Killing the Beasts

Both men were now scanning the concrete steps, then the door itself.

'No forced entry,' remarked Jon as McCloughlin pushed the door open with the end of a pen. 'Hello? DCI McCloughlin and DI Spicer, MISU. Can we come in?'

A voice answered them from deeper inside the flat. 'Keep to the footplates please, gentlemen.' A tall man wearing a face mask stepped from one of the rooms.

As they approached him, Jon noticed a carefully arranged assortment of coupons cut from magazines on the little hallway table. Nearing the front room Jon said, 'Same odour. Slightly fruity, chemical. Can you smell it?'

'Yeah, I thought someone had been painting,' replied McCloughlin.

'So did I, in the first victim's flat. I think you'll find it gets a lot stronger the closer you get to her mouth.'

Now in the dim front room itself, Jon looked down at the obese body of a young woman. Her arms were stretched out at right angles to her body, long strands of brown hair spread out to the side of her head, purple hairband keeping it off her face. Every so often the scene was lit by flashes from the photographer's camera as he snapped shots from every angle. She wore a knitted jumper with sheep on it, a thick corduroy skirt and beige tights. Sensible slip-on shoes.

'Very Mumsy,' said McCloughlin.

Crouching down, they peered into her slightly open mouth.

The SOCO said, 'The trees cut out a lot of the daylight. I haven't dusted the light switch yet. But here, use my torch.'

Jon turned it on and held it centimetres from her lips. Just visible at the back of her mouth was a thick white substance. He played the beam over her hands, then the rest of her. 'She's been dragged here. Jumper's tight over her shoulders, hair is pulled under her head and is lying off to one side.' He directed the light at the corner of the rug nearest the door — it was slightly curled over.

'I'll go with that,' answered McCloughlin.

'I think you'll find she may have collapsed in the bathroom,' the SOCO stated. They stepped back into the hallway. There were only three other doors to choose from: kitchen, bedroom, bathroom. Looking in the bathroom, they saw a sink that was partially full of water, a bottle of liquid soap lying half submerged inside. On the floor next to a neat arrangement of toilet rolls was a large clamshell holding several brightly coloured smaller shells in its concave surface. Several had spilled across the lino floor.

'So she went down in here. Struck or collapsed?'

They moved through into the kitchen and Jon immediately pointed to the draining board. 'Two cups.' Using the line of foot-plates, he approached the sink. 'Recently washed up.' He reached a hand round the back of the plastic kettle and held a knuckle against it. 'Kettle's still faintly warm.'

McCloughlin was looking at him quizzically.

'There were also two cups on the draining board at Polly Mather's flat, 'Jon continued. 'If both victims made brews for someone just before they were killed, it could have been the same visitor.'

'Go on.'

'Well, this is just a starter for ten. The killer comes round, our victims let him in, make him a brew. They sit and chat. Then, somehow, each victim ends up collapsing and getting her throat filled with playdough or whatever it is. He rinses the cups out and leaves.'

McCloughlin gazed up at the ceiling. 'There are some pretty large gaps in that chain of events. But it would make sense that, if someone called round that she knew, she'd offer him a drink. But what happens after that?' He asked himself as much as Jon.

Next they walked down the short corridor and looked in the bedroom. A collection of teddy bears and other furry animals were carefully arranged at the top of a single bed. On the wall above it was a crucifix and on the bedside table a Bible.

'She must arrange them every morning,' Jon murmured, looking at the soft toys. 'That's very meticulous.'

'Twenty-three years old, going on fifty,' said McCloughlin behind him. 'Childish, yet very methodical. The flat's spotless. Bible basher too. Ten quid says that bed's never seen any action.'

Jon let out a snort of breath. 'Not even debatable.'

McCloughlin's chuckle was dry and emotionless. 'Let's talk outside.' At the bottom of the steps he said, 'So, assuming that's the same stuff blocking her throat, we've got a second victim.'

Jon nodded. 'I don't like the look of this, Boss. Those two women couldn't inhabit more different worlds. A skinny ravehead with tattoos who works in a music shop and a fundo-freak with a weight problem who sleeps with half the cast of Disneyworld each night. I imagine that they're not the best of mates.'

McCloughlin looked up. 'It could work out to be great news. Let's assume those two girls' lives are as massively different as they appear to be. Their paths have crossed somewhere. They've been to the same place, met the same person or done the same thing at some point. If we can find out what that thing is, we're a huge step closer to catching whoever did this. So let's start cross-referencing every aspect of their lives. Who they know, where they've been, what they've done. The works.'

Now there were two victims, Jon didn't know if he was still in charge of the investigation or not. He was just wondering how to ask the question when McCloughlin's mobile went.

He fumbled around trying to get his hand inside the scene-ofcrime suit. 'Yes?'

Once again his eyes wandered towards Jon as the information was relayed to him, but this time they showed genuine alarm. 'OK, OK, yes. I understand.' Finally he flipped the phone shut. 'A third body has been found. Not four miles from here. Heather Rayne, thirty-two years old, IT trainer at Kellogg's, throat blocked with a white gel.'

Jon could only manage a whispered, 'Jesus.'

McCloughlin was staring at the tarmac. 'Right, this changes everything. I'm moving the incident room to Longsight. I'll need the facilities and extra space there. I'll talk to you later about moving your team over from Ashton. In the meantime, stay here and start asking questions. Begin with the girl who found her.'

As McCloughlin started walking back across the yard, Jon said, 'Boss? I wasn't sure about ordering a mass spectrometer analysis of the first victim's blood. Budgetary concerns…'

McCloughlin interrupted him. 'Forget the budget on this; get it ordered.' He disappeared round the corner.

Chapter 12

1 November 2002

Jon sat down on the footplate of the ambulance, making sure the level of his head was lower than hers, ensuring his presence was as unthreatening as possible. 'Hello, my name's Jon Spicer from Greater Manchester Police. I understand that you discovered Mary?'

The girl raised her head, complete lack of make-up making the redness below her nostrils more apparent. She wore a sensible lilaccoloured overcoat, Marks amp; Spencer's probably, and her hair was held back by a band very similar to Mary's. Jon guessed they went to the same church.

'Yes I did,' she whispered, dabbing a damp handkerchief at her nose.

'How did you know Mary?'

'We go to the same church, St Luke's on Alexandra Road. That was where we were going this morning. I call round for her.'

Jon thought for a second. 'So was her front door open? How did you get in?'

She fished in her pockets and produced a set of keys. 'I let myself in. I have a key from when I looked after her cat, Mogwai. He died in the summer. She didn't answer the door, but I knew she was in. I'd spoken to her last thing yesterday night.'

'Last thing? How do you mean, exactly?'

'We often ring each other before going to bed.' She looked like she was about to start crying again.

'And she sounded normal?'

'Yes, we're preparing a play for the Sunday school class. She rang off saying she'd see me this morning.'

'Was she expecting anyone else to be calling round last night?'