‘OK, so that’s the basics. Two dead men, both with head injuries, both murdered in The Downs area within a couple of weeks of each other. Both successful and hardworking, both in their early thirties. Two men whom, as far as we know at the moment, had no involvement in any sort of criminal activity. And, two men who look …’ she turned back to the board again, tapping first the photo of Mervin and then Ryan’s image, ‘who look, quite frankly, like bloody twins. The same dark curly hair, dark eyes, thick eyebrows. Similar height and build. Might mean nothing but …’she shrugged and turned back to face the assembled officers, ‘kind of weird, eh? OK, listen. Let’s not get too hung up on their appearances for now. And of course, there may be no connection between these two murders whatsoever. But we can’t rule it out, not at this stage, considering the similarities between the two cases. Let’s keep an open mind and let the facts guide us.
‘Forensics on Ryan might help when we get them, if we’re lucky. But in the meantime, let’s talk to as many of their friends and family members as possible, and see if there are any common factors – Redcliffe and the harbour aren’t that far apart, so did these two hang out in the same bars, did they know each other, did they have any mutual friends or common interests? And why were they both on – or, in Ryan’s case, very close to – The Downs, on the nights they died? OK, so Mervin was there running, and it’s a nice place to run, I run there myself now and again. But he’s a member of a gym and, even if he preferred running outdoors, there are plenty of routes to choose from around Bristol. So why there, specifically? Was it something he did regularly? And why was Ryan in the area? Was he visiting a friend, a relative? We need to know everything about these two, and fast.’
She stopped talking, watching as her colleagues scribbled notes on their pads, many of them exchanging glances. She knew instantly what they were thinking. It was something she’d thought herself, immediately and with a sudden sick, sinking feeling in her stomach, when Ryan Jones’s photograph had been stuck on the board yesterday next to Mervin Elliott’s. If these two murders were connected, if they’d been carried out by the same person, well …
She swallowed hard. It needed to be three, though, officially. Three murders, to fit the most widely used UK definition. And so far it was only two. Please God, she thought, let it stay that way.
Two was bad enough.
But three …
Three, and she might just have a serial killer on her hands.
Chapter 3
‘Where the hell are you, Danny? This is getting ridiculous.’
I stopped pacing up and down the kitchen for a moment to stand and stare out of the rain-streaked window into the elegant courtyard at the back of the house, willing him to suddenly appear, my fists clenched, nails digging into my palms. It was late Saturday afternoon and, despite my best efforts all day to track my husband down, I’d come up with precisely nothing. I needed to make some more phone calls, but I’d have to calm myself down first. I took a deep breath, trying to slow my racing heartbeat, and rested my forehead against the cold glass, eyes flitting across the yard. On two levels separated by a row of pleached hornbeam trees, the beautifully designed limestone-paved space had enthralled me from the moment Danny and I had first come to view the place. In the centre of the top level nearest the house, water bubbled gently from a polished metal sphere perched on top of a stone plinth, next to which sat a huge glass-topped table, six wrought iron chairs tucked underneath it. The outdoor dining area had been given an exotic, tropical feel more reminiscent of Bali than Bristol thanks to artfully planted bamboo, phormiums and tree ferns, the space illuminated at night by hundreds of tiny lights dotted among the foliage. At the front of the top terrace, steps led down to the lower level, where on either side of the back gate bay trees swayed gently in the wind in tall graphite pots, and raised herb beds lined the walls; our very own kitchen garden in the heart of the city. Even on a