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Gardener sighed and passed the letter over to Briggs. He read it. “Do you think she knew?” he asked.
“I’ve no idea,” replied Gardener.
“I still can’t understand why he’d write a letter to you,” said Briggs.
“Maybe he didn’t,” suggested Reilly.
“Meaning what?” asked Briggs.
“I’ll grant you it’s not the killer’s style, but maybe he staged all of this and then wrote the note to throw us of the scent.”
“If that’s the case, how did he know Janine Harper was Alan Cuthbertson’s daughter?” asked Briggs.
“He knew enough about Janine Harper to kill her for the reasons he did,” added Reilly.
“I appreciate your point, Sean,” said Gardener, “but Alan Cuthbertson wasn’t a member of the watch committee, and that’s what this seems to be about. The watch committee and the banned film.”
“Unless it isn’t,” said Briggs. “Do you know anything about this banned film yet?”
“I think I’m on to something, but nothing concrete.”
“Then how do you know the murders are connected to a banned film?” asked Briggs. “I’m sorry, Stewart, but we’re no nearer to solving the case now than we were at the beginning. So for all we know, Alan Cuthbertson’s death might well be tied into it. For God’s sake, this bloke moves around like a fucking spectre. No one ever sees him, and he’s managed to commit the most brutal killings, and have time to write notes.”
“It still looks like suicide to me, nothing more,” said Gardener.
“Maybe Fitz can tell us,” replied Briggs. “Which reminds me, where the bloody hell is he?”
Before Gardener had time to answer, his mobile rang.
Briggs and Reilly turned their attention to the corpse while he took the call.
“We’re on our way,” said Gardener. “That was Fitz. Apparently he’s found something unusual connected to Janine Harper’s death. He wants us over there now.”
Chapter Forty-four
Fitz threw a folder on to his desk and ran his hands down his tired face. His expression was a mixture of fatigue and elation at having possibly found a piece of the puzzle. “Would you gentlemen like coffee?”
Gardener and Reilly nodded, and Fitz turned around from his desk. He reached for the percolator, a new addition to his office, and a much needed one from what Gardener could see.
“Smells good,” said Reilly.
“So, what have you got for us?” asked Gardener.
Fitz sat back in his chair. “Janine Harper. You remember that she had a lethal cocktail of ephedrine in her system. I suggested that the killer may have perfected the technique.”
Both men nodded, sipping their coffee.
“I’ve found some new evidence. I consulted Mathew Stapleton about it. He’s one of the country’s leading toxicologists up in Edinburgh. When I spoke to him, he was in London. The method unsettled him for a week. He’d heard of a similar case. He used the computers at the University College Hospital. Surprisingly enough there were no records, nothing in the archives, nothing on paper. Having said that, the paper files only date back to the Eighties. Anything further back had been stored electronically.”
“Had the files been erased?” said Gardener.
“They think so, but they’re still checking. You see, all other records of suspicious deaths around that time were still on file.”
“Murder isn’t the only technique he’s perfected,” said Gardener.
“Mathew spoke to his father. Turns out that one of his colleagues had performed the autopsy on the lady in question.” Fitz opened his folder, removed the notes. “Her name was Elizabeth Cranshaw. She was sixty-one years of age and worked as a nanny for a well-to-do family who lived in Weybridge in Surrey.”
Gardener’s heart sunk a little when he thought of how far back the incident may have occurred.
