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Chapter 10
Wednesday 3rd February
‘Police in Birmingham investigating the murder of fifty-five-year-old Jane Holland in the early hours of Monday morning are appealing for witnesses who may have spotted a late-night runner in the Edgbaston area …’
I’m sitting in the kitchen, coffee cup in hand, when I hear the story on the Radio 4 nine o’clock news. I’ve taken the day off work; my focus is entirely on this story right now anyway, and Jess Gordon, the family liaison officer, is due to come round at eleven, along with the deputy SIO, who I haven’t yet met. They want to check the house for security, she told me as I left the police station yesterday, and have a ‘general chat’. I’m hoping that means she’ll tell me that my alibis for the nights of the two murders have now been checked and I’m finally in the clear; I’d sighed inwardly yesterday as I’d told her that I was alone here, at home, on Sunday night.
‘Pete, my housemate, was with me until sometime between nine and ten I think, but then he went off to spend the night with his girlfriend Megan over in Prestbury. So I was home alone after that I’m afraid, which I know isn’t of much help to you,’ I said, and she’d raised an eyebrow, then thanked me and told me I was free to go.
I get it, I do. I’m the one who was in possession of dates and victims’ names, writtenbeforethe crimes occurred. Ofcoursethey have to consider me as a potential suspect. They’d be stupid not to. Even so, it’s not nice. But then, none of this is nice, is it?
Now, I reach over and turn up the volume on the digital radio sitting on the countertop.
‘… police are keen to trace the runner, dressed in dark clothing, who was seen in the Oaks Road area between midnight and 1am. They’re also interested in hearing from anyone currently based in Oxford, Cardiff, or Cheltenham who might have known the victim. The body of Jane Holland, a well-known local casino owner, was found in her garden …’
Interesting. They’ve decided to risk naming the three places mentioned in the diary, I think.
I listen to the rest of the bulletin, but there’s no other new information, and I switch the radio off and sit sipping my coffee and thinking.
So the killer was in running gear then? Captured on CCTV, maybe? It doesn’t sound as if they have much on him at this point then, does it? I wonder if they’re any closer to knowing why Jane Holland was chosen as a victim?
I’ve done my own research of course; it didn’t take long to find Jane online. She was wealthy, the owner of the Topaz casinos in Birmingham and Coventry, but it’s her philanthropy which has really struck me. There are numerous newspaper articles about her generous donations to local charities, accompanied by photos of her, a petite, slender brunette with a broad smile. Seeing her face, reading about all the good things she did with her life, makes this even more horrible, and scarier.
Why choose her? Why did she have to die?
I discussed it with Pete last night, as we had a quick cup of tea together when he got in from work before he headed off to spend yet another night at Megan’s.
‘They’re calling it Operation Shearwater,’ I said.
‘Shearwater? That’s some sort of seabird, isn’t it? And I think it’s a lake at Longleat Estate too, if I remember correctly. Why have they called it that? Do they think this killer has some connections down in Wiltshire?’
‘Quite the opposite,’ I replied. ‘They pick operation names randomly, and they always have nothing whatsoever to do with the actual case, just in case someone who shouldn’t overhears a police conversation. Anyway, I probably shouldn’t have told you that, but hey, you already know about the diary, so … hush hush, you know the score.’
He winked at me and smiled.
‘Don’t worry. My lips are sealed. How are you feeling now, after this Birmingham thing? Are you OK?’
I nodded.
‘Just about. It’s awful though, isn’t it? Pretty spooky. And Jane seemed like such a good woman too.’
‘Yep. I had a look at the BBC website at lunchtime. And you know what? I’ve been to the Topaz in Birmingham – do you remember? I wonder if she was there that night? I didn’t recognise her from her photo online, but I was pretty drunk, to be fair. I might have actually met her, which would make it even spookier.’
I stared at him.
‘You’ve … you’ve been to her casino? When?’
‘A few weeks ago. In January, when I went away for Rob’s birthday?’
‘Oh. I do remember that, yes. I just forgot you went to a casino …’
‘Oh. Well, does it matter?’ he said.
‘No. No, it doesn’t matter,’ I replied.
But I frowned, thinking. It had been the week after New Year’s Eve, and Pete had headed off to spend the night in Birmingham with some old friends from London including Rob, who was celebrating his thirty-fifth birthday. I vaguely remembered Pete telling me about their dinner and drinks, followed by a trip to a casino and on to a club, but I hadn’t paid much attention. It had just sounded like a pretty standard boys’ night away. Now though, the coincidence made me a little uneasy. And yet, thousands of people must visit the Topaz casinos every week; they are, by all accounts, popular venues for birthday parties, stag parties, celebrations of all kinds. A slightly odd coincidence nonetheless, although maybe not, as Pete hadn’t actually met Jane Holland that night – or, if he had, he’d been too drunk for it to register.
I’m still thinking about it this morning though, wondering if it can mean anything, and I’m browsing through articles about Jane again when the doorbell rings. I close my laptop and go to open it. DC Gordon is standing on the doorstep, hair pulled back into an even tighter little bun today. She’s wearing a pin-striped navy skirt with a pale-blue blouse, and she’s accompanied by a man in a grey suit. He has short black hair and a round, cherubic face, and he looks about sixteen.
