Before It's Too Late (2 page)

Jackman thanked the detective, rang off and drained the rest of his glass. He kicked off his shoes and called Superintendent Alison Janus. He could picture her right now as the dial tone filled his ear: her duck face protruding beneath a fringed, brown bob, pinched in at the centre at this potential new addition to her crime figures.

She answered on the second ring, as if she were awaiting his call. “Will. You’ve heard about the missing girl?”

“I have.”

“Good. I’d like you to lead this one.”

Jackman’s frown was tempered with a frisson of excitement. “I’ve got my hands full with this murder enquiry at the moment, ma’am. Off to Northampton for a meeting with their homicide team this morning. Is there no one else?”

Janus didn’t attempt to hide the frustration in her voice, “No. Resources are tight enough as it is. DCI Reilly will have to bat on with Operation Sky without you. Liaise with him if you establish any links. But for the moment I want the two enquiries treated separately. The very suggestion of a serial killer running loose in Stratford will cook the press into a fever, let alone the public. Right, I’ll meet you at Rother Street station in an hour. Make sure you are up to date. We have a press conference at twelve. And Will?”

“Yes.”

“Put a tie on will you? The new chief constable’s taken a personal interest in this one.” The line went dead.

Jackman stared at the phone in his hand. Even with the Readman case pressing on them, why the chief constable would be so interested in a missing person case was beyond his comprehension, although it certainly explained the spur into action. Warwickshire’s annual figures for missing persons were far below the national average. Generally, uniform dealt with missing persons; resources were prioritised to the young and the vulnerable. A twenty-year-old college student wouldn’t usually fall into this category.

His mobile buzzed again. He viewed the screen. Reilly.

“Will?”

“Yes.”

“I have to attend this meeting with Northants homicide team this morning. I’ll need a briefing.”

Jackman closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose with the thumb and forefinger of his free hand. “We are looking for any links between the two victims. We know they were killed in a similar manner, but we need to compare the victimology research. If we can establish a personal link between the two – a mutual acquaintance, a similar interest, a place they have both visited – then it strengthens the connection and could point to a single killer.”

“And?”

“It could give us a motive and fresh leads.”

“Can’t we do this by email?”

“We’ve already exchanged emails. This meeting will enable us to talk to the investigating officers, go through witness statements, phone records, credit card statements and bring copies back of anything that might be relevant.” Silence filled the phone line as Jackman continued, “Look, I’m going to be out of action for most of this morning. You’re meeting DCI Stevens at Northants headquarters at 10.30am. Everything’s in the policy log in the top drawer of my desk if you need to refresh your memory.”

Jackman felt a thud against the side of his thigh as he rang off. Erik was leaping about like a demented springbok, waiting for his breakfast. Jackman filled a bowl with an unappetising batch of dried brown kibble and left the dog to eat.

As he climbed the stairs and jumped into the shower, his mind turned back to the missing woman. Janus was right, whatever happened, until she was found, speculation would be rife. The press would have a field day. Warwickshire was one of the UK’s smallest police forces and Stratford was considered a pretty sleepy town when it came to serious crime, which was one of the reasons he’d moved his family here from North London when his daughter was young.

Even at night, to attack a woman in Stratford town centre was a risk. He pictured the Old Thatch Tavern in his mind. It was located opposite the market square and some way from the theatre and its nearby pubs. Granted, the day-trippers, the shoppers and tourists that flocked in to see the Shakespearean sites, would have gone home and the traffic wouldn’t have been particularly prevalent on a Monday evening, but surely there were still some people wandering around? All potential witnesses. Perhaps she went back to the pub to reconcile with her boyfriend, disappeared down one of the numerous alleys that snaked the town centre?

Ten minutes later, Jackman stooped to view himself in the mirror above the fireplace in his sitting room when he heard the letterbox snap and something hit the mat. Erik raised his head and cast a sleepy eye towards the door, then lowered it again. So much for the guard dog.

Jackman moved out into the hallway, fastening his cuffs. He bent down, grabbed a pink envelope and turned it over. It was addressed to ‘Mrs Alice Jackman’. He stared at it a moment. Of course. Thursday was her birthday.

As he stood, his shoulder caught the clip-frame on the wall. It wobbled, rattling against the plaster, until he reached up and steadied it. A mosaic of little photographs slipped down inside. His eyes brushed past the jumble of family holiday pics, the photo of him crossing the finishing line at the London marathon a few years earlier, and rested on the small snapshot in the centre: a photograph of him and his wife at their wedding reception. Her white-blonde hair contrasted with his groomed chestnut mop. Their wrists were entwined, poised to drink. The camera had caught them on centre; elated eyes sparkled in the flashlight. Jackman looked back at the card and recognised Alice’s mother’s spidery handwriting. Why? She knew Alice would never open this. Alice would never open another card again. He pushed it into his pocket, grabbed his keys and left the house.

Chapter
Four

I woke to silence. A thick, suffocating silence
.

Pain. My shoulders, my back, my legs. I was on my side, curled into a foetal shape. I shifted position and flinched. Every limb smarted. I flicked my eyes open and instantly jammed them shut as a shard of light spiked my pupils. Where was I? In hospital?

No. The floor was hard and rough like sandpaper. There were no covers. I rubbed my forehead and shaded my eyes as I opened them again, gingerly this time. Darkness. A cavern of darkness all around, splintered by the small slice of light from above. I sniffed. A mixture of earthy and sweet, like the trees back home after a rainstorm
.

Pain rippled through every tendon as I uncurled my crumpled body. The ground scratched at me. It wasn’t soft like mud. More like concrete
.

As I sat up, an involuntary shiver made me tremble. Suddenly the dampness penetrated my bones and I felt cold. Excruciatingly cold
.

I blinked several times, gradually growing accustomed to the sliver of light from above and scanned the area. An almost perfect square box about four metres across. A couple of faded crisp packets mingled with a pile of crusted leaves in the far corner. The walls were hard and rough. A covered metal grill blocked the only opening above me. But no window
.

A mixture of fear and nausea swamped me
.

I tugged at my jacket, drew my legs into my chest. Grazed knees peered back at me through the broken threads of material. I reached out, touched one of them and reeled as a bit of skin came off in my hand
.

How did I get here? I blinked, tried to recall. A gentle rocking. The hum of a moving vehicle. Limbs paralysed. I wiggled my fingers and toes. The relief at movement was tempered by the reality of my surroundings. My hands and legs weren’t bound together, I was free to move around, but only within the confines of this dark pit
.

The pain in my head soared. I raised a hand to it and felt my hair, clogged and matted. When I tried to free the congealed strands, I released the unmistakable odour of vomit
.

A wave of fatigue reached up and pulled me back down until I lost all sense of recognition and surrendered to the darkness once again
.

Chapter
Five

“Over three hundred of the students at Stratford College are international. Their parents pay for them to come over here to gain a British education in a sheltered environment.”

Jackman stared at Andrew Keane. The green shirt he wore stretched across his paunch and clashed with a lilac woven tie. He always managed to look like he got dressed in the dark, but the chorus of jokes from his colleagues and peers didn’t bother him one bit. Nothing ever seemed to bother Keane.

“So, we are looking at a reassurance exercise,” Janus said. The three of them were seated around an oval table in one of Rother Street station’s meeting rooms. The morning sun bounced off the laminated table. A lone filing cabinet stood in the corner, a tower of buff files balanced precariously on top.

“Looks like it,” Keane continued. “The college principal came in early this morning. His phone is already ringing off the hook from local journos. He’s panicking about parents pulling their kids out because they don’t feel safe.”

“Hence the chief constable’s interest,” Janus said. “Apparently he had the
Stratford Mail
call him on his personal line first thing this morning. God knows how they got that number.” She snorted. “Passed it through to me of course.”

Jackman rubbed his forehead. “How
did
the press get hold of the story?”

Keane shrugged a single shoulder. “Most likely someone from the college shared it on social media. Probably one of the students. As soon as they caught a whiff of the police, they saw a chance for some exposure. It seems everyone’s after celebrity status these days. I’m amazed somebody hasn’t filmed her room on their mobile.”

“Don’t speak too quickly,” Janus said. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and turned to Jackman. “Make sure uniform’s got it locked and contained, will you?”

“Sure.” The room hushed as Jackman inhaled loudly. “We should probably keep it low key,” he said, speaking through his exhalation. “Issue a statement to the press to show that we’re taking it seriously. There are bound to be comparisons made with the Readman case, particularly as she was missing for several days before her body was discovered. We’ll need to refute any links at this stage, try to get them and the public to focus on sightings of Min Li, to track down her last movements.” He stared into space as he spoke. “Limit the presence at the college. It’s early days – we need to find out what we’re dealing with first.”

Janus nodded. “I agree. The last thing we want is international journos on our doorstep. Plain clothes officers only at the college. That’ll be more discreet, less alarming.”

The sound of a knock drew their attention towards the entrance. The door opened and DC Kathryn Russell’s heart-shaped face appeared. Russell shot a quick smile at Jackman and addressed the Super, “Phone call for you, ma’am.”

Janus rose. “Update Judy Pearson in the press office, will you? Get her to draft a statement and tell them we’re taking no more than three or four questions. Keep it tight. We don’t want any room for speculation.” She checked her watch, “See you back here at 11.30.”

Jackman nodded and watched as she raced out into the corridor, her heels clicking on the linoleum flooring with every step.

He turned to Keane. “Right, I think we need to get the boyfriend back in for a formal statement.”

“He’s downstairs. I’m just about to interview him.”

Jackman stared at the dark pools that encircled Keane’s eyes. “How long have you been on duty?”

Keane glanced up at the clock. “Fourteen hours, give or take.”

Jackman raised his brows.

“One last job,” Keane said and winked. “Can’t deny me this one.”

“Okay. I’ll come with you. As soon as you’re done, you go home.”

They gathered their notes and moved out to the corridor. Just as they were about to turn the corner, Jackman heard a familiar voice behind him, “Morning, sir. You’re looking dashing as ever!”

Jackman turned and smiled at the tall, well-built figure that approached. Most women gave Jackman an uncomfortable wide berth when it came to personal compliments, but DS Annie Davies had always been different which was probably why he liked her so much. Her broad Geordie accent spoke the words with amusing honesty.

He turned to Keane. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

As Keane nodded, tipped his head at Davies and continued down the corridor, Jackman faced Davies. His eyes caught a white stain on her lapel. “Thank you, Annie. I’ve missed you too.”

She followed his eyes, licked her thumb and gave the mark a rub. “Damn!”

Jackman smiled. “First day back?”

She looked up at him, raised her eyes to the ceiling, although her face shone like a child’s at Christmas. “Yup! And straight into an incident room.”

Jackman grinned affectionately. Annie and her husband, John, had been the typical childless police couple – indulging in their sports and holidays until she found herself pushing forty and pregnant last year. He suspected their lives had changed more than she’d care to imagine this past twelve months. “I could use your help. How’s the little one?”

She squeezed out a smile. “Noisy, but cute. What about you? How’s Celia?”

“Great. Don’t see much of her these days. She’s away at Southampton Uni.”

“She managed to get on the course for marine biology.” Annie nodded approvingly. “Clever girl.”

Jackman suddenly remembered the card in his pocket. He slipped his hand in and ran his finger along the unopened edge. “She’s coming up later in the week, actually.”

“Good to hear.”

A crash in the distance caught their attention. “Oh, Christ!” Annie rolled her eyes. “Nothing like a bunch of detectives to rearrange furniture.”

Jackman gave a short laugh. “Thanks for getting everything set up.” He reached out and tapped her shoulder. “It’s good to have you back.”

Chapter
Six

Jackman scratched his temple and stared into the brown eyes of Min Li’s boyfriend. “Let’s take this from the top, shall we?”