‘Really?’ Rick asked sarcastically.
Jon met his eyes. ‘I was. He went to a singles’ karaoke night dressed like Elvis. Got chatting to a woman there, looked like he was about to pull. Gave her his card, then said something to scare her off.’
Rick was looking more and more pissed off. ‘You did all this behind my back?’
‘I didn’t think you’d be interested in shadowing Pete Gray after the amount of hours we’ve been putting in during the day.’
‘Don’t give me that shit. You didn’t even ask. We’re meant to be working this together.’ He drained his drink and stood up to go.
‘We are. Just hear me out, will you?’ Rick remained standing.
‘I rang Lucy Rowlands, the first victim’s daughter. She said a guy gave her mum his card at a singles’ night one time. It was in the same bar I followed him to the other night. Lucy said the guy was a total creep, called him The Fat Elvis.’
‘Did you speak to the woman he scared off?’
‘No, because by the time I got back to the bar after following him home, she’d gone. But it means he could have had contact with Angela Rowlands and Carol Miller.’
‘Good work. I’ll let you fill in McCloughlin.’ Rick walked out without another word.
Jon sighed, then took a mouthful of beer. It didn’t make him feel any better.
His mobile started buzzing in his pocket. Nikki Kingston, the crime-scene manager’s name showed on his screen.
‘Hi, Nikki. How are you?’
‘Good, thanks. Why’re you sounding depressed?’
‘Long story.’
‘Good. You can tell me over those drinks you owe me. Where are you?’
He’d finished his pint by the time Nikki walked in to the Bull’s
Head, a small briefcase under one arm.
Jon waved her over. ‘So what news have you got?’
‘Uh-huh.’ She held up a finger. ‘Drinks first.’ Jon smiled and got to his feet. ‘What’ll it be?’
‘Gin and dry martini, thanks.’
Jon returned with their drinks and sat down.
Nikki was checking the ashtray for recently stubbed-out butts.
‘Still not smoking?’
‘Yes,’ Jon protested.
She looked provocatively at him out of the corner of her eye.
‘What?’ he laughed, holding out his hands. ‘What do I have to do to convince you?’
Looking at the ashtray, she said, ‘There’s only way I could really tell none of these were smoked by you. But the night’s a bit young for that.’ She moved the ashtray to another table. ‘So what’s the long story?’
Jon’s smile disappeared. ‘That guy I’m working with, Rick
Saville?’
‘Oh yes?’ Nikki took a sip, looking over the rim of her glass. Jon remembered the glance that had passed between them at Tyler Young’s crime scene. The pang of jealousy returned and he found himself saying, ‘Liked him, did you?’
She smiled. ‘He’s not bad. Doubt I’m his cup of tea, though.’
Her answer confused him.
Nikki gave his hand a sympathetic squeeze. ‘I think he’s gay.’
Jon’s mouth dropped open. ‘He is.’
‘No shit, Sherlock? How long did it take you to figure that out?’
‘A bit. How did you know?’
‘Call it feminine intuition.’ She paused, then looked at him.
‘Was that a glimpse of the little green monster I just saw?’
‘No.’ He felt a blush creeping up his neck. Shit!
‘It was,’ she smiled, a note of triumph in her voice. ‘You were feeling jealous! Even if he wasn’t gay, he’s not my type.’ Her eyes went to Jon’s scarred hands, travelled up to his lips, then his eyes. ‘I like my men a bit rougher at the edges.’
Jon looked away. ‘I’ve been following up a bit of a lead, but in my own time.’
‘So?’
‘I didn’t let him know. Or rather, I just did let him know and he spat his dummy out.’
‘Well, there you go. Gay men can get a bit emotional.’
Jon sprang to his defence. ‘No, it was fair enough. I wasn’t being straight with him.’ A look bounced between them. ‘If you know what I mean.’
‘I think so,’ she smirked.
Jon took a gulp of his drink. ‘Actually, the lead has to do with the tests I asked you to run. So come on, what’s this hot news you have for me?’
She reached for her briefcase. ‘You asked me to run an ACEV on the fingerprints and a DNA analysis on a plastic cup.’
‘That’s right.’
‘I didn’t come back with anything conclusive on the fingerprints.’
‘You said you’d recovered a partial from the inside of that glove we found by the third victim’s body.’
‘Yes, but it was only a partial. Comparing it to the couple on the cup you gave me resulted in, as I said, nothing conclusive. A couple of points matched, but that’s nowhere near enough, as you know. However, I ran the print through NAFIS. You do know the owner has a record?’
‘Yes, don’t worry.’
‘OK. Are you ready for the good news?’
‘Go on.’
‘The DNA test from the plastic cup was successful, although not with anything from the scene of the third victim.’
‘But?’
‘You still owe me another drink, yeah?’
‘Yes! Come on, what is it?’
‘I ran it against the DNA samples recovered from Carol Miller and Angela Rowlands.’
‘And?’ Jon crossed his fingers.
‘It matches the DNA found on the vaginal swab from Angela
Rowlands.’
Jon clenched his fists tight as he leaned forwards. ‘Yes! This means a guy I’ve got my eye on has been in contact with two of the Butcher’s victims. Nikki, I could kiss you.’
Before he could move, she brought her lips up against his. A hand slid along his jaw, round the back of his neck, and he felt the softness of her tongue probing his lips. For a second he remained still, his nerves zinging. Then he pulled back.
Her eyes slowly opened. ‘You really haven’t been smoking.’
‘I’d better get those drinks,’ he whispered hoarsely. Nikki smiled.
He stood at the bar, mind racing. A raw desire for sex was threatening to overwhelm him and he knew that staying for another drink would lead to the point of no return.
The barman came over. ‘Same again?’
Jon hesitated, hand on the fiver in his pocket. ‘Yes, please.’ As the drinks were poured, Jon tried to focus on Nikki’s revelation. It had to make Pete Gray the prime suspect. They had enough to haul him in there and then. He paid for the drinks and carried them over to the table. But the look of hurt on Rick’s face refused to fade in his mind. After putting the drinks down, he said, ‘Nikki, I’m really sorry to do this, but I’ve got to catch Rick up and let him know the news.’
She looked at him, a half-smile on her face. But when she saw he was serious, her expression turned sour. ‘Go on, then, off you run,’ she said, waving a hand dismissively towards the door.
Chapter 25
In the glow of the streetlights the drizzle swirled in the air like pollen. It drifted helplessly, pushed and pulled by erratic currents of air, finding its way beneath the umbrellas of the few people walking the pavements, coating their clothes in a damp layer.
Fiona paused long enough outside the bar to scan its windows for drink offers. Then she rounded the corner into Minshull Street. A couple of girls were out and she walked towards the first, who was sheltering under the overhang of a seventies office building, the doorway of which stank of piss.
After listening to Fiona’s question, she sucked deeply on her cigarette and shook her head. Fiona thanked her and set off towards the other girl. She was huddling in a doorway on the other side of the street.
Fiona was halfway across the road when she noticed a car rapidly approaching. She had to jump over a large puddle to make it on to the pavement in time. A split second later it drove into the water, sending a cold sheet splashing against the backs of her legs.
‘Whore!’ a male voice yelled through the vehicle’s open window as it sped away.
‘Fucking wanker!’ the girl screeched back, jabbing her middle finger up.