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She pauses, her mind racing.
‘And what if it’s someone whosemiddlename is Jane, or someone who was christened Jane but later changed her name? I mean, the possibilities are endless. We could search the electoral roll but that would just give us the ones registered to vote …’
She pauses for breath, aware that she’s on somewhat of a rant, and rubs her temples for a moment. They’re starting to throb.
‘AndBirmingham? Does that mean just the city, or the whole metropolitan area? It’s just impossible, Jas,’ she says.
He nods.
‘I know. I know. It’s a friggin’ joke.’ He shakes his head, then looks over his shoulder and calls:
‘Frankie? Any luck with those numbers?’
Two desks away, Detective Constable Frankie Tanner turns in her seat. Her white-blonde pixie cut is tousled, tufts sticking up at strange angles, as if she’s been running her hands repeatedly through her hair.
‘It’s a surprisingly tricky search, actually,’ she says, and gives a small sigh. ‘I’ve got a ballpark figure, but it’s very rough. I mean, we could try asking for data from the most recent census, but in theory the records are all anonymised and kept secure for a hundred years, so, you know …’
She rolls her eyes.
‘The Office of National Statistics might help us out, but they might not, and we certainly won’t get anything tonight. I’ve done some number crunching though, from what I can find online. I’ve used female population estimates, and ONS historic baby name rankings …’
She reaches for a piece of paper on her desk and taps it with a slender forefinger.
‘And, well, as I said, this is an incredibly rough estimate, and Jane issucha common name. Although it’s not as common as it once was, actually. It was very popular from the 1950s through to the 70s, and then began to decline a bit. But my very vague guess is that in Birmingham there are probably at least …’
She hesitates, frowning, then continues.
‘… two to two and a half thousand women called Jane. Most likely to be in their fifties and beyond. Fifty-something to eighty-something. But a friend of mine actually called her new baby Jane just six months ago. Jane Amelia. So …’
She lifts both hands in a gesture Priya interprets aswho knows, really?.
‘Right. Well, thanks Frankie.’
She thinks for a minute. The victim in Oxford, Lisa Turner, was twenty-eight.If– and she still thinks it’s a big if – there really is some sort of deranged serial killer targeting people in different cities, there’d usually be some sort of pattern. Young women walking home alone late at night, for example. And yet, one of the supposed prospective victims is David, Cardiff, which doesn’t fit at all. A mix of male and female victims? All the same …
‘OK, Jason, this is what we’re going to do. It’s not much, but I think it’s all wecando, given the vague nature of this threat and the massive number of people and the huge area it covers. I’m still hoping it’s some sort of sick prank, but I’m going to ask for some extra manpower until midnight tomorrow. More patrols tonight, especially after chucking-out time. They all need to look out for women walking home on their own, be extra vigilant. Give them lifts if necessary. And any 999 calls from women in distress – domestic violence, even anyone hearing a noise outside, whatever – have to be given highest priority. What do you think?’
Jason nods slowly.
‘Agreed, ma’am. It’s something, at least. And as you say, it’s probably a hoax. The Lisa, Oxford thing was most likely a coincidence. What killer warns his victims in advance, eh?’
They stare at each other for a moment, and Priya is pretty sure he’s thinking exactly what she’s thinking.
Please, let it be a hoax. Because if it’s not, we’re in big trouble here.
