89

Ruby’s heart stopped as soon as she saw it. A dead end. She had sprinted the length of the right-hand corridor, only to find she had chosen badly. The gloomy tunnel looked like it belonged in a mine – rough earth floor and walls with industrial lights secured to the wooden joists supporting the ceiling – and ended in some kind of storage area. It was piled high with plastic bottles, empty sacks and other detritus. Turning on her heel, Ruby ran back to the junction as fast as she could. Her lungs were burning, her breath short and erratic, but she had to keep going. She only had one shot at this.

Her captor’s groaning was louder than it had been before. Had he made it out of her cell now? Was he coming towards her? For a moment, Ruby was frozen with indecision, the fear that he would catch her suddenly robbing her of her energy and conviction.

Footsteps. Now she could definitely hear footsteps. Turning, she plunged down the central passage. Her legs threatened to buckle, but her desire to live drove her forwards. Down the passage, round the corner, she sprinted on and on. Surely this had to be right? This tunnel was longer than the last one and she could feel cool air ahead of her. Cool, fresh air. Yes, this must be the one.

Ruby turned a bend and now tears – tears of naked fear – sprung to her eyes. Another dead end – a kind of air vent – but no means of escape. For a moment, desolation swept over, then suddenly Ruby was seized with a thought. Perhaps this air vent was a way out after all. She rammed her fingers into the grille and pulled as hard as she could, pushing her leg up against the rough wall to provide extra leverage. Nothing. The grille was secured with numerous heavy-duty screws and, without a screwdriver, she was powerless to move it. Ruby rested her pounding head against the grille, the fresh air mocking her, as it ran over her tear-stained face. Was this it? If he found her, he would kill her, Ruby was sure of that. She would never see her family, her friends … she would never see daylight again.

All was still now. She listened intently. No more groaning. No more footsteps. Suddenly a thought occurred to her. What if he had taken the right-hand passage, leaving the left-hand one unguarded? The soft earth of the floor would have shown up her tracks – surely he would have pursued her down that passageway first?

Keeping close to the wall, Ruby crept back towards the junction, pausing every second step to listen. Her eyes darted this way and that, her ears strained, but there was no sign of him. She went a little further. Then further still. She was only ten yards from the junction. She tried to calm her breathing, bracing herself for one last burst of energy. It was now or never.

She bolted from her hiding place, veering sharply to her right around the corner. Without hesitation, she sprinted down the left-hand corridor. He would probably have heard her movement, so there was nothing for it but to put her head down and run.

A noise made her look up and suddenly she came to a juddering halt. He hadn’t gone down the right-hand passageway – he had raced straight for the exit. And there he was now standing in front of her, blocking her path.

Ruby turned to run, but he was on her in a flash. She felt his rough hand yank her head back, then reeled as his fist crunched into her face. As the blows rained down, Ruby slumped to the floor. She made no attempt to defend herself. She simply closed her eyes, took the blows and patiently waited for death.

90

‘Ok, let’s pull together what we’ve got.’

It was lunchtime and Helen had gathered the team in the incident room. Sanderson and Lucas had returned from their hunt, McAndrew had sifted Roisin’s possessions – it was the first time in a while that the whole unit had been in there. Helen watched them as they assembled – taking in who stood next to who, who avoided who and more besides. It was clear to her that there was still unease within the team. Division? Cliques? It was too early to say, but it alarmed her. She had no time – Ruby had no time – for internal squabbling.

‘So we have three confirmed victims and one missing woman. Pippa Briers was murdered three to four years ago, Roisin Murphy roughly two years ago. Isobel Lansley is our most recent victim – Jim Grieves estimates she was murdered within the last eighteen months. They all share a look – black hair, blue eyes – and each murder victim has a distinctive bluebird tattoo on her left shoulder. DC McAndrew’s diligent work with Roisin’s family and ex has helped confirm that Roisin did not have that tattoo when she went missing. Same goes for Pippa.’

‘And Lansley?’ questioned DC Lucas.

‘We’re yet to interview her parents. They’re based in Namibia – have been for some years – but we’ve informed them of developments and we’re flying them over,’ DC Grounds replied.

‘Sooner rather than later, please,’ DS Fortune chivvied.

‘So we can assume that the killer tattooed the women,’ Helen continued. ‘Why? To mark them as his? To make them resemble someone else? For entertainment? What is its significance?’

Silence from the team, so Helen carried on.

‘What is the importance of their look? Why them? I would like Lucas and McAndrew to lead on breaking down these women’s lives to see if we can pinpoint where he might have come into contact with them. What were these women’s regular commitments, where did they work, socialize, exercise? We need chapter and verse, so we can compare for overlap.’

McAndrew and Lucas nodded, though neither looked overjoyed. Helen didn’t care – she was going to force this team to work together.

‘Next up, access. According to Sinead Murphy, Roisin had four keys to her council flat. Sinead had one in her purse, the other three were recovered from her flat, after she vanished – we found them in her boxed possessions.’

‘So she knew her abductor?’ DS Fortune offered.

‘It’s possible, as there was no sign of a break-in or a struggle at her flat. But Roisin had a small social circle and hadn’t mentioned anyone she knew who worried her or who were new on the scene. So we should also think about people you might let into your flat. People in uniform – police officers, paramedics, gas and electricity inspectors, charity workers. Would these women let these kinds of people in? Let’s go back to the families, see what we can glean.’

‘How does he get them out?’ Finally DC Stevens had spoken. He didn’t say much Helen thought to herself, but his question was on the money.

‘Isobel Lansley had traces of something sticky in her hair. We sent it off for tests and found that it was an industrial solvent,’ Helen replied. ‘It’s called trichloroethylene.’

‘What’s it used for?’ Sanderson asked.

‘All manner of things,’ Helen answered. ‘Cleaning work surfaces, degreasing metal parts, you find it in boot polish and dry-cleaning chemicals, plus historically people have used it to get high.’

‘And would it knock you out?’

‘It was trialled as an alternative to chloroform in the 1920s, a form of anaesthetic, before being taken on by industry – so there’s no question it could incapacitate you. As with chloroform, a soaked rag over the mouth and nose would do the trick.’

The team were silent once more. This latest development was sinister and unnerving.

‘To administer it, he would have to get close to them,’ said DC Lucas, picking up the thread. ‘But there were no breakages, no sign of a struggle in Ruby’s flat, so …’