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“Is it the work of the same killer?”
The question was from Johnny Stevens, an experienced journalist with The Yorkshire Post. Alan Briggs knew he had served his time on some of the worst cases in the county, the Yorkshire Ripper to name but one. He was a bloodhound, well paid. Delivered results. A meeting with the press was the last thing Alan Briggs wanted right now. The day started terribly with the discovery of Janine Harper’s body, and became worse when he was summoned to a meeting with his superior – who shouted loud enough to wake the dead. Now it hit an all-time low because Gardener was otherwise engaged.
Not that Gardener would have cared. Offering him a press meeting was like serving up garlic bread to Dracula. As much as he admired Gardener’s dedication to the job and the reason for his hatred of the press, he would have much preferred to interview Alan Cuthbertson.
“There are similarities between the two murders. We are taking into consideration the theatrical and geographical links.”
“Oh come on, Briggs.”
“Hey!” The DCI raised his hand, stopped the reporter there. “Mister Briggs to you, if you don’t mind.”
“Okay, Mr Briggs,” Stevens repeated the name with distaste. “Who has he killed this time?”
“You know very well I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Is it a child?” shouted another reporter.
“No, it is not a child.”
“Has he killed another thespian, Mr Briggs?”
Briggs took his time in answering because he knew what would come next. But he couldn’t hold out forever. “No.”
Johnny Stevens was on his feet again. “The public have a right to know what’s going on, Mr Briggs. We have a duty to tell them, and you have one to tell us.”
“I agree that the public have a right to know, son, and as soon as we have something concrete to tell them, we will. But this meeting is about utilising the newspapers to appeal for witnesses. We want the public of Leeds to keep their eyes open, report anything unusual.”
Another reporter jumped down his throat. The questions were coming thick and fast. “Do you have any leads?”
“We have discovered one or two points worthy of further investigation.” Briggs was pleased with himself for that one.
“Have you identified the man?”
“We are at present interviewing someone.” Briggs held up his hand. “But let me make it absolutely clear, he is only helping us with our inquiries, he is not a suspect.”
Another reporter stood up. He was about to throw a question when Briggs himself rose from his chair.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to stop you there, gentlemen. We do have a very important investigation on our hands. Thank you for your time.”
Briggs left the room, closed the door behind him, relieved that it was over. He was still furious that they were no further on; two murders within a week, both in the same part of town. There were similarities, neither of which had turned up any evidence. The next meeting in the incident room would be one to remember.
Chapter Twenty-five
Gardener studied Alan Cuthbertson.
The expression of fear on the shop owner’s
face had Gardener concerned. Was he frightened about the situation he was in; felt he was being fitted up for something he hadn’t done? Or was it guilt because he had committed murder, and the police had figured him out a lot sooner than he’d anticipated?
They had taken his clothes and supplied him with a plain black T-shirt, dark blue jogging bottoms, and black plimsoles – standard issue custody clothing. Cuthbertson’s pallor was deathly white. He constantly twitched. He also rubbed his hands together a lot whilst inspecting his fingernails every few seconds.
“Am I under arrest?” he asked.
“Not yet,” replied Gardener. “You’re helping with our enquiries.”
“Do I need a solicitor?”
“Do you think you need one?”
