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“Basically, because he’s frightened of Robbie Carter. He has a wife and children and he put their safety first.”
“If Robbie Carter is as bad as we’re finding out,” said Patrick Edwards, “why hasn’t he come to our attention before now?”
“If he keeps changing his identity like we suspect,” said Cragg, “that’s one very good reason.”
“But surely he’d have to keep skipping town as well,” said Rawson. “That’s a whole lot of work to keep putting yourself through.”
“Possibly a well-established pattern, Dave,” said Gardener. “He sets up with a woman. All is well to start with. Something goes wrong. The result could be a serious accident for the woman, or worse. He changes his name, his identity, and his location. Maybe that’s why he never gets caught.”
“You interviewed him, sir,” said Edwards. “Didn’t anything strike you as odd?”
“I can’t say we were pleased with all his answers, Patrick, but even so, we had absolutely nothing on which to hold him at that time,” said Gardener. “He won’t be the first criminal who was interviewed and let go. You only have to look at Peter Sutcliffe, the Yorkshire Ripper. He was interviewed four or five times and slipped the net.”
“That were one of the main reasons HOLMES were introduced,” said Cragg.
“We simply have to keep going,” said Gardener. “Do what we are doing, find the cracks in his armour. All credit to the witness for coming forward, but he should have done so sooner.”
Patrick Edwards put his hand up. Gardener nodded to him. “I’ve been thinking about something, sir.”
“About what?” asked Gardener.
“The bodies of both Janes. Last night, Fitz said they shared the same injuries. It’s a bit far-fetched, but what if he hit them both with his guitar?”
The room descended into silence, so he expanded his theory. “Maybe he lost his temper and cracked them with the Strat. Let’s face it, that must be big enough and heavy enough, and Terry Jones reckons the neck is damaged.”
“That’s not a bad theory, Patrick,” Gardener said. “We’ll make a detective out of you yet.” He turned to the desk sergeant. “Maurice, can you go and ask Fitz to come over? Whatever excuse he makes, tell him it’s very urgent.”
Cragg shuffled off immediately.
“What do we want the Pathosaurus for?” Reilly asked.
“We’re going to put Patrick’s theory to him, see if he’d like to speculate.”
* * *
Following a short break, the team resumed. Gardener took another sip of water before continuing.
“Which brings me to HOLMES. I asked you guys to look into the deaths of every woman called Jane who has died in suspicious circumstances over the last thirty years. Has anything flagged up?”
The HOLMES tech – whose name was Edward Potter – had reams of paperwork with him and an expression that said he would rather work any other case but the one they were on.
“We started at eight o’clock this morning. The first lot of data was horrendous,” said Potter, an anaemic man with patches of thinning grey hair all over his scalp, as if he had moles burrowing from inside out. “But the more we narrowed things down, the better it became. We could only go back to 1985 because HOLMES has nothing previous. Technically speaking, an early version of HOLMES was started in 1981, but we never kept much of the information. Anyway, something interesting finally developed.”
Everyone waited for Potter to continue, but he didn’t. No one could understand why, so Gardener asked him outright if there was a problem.
“Oh, sorry.” Potter scattered paperwork all over the desk, most of which fell on the floor. “Ah, here it is. Something happened up in North Yorkshire in 1985. A big time drug dealer, originally from London, named Alfie Peterson and his wife, Jane, were found killed at their home in Whitby. Both had been tortured for quite some time before they were killed. Police found evidence of physical beatings with fists, possibly, and other instruments, stabbings, electrocution. Somebody had really done a number on them.” Potter threw his paper down before searching for another piece.
Gardener finished his bottle of water, concerned about where it was leading.
Potter continued. “Police had it down as a drug related killing. But some of the notes taken suggested Alfie Peterson’s wife was a bit of a loose woman. Apparently, she’d had a number of affairs. Used to lead blokes on, in particular, one called Robert Chilvers.”
That remark caught Gardener’s attention, the initials RC appearing again. “What happened with him?”
“Here’s where it all gets interesting. The notes are scant and there are very few people around who can remember the account first-hand. Chilvers was a local musician. Bit of a Glam Rock fan by all accounts.”
Gardener’s hair nearly stood on end. Reilly stood and threw his hands in the air and a collective whoop rounded the room.
“From what I can gather,” continued Potter, “he was seeing
