of the street girls. Dee. She and the dead girl used to share the room. Somewhere to take punters.’
‘Was Dee with a punter, then?’
Paula gave a grim little smile. ‘According to Dee, as soon as he realized there was something wrong, he was out of there like a rat off a sinking ship.’
‘Where’s Dee now?’
‘On her way back to the nick to make a statement. With Sam.’
Carol nodded in satisfaction. ‘Thanks, Paula.’ She edged past a fingerprint technician lifting prints from the narrow banister and headed up. At the top of the steep, uncarpeted stairs, an open door cast an oblong of pale light on to the landing. The air was thick with the coppery smell of blood and the darker, deeper stink of human excrement. Though she’d been steeling herself against it, Carol felt herself slide into flashback and almost lost her footing. But the sight of the SOCOs coolly going about their business anchored her back in the present, banishing the kaleidoscope of images that threatened to overwhelm her. Further up and further in.
As she reached the doorway, Carol was conscious of Merrick and Kevin turning to look at her. At first, she concentrated on the external details, working up gradually to deal with what lay at the heart of the room. It was a spartan space, shoddy and cheaply decorated with old stained woodchip emulsioned in what had once been magnolia. A pine bedstead, a couple of armchairs that looked like they were rescued from the tip, a sink, a card table and not much else. Nothing to distract her from the body on the bed.
The woman was tied down, her legs and arms spread in a hideous parody of ecstasy. Her blue eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. It wasn’t hard to read panic and pain there. Her short bleached blonde hair was plastered to her head; the sweat of fear had soaked it and time had dried it into a stiff helmet. She was still dressed, her skirt a blood-soaked ruck around her hips. A sea of gore engulfed her lower body and soaked the thin, sagging mattress. Carol cleared her throat and moved closer. That’s a hell of a lot of blood,’ she said.
‘According to the police surgeon, she pretty much bled out,’ Merrick said. ‘He reckons it took her a while to die.’
Carol struggled with the emotions tormenting her and tried to remember how to do her job. ‘He’s been and gone already?’
‘Yeah, so happened he was at a dinner at the Queensbury. We’d hardly got here ourselves.’
‘So, what have we got?’ she asked.
Merrick consulted his notebook. ‘Sandie Foster, twenty-five, prostitute, convictions for soliciting and possession. But before we get into that…ma’am, this is the identical MO to a series of four murders that happened two years ago, not long after you left us.’
‘Were all the victims clothed, like this?’
‘Like I said, it’s identical.’
‘Well, maybe this time we can solve them.’
Merrick and Kevin exchanged a glance. Kevin looked faintly apologetic. ‘That’s the thing, guv. We already did.’
‘What?’ Carol said.
Merrick shoved his gloved hands into his pockets. ‘Kevin and I worked the case. Derek Tyler–he pleaded guilty. He’s in a secure hospital.’
‘Could we have got the wrong man?’
Merrick shook his head, his lower lip jutting in stubborn denial. ‘No room for doubt. The forensics nailed him. DNA, fingerprints, the lot. Derek Tyler. He pleaded guilty. He even made a confession of sorts, claiming the voices in his head told him to do it. And as soon as Tyler was arrested, the killings stopped. Even more proof, as if we needed it. They locked him up in Bradfield Moor and he refused to say another word about the murders.’
‘Can we check if Tyler has been released?’ Carol asked.
‘I already have. I just came off the phone. Tyler is tucked up in bed, sleeping far better than he has any right to, so it’s not him.’
‘Perhaps we missed something last time.’
The forensics nailed him,’ Merrick insisted.
‘Maybe we should talk to Dr Hill,’ Kevin said. ‘Making sense of things is his line, isn’t it?’
‘Good idea, Kevin,’ Carol said. Tony was always complaining he was never called in early enough on complex murder inquiries. She stepped outside the room and dialled Brandon’s mobile. When he answered, she briefly outlined the circumstances. ‘On the face of it, it looks impossible,’ she said. ‘I’d like to bring Dr Hill in for a consultation.’
‘Isn’t it a little early for that?’ Brandon asked.
‘Normally I’d agree with you, sir, but if there’s any possibility we’re looking at a copycat, I think he could give us a quick answer. Like he did the first time we all worked together.’ Carol held her breath while Brandon considered.
‘All right, go ahead. We’ll talk more fully in the morning.’
As the call ended, Carol stepped to one side to allow the mortuary staff access to the crime scene. ‘Does Dr Vernon know about this?’ she asked.
The one bringing up the rear nodded. ‘Yeah, he wants to cut and shut early tomorrow, he’s got some conference or other to go to. He said to tell you he’ll be ready to roll at seven.’
Merrick and Kevin joined her on the landing, to allow the technicians room to manoeuvre the dead woman into the body bag. ‘Kevin, Sam’s interviewing the woman who found the body. I want you to come back to the station with me and sit in with him. You worked the case before, there might be something you pick up on that Sam wouldn’t know about. Don, you and Paula start organizing door-to-door inquiries. We need to talk to all the street girls and rent boys we can get our hands on, as well as bar staff, punters and the like. Find out where Sandie Foster worked. Somebody must have seen her with her killer.’ She stripped off her gloves and shoved her hands in her pockets, unconsciously hunching her shoulders. ‘And let’s all keep an open mind for now.’
Kevin found Sam Evans slouched against the wall outside one of the interview rooms. ‘How’s it going?’ he asked.
‘Am I glad to see you,’ Evans groaned. ‘That woman in there most definitely does not like people of colour. How come we say one word out of place and we get hit with a complaint of racism, but she gets to call me a jungle bunny?’
Kevin winced. ‘You want me to take a crack at her?’
‘Be my guest.’ Evans waved a hand at the door. ‘I can’t get a single word out of her. I’m going for a smoke.’
He handed Kevin a folder and walked off. Kevin opened it and saw a single sheet of paper that told him nothing more than name, age and address. ‘You weren’t joking, were you, Sam?’ he said softly.
Kevin looked through the spyhole in the door to see a bleached-blonde woman in a short, tight, black dress. The notes said she was twenty-nine but, from this distance, she looked closer to nineteen. She was pulling her skimpy jacket close to her as if the room was chill. She was smoking, and judging by the thickness of the air, it wasn’t her first cigarette.
