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‘Yeah, cheers, boss. Black, please. And I’m sure you’re right. Still, I don’t envy the lads up there in the Midlands. Not much notice, is it? And sod all to go on, if it’s for real.’
Sergeant Hari Hughes and the duty inspector had been discussing the diary handed in to Gloucestershire Police for the past ten minutes and, while it was definitely disconcerting that it had mentioned a Lisa in Oxford, they’d decided it wasn’t worth putting too much into in the way of resources. Not yet, anyway.
‘David, in Cardiff? That’s bad enough, but if you throw all the blokes called Dafydd, Dai, Dewi and so on into the mix too, well …’
The inspector had thrown his hands in the air in despair, and Hari had nodded his agreement. The Welsh spelling of David, and its diminutives, might double the number of men called David in the city, although neither of them had any idea what that number might be.
‘It’s been one of the most popular names in the UK since the 1930s,’ Hari had told Rhys, after a quick Google search. ‘And here in Wales, well, he’s the patron saint, isn’t he? Even worse. Hopeless, eh?’
Now though, he watches the boss lumbering off towards the coffee machine with an uneasy feeling.
‘If something does happen in Birmingham, it’s us next,’ he mutters to himself. ‘And what the hell do we do then?’
He shrugs. That’s a worry for a higher pay grade than his.Let’s just see what happens, eh?
***
St Aldates Police Station, Oxford
‘We need that forensics report, and fast.’
DCI Linda Lake, senior investigating officer in the Lisa Turner case, is pacing up and down the incident room. In the month since the murder, every single lead she’s had – and there haven’t been many – has led to dead ends, and she’s been starting to feel a little desperate. The call this afternoon from Gloucestershire has been like manna from heaven.
‘If there’s a fingerprint,anything… and I want to speak to this Mary Ellis, too,’ she says, reaching the far wall of the room and turning abruptly to march back across the stained blue carpet again, weaving her way between the desks.
‘If this diary’s legit, this could be the break we’ve been waiting for. Does Mary have any connection with Lisa? And we need to go back to Lisa’s family and friends again, ask them about any associates in Cardiff and Birmingham …’
She stops pacing suddenly, aware that she’s sounding a little hysterical and that the other officers in the room are watching her warily.
‘Could still be a hoax, ma’am,’ says the nearest detective sergeant cautiously. ‘Although, I agree it’s a massive bloody coincidence if that diary really was in the post before Lisa was murdered …’
Her voice tails off.
‘Exactly,’ says Linda. ‘And it’s all we’ve got right now, isn’t it? All eyes on Birmingham tonight and tomorrow. And we’d all better start praying for something good to come out of that forensics report. This could be it, guys. Keep everything crossed, OK?’
***
Birmingham Central Police Station
‘Jane? Jane in Birmingham? That’s all we’ve got? And it’s tomorrow? Gimme a break.’
Detective Chief Inspector Priya Thomson of West Midlands Police pushes a strand of loose, dark hair back off her forehead and frowns at her colleague. Detective Inspector Jason Butcher shrugs.
‘I know,’ he says. ‘That’s all this diary has, apparently. Three dates and three first names. Well, four if you include the one that’s already happened, which is why it’s sparked a bit of concern. And that’s all it says for Birmingham. Jane, tomorrow.’
‘Well what the hell am I supposed to do with that? And why send it to this Mary woman in the first place?’ Priya knows she sounds as exasperated as she feels, and she takes a deep breath.
I really could have done without this today,she thinks.
She didn’t sleep well last night, and she can feel a headache brewing. She glances at her watch. It’s already nearly six o’clock. ‘Tomorrow’ starts in about six hours’ time.
‘Not sure. Gloucestershire are looking closely at her, but their gut feeling is that she’s not lying about it, and they’ve asked forensics to fast-track the diary,’ says Jason. He’s a short, wiry man with a neat red beard, which he has a habit of stroking when he’s thinking hard about something. He’s doing it now.
‘But even so, on a Sunday night … it could be Tuesday before we get anything back. And that’s going to be too late, if it’s a genuine threat. But, well, we can hardly ask local news to put out a report telling everyone called Jane to lock herself in her bedroom for the next thirty hours, can we? Can you imagine the mass panic?’
Priya rolls her eyes.
‘No, we can’t do that. I don’t even have a clue how many, well, how many Janes there might be. Is it any old person called Jane, or a specific person? I mean, she could be a baby or a granny or anything in-between, couldn’t she? And what if it’s a specific Jane, but she decides to go on holiday or away for business or something tomorrow?’
