Fifteen
Anna was halfway to Whitmarsh on Tuesday morning, her brain in overdrive and still smarting from Harris’s barbs, when Holder rang.
‘Have you seen the news today, ma’am?’
‘No, Justin. I showered and left without passing “Go”.’
‘Newspaper?’
‘You’re making me nervous. Do I need to see one?’
‘Yes, ma’am. It’s best that you do.’
She stopped at the next services, bought a coffee and checked the news on her phone. There, a grainy and candid image of her face, taken from outside the Risman property, stared back at her. Serious, her eyes defiant and giving nothing away, the accompanying text said it all.
Inspector Anna Gwynne, leading the investigation into Emily’s killer, declined to comment.
The article rehashed the gory details of both Emily’s and Nia’s murders, along with the news of Neville Cooper’s arrest. All with the words that could panic the public once again: The Woodsman.
Anna shook her head, annoyed. She should be focusing on Emily Risman, not on her way to a prison to interview Hector Shaw. The sooner she got this over with the better.
Shaw was waiting for her in the grubby interview room. He looked the same as a week before. Anna sat, went to switch on the DIR, but Shaw shook his head.
‘I’d prefer this off the record. To start with.’
Anna shrugged and sat back. ‘What can I do for you, Mr Shaw?’
‘No gorilla?’
‘DCI Shipwright is otherwise engaged.’
Shaw smiled and crossed his arms on his chest. ‘Yeah? How’s your other investigation, Anna?’
‘You know I can’t discuss any other investigation. I’m here to talk about Tanya Cromer.’
Shaw nodded. ‘The thing is, I already know what it is you’re caught up in. We get the newspapers, too. Nice photo. A smile wouldn’t have hurt though.’
She waited.
‘Neville Cooper. The Woodsman. Did he, or didn’t he? It’s a real two egg question, that. If he did, the courts get yolk all over their face, if he didn’t your colleagues get it instead. There’ll be a ton of flak either way.’
‘Mr Shaw—’
‘Looking at it from the outside, or from the inside, like I do, there are too many things that don’t add fucking up. I mean, it looks like the police fitted him up for the first murder. But when he’s inside, there’s nothing. Then, when he comes back out, kerching, there’s another fucking murder. Two plus two equals four on that one.’
She tried not to listen, tried to summon up some white noise to play in her head. But the truth was this was exactly how it looked from the outside. Exactly how the newspapers saw it.
‘Unless, of course, some devious bastard wants Cooper as a double scapegoat. What do you say, Anna?’
‘I’m only here to talk about Tanya—’
‘Oh, we will, I promise. But for now, I want to talk about you, Anna. You and your cold case. A cold case that’s suddenly on fire and burning at eight hundred degrees fucking centigrade. We both know that the easy thing to do would be to roll over and let Cooper rot for another seventeen years. That’s a long time. But why not? No one gave a fuck the last time. People will love you for it. The press will love you for it. Would you like that, Anna?’
Shaw paused. He gave her one of his slow blinks, and smiled. Not the broad, dangerous smile she’d seen in the Connor video, but still feral. She felt horribly exposed all of a sudden under his oily gaze.
‘But you can’t, can you? It’s not in your DN fucking A, is it? I think I can help you, Anna. I’ve had a lot of time to think about the Woodsman. Plus, I may have some… special knowledge.’
Anna felt her breath quicken and fought not to show it. This was more than likely to be nothing but a sick game. Jane Markham had warned her. And yet, damn it, Shaw was bright. Might it be possible that he did know something?
‘Yeah, see, you know it. I like you, Anna. I want us to be friends.’
‘I can’t do that. I can’t be your friend.’
‘Don’t say that. Not this early in our relationship.’
‘Tanya Cromer,’ Anna said.
Shaw let out a snort. ‘We both know that Tanya isn’t going anywhere.’
Something in his voice made her swallow hard. If he noticed, he did not acknowledge it.
‘“The Woodsman”. Pathetic name, but things were different then. Seventeen years ago, things weren’t quite as sophisticated. The newspapers were powerful. Not like now where they’re irrelevant to anyone under thirty-five. But then, they could really sway public opinion.’
‘If you know anything…’ Anna said.
Shaw nodded. ‘That’s the real question, isn’t it? Knowing.’ He blew out air. ‘This case. It has so many angles. So many places you could trip up. But your angle… your angle must be that Cooper isn’t guilty, am I right?’
She didn’t let anything show, but Shaw smiled anyway.
‘So how do you fit the evidence around that? I mean, now we’re into a different kind of algebra altogether. X plus y minus z equals fucked up.’
Shaw kept talking so quickly, she couldn’t shut him up.
She didn’t want to shut him up.
‘Say someone wants Cooper back inside, and I’m not talking about your shit-for-brains colleagues. I’m talking about someone very special. What doesn’t make sense to you, Anna? What is it that doesn’t add up?’
She spoke then, knowing she shouldn’t but unable to stop herself. The same rhetorical question she’d asked Khosa after interviewing Richard Osbourne. The one that had festered in her mind for days. ‘If it isn’t Cooper, why have there been no other killings in the seventeen years he’s been inside?’
Shaw leaned forward, his eyes intense. ‘Exactly,’ he whispered. ‘So, hold that up to the light and look at it. What’s hidden in the glass?’ He paused before adding, ‘What if he doesn’t like killing them?’
Anna frowned. ‘Emily Risman was strangled and stabbed. So was Nia Hopkins.’
Shaw nodded. ‘How many times? Five? Ten?’
Anna didn’t answer.
‘It’s in the paper. Twenty-four, The Times said. Twenty-four’s a frenzy killing. Everyone knows that. He lost it the first time. There was too much baggage. He knew her, she knew him. His only hope of getting away was to kill her.’
‘Cooper knew Emily and Nia.’
‘We’re presuming it wasn’t Cooper, remember? That’s your angle. So, what if before whoever this man is kills Emily, before the red mist comes down, he starts enjoying himself?’
Anna frowned. This was a minefield. But Shaw, damn him, was walking her through a process she’d struggled with mentally and had found impossible to articulate. He was asking her the questions she should be asking herself, pushing her towards establishing a pattern. It was something Shipwright encouraged her to do. Something she was supposed to be good at.
‘Subdues them to semi consciousness. He likes them half-dead,’ Anna said.
‘Exactly. Maybe he likes to take them to the edge before bringing them back for more.’
‘That’s why he chokes them.’ Anna nodded, but then frowned. ‘But why kill Nia?’
Shaw shook his head. ‘She’s a casualty of war.’
‘He killed her so that Cooper would be crucified again.’ Anna saw it then. It was obvious, but such an alien thought, such a despicable thought that she’d baulked at it until now.
Shaw was enjoying himself. ‘Come on, Anna. Follow it through.’
Frowning, she voiced her thoughts. ‘While Cooper’s free, people like me are a threat because we’re looking somewhere else. Once Cooper is back in custody, everything quietens down.’
‘And then maybe our special boy can get back to business.’
Special boy?
‘What business?’ Anna asked.
Shaw sat back and folded his arms again. ‘Some people need to talk about their hobbies, Anna. It’s part of it for them. Bragging rights. Let’s just say that, at one time in my life, I became very familiar with a certain type of individual.’
‘Was this when you were trying to find the people responsible for Abbie’s death?’
Shaw blinked very slowly. Anna felt her pulse quicken. But all Shaw did was lower his chin and look at her. ‘Once, in a chat room full of scum and detritus and the dregs of the world, someone came and went like a ghost. Untraceable, obviously. But he gave details. Details you could check if you really wanted to. He was genuine. I could always tell the genuine ones. Oh, there were a ton of chancers, wankers who got their kicks from reading about things or making crap up. But the real players, they never had to try too hard with their explanations. This one loved the outdoors. He was naive, young, I’d say. Said he liked to squeeze the apple as he made them squirm. I didn’t care for him then and I don’t care for him now, but it stuck in my mind, Anna.’
‘Who? Who is he?’
Shaw shook his head. ‘You’re the detective. Assume this is all a test. A test of our friendship.’
Anna forced herself to breathe slowly. ‘How do I know you’re not making all of this up?’
Another slow blink.
He doesn’t like his integrity being questioned.
‘The one in Cirencester had roses on her dress.’
‘What?’
‘You’re a police officer, Anna. Prove it.’
‘I…’ She caught herself. Remembered Jane Markham’s words and the reason she was there. ‘Tanya Cromer.’
Shaw tilted his head to one side. ‘You were hoping for a confession, am I right?’
Anna fumbled in her bag for some paper and a felt-tipped pen. No lead pencils. No metal-tipped Biro. It had to be felt-tipped. She slid them across. Shaw picked up the pen and took a long, hard sniff. He might have been enjoying the solvents, but something told Anna it was her smell he was sensing. Something she’d left on the casing from her hand. A pheromone only he could smell. Shaw smiled before leaning forward and writing in a long, looping hand. He wrote one sentence, signed it, turned the paper around and slid it back across the desk. The prison guard watched. His expression alert but inscrutable from behind.
Anna stared at the paper. In blue felt-tipped pen Shaw had written: ‘Tanya Cromer. I did not do it.’
‘Lots to think about, Anna. Like the mixed DNA sample you found on Tanya.’
‘If you know the answer, we need justice for that young girl. We need closure for her fa—’
‘It’s a mystery, right? A puzzle for you to work out, just like roses on a dress. I’d like to say take your time, but our boy has had to be patient while Cooper was out of jail. Now that he’s back in, who knows what might happen?’
Anna was shaking badly by the time she got back to the car. She sat and tried to assimilate all that had happened. Took out her notebook and wrote as much as she could remember down. Had Shaw really caught a glimpse of someone online? Someone who liked to squeeze his victims’ throats to the point of unconsciousness? Could someone really be re-incriminating Cooper, killing purely to get Cooper put back inside, and get Anna off his tail for Emily’s murder so he could get back to doing something else? What? What else had he been doing?
Adrenalin coursed through her. The windows were fogged up. She was glad because that meant no one could see her flaming cheeks and wild eyes. Her hands were trembling badly when she gunned the engine. She’d broken Jane Markham’s rule and let Shaw inside. Broken it so badly… But everything Shaw said had resonated with her own thinking so bloody perfectly it scared her. It felt so wrong and yet Shaw had lit the kindling for the conflagration that now burned and crackled inside her. Shipwright would have a fit if he ever found out.
The trembling didn’t stop until she was halfway back to Bristol. By then she knew there was no way of putting out the flames unless she did something about it.
At Portishead, she called the team in for a 12.30 p.m. briefing. She’d calmed herself down, but still ideas were fizzing inside her and she knew she had to get them out somehow.
Together, they watched a Sky News bulletin from the previous evening. Harris met the press on the steps outside Gloucester police station, eschewing the clinical austerity of the press room. A variety of phones and microphones were arranged in front of him, bristling like missiles on a rocket launcher. Harris’s brow glistened with sweat and the bright glare of spotlights reflected off his corneas, augmented by the odd camera flash. His statement was concise and delivered with grim but triumphant concentration.
‘We can confirm that there has been a significant development in the hunt for the murderer of Nia Hopkins.’
His statement was drowned out by the clamour from the assembled press.
A single voice pierced the cacophony. ‘Can you confirm that you have someone in custody?’
Harris turned towards the voice, his face serious, his tone controlled and measured. ‘A man has been arrested in connection with this killing.’
Another voice shouted above the rest. ‘There has been speculation that there are links between this case and the original Woodsman killing. Would you care to comment?’
‘There are similarities which we are considering in our investigation.’
‘Is it Neville Cooper?’
Harris’s grim expression didn’t fade for an instant. ‘I’m not at liberty to reveal any names at this stage. No charges have been brought yet.’
‘Are they likely?’
Harris fixed the new questioner with one of his looks. ‘I think we’re close.’
The image reverted to a newscaster wearing a Liberty tie and a suitably earnest expression, who proceeded to recap the details of both murders. Library footage of the deserted patches of woodland where both bodies had been found appeared.
‘They’re making a great big meal out of all this,’ Khosa commented.
‘It’s a feeding frenzy,’ murmured Trisha. ‘Once they get their teeth into the story—’
Holder thrust his hand up to silence her as the screen in front of them changed abruptly.
‘Peter?’ the newscaster asked, addressing a reporter holding a microphone outside the police station in Gloucester. ‘We’ve heard what the police are saying. On the one hand linking this to the murder of Emily Risman and on the other implying that the evidence is inconclusive.’
‘They’re obviously anxious not to say too much at this stage, but I can state that Neville Cooper is in custody here at Gloucester police station. That has been confirmed by his mother and more recently by his solicitor.’
‘This case seems to be taking a very bizarre turn.’
‘Bizarre indeed, in the light of recent events in the Appeal Court. There is a great deal of confusion and shock, even in police ranks. Surprise and some horror at the thought that Cooper is implicated here after the verdict in the murder of Emily Risman was judged to be unsafe. But I also sense an undercurrent of indignation at the thought that perhaps everyone was wrong, and that Cooper was capable of such an act. He is due to stand trial again, of course, for that murder in the new year.’
‘Peter, thank you. Peter Glass there, live from Gloucester.’
Holder sat back and blew out air.
‘None of this should come as a surprise to anyone,’ Anna said, using the remote to shut down the TV.
‘I’ve looked through the report of the search of Cooper’s locker at the feed mill, ma’am, but, as you suggested, I learned a lot more from seeing for myself.’ Khosa pulled up a complicated-looking layout of the feed mill on a screen. A small area was outlined in orange. ‘This is the changing room. You can see it’s just off the yard where all the lorries park up for loading, and it’s at the rear of the biggest of the silos they use for storage. I took a walk around. Twice I walked in and out of that changing room without meeting a soul. Drivers use a toilet just off that room. The yard is busy. People constantly coming and going.’
‘And that was why you went? To gauge how busy it was?’ Holder asked.
‘Not exactly. The other thing was the locker itself. There’s a padlock. Cooper had the key. His name is on the door, but…’
‘What?’
‘It’s a tall, cabinet-style locker with a smaller, separate lock box above for wallet and keys and smaller things. The lock box is opened from inside the main cabinet-style locker by a catch. The fact is, ma’am, it is possible to open that lock box without the key. I’ve seen it happen dozens of times at the squash club I play at. People forget their keys. If you can prise open the top corner of the main cabinet-style locker wide enough to get three fingers in there, you can elevate the catch and release the upper lock box.’
‘Does Cooper’s locker show signs of the upper corner being prised open?’
‘Yes, ma’am. It’s pretty battered.’
‘And that upper lock box is where they found the evidence?’
‘Yes. It looked like someone rammed something in there in a hurry, dragging stains all over the place.’
‘That could have been Cooper himself,’ Holder said.
Anna nodded. ‘Or anyone else. What about Cooper’s garage?’
Holder pulled up another schematic. ‘Not so much a garage as an old shed he keeps the bike in. It’s not locked. Access is easy over a fence at the rear.’
‘You’ve talked to the investigating team about this?’
Holder nodded. ‘Sergeant Slack, this morning.’
‘And?’
‘He told me to stop meddling. He said it doesn’t change anything.’
Anna recalled Shipwright’s words. A police mindset. Very old-school; formulate a theory and then modify the facts to fit it driven by emotion, not science. And righteousness was a very powerful emotion.
She turned to the whiteboard. Under ‘FORENSICS’ in capitals, Holder had written two more headings: ‘Crime Scene’ and ‘Cooper’.
‘OK. Let’s refocus. Talk us through the crime scene of Emily Risman’s murder, Justin.’
‘It looks like a pretty thorough job. The bad news is that the “hollows”—which is what the local kids called it—was a known haunt. Before they were old enough to go to the pub, kids would go there to drink and smoke and hang. So there was lots of foot traffic, though it was dry for two days before and on the night that Emily was killed. There was evidence of forced sexual activity on Emily’s body, but nothing positive on nail swab. There were some defensive wounds on both forearms.’
Khosa nodded. ‘So, she knew the killer. Or thought she knew him until he turned on her.’
He knew her, she knew him. His only hope of getting away was to kill her. Shaw’s words echoed in Anna’s head.
Holder pointed to a photograph of a DNA blot. ‘The DNA match from the foetus was positive for Roger Willis. He admitted that she’d told him he was the father, or certainly could have been, because he’d had sex with Emily more than once in the previous three months.’
‘Fine. But I want everything rechecked.’
Holder nodded. ‘I’m on it, ma’am. Trouble is, the lab they used no longer exists.’
‘They must have archived the samples somewhere.’ She looked across at Trisha, who was making notes. ‘Can we leave that with you, Trisha?’
Trisha nodded.
Holder continued, ‘The strongest evidence against Cooper then was the trophy underwear found on his parents’ property.’
Trophy collection was classic sexual predator behaviour. Everyone knew that. With Cooper, though, stealing underwear from people’s washing lines could just as easily have been something someone dared him to do. The defence barrister at the time of his trial had tried to point this out, but the jury chose to accept the behavioural psychologist who’d given expert testimony for the prosecution.
‘Given that we now know he could not have been there when Emily was murdered, how do we explain this finding?’
Khosa answered for all of them. ‘Either whoever did the search planted the underwear, or the real killer planted it to frame Cooper.’
Anna nodded. ‘Where exactly on the property was the underwear found?’
‘An external storage shed.’
‘Unlocked?’
Holder nodded.
‘So, we have the exact same pattern. If we accept the possibility that Cooper is innocent, then someone deliberately implicated Cooper in 1998 and has more than likely done the same thing now with Nia Hopkins.’
‘But why now?’ Khosa asked.
‘Belt and braces?’ Anna suggested. ‘Who knows? But implicating him again won’t do any harm for the CPS’s case in a retrial either. In people’s minds, Cooper would be the Woodsman all over again.’
‘But why take the risk?’ Holder asked.
‘Fear,’ Anna said. ‘While Cooper was inside the real killer was safe. With Cooper free he knows there’ll be someone taking a fresh look at the original investigation. He wants to muddy the waters.’
‘Ma’am,’ said Holder. ‘If Emily’s murder was sexually motivated, and if the same thinking is being applied to Nia to implicate Cooper, I’m sure I read something about Cooper’s… abilities?’
Anna blinked. ‘Are you saying he’s impotent?’
‘I’m sure I read something but I’ll go through everything again,’ Holder said.
‘This is good, Justin. Really good.’
‘To think someone has been hiding all this time,’ Khosa murmured.
‘We ought to seriously consider that he’s been hiding and active,’ Anna said. ‘I’d like to broaden the scope here. Let’s get HOLMES to look at 1999 onwards. Unsolved attacks on young females over our own and Gloucester’s and West Mercia’s patches.’
HOLMES 2, the Home Office’s large major enquiry database, was a vital tool for this sort of cross-referencing. Less exciting was the thought of trying to get information out of it using the iffy Internet access that seemed to plague Avon & Somerset’s HQ.
Khosa looked at Trisha, who was already making a note. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘This is great work, both of you.’
Holder sat and Khosa took his place, pointing a pen at the images of the original investigative team. ‘I found an address for Superintendent Briggs. Maddox we know is dead. But Wyngate went abroad as a security consultant for almost ten years. Immigration has him coming back into the country in 2015, but no address yet.’
Anna nodded encouragement.
Rainsford stuck his head through the door and looked pointedly at Anna. She followed him out to his office, grabbing a file from her desk. Once inside, he shut the door. ‘So, how did it go with Shaw?’
She handed him the paper with Shaw’s ‘confession’.
Rainsford clenched his teeth. ‘Damn. I really thought he wanted to cooperate.’
‘I think he still does, sir. As you know, the DNA that tagged him was from a mixed sample. More than once he’s pointed that out to us.’
‘Do we have a match for the other?’
‘None, sir. But it obviously bothers Shaw.’
‘Lots of things bother Shaw. Well, at least we tried. I’ll let the CPS know.’
Anna hesitated. ‘Could we hold off on that for a while, sir? It’s just that I don’t think Shaw’s finished with this. Today…’ She sighed, hesitating, toying with not saying anything to Rainsford, but it was too important. ‘Today, Shaw suggested that he might actually know something about the Woodsman, sir.’
The pained expression on Rainsford’s face was exactly what she’d expected.
‘How?’
‘I know how it sounds – and it all might be – complete rubbish, but when Shaw was trawling for information on his daughter’s suicide on the dark web, he claims he might have come across information in an Internet chat room about someone who might fit.’
Rainsford shook his head. ‘Chat rooms and the dark web? Not my sort of language, Anna.’
‘Nor mine, sir. But I know a bit. The “dark web”, the “deep web”, these are tabloid names for encrypted Internet sites that are not accessible through normal search engines. The fact is, Shaw was an expert in all of this. And we also know that, typically, paedophile and other niche pornographers use the dark web in closed networks for exchange of images and information. Occasionally in chat rooms.’
Rainsford scowled. ‘Why would he possibly want to give us information like that? The man hasn’t said anything to anyone about his crimes in all the time he’s been in prison.’
Anna counted to three and said, ‘He likes me, sir. I think he identifies me with his daughter. We’d be about the same age. Maybe he likes the challenge. Maybe he’s just puffing out his chest, trying to impress.’
Rainsford walked across and sat behind his desk. Despite the early hour, he looked suddenly drawn. Or perhaps it was disgust at what he was about to say.
‘Jesus, Anna, you’re a cool one. Shaw attached battery cables to his victims. All three. He cut their faces with a box-cutter before watching them bleed to death by slicing the major artery in their groins. He videotaped it all so that he could show what he had done to his next victim. In his first year in prison he stuck a toothbrush handle into another inmate’s eye and tried to hammer it in with his palm.’
Anna knew all of this, but hearing it again made her narrow her eyes.
‘Do not let him distract you. He’s dangerous. And I don’t want you up there alone again. Next time, if there is a next time, take someone with you.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Khosa was waiting for her on her return to the squad room, looking animated.
‘HOLMES came up trumps, ma’am. Thames Valley Serious Crimes are coordinating what they think might be an ongoing serial-rapist investigation involving four regions.’
‘How serial?’
‘Up to twenty reported cases so far, spread across the patch. What stands out is that they’ve taken place over a fifteen-year period.’ She consulted the paper in her hand.
‘What’s the date of the last known attack?’
‘June, last year.’
‘Exact date?’
Khosa consulted the printout in her hand. ‘June 7th.’
Anna nodded, trying to keep the tingle that Khosa’s news triggered under control. ‘That’s three days before Cooper’s Appeal Court verdict. And they don’t think he’s attacked since?’
Khosa shook her head.
‘What’s his pattern?’
‘Targets his victims. Undoubtedly stalks. Victim configuration is rigid, although they have got older as he has, I expect. Initially they were teenagers, but the last one was twenty-seven. We know he’s white, likes to subdue and then choke his victims, but never fatally. He takes trophies.’ Anna’s eyes lit up. ‘Clothing, items. Marked displaced aggression. It’s one of the reasons we’ve had such a high victim report rate. Over half of them have required hospitalisation. Two broken jaws and several fractured ribs.’
‘They’ve done the profiling?’
‘They have. And it’s been completely useless. He’s very careful. Uses a mask, which also disguises his voice. Always gloves, always a condom. Lubricant analysis is always the same brand available from three thousand pubs and motorway dispensers. Occasionally he’ll change something, varying the approach, but he always waits until they’re isolated and usually at an outdoor location.’
‘Have they got anywhere near?’
‘Not even the faintest sniff, looks like. There were three attacks in the first five years but then the cycle accelerated until June last year. And those are the ones we know about.’
Anna considered this grim news. Not all rapes were reported. Shame and fear were powerful deterrents.
‘How have they managed to keep it out of the press?’
‘Deliberately. Victim anonymity until or unless they go to court.’
‘Do you have a case synopsis?’
‘Of course.’ Khosa handed over the papers.
Trisha appeared at Khosa’s elbow. ‘I’ve sent you a link to the Thames Valley file, ma’am.’
‘Thanks, Trisha.’
Anna went back to the office and called up the file. Nineteen assaults, all rape or attempted rape. She noticed instantly that the attempted rapes were associated with more violence. If he failed, he lashed out. He wanted the control and compliance. All attacks were at night, in isolated spots. He was a stalker and a planner. The one unifying aspect of the MO was his predilection for strangulation.
He puts his hands around their throats while he attacks them.
Another of Shaw’s sentences resurfaced from the morning’s encounter. It sent a fresh spurt of electricity through her already wired system: … liked to squeeze the apple as he made them squirm.
Apple? Could that be Adam’s apple?
Rainsford’s warning rang in her ears. But this was too real to be ignored.
Anna turned back to the file. No particular month. No particular day, other than the fact that the most recent attacks over four years had happened mid-week. However, that sample was too small to be significant. The next attack could just as easily be on a weekend.
The next attack.
If this was true, if there really was someone out there who’d hidden behind Cooper’s conviction, with the supposed Woodsman once again under arrest, there was a chance the real killer would yield to the urge to act again.
To attack another girl. To strangle them into unconsciousness and then revive them so that they could experience more.
Cirencester.
Anna called Trisha over. ‘Can you find the forensic report on the Cirencester case from this file? Umm, 2003, I think. I want images of what the victim was wearing.’
‘Just this one, ma’am?’
‘Yes. For now.’
Anna scanned the archived documents again. One stood out. Megan Roberts had fought her attacker, but he’d broken her arm and she’d been forced through pain to submit. What was remarkable was the detail she’d given the police. His smell, what he’d worn… She stared at the image of the twenty-three-year-old, torn between dismissing all of this as purely a fishing expedition, with Shaw holding the reel, and following a reasonable line of inquiry driven by her instincts.
She leaned back and called out to Khosa. ‘Ryia, a word.’
Khosa appeared in the doorway.
‘There’s a victim in the Thames Valley file. Megan Roberts. Give her a call and ask if I can speak to her. We’ll go to her.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
She turned back to her computer. An unfamiliar name chimed up on her emails.
Inspector Gwynne,
Excuse this intrusion, but I think it would be to our advantage if we talked. Please ask your secretary to contact mine and we can set up a meeting between ourselves. I think it’s important you meet Mrs Cooper.
Howard Tobias
It took her a couple of seconds to place the name. Cooper’s solicitor. Of course. She got Trisha to do the needful. Half an hour later, they had a meeting set up for the next afternoon. She had no idea what Tobias wanted to say to her, but it would undoubtedly be worth her listening.
Just before five, Trisha put her head through the door. ‘I’ve found the report on that Cirencester rape case, ma’am. Just sending the link through.’
Cirencester was in Gloucestershire’s patch. They’d used a standard physical evidence recovery kit for fluid sampling, hair and fibre analysis. But they would also have sent larger items to the lab. She found what she was looking for three pages in: photographs of the victim’s clothing and jewellery. The dress was stained with mud, torn and bedraggled, an inanimate reminder of the ordeal. But there was no doubting the design.
A floral print. Pink roses.
Shaw hadn’t been lying.