Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #3: Books 9-12 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [reading in the dark TXT] 📗

at me. “Get this git involved and before you know it, you have political conspiracies involved.”

Dehan made a guttural noise like, “Mhmhmhm…” which I figured was some kind of laughter. I shrugged.

“It was never going to be jealousy or burglary. Right from the start, you had the murderer trying to frame a fifteen year-old serial killer. That tells you straight off it was not only premeditated but very carefully planned. And smart. If that killer had four unsolved murders under his belt, the chances were good a fifth would get shelved right along with the other four.”

He nodded and I went on. “You don’t plan something this elaborate out of jealousy. You know that as well as I do. Most planning in that kind of killing comes after the event: how to cover it up? This kind of forward planning…”

He sighed and stared down at his feet. “It usually comes with a non-sexual motive, usually money: inheritance, avoiding a divorce settlement, getting rid of an awkward business partner…”

Dehan crossed her arms and added, “Or somebody who is trying to blackmail you. So what do you know about Lord Chiddester?”

He eased himself up onto his toes, then slowly lowered himself again while chewing his lip. “Conservative Member of Parliament for Chiddester.” He glanced at Dehan. “The equivalent in the States would be a Republican congressman, but without the flat Earth religious fundamentalism.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

He hurried on. “He is somewhat to the right of the Conservatives, notorious for his anti-Islamic stance, very vocal against immigration, campaigned for Brexit, very liberal free-marketeer. Very supportive of Israel. Gave up his seat in the Lords so that he could take a seat in the commons. In the running as a future Prime Minister.” He puffed out his cheeks and blew. “Speaking of which, I need to give him a call. Excuse me.”

We watched him walk away down the sidewalk, holding the phone to his ear. After a moment, he stopped and began to talk quietly.

I looked at Dehan. “What do you make of it?”

She hugged herself with her arms and narrowed her eyes. “I want to make a big graph and draw in all the bits and try to connect them.”

I nodded.

She went on, “We have a serial killer who killed four women over a period of…?”

“Fourteen months.”

“Fourteen months, fifteen years ago. He stops, suddenly, for no apparent reason. Fifteen years later, another murder is committed, identical to those four in every detail except one: the spelling of whiskey is anglicized. So the new killer is very familiar with the old crimes, but not familiar with the song, American Pie, and not familiar with how Americans spell whiskey. He is an Englishman who is very familiar with the case.”

“We need to make an initial list of who those men might be.”

She ignored me and carried on. “OK, so that’s one corner of our graph, up here.” She indicated a large, imaginary graph in the air and pointed to it in the top left corner. “Meanwhile, down here…” she indicated the middle, “We have the victim, romantically, or at least sexually, involved with a new and mysterious man.”

“Or woman.”

“Or woman, and highly motivated to pursue her career, or adventure, as an investigative journalist. And it looks very much as though she had identified a subject to investigate…” She paused and pointed at me with her finger, like a gun. “Oh, Lord! I am beginning to talk like you.”

“Stay with it, Grasshopper, you’re doing well.”

“Her father is a right-wing politician who is very outspoken and is tipped by some as a future Prime Minister. We don’t know what his relationship with his daughter is like, but it seems she turned to him for help in her research. Whether she got any help, and what that help was, could be important.” She looked at me. “What else?”

“Just over two weeks ago, she told Sarah she was going on holiday. Did she go? We don’t know, but it would seem she went instead to Whitechapel and shacked up in that small apartment. Question: was she there the whole two weeks?” I sighed. “We need the bedding from the apartment tested and the results compared with the sheet you took from here.”

Down the road, Harry hung up and started walking back toward us. He looked drawn and tired. He spoke as he walked. “He’s on his way to the morgue now to identify the body. I asked if he’d mind answering a few questions, but he said it was out of the question. He had to go and inform his wife down in West Sussex, and be with her.”

Dehan frowned and exploded, “Doesn’t he want his daughter’s killer caught?”

Harry stared at her a moment, then said, “Well, you’ll have to ask him that, Carmen. He said we could go and talk to him tomorrow morning at his offices in Little College Street, opposite the Houses of Parliament, at half past ten.” He frowned a moment. “Don’t be too harsh on him. People deal with grief in different ways. For some people, the only way they can deal with it is to act as though it had never happened and bury their feelings. We’re a bit like that over here.”

Her cheeks flushed and she glanced at me. I smiled at the sight. You didn’t often see Dehan embarrassed.

In that moment, an unmarked car and a police van turned into the street. Harry raised his hand to them and the driver of the car saw us and pulled up outside Sarah’s house with the van just behind him. They started climbing out and assembling their equipment, and Harry made to move toward them. I held out my hand and smiled. “Keys, Harry. You owe me a car. You want me to drive you anywhere?”

He shook his head. “I’ll get a ride