Nine Lives, Anita Waller [best interesting books to read .txt] 📗

‘Can you get hold of DS Machin? Tell her I’ll meet her there ASAP. And then get in touch with the same message to Ian Thomas, Flick Ardern, Mike Nestor and Will Bramwell. And put a call in for a Forensics team to get out there.’

Disconnecting after Fisher’s assurance he would follow instructions, she immediately rang the safe house, getting the officer to check that both girls were there. He swiftly reassured her they were, he could see both of them still fast asleep.

Erica grabbed some warm clothing, left a quick note to tell Fran the situation, and headed up to Ringinglow. Erica’s head was spinning. She had thought they had possibly stopped him, or at least delayed his plans with the removal of the other two girls, but they hadn’t caused him any heartache, he had simply chosen someone else. Or had he been out-thinking them all the time?

The girl’s body was posed exactly as the others, and she was pretty, as the others had been pretty. Her shoulder-length dark hair with the flash of turquoise in the fringe was wet from the incessant rain, as was the rest of her body. The Forensics team had arrived at the same time as Erica had got there, and were busy setting up the tent they had removed from the earlier scene.

Monday Susie, Tuesday Clare, Wednesday Jane Doe, Erica’s thoughts were churning. Was that his plan? A girl a day? A beautiful girl a day? They couldn’t hide all the beautiful girls away, that was for sure, but they needed to get the message out not to go anywhere alone. She thought of all the students in the city from all around the world, and shivered as she realised how much the problem had escalated.

With Ivor’s arrival she followed him into the tent.

‘We have to stop meeting every day like this,’ he said. ‘We’ll be talked about.’

‘We certainly will. Do I need to ask if this is the same killer?’

‘Let’s look.’ He gently lifted the girl’s right hand and turned it over to reveal a VII carved into the palm. The tip of the little finger was missing. ‘It is, I’m afraid.’

‘Shit.’

‘I take it this isn’t one of the other girls?’

‘No, they’re tucked up in bed in a safe refuge. I checked before I even left home. We know this killer works to a pattern, there’s something linking the victims, and of course it was obvious it was that student house. He’s thrown us a curveball with this. Showing that’s not his pattern at all, it’s something else. Susie and Clare were on the same courses, maybe this girl is as well.’

Ivor confirmed death formally, and added that it was strangulation by tights, and again they had been left around the neck. He lifted her hair slightly and found the tell-tale mark of a hypodermic on her neck. ‘And I expect to find Propofol when we do the tox screen. Let’s get out of the way and get the photographer in. I’ve a flask in the car, come and have a coffee. You look like you need one.’

The riverbank was once more filled with uniforms searching for clues, but feeling demoralised before they started. Too much rain, too many consecutive days of dead bodies, everything was simply too much.

Erica had requested that if anyone reported a missing girl of around twenty, she was to be notified immediately if not sooner, but as with all the other bodies, nothing had been left at the scene other than the girl herself. No clothes, no bag, no soul.

Erica left Ian to organise the teams, pleased to see how well he responded when gravity and professionalism were called for, and walked back to her car. She felt the need to contact Fran, to hear her voice tell her to hang on in there, things would work out and they would find this killer.

The call went through to voicemail, and she left a brief message saying it was only a catch-up, and she would see her that night. No need to ring back.

She sat for a while staring out of the windscreen at the bleakness of the scene in front of her. The rain ran down the glass like mini rivers, all meeting up at the bottom and forming a large puddle. Halloween was the following day, and she guessed it would be a washout if this rain continued. Thousands of disappointed children, thousands of happy parents trying to look upset for the sake of their sons and daughters who had been planning outfits for a couple of months – and she realised they had nowhere near enough Haribos in the house to cater for the usual amounts of children who turned up on their doorstep because they went to the trouble of decorating with ghosts, witches, wizards and pumpkins. That problem would have to be rectified before Thursday evening. She couldn’t assume nobody would be out in the rain, and apart from that, she and Fran loved Haribos. For the first time that Wednesday morning she allowed a smile to cross her face, and the tiny sweets had put it there.

Was it really only Wednesday? Her thoughts drifted back to Monday morning, to the phone call that had dragged her out of bed. What the hell had prompted the killer to start again?

By eleven they had a name. Imogen Newland. Her boyfriend had reported her as missing; he couldn’t track her down. She had been out Tuesday night for a gym session followed by a meal with colleagues because he was on nights, and when he arrived home shortly after seven in the morning, she wasn’t there.

Pete Vanton had gone to bed, thinking she had probably had a drink so decided to stay with a friend, but following being woken by an Amazon delivery driver at a few minutes after nine he decided to ring her at work. She hadn’t arrived, and she wasn’t answering her mobile phone.

He spoke to one of