Never Look Back (28 page)

He tried to ignore the stares as several members of his team looked in his direction. He indicated for Chris to continue. He wanted to get this over with, as quickly as humanly possible.

Chris seemed unsure how to continue as he said, ‘Cliffview is a private facility. It houses people with varying conditions, such as dementia and autism.’ He looked at Lockyer, seemingly out of words.

Lockyer took a deep breath. ‘Right, let’s get this over with, shall we,’ he said, standing, placing both his hands flat on the table, the heat from his skin leaving traces where his fingers rested against the glass. All eyes were on him. ‘I found the earring in the bedroom of one of the residents. It was lying on a pile of books, in plain view. The resident is my brother, Robert Lockyer.’ Muttered conversation spread throughout the room. Their words, their doubts seemed to bounce off the glass, attacking his composure. ‘Of course, you already know all of this. Nothing works faster than the bloody jungle drums in this place.’ Several heads dropped so he knew who had been talking, but he could hardly blame them. He cleared his throat to make sure he had the team’s full attention. ‘The resident has been fingerprinted and DNA has been taken. An alibi has been given, checked and verified. Neither the DNA or the fingerprints are a match for the trace evidence found at the murder scene of Deborah Stevens.’ He waited and watched this new information drip-feed around the room. ‘There is no reason to believe that the resident in question has anything whatsoever to do with this murder or any of the others. Do I make myself clear?’ he asked, looking from one officer to the next. A few of the on-loan officers didn’t meet his eyes but the majority of the team looked back at him, their faces open, their feelings clear. At least some people still trusted him.

Trust. As soon as the word entered his mind an image of Sarah crammed in beside it. She trusted him. She had said as much. Bobby was no one’s business but delaying the investigation was. What he was doing with Sarah was their business too. It was Jane’s business. Conflict of interest didn’t even come close to what he was doing.

‘So, what we need to find out is . . .’ he said, feeling his composure return, ‘the identity of the man who put the earring in the resident’s room. When and why?’ There were more nods of agreement from his team. Jane in particular was nodding enthusiastically, already on board, back at his side. ‘We’re assuming the “when” was last week, Tuesday. The residents were out on a day trip so the facility would have been empty. The “why” isn’t our main concern at this stage. As we know, it isn’t uncommon for suspects in this kind of investigation to take an interest in police, media, anyone closely connected to the case. I have spoken to Phil on this . . .’ He gestured to Phil and was relieved to see he wasn’t going to fight him or attempt to heckle his way into the briefing. ‘It is possible that the suspect sees me as some kind of opponent and therefore wishes to engage me on a more personal level.’ Officers turned and looked at each other, concern being the dominant expression. ‘I would ask you all to take suitable precautions. The case is not to be discussed outside of this office, even with other departments, without direct sign-off by me or Sergeant Bennett.’ He didn’t know what they looked so worried about. Lewisham’s first serial killer hadn’t taken a personal interest in them. Hands started to go up around the room; concern had clearly been replaced by mild panic.

‘OK, OK, I can see that you all have questions. I would ask you to direct them to Sergeant Bennett . . . after the briefing, please,’ he said as the entire room prepared to bombard Jane. He clapped his hands together once, twice, three times until he finally had their attention. ‘We’ve got CCTV footage to go through . . . nothing has been found, as yet. Jane and I have already talked to the staff at the facility. As I said, we’re assuming the earring was planted on Tuesday between the hours of 10.00 and 17.00. We already have a list of individuals who knew the house would be empty.’ He thought back to his conversation with Alice. Her new boyfriend had known about the trip. She had even invited him to come along, but he had declined and she hadn’t heard from him since. Lockyer had run a check on the mobile phone number Alice had for the guy but it was disconnected, a pay-as-you-go, no way to trace the owner. Another dead end or maybe just a false start?

‘Are there any questions?’ he asked. Chairs moved and papers were shuffled but nobody spoke. ‘Good. Then let’s move on. The second item on today’s schedule involves the entire team. We’re still waiting on Sawyer’s medical records, to confirm if she had a termination, so we will have to hang fire on that for now. The hospitals where Phoebe, Katy and Debbie had their procedures have confirmed that records are confidential and aren’t on a centralized database. Given this new information, it’s unlikely that the suspect selected his victims by way of their medical records.’ As soon as he said ‘selected’ he felt a twinge in his stomach. According to Phil’s profile they had four days, max, before this guy struck again, before another girl was wrenched from her family. Why did everything take so bloody long? Debbie’s killer was taking risks, branching out not only geographically, with Hayley, but going out of his remit completely, with the earring and Bobby. How was he able to stay hidden?

‘Sorry,’ he said, realizing he was staring out of the window, worry and frustration creasing his brow. ‘If he isn’t finding them through records, then we have to assume he’s seen these girls face to face. The hospital administrator advised that women often attend their local surgery or clinic beforehand for initial testing, follow-up appointments and counselling before and after the procedure. We know Debbie attended the Lewisham Young Women’s Centre but they have no record of any of the other victims. Penny and Chris have been over there to show the staff pictures of Katy and Phoebe . . . no joy, as yet. We haven’t had the go ahead to release Hayley’s name to the press, so we will have to wait on that. In the meantime we need to spread our net.’ He took a deep breath. ‘The anonymity offered by these types of clinics doesn’t help us, I’m afraid. We’re left with no option but . . . door to door.’ He heard rumbles of discontent. It was going to be a laborious couple of days and the team knew it. Wait until they saw the size of the list. ‘We have a list here,’ he said, holding up a folder-sized bundle of A4 paper, ‘of all the local clinics, surgeries and support groups operating in south-east London and south-west London.’ There were more murmurs and groans of protest from the room. ‘We will be visiting every single facility on this list with details and photographs of each victim, excluding Hayley.’ A hand shot up at the back of the room. It was Chris.

‘Yes, Chris,’ he said, hoping his voice didn’t sound too indulgent.

‘Sorry, sir. If we’re thinking the suspect had face-to-face contact with the victims then we’re assuming he, what . . . works at one of these places?’

‘Yes, Chris, that’s exactly what we’re hoping, but bear in mind a lot of people go through these places . . . doctors, nurses, office staff, cleaning staff, delivery men . . . the list goes on. There are a lot of options but if we turn up a hit we’ll be narrowing the field considerably.’ Until then they were still looking for a gnat in a swimming pool. We just need one break, he thought. Chris still had his hand in the air. ‘Yes, Chris.’

‘But . . . the third victim, Deborah Stevens, we know what clinic she went to,’ Chris said, looking acutely uncomfortable to have the floor.

‘As I’ve said, we’ve checked the LYWC already. What we’re hoping is that Debbie visited more than one clinic. It would make sense, given that Lewisham isn’t her closest facility by a long way, so there may be a reason she changed and went further afield. We’ll focus on the clinics in SW15 and SW18 first, as all the girls were resident in or close to these boroughs.’ Lockyer took a deep breath. He hoped this wasn’t a colossal waste of time but what other choice did he have? The only link between the girls was their abortions. The only way their killer would know all four of them had abortions was their records, and if not records, then it had to be face to face. It just had to be. ‘Right, is everyone with me?’ he said, relieved to see a room of nodding heads. ‘Good. That’s all for this morning’s briefing. Thank you and good luck,’ he said, giving the list to Jane. ‘Jane will have details of your locations in ten minutes. Be ready to leave in twenty.’

The room emptied quickly as his team shuffled out and over to their desks or make-shift spaces to grab their phones, their coats and their car keys. Today was going to be a long day for everyone but, Lockyer hoped, by the end of it he would be one step closer to finding a killer.

Lockyer looked down at the mobile on his desk. He had three missed calls. They were all from Sarah.

He walked out of his office and over to the lift, his head down as if studying a message he had received. Jane looked up as he passed but he didn’t meet her eyes. He couldn’t. The guilt was hideous. Jane was Sarah’s official case handler but she hadn’t been there. There had been no one else. He had spoken to her, explained her options. What he did after that was nobody else’s concern.

‘Yeah, right,’ he muttered.

The doors opened and he walked in, keeping his eyes lowered. It was almost eleven so half the station would be heading over the road for a bacon sandwich, cup of tea and a fix of Sky Sports. He listened to their banter until the lift finally reached the ground floor. He was so relieved to get out that he practically jogged across the foyer and into the car park. He clicked the remote central locking on his key, the Audi’s indicator lights flashing twice as he climbed in and turned on the engine. All the windows were fogged. He sat back and rested his head, closing his eyes and savouring the moment of peace.

As he dialled Sarah’s number he cranked the heaters up but kept the blowers on his legs so he could enjoy the privacy of his fogged windows for a moment longer.

‘Hello,’ she said, her voice quiet, tentative.

‘Hi, it’s Mike,’ he said.

‘I know,’ she said. He could hear the smile in her voice. ‘How are you?’ she asked, her tone more serious.

He tried to think of a clever or witty answer so he could make light of the situation, but his mind was empty. Humour was a tool in the office but now, when he really needed it, it had abandoned him. ‘I’m fine. Sorry I missed your calls. I’ve only just come out of the morning briefing.’ It felt strange to hear himself saying a sentence he had said thousands of times to Clara over the years. He reached for the ring at his neck. It wasn’t there. He hadn’t been wearing it for days.

‘You left so early this morning; I wondered if everything was . . . OK?’ she said.

He could hear the doubt in her voice. He should be trying to slow things down. But he couldn’t say it. He didn’t feel it. ‘Everything’s fine,’ he said. ‘I just didn’t want to wake you.’ He pictured her face as it had been this morning before he left. He had sat on the side of the bed and stroked her hair away from her cheek.

‘Are you free tonight?’ she asked.

He mentally listed his options. You’ve got work to do. You have to see your daughter. Say anything. ‘Yes,’ he said, slapping his forehead.

‘What was that?’

‘Nothing, I was just getting in my car, the door slammed,’ he said, feeling weak. ‘What time?’ he asked.

‘I’m free any time, just come over when you’re done. I had some shopping delivered today so I’ll cook. We can have a bottle of wine . . .’ She sounded happy. He was making her happy. He realized he was smiling.

‘It might not be until about eight,’ he said, turning off the ignition. The fans cut out and the cold air seeped back into the car, fogging the windows again.

‘Any time is fine,’ she said. ‘Are you sure everything is OK?’

Could she hear his doubts, his fears? ‘Yes. I’ll see you later. Can’t wait.’

He hung up the phone and climbed out of the car, alarmed it and made his way back into the office, trying to ignore the light feeling that had taken over his entire body.

As Lockyer walked back into his office he noticed Chris shadowing him. He turned and raised an eyebrow. ‘Can I help you, Chris?’ he said, sitting down at his desk.

‘Sir, have you got a second?’ Chris said, his voice filled with anxiety.

Lockyer cracked his neck and prayed for patience. He could understand Chris’s concern. His wife had just given birth to their first child, so knowing a deranged killer was targeting members of the team was bound to unnerve the poor kid. ‘Yes, Chris . . . what’s up?’

‘I’ve been going through the patient list for the clinic the third victim . . . Deborah Stevens . . . used, sir, and . . .’

‘Chris, I’ve told you, LYWC checks out. You can leave that, for now.’ His words didn’t have the desired effect. Chris was shifting from foot to foot and then, much to Lockyer’s surprise, he stepped further into his office and closed the door.

‘It’s not that, sir,’ Chris said, his voice hushed. ‘When nothing came back on the first check, I decided to look further back, up to a year,’ he said, his eyes lowered. Probably because he knew damn well he shouldn’t have requested older records without Lockyer’s express permission.

‘Go on,’ he said.

‘I noticed a name . . . a patient,’ Chris said.

‘Spit it out, Constable.’

‘Here, sir,’ Chris said, putting a piece of paper on Lockyer’s desk before retreating back to the door. ‘I just thought you should know and I didn’t want to . . . I didn’t think you’d want anyone else to know.’

He leaned forward and read the name, the date and the reason for the visit. He read it again, once, twice, three times. ‘Thank you, Chris,’ he said, not looking up. ‘No one else sees those records . . . is that clear?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Chris said.

Lockyer didn’t notice the door opening or closing. He just stared at the piece of paper, unable to think.

11 February – Tuesday

Malvern still felt shaky as he leaned against the wall at the end of Sarah’s street, hidden by darkness. He had spent most of the weekend looking over his shoulder, jumping at the slightest sound. The notion that he would, or even could, harass Sarah was outrageous. He rubbed his eyes and looked up at her. She was standing in her lounge, her blinds fully open. She looked so beautiful, so happy. Could she sense his presence? Did she know he was back, protecting her?