Page 79 of The Unforgiven

“Or reconnects with them. They share a history.” I stopped for a moment. “They go for a walk, maybe the killer recruits them to help with something – asking someone for help flatters their ego, it’ll make them more suggestable. They get them somewhere they can kill them, having pre-planned a dumping point, or draw them out somewhere quiet like here.” I pointed down to the water. There was a footbridge across the water, barricaded at both sides, big ‘danger’ signs asking teenagers to mess about there. But there was something about the water.

I bent down and picked up a decent sized branch, then pulled the bobble out of my hair, aware I was about to resemble a scarecrow. Tying the bobble around the branch, I could feel Lachy’s eyes on me and practically heard his confusion.

“Watch.” I lobbed the stick in the water and watched it bob along before being pulled under by the swill. There was a slight current here, probably because the canal narrowed, creating a wider tow path.

The stick was carried along, moving at the same pace as we walked, heading back to the scene where we’d found the body.

“It’s going to end up in the reeds. I’ll put money on her body being pushed in here, or if it was where I put my hands on you, at that spot. It was a steep drop.” I pointed twenty metres back. “I’ll stay here – you go and get that CSI you were trying to chat up.”

“She was – oh, fuck off, Mac.” He pissed back off at pace.

Our newest and oldest victim was female, aged between twenty and thirty-five. She’d never had children but had a significant amount of cosmetic filler. She died of hypovolemic shock secondary to stab wound of the thorax, which, in layman’s terms, meant she lost too much blood after being stabbed in the chest. The back of the chest in this case, just like Brooke O’Hara.

Wrigley took pity on me – or used some accurate foresight – and I didn’t have the nightmare of attending the post-mortem. Seeing Nate and Jenna Osei manage to take fingerprints had been enough to destroy my appetite for the next few days. The post-mortem would’ve ended me.

“We’ve got a name for our fourth victim.” Wrigley thudded against my desk with his hand, pulling all the attention his, and therefore, my, way. “Jenna’s stunt with the glove worked and if you’ve spent five minutes in Mac’s company, you probably owe her a drink. Victim’s name is Dorothy Armitage, aged twenty-eight, from Stockport. Anyone want to guess what her named was shortened to? Correct – Dolly. Mac, you win the big bloody theory competition. Where are with the names of the other two girls in the photos?”

“Kelly-Anne Marsh was the name of the girl in Lindridge Hospital. We haven’t found the surname of the girl in the photos yet, but we have Sophie’s.” I’d been on this for most of the afternoon after dodging the post-mortem. “Sophie Davies – which isn’t much more helpful than only knowing her first name.”

“Jesus.” Wrigley shook his head. “That couldn’t be less useful. Keep on it.” He issued out jobs, a team to start looking at Dolly’s social media, Verity and Nick were assigned with locating relatives and informing them, all the usual tasks, with a hand full of constables sent out to cover anywhere nearby that our killer might’ve passed.

“Where are we with the boys in the photos? It could be one of them.” Wrigley looked at the picture on the screen, a photo with Morgan, Chelsea, Sophie and three of the boys – Lennon, Craig and Marc.

“Still looking,” I flipped my chair back around and carried on with scrolling through the missing persons database, searching through Sophies. We didn’t know if Sophie had changed her name, or died, or moved out of the country, but at the moment, if she was alive, her and Kelly-Anne could be next on the killer’s list, or maybe he already had them, keeping them somewhere with Evelyn. If Kelly-Anne hadn’t died.

“Morgan’s parents can’t remember any surnames? What about the sister?” Wrigley took the seat next to me.

“Leah was a couple of years younger and didn’t always hang around with Morgan. She said she couldn’t remember anything. I’m thinking of heading over to Aberwyn in the morning and going through the campsite records. There’s a small swimming pool which you had to sign in to use, and when I phoned, they told me that they’d kept all of the signing in books that were done to comply with health and safety regs, going back twenty years, although I was warned they were kept in a cupboard where they had mice.” I was not a fan of rodents.

Wrigley nodded. “Is it worth going there now?”

I shook my head. “The only person with a key’s currently in London and isn’t due back until late tonight, so I’ll head off early tomorrow. I’m going to do some more digging on Kelly-Anne Marsh, find out what happened after she was discharged from Lindridge.” I clicked on another page of missing Sophies. “I can’t help but think she’s the link.”

The day didn’t improve. The grey skies that’d been regularly providing a dome ceiling over the city were back with a cascadeof light drizzle, making everything feel dreary and cold. People kept their heads down, trying to keep dry, which meant the city was an anonymous rush, everyone moving faster, quicker, not lingering around the outsides of pubs for a quick smoke before going home.

I walked to Ashcombe House because driving there would take me fifteen minutes longer with the rush hour traffic and the weather. It also gave me more chance to think, to mull over what we knew and what we knew we didn’t know.

The victims were the connection. Charlie Mason’s murder was connected by the murder weapon and probably Kelly-Anne. We still hadn’t found Evelyn – was she missing or hiding? Had she made the connection with the three women already and snuck off somewhere? That was a possibility.

I focused on Kelly-Anne. I’d called Lindridge, hoping to speak to Dave Beardsley, but he was on a rest day and apparently walking up Snowdonia. No one on shift would be able to remember her, and where she’d moved on to.

But there was one person whose memory I’d always known to be solid, unless it was something he wanted to forget.

Daniel was waiting for me in the entrance hall, making a point of checking his watch when he saw me.

“I know. I’m sorry I’m late. The autopsy report came through just as I was leaving.” The notes of it had. A more detailed report would be sent later, but for now we had the bullet points of how we knew Dolly had died. She’d been clothed, although the clothing wasn’t in good shape, and she’d been stabbed in the back, with force, dying shortly after she’d gone into the water, which had been around two and a half weeks ago, making her the first victim. It was likely to be the same, or a very similar weapon to what was used on the others.

“I understand.” Daniel opened the door to the seminar room, gesturing for me to enter. “I’m not sure how I can help any morethan I have already unless you bring me on officially so I can see what evidence you have so far, but I’ll do what I can.”

I sat down at the polished mahogany table. This room wasn’t used for students, it was far too precious and old. This was for seminars between professors and research students, never irresponsible undergrads.

But it had been where I’d told Daniel something I’d never shared with anyone else, even my foster sister, Heidi, who I’d told everything and still did.

This room made me feel cold, leaden, lost.

“Can we go somewhere else?” I didn’t want to be in there.

“Justine’s using my office to speak with one of the second year students, and you said it wouldn’t take that long, so there’s no point trekking up to the top floor, is there?” He sat at the head of the table.