it all yet. I had an email from Forensics who have searched his laptop and there’s nothing on it. He used it mostly for shopping. There’s no pornography on there, no questionable websites visited, a few photos of family, that’s it.’
‘Could it have been wiped?’
‘Maybe, but Forensics would have been able to tell. There is, however, one very creepy piece of evidence we’ve found.’
‘Go on,’ Matilda instructed.
‘His mobile phone. It was in his inside jacket pocket. While looking through it, Forensics found eighteen photographs of Adele Kean standing outside the City Hall. The timestamp on them matches the time Dr Kean says they met. It looks like he was taking her picture without her realizing before they met.’
‘Pervert,’ Ranjeet uttered.
Matilda bit her bottom lip. She wondered how close Adele came to being harmed by this man. ‘Keep that between us,’ she told the room. ‘Adele doesn’t need to know about that.’
‘Agreed,’ Christian struggled to say.
Matilda frowned. ‘If he was so meticulous and well-organized, why didn’t he report himself to South Yorkshire Police when he arrived here?’
There was no reply because nobody could give one.
‘I’d like to know how he could afford such a lovely house when he didn’t work,’ Faith said, opening a fun-size packet of Maltesers from Sian’s drawer.
‘The house was rented,’ Aaron said. ‘Private landlord. Brian had the money because he’d sold his home in Essex for over half a million pounds. That was reduced, too, for a quick sale.’
‘Didn’t his wife get the house in the divorce?’
‘According to her witness statement in the file,’ Aaron said, flicking through the paperwork, ‘she wanted nothing to do with him at all.’
‘I can understand that,’ Faith said. ‘Who would stay married to a pervert?’
‘So, who would want him dead?’ Scott asked.
‘The family of the victims would be high up on the list, I’m guessing,’ Faith said.
‘But how did they know where to find him? He’s hardly likely to leave a forwarding address with the new owners in Essex, is he? Also, if we didn’t know he was here, how could anyone else?’ Matilda asked.
‘We need to speak to Essex Police,’ Christian mumbled. There was a slight ripple of laughter at his struggled attempt to pronounce Essex. ‘Faith, how did you get on with the neighbours?’
‘The standard reply – he kept himself to himself, seemed like a nice man, always said hello when he saw you in the street, quiet, no loud music or parties. The perfect neighbour.’
‘People are often quiet and keep themselves to themselves for a reason,’ Scott said.
‘That’s pretty cynical, Scott. People can be quiet because they want to live their life how they want to. Not everyone has to be the life and soul of the neighbourhood,’ Faith said.
‘I know that. I just meant, people have secrets. We all do. If we don’t want those secrets getting out, then we stay in the background.’
‘So what’s your secret then, Scott?’ Faith asked, a mischievous smile on her face.
‘I think we’re wandering from the point here,’ Matilda said before Scott could reply. ‘What we need to do next is find out who knew Brian was a sex offender and who knew where he was living. He wasn’t working, so we have no colleagues to ask. His neighbours have all been interviewed, so who else is there?’
Again, the room went quiet.
‘Maybe the answer lies in his life before he came to Sheffield. Question his family, former neighbours, find out where they were last night.’
‘I hope sending officers to Essex isn’t coming out of my budget,’ Christian said.
‘It’s not coming out of anyone’s budget. We’ll get Essex Police to go round and interview them for us. In the meantime, this stays in this room. I don’t want anyone talking to the press about a sex offender being murdered. Speaking of which,’ Matilda said, pointing to a photograph on the wall, ‘you will notice we have a new addition to our wall of shame. That is Danny Hanson. He’s a journalist on The Star and fancies himself as some kind of maverick reporter. Memorize that face. If you see him, ignore him. Now, ladies, he’s young, he’s good-looking, don’t let him bewitch you with those puppy eyes. Understand?’
There were sniggers from around the room.
‘Ma’am,’ Faith asked, raising her hand slightly. ‘Shouldn’t we contact other people on the sex offender’s register in the area, see if they’ve been followed or noticed anything suspicious lately?’
‘Not yet. We’ll put that on the back burner.’
The door to the CID suite burst open and a flustered DC Kesinka Rani charged into the room. ‘Ma’am, you’re not going to believe this. I’ve just had a call from the Northern General. Alec Routledge has been admitted to intensive care in the early hours of this morning. He’s been badly beaten and stabbed.’
‘Who’s Alec Routledge?’
‘He’s a sex offender.’
The journey to the Northern General Hospital was conducted in silence. DC Faith Easter had volunteered to drive Matilda, and Kesinka Rani was in the back, reading through Alec Routledge’s file that Scott had emailed to her phone.
‘Alec Routledge is a paedophile,’ Kesinka punctured the silence with the disturbing statement. ‘Released from prison in 2013 and has lived in Sheffield ever since. He was a football coach and abused eight boys on his team between 1994 and 1997. Sentenced to twenty years and released after sixteen. Parole was refused three times before eventually convincing a panel he had been rehabilitated.’
‘What is so attractive about Sheffield to sex offenders?’ Faith asked.
‘Have there been any other incidents involving attacks on him recently?’ Matilda asked, ignoring Faith. She didn’t turn around in her seat to look at Kesinka. She sat facing forward, watching the outside world blur past her at forty miles per hour.
‘No. Well, if there have been he hasn’t reported them.’
‘So why now?’
‘No idea. According to uniform, neighbours heard a commotion during the night but, to be fair, when isn’t there a commotion on Gleadless? Alec was found by his sister when she came to pick him up this morning. He didn’t answer the door, so she let herself in with her key.’
‘Pick him up? Where were they going?’
‘To visit their mother
