Christ, the night with the salesman was a pleasure in comparison. At least he’d treated her with respect.
She stared at the empty gin bottle then picked up her purse. There at the back was the number for Cheshire Consorts. She remembered Joanne’s phone conversation with the escort girl. A hundred and fifty quid an hour. It seemed so respectable, so above-board. They met in hotels and the men paid by credit card, for God’s sake. There was a world of difference between that and the poor wretches she’d seen working Minshull Street in all weathers.
She tried to turn her mobile on but remembered the battery had died days ago. Searching in her purse, she found just enough money for the payphone in the hall.
‘Hello. Joanne? It’s Fiona Wilson here. I came to see you just over a week ago…’
‘Yes, I remember. What can I do for you, Fiona?’
She took a deep breath to quell the tremors in her throat.
‘Well, when I saw you, you mentioned that when I’d sorted myself out. .’
‘I did. And have you? Is the bruising on your face gone?’
‘Yes,’ Fiona whispered, fingers touching the cut on her forehead.
‘How about your wardrobe?’
‘I’ve been home and collected all my clothes.’
‘So you’re in your own place now?’
‘Yes.’
Silence for a second. ‘Then I’d like you to come and see me.’
Fiona said nothing.
‘Fiona? Are you still there?’
‘Yes.’
She heard Joanne light a cigarette. ‘Fiona, the girls who work for me have made a rational choice to do so. They’re paying their way through nursing college, saving the fees for law school, getting together a deposit for a house. It’s not a permanent job, it’s a stepping stone to something better. They are in control at all times and they most certainly are not whores.’
She arrived just before lunch, having made herself up and put on a simple black dress that suited casual or more formal occasions.
Joanne opened the door and smiled. 'Well, that's some change from the lady I saw two weeks ago.'
Fiona smiled back, trying to look confident and relaxed.
'Don't worry,' Joanne said, showing her inside. 'A lot of men find a touch of nerves very attractive.'
Chapter 26
The enquiry room was hot with bodies. Much longer like this and the condensation will start dripping from the ceiling, Jon thought as he opened a window.
The hum of voices started to die down as McCloughlin’s door opened. He stepped out, followed by a thin man with long strands of greying hair swept across his head. Perched on his nose was a pair of rimless glasses that gave a clear view of his feminine eyelashes. Dr Neville Heath. Jon thought back to last summer and concluded that he should have stuck with the black frames he’d had then. After the two men had passed his desk he whispered to Rick, ‘Thought it wouldn’t be long before this guy got involved.’
Rick swivelled in his seat to regard McCloughlin and his companion, who took up position side by side at the top of the room. McCloughlin glared at the last two officers still speaking. Their conversation withered under his gaze.
‘Right, people, as you all know, Gordon Dean’s body was discovered yesterday. However, there is nothing to prove he killed any of our three victims, so this investigation is very much ongoing.’ He waved the murmurs down. ‘In fact, I want you to assume Gordon Dean wasn’t the killer. Which means we have to redouble our efforts until we find out who is. To this end, I’d like to introduce Dr Neville Heath. He’s a criminal psychologist and has been lecturing at Manchester University since some of you were in primary school. Dr Heath has been over all the information we’ve gathered so far. He isn’t aware of any suspects we’re pursuing — alive or dead — so whatever profiles he produces are not biased by our own suspicions. I think you’ll agree he has some interesting thoughts to share.’
Jon’s eyes turned to the doctor. If you’ve been lecturing for so long, he wondered, how can talking to us lot make you look so uncomfortable? This isn’t the sort of case for someone with a nervous disposition.
‘Hello,’ the doctor said, looking down at his notes, failing to make eye contact.
The room remained silent.
Dr Heath glanced anxiously at McCloughlin. ‘Actually, I haven’t produced any profiles quite yet. More a number of observations that could be helpful.’
McCloughlin nodded politely, his expression saying: get on with it.
Registering the look, Dr Heath turned to the room. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘The first thing I’d normally do in a case where more than one crime is being carried out by a person is map the locations where the attacks have occurred and draw a circle round them. It’s been frequently found that the criminal lives within that circle, often towards its centre. That’s because criminals — especially burglars, rapists and murderers — usually start offending in their own neighbourhood, where they’re familiar with their surroundings, before moving further afield as their confidence grows.’
Jon could see people beginning to lean forwards and the doctor’s confidence appeared to increase as a result.
‘The problem with this case is that we don’t know where the mutilations and killings were actually carried out. However, we can say where the victims came from. Number one, Angela Rowlands, lived in Droylesden. Victim two, Carol Miller, in Bredbury. From this we can extrapolate a midpoint around Denton, where the Hyde Road intersects the M60.’
‘Hyde Road’s the A57,’ Jon muttered to Rick.
‘Now, I realise this is close to where the bodies are being dumped, but I don’t think it’s where our killer lives. And here’s why. When we add in the address of Tyler Young, which is in Stretford to the west of the city, our circle expands to cover the whole of central Manchester with a midpoint around Didsbury and Fallowfield. This is a far more likely area of residence, for reasons I’ll come to in a minute.’
He flipped his top sheet of notes over and took a shallow breath. ‘Now, studying our killer’s temporal patterns reveals a bit more about him. Our victims were all discovered on different days — a Tuesday, a Thursday and a Saturday morning. Times of death suggest they were all killed at some point during the evening before, so he’s killed on a Monday, a Wednesday and a Friday. Angela Rowlands was last seen when she left her office in central Manchester at lunchtime. Carol Miller dropped her infant son at her mother’s house in the late afternoon, and Tyler Young we’re unsure about. Taking Angela Rowlands, there was a gap of about six hours between her last sighting and her time of death. This suggests to me she had initial contact with the killer during the office hours of a weekday.’
He took his glasses off and rubbed tiredly at the red marks on each side of his nose. Come on, Jon thought. The whole bloody room is hanging on your next comment.
With his eyes shut, the doctor continued, ‘We can therefore suppose our killer isn’t constrained by normal working hours.’ Glasses back on, he opened his eyes and had to blink a couple of times to regain his focus. ‘He has freedom of movement during the day to control his own movements. Keep that thought.
‘Next is what he’s doing to his victims. These aren’t, to use the term our colleagues in America prefer, disorganised killings. They haven’t been carried out in a fit of uncontrolled rage. They’re careful, meticulous and unhurried. He needs a private place to carry out his work, somewhere he has no chance of being disturbed. Therefore he’s probably a property owner or has access to commercial premises.
‘He’s organised and, judging from the mutilations themselves, skilled. I would also guess these characteristics apply to him in general. He’s in a professional occupation, probably supervising his own movements during the day. Possibly self-employed in some capacity.’