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Chapter 7
Monday 1st February
I’m still at The Hub, trying to research some potential stories but struggling to concentrate, when the news alert finally flashes up on my phone.
The woman who was found dead in Edgbaston, Birmingham, earlier today has been named by police as 55-year-old Jane Holland. Officers were called to her home this morning after her body was discovered in her back garden by a neighbour. Police have launched a murder investigation …
There are more words, the usual appeal for witnesses and for anyone who might know the woman’s movements over the previous day or so, but they blur in front of my eyes. I put the phone down, my hand trembling.
Jane. Jane Holland.
It’s not a surprise, not really – my gut has been telling me all day that her name would be Jane. I knew it, Iknewit, but even so, the confirmation is making me feel wobbly. It’s happened. And now what? David in Cardiff, and then … me? Or another Mary in Cheltenham? I jump violently as my phone starts ringing. It’s an unknown number, and for a moment I consider ignoring it, then tell myself not to be so ridiculous and accept the call.
‘Hello?’
My voice sounds thin and reedy and I swallow, my throat dry, and repeat the word.
‘Hello? Who is this, please?’
‘Mary Ellis? This is Sergeant Little. We met yesterday?’
Relief floods my body.
‘Sergeant, hello. Yes, this is Mary.’
‘Great. I was just wondering … have you seen the news? From Birmingham?’
I swallow again. I need some water, but there’s none on my desk.
‘I have. Just now, yes. A woman called Jane. It’s … well, it’s pretty scary …’
I pause, looking around the office, but the nearest desks are all empty. Even so, I keep my voice low.
‘So, what now?’ I say.
‘Well, it’s early days, but as this no longer seems like a coincidence and as there are several parts of the country involved, things have moved pretty quickly in the past hour or so. We’ll all have to stay across developments in each other’s cases, which we can do via our IT system of course. But there’ll also be regular briefings involving key members of each investigation team, via video conferencing. I’m going to be upfront with you, Mary: there will still have to be some investigation of you personally. But the first team meeting is tomorrow, and we’d like you to attend, if possible? Here in Cheltenham, at 10am?’
‘I understand. And of course. No problem.’
‘They all want to ask you a few questions, plus see if they can establish any patterns, any links between the potential victims, that sort of thing. Oh, and Mary, there’s a strict media blackout on this for now. Not on the actual murders, obviously, but on the diary and the possible links between the cases. Can I assume you still haven’t shared any details with anyone, other than Peter Chong?’
‘Nobody,’ I say. ‘That’s why I’m talking so quietly. I’m in the office. There’s nobody within earshot though.’
‘Great. OK, well tomorrow you’ll meet the detective assigned to the case here in Gloucestershire – I don’t even know who it’s going to be yet, actually. And they’ll be appointing an FLO too – that’s a family liaison officer. Oh, sorry, I didn’t need to explain that to you, did I?’
He laughs lightly, and for some reason the sound makes me feel a little better.
‘I’m familiar with the term, yes. Thank you,’ I say.
‘That’s OK,’ he replies. ‘They’ll be your point of contact, keep you updated on the progress of the investigation, you know the drill. Anyway, I’ll let you go. We’ll see you at ten tomorrow, OK? Just come to where you came before. Somebody will be there to meet you.’
As I end the call, Eleanor hurtles past my desk again. A moment later she’s reversing her chair, coming to a halt next to me.
‘Gosh, are you OK, Mary? You’re so pale. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘I’m fine, Ellie.’ I force myself to smile at her. ‘Just a bit tired – I didn’t sleep very well last night.’
‘I feel your pain,’ she says. ‘Same here. I never sleep well in the run up to bloody Valentine’s Day. Rushed off my feet. Not that I was ever on them, of course.’
