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Their DCS looks at them, his mouth gaping.
“Then this one, from yesterday. Five dead. Similar to Manson.”
“Manson?” he repeats. “Charles Manson?” He looks at Cara and she nods. He runs his finger across the other photographs. “What about these?” He moves them around on his desk, and one comes into view.
“Is this …?” he asks, looking at Cara, and she nods. “How is this linked?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Their boss sits back in his seat and runs both hands through his hair. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Why the hell are we only spotting this now?”
But Cara and Noah stay silent. There’s no excuse. They both feel the failure. And Cara knows what her boss is thinking. At first it’s pure disbelief, followed by a hollowing realization that they have a serial killer on their hands. And a very dangerous one at that.
Marsh taps his fingers on the desk, a quick, nervous movement. He fiddles with the photographs again.
“How did you come by this?” he says at last. “What made you look at other cases?”
Noah looks at Cara again.
“Griffin,” Marsh says, frowning. He lets out an infuriated grunt. “Typical. Takes a fucked-up cop to make a fucked-up connection.” He glances up quickly, realizing he’s insulted Cara’s brother, then continues without apology. “I heard he’d been sniffing around, getting in the way of our detectives.” He stops. “Who did he interview in the hospital?”
“I believe it was this case,” Cara says. “The death of Patrick Ambrose in an arson on Monday night.”
“Arson? That doesn’t sound like it’s linked.” Marsh sits forward decisively in his chair. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I want to be a hundred percent sure before we go talking about this elsewhere. Look into everything you have. Get a team on it, but for God’s sake, keep it quiet. We don’t want a panic on our hands. I’ll alert the chief constable.” He looks at Cara. “And what about Griffin? How unstable is he?”
Cara knows the incident he’s referring to. “He seems okay, boss,” she says, “but completely obsessed with this. We might need to bring him back in. Just to keep him on the straight and narrow, if nothing else.”
“Fine.” Cara can see he’s not pleased about the idea, and to be honest, neither is she. Her brother had been suspended for a reason. His behavior had become unpredictable, with random outbursts of anger, culminating in him punching another detective, breaking his nose. He’s not safe to have around, and her boss knows it.
But he also knows that once Griffin gets his teeth into something, he can’t be stopped, and it’s better to have him here, closely watched, than out doing something impulsive.
“But he’s your responsibility, Elliott, you hear me?”
Before Cara can say anything in return, a hurried banging on the door diverts their attention. Noah pulls it open, and Shenton stands there. He’s out of breath, his face red, obviously having run up the stairs.
“You weren’t answering your phone, boss,” he pants. “It’s the blood results—they’re back.” He thrusts a piece of paper toward them, and Cara snatches it from his hands.
“Most of the samples come back to the victims, but one … One wasn’t,” he garbles. “We ran it through the system.”
“And?”
“We have a match.”
Cara and Deakin both stand up, ready to leave.
“DCI Elliott?” Marsh says, and she turns. “Get this wrapped up. And quick.”
Cara nods. She feels the excitement churn in her stomach. They have a suspect. It’s time to catch this guy.
CHAPTER
19
“MICHAEL SHARP, HIGH-LEVEL shit, arrests for sexual assault, possession, intent to supply, assault and battery, multiple stints inside …”
Deakin’s reading from a printout as they’re rocked back and forth in the back of the van. Cara pulls on the black stab vest, passing another to Noah, who puts it over his head, fastening it around his body.
The energy is palpable. A team has been assembled, the armed response vehicle in front of them, ready to go. They’re taking no risks with this guy. Knowing what they know now, they’re going in hard and fast.
