But Carol, who generally had good instincts about these things, had reminded him that Vanessa was not to be trusted. A woman who tried to cheat her only child out of an inheritance would have few scruples when it came to rewriting history.
All the same . . .
To keep himself from temptation, he fetched his laptop and logged on to the website of the Bradfield Evening Sentinel Telegraph. It wasn’t the Guardian, but the BEST was one of the better provincial newspapers around. And of course it would have the most detailed coverage of Carol’s murders.
It was the main story on the paper’s home page. Tony clicked on the link and read their account. There was a fair amount of padding, but the heart of the story was pretty scant. Two fourteen-year-old boys who had no connection to each other had gone missing without explanation. They seemed to have vanished into thin air. Their murdered and mutilated bodies had been found in remote locations outside the city. Police believed they might have been lured to meet their killer via internet social-networking sites.
He couldn’t help thinking of Jennifer Maidment. A hundred miles and a different gender. But a lot of similarities. He shook his head vigorously. ‘You’re reaching,’ he said. ‘You want to find a connection so you can get your foot in the door with Carol’s cases. Get a grip, man.’
He clicked on the thumbnail pictures of the two boys. First Daniel, then Seth. He cut back and forth between them, wondering if he was imagining things. He picked up the laptop and went through to his study. He plugged it into the printer and printed out both photographs, in black and white to make comparison easier. As an afterthought, and in spite of the critical voice gibbering in his ear, he also printed out a photograph of Jennifer.
Tony took the three shots back to the kitchen and laid them across the table. He poured himself a coffee and stared at them, frowning. He wasn’t making this up. There was a distinct resemblance between the three teenagers. A disturbing thought was worming its way to the front of his mind, refusing to be ignored. It was a given that serial killers often had a physical type. If gender wasn’t relevant to this killer but physical type was, then maybe Tony wasn’t so crazy to link Jennifer to the two boys.
He needed more information. And Carol certainly wasn’t going to give it to him. Not after her lecture about refusing to exploit him.
But there was someone who might. Tony reached for his phone and dialled. At the third ring, a wary voice said, ‘Tony? Is that you?’
‘It is, Paula.’ Then, remembering how it went between people who liked each other, he said, ‘How are you doing?’
‘We’ve got two murders on the go, Tony. How do you think I’m doing?’
‘I take your point. Listen, Paula. I’ve got something to ask you.’
‘If it’s to do with the case, the answer’s no. Last time you asked for my help, the chief tore me a new one for going behind her back.’
‘But we were right,’ he said. ‘Who knows how many other people might have died if you hadn’t done what I asked you to? And I only asked you because I couldn’t do it myself.’ And you still owe me because I saved you from your despair.
‘Yeah, well, you’re better now. Your leg’s not in a splint any more. You can do your own running around.’
‘You are one tough woman, Paula,’ he said, the admiration genuine.
‘I need to be, around the likes of you.’
‘Listen, I’m not asking you to do anything for me, not as such. I just need you to answer one question, that’s all. One simple question. Surely you can do that for me? After all we’ve been through together?’
A snort of something that might have been laughter or disgust. ‘Christ, Tony, you don’t give up, do you?’
‘No, I don’t. And neither do you. So you should sympathise.’
A long pause. A sigh. ‘Tell me the question. No promises, mind.’
‘Your two victims. It says in the paper their bodies were mutilated. Were they both completely castrated? Penis and testes?’
Another sigh. ‘I know you won’t tell anyone, right?’
‘Right.’
‘Yes. Completely. I’m going now, Tony. We never had this conversation.’
But he wasn’t listening. His mind was already racing, wondering how he was going to explain to Carol that her two bodies were not the first victims of this killer.
Kevin looked across his desk at Paula. ‘Tony? Would that be our Tony?’ He spoke quietly, for which she was grateful.
‘The one and only,’ she said. ‘The chief’s obviously keeping him right out of the loop.’
‘And he doesn’t like it, am I right?’
Paula flashed a glance at Carol, who was in her office, intent on a phone call. ‘You could say that. Don’t let on I’ve been speaking to him, OK?’
Kevin chuckled. ‘My name’s not Sam. Your secret’s safe with me.’ Before either of them could say more, his phone rang. ‘MIT, DS Matthews,’ he said.
‘This is DS Jed Turner at Southern CID.’ A strong Scottish accent, an unfamiliar name.
‘How can I help you, Jed?’
‘Is it you guys that are dealing with the dead teenagers? Morrison and Viner?’ His tone was offhand, uncaring. Kevin didn’t care for it.
‘That’s us,’ he said.
‘And they started off on the missing list, right?’
‘That’s right. Have you got something for us?’
‘I tell you, I’d be happy enough for you to take it off my plate.’ A bark of almost-laughter.
‘That wasn’t quite what I meant.’
‘I appreciate that, pal. I’m under no illusions about that. What it is, we’ve got what looks like it might be another one for your merry band.’
‘You’ve got a body?’
‘Not yet. We’ve got a missing fourteen-year-old. Niall Quantick. His mammy’s been giving us grief since early doors. It took the numpties on the front desk a wee while to process that he might fit in with the MO youse are looking at. They only passed it on to us this past half-hour. So, are you interested, or what?’
Kevin sat up in his chair and reached for a pen. ‘What’s the score?’
‘Kid’s a schemie. Lives with his mother in the Brucehill flats. She says he went into town yesterday afternoon. No word about where he was going or who he was meeting. He never came home. She tried ringing his mobile but it was turned off. Typical scummy mummy, doesn’t know who he hangs about with or what he gets up to when he’s out the door. So here we are, middle of Sunday morning and no trace of the kid. You want it?’
Probably even more than you want to offload it. ‘Let’s see what you’ve got. It sounds like it might be one for us. But I need to look it over then run it past my guv’nor. You know how it is.’
‘Sure do, pal. OK, it’s on its way to you as we speak. Missing-person report and a photo. Let me know what you decide, eh?’
Kevin replaced the phone, looking glum. Paula caught his eye and raised her eyebrows. Kevin gave her a thumbs-down. ‘Looks like we’ve got another missing kid,’ he said, heart heavy, thinking of his own boy and wanting to drive home and lock the kid in his room till all this was over.
‘Oh no,’ Paula groaned. ‘His poor parents.’
Kevin tried not to think about that. ‘I need to go and talk to the boss.’
The sense of déjà vu was never a pleasant one on a murder squad. It rammed Carol’s failure home to her. They hadn’t caught the killer, her brilliant team with their top-drawer skills. He was still out there, another victim taken and who knew how many more to come? Under strength, under pressure and understanding what was at stake, the MIT had never faced a tougher challenge.