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Chapter 8
Tuesday 2nd February
Cheltenham Central Police Station
‘Right, let’s all introduce ourselves, and then we can begin. I know we don’t have much time, so hopefully we can keep this nice and snappy,’ says DCI Steph Warden.
It’s 10.15 on Tuesday morning, and I’m sitting in a small, rather stuffy meeting room, nursing a surprisingly good coffee in a cardboard cup.
‘We used to have bloody awful coffee, until I got a new coffee machine at home and brought my old one in here,’ the DCI told me as she handed me my latte. She’s the SIO, the senior investigating officer, assigned to the Gloucestershire police side of the operation last night. She’s shorter than me and lean, and I can see muscular biceps under the thin white cotton of her shirt sleeves. As she walked me briskly from the reception area to the room we’re now sitting in, she told me that she’s worked two previous serial killer cases in different parts of the UK, both of which ended in successful prosecutions and both of which I’m familiar with. I’m impressed – she looks young, maybe early forties, with a neat dark bob and just the start of fine lines around her eyes. She transferred to Gloucestershire just two months ago, to be closer to her elderly mother who’s in a care home in Cirencester, she confided. I felt horribly anxious on the way here this morning, but already I’m feeling calmer.
This is in safe hands,I think.
‘Can you move a bit nearer, Mary? I need to get us both in shot. Hang on …’
DCI Warden, sitting to my left, angles the large monitor that’s sitting on the desk in front of her slightly more towards me and I pull my chair a few inches closer to hers.
‘That’s perfect, thanks.’
On the screen, below the image now showing me and her, are just three other faces, two women and one man, the SIOs from the other forces involved. But DCI Warden has told me that others are also present in each room, out of shot, including deputy SIOs, senior forensic staff and other detectives who’ll be working on the cases.
‘This is big,’ she said. Now she clears her throat.
‘Right, well I’ll kick things off then, shall I?’
She has a hint of a Geordie accent.
‘I’m DCI Stephanie Warden, SIO here in Gloucestershire. Please call me Steph though. Only my mother and my old French teacher ever call me Stephanie.’
There are smiles from the three other boxes on the screen.
‘I’m accompanied today by Mary Ellis, who as you know is the crime writer who received the diary with the entries about the four murders.’
She gestures at me, and the others all nod. I nod back, feeling a little self-conscious, and hoping that my scars aren’t too visible in the harsh light of the meeting room.
‘Mary, as you’d expect from someone in her profession, is very aware of the need for a media blackout and for the utmost discretion about everything we’ll be discussing today, just in case anyone has any concerns. She’s happy to answer any questions you may have, and then we can let her go and talk operational matters. Oh and just to let you know, my deputy will be DI Mike Stanley – he’s unable to attend today but he will watch this back later. DC Jess Gordon is also in the room. She’s the FLO.’
I glance to Steph’s left where, along with a handful of other people, the family liaison officer is sitting, sipping a mint tea. We chatted briefly before the meeting began, and my first impression was that she was quiet and serious and – dare I say it – a little dull. She looks to be in her late twenties, a petite woman with high cheekbones and strawberry-blonde hair pulled back into a tight, low bun. She glances over at Steph as her name is mentioned, her face expressionless.
As I thought … a barrel of laughs, I think, then turn my attention back to the screen in front of me.
‘West Midlands?’ says Steph.
‘Hi,’ says the woman in the middle box. ‘DCI Priya Thomson. Thanks for arranging this so quickly. The Jane Holland case is not proving to be an easy one at this early stage.’
She has long black hair tied in a ponytail, a touch of eyeliner emphasising big, dark eyes. There are shadows beneath them, and for some reason this calms me further. It’s not just me who’s losing sleep over all this, clearly.
‘Thanks,’ says Steph. ‘South Wales?’
The man to the right of Priya raises a hand.
‘Mornin’,’ he says. Even though he’s only said one word, his strong Welsh accent is instantly recognisable.
‘DCI Bryn Lewis. Pleased to meet you all. Hell of a case, this one, isn’t it?’
His voice is deep and loud, and from what I can see of him he looks huge, like a stereotype of a Welsh rugby player, broad shoulders filling the frame.
‘Certainly is,’ says Steph. ‘Good morning to you too. And finally, Thames Valley?’
