Claire Fielding’s records; she had a Caesarean booked for four weeks’ time - drug administered to the mother . . .’ He sighed. ‘If the baby receives fortifiers along with plenty of milk and is kept warm, it might be all right.’
‘Where would you find these fortifiers?’
‘Anywhere. That’s the good news. But if it doesn’t receive constant quality care or it develops breathing difficulties, I think we’re talking hours rather than days.’
Phil took the paper. Felt the familiar band tighten round his chest. ‘Thanks. I think.’ He ignored the pressure building inside him, made his way to the door.
‘Something else. This was all done with some force. I think that that, along with the angle at which the blade entered Julie Simpson, would rule out the possibility of it being a woman. Unless that woman was a six-foot, sixteen-stone bodybuilder.’
Phil nodded. Thought of someone who fitted that description perfectly.
‘Go get him, Phil,’ said Nick.
Phil nodded. Left as fast as he could.
19
‘ O kay,’ said Phil, striding into the bar. ‘Gather and pool. What have we got?’
Everyone looked up.
‘Just briefly,’ he said, ‘before we go home.’
It didn’t look like anyone was about to go home. In fact the bar looked like his team had moved in for the duration and had no intention of leaving until the killer was caught and the baby found. Anni was writing up reports at her desk, Marina next to her. The Birdies, DC Adrian Wren and DS Jane Gosling, sat at their desks, Adrian tall and rake-thin, Jane round and squat. They looked to Phil like an old music-hall double act, but they were two dedicated coppers.
Ben Fenwick entered.
‘Come and join us,’ said Phil.
The overhead lighting compensated for the evening darkness outside, keeping the room unnaturally, even depressingly, bright. The whiteboard in front of the bar displayed grisly before-and-after shots of Claire Fielding, Julie Simpson, Lisa King and Susie Evans: one from life, one from death. Before: smiling, displaying contentment or the hope that being alive held. After: lifeless and soulless. Arrows pointing outwards from them, bloodied husks reduced to components and clues. To the right, a map of Colchester, the scenes of death highlighted. Below that, a photo of Ryan Brotherton. A marker invited anyone to fill the remaining white space with facts, supposition, hypotheses. Make links, illuminate secret, occult connections, bring order to chaos, provide answers. Next to the board was a TV on a stand with a VCR/DVD combination underneath.
‘Where’s Clayton?’ asked Anni.
‘Following something up,’ said Phil. ‘He should be with us shortly.’
‘Glory-hunter,’ said Anni, just loud enough for Phil to catch. He knew Clayton had his eye on bigger places than Colchester, higher rank than DS. This was probably the perfect case for him to move up on the back of. If they got a result.
Phil fixed her with his eyes, chastised her, but let her words go. This wasn’t the time or the place.
‘Right,’ he said, ‘it’s roughly seven hours since the bodies of Claire Fielding and Julie Simpson were discovered, and that baby’s still out there. Let’s go. Anni?’
Anni checked her notes, told the team about her findings at All Saints Primary. Chrissie Burrows, Geraint Cooper and Julie Simpson, celebrating Claire’s pregnancy. How they were more than friends, a support group for Claire Fielding. Because of Ryan Brotherton and what he had threatened. Phil stepped in.
‘Ryan Brotherton,’ he said, ‘previous for ABH, assault. Done time in Chelmsford for it, too. Domestic-abuse-related, all directed against women.’
Marina put her head down, started writing.
‘And he threatened to kill the baby if Claire didn’t have an abortion?’ asked Fenwick.
‘With his own hands,’ said Anni.
The sides of Ben Fenwick’s mouth twitched as if they wanted to smile but weren’t yet allowed and his eyes
‘Where would you find these fortifiers?’
‘Anywhere. That’s the good news. But if it doesn’t receive constant quality care or it develops breathing difficulties, I think we’re talking hours rather than days.’
Phil took the paper. Felt the familiar band tighten round his chest. ‘Thanks. I think.’ He ignored the pressure building inside him, made his way to the door.
‘Something else. This was all done with some force. I think that that, along with the angle at which the blade entered Julie Simpson, would rule out the possibility of it being a woman. Unless that woman was a six-foot, sixteen-stone bodybuilder.’
Phil nodded. Thought of someone who fitted that description perfectly.
‘Go get him, Phil,’ said Nick.
Phil nodded. Left as fast as he could.
19
‘ O kay,’ said Phil, striding into the bar. ‘Gather and pool. What have we got?’
Everyone looked up.
‘Just briefly,’ he said, ‘before we go home.’
It didn’t look like anyone was about to go home. In fact the bar looked like his team had moved in for the duration and had no intention of leaving until the killer was caught and the baby found. Anni was writing up reports at her desk, Marina next to her. The Birdies, DC Adrian Wren and DS Jane Gosling, sat at their desks, Adrian tall and rake-thin, Jane round and squat. They looked to Phil like an old music-hall double act, but they were two dedicated coppers.
Ben Fenwick entered.
‘Come and join us,’ said Phil.
The overhead lighting compensated for the evening darkness outside, keeping the room unnaturally, even depressingly, bright. The whiteboard in front of the bar displayed grisly before-and-after shots of Claire Fielding, Julie Simpson, Lisa King and Susie Evans: one from life, one from death. Before: smiling, displaying contentment or the hope that being alive held. After: lifeless and soulless. Arrows pointing outwards from them, bloodied husks reduced to components and clues. To the right, a map of Colchester, the scenes of death highlighted. Below that, a photo of Ryan Brotherton. A marker invited anyone to fill the remaining white space with facts, supposition, hypotheses. Make links, illuminate secret, occult connections, bring order to chaos, provide answers. Next to the board was a TV on a stand with a VCR/DVD combination underneath.
‘Where’s Clayton?’ asked Anni.
‘Following something up,’ said Phil. ‘He should be with us shortly.’
‘Glory-hunter,’ said Anni, just loud enough for Phil to catch. He knew Clayton had his eye on bigger places than Colchester, higher rank than DS. This was probably the perfect case for him to move up on the back of. If they got a result.
Phil fixed her with his eyes, chastised her, but let her words go. This wasn’t the time or the place.
‘Right,’ he said, ‘it’s roughly seven hours since the bodies of Claire Fielding and Julie Simpson were discovered, and that baby’s still out there. Let’s go. Anni?’
Anni checked her notes, told the team about her findings at All Saints Primary. Chrissie Burrows, Geraint Cooper and Julie Simpson, celebrating Claire’s pregnancy. How they were more than friends, a support group for Claire Fielding. Because of Ryan Brotherton and what he had threatened. Phil stepped in.
‘Ryan Brotherton,’ he said, ‘previous for ABH, assault. Done time in Chelmsford for it, too. Domestic-abuse-related, all directed against women.’
Marina put her head down, started writing.
‘And he threatened to kill the baby if Claire didn’t have an abortion?’ asked Fenwick.
‘With his own hands,’ said Anni.
The sides of Ben Fenwick’s mouth twitched as if they wanted to smile but weren’t yet allowed and his eyes
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