calladine couldn’t believe the woman’s attitude. Wasn’t she supposed to look out for the students under her watch? So then how come one of them had been allowed to simply disappear?
“I didn’t realise. You should have said straight away. You have to understand, I look after dozens of students, and I can’t be on top of them all. Come with me and I’ll get you the information.”
She led the way down a flight of stairs and into a small office.
“I’ll get her details from the system—just give me a minute.”
She tapped away at the keyboard and sent a document to the printer. “Madison left in such a hurry—of course I asked around, but no one could volunteer anything useful. With her ambitions in the husband department, what was I supposed to do?”
“Didn’t you think to contact the authorities—the American Embassy or the immigration people?”
“Well no. Madison wasn’t an isolated case. Each year we lose a small number of foreign students. It’s just the way it is, I’m afraid.
Resources dictate what can be done about it, Inspector, not me.”
Calladine couldn’t help but wonder why Madison’s family hadn’t asked about her. She was young, alone in a strange country—surely someone must be curious about what had become of her?
“Is there anyone else we can speak to—a friend perhaps? We don’t mind waiting.”
“Yes, there is actually. You could talk to Alice Bolshaw. She was Madison’s closest friend and she’s still here—doing a degree in criminology as it happens.”
An amateur sleuth—just what they needed.
“Where do we find her?”
“If you follow the corridor as far as the stairs, you’ll find the refectory on your right. Go and have some coffee. I’ll find Alice and send her to you.”
That wasn’t a bad idea. Calladine checked his watch—it had gone lunchtime, but a place like this always had food on the go. As it turned out the refectory was newly refurbished, warm and comfortable. There were a number of students sitting around, chatting and eating, with piped music providing background noise.
The food on offer was quite good and relatively cheap. Ruth didn’t want anything, but Calladine ordered a bacon sandwich and they both had coffee.
“She must have had somewhere to go, sir—someone to go to.
It doesn’t make sense to leave here otherwise.”
“Nothing about any of this makes much sense yet, Ruth.”
Calladine squeezed ketchup all over the bacon.
“I don’t know how you can. Not after…well, after what we’ve just seen.”
“I’m starving, simple as, and this will fill a gap quite nicely.”
“Are you the police?” A young woman approached their table.
“Yes. I’m Inspector Calladine and this is Sergeant Bayliss.”
Calladine smiled.
“Is it true?” Her face was a picture of misery. “Mrs Johnson told me that Maddy is dead.”
“I’m afraid Mrs Johnson is right. Are you Alice?” Ruth spoke gently.
The young woman nodded her head, folded her arms and stuck her chin in the air, obviously annoyed about something.
“This is exactly what I warned Maddy about. I knew it, you know. I knew something awful would happen to her. I had a bad feeling when she left. I came to see your lot about her a good few weeks back, but you took no notice. If you had, Madison might still be alive.” She stood over them, accusingly. Then she pulled some papers from her bag. “They had the cheek to treat me like a fool.