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“Could the husband identify the killer?”
Heads swivel to face the guy speaking. He’s new, over from West Yorkshire, so probably isn’t aware. Cara sees the woman next to him nudge him and frown.
Griffin’s jaw clenches. Then: “No,” he says at last. “There was no useful information from the husband.”
Cara stands up. She gestures to the man next to the door, and he flicks the lights on. Everybody winces at the sudden illumination.
She stands in front of the group. Griffin moves away to the back of the room.
“Right. So now we know what we’re all dealing with,” she says, taking charge. There are a huge number of detectives now, following multiple lines of inquiry, not to mention the army of PCs and PCSOs asking questions out on the streets. “We know this guy has killed over twenty people so far. To avoid doubt, we can assume he will kill again, and he will do so brutally and without remorse.” She points to the photo of Michael Sharp on the board. “For the time being, unless evidence tells us otherwise, this is our prime suspect. His blood was found at the Kemper crime scene, and the Dahmer murders were staged at his apartment.” She starts allocating jobs to the various groups around the room. “Those of you here from constabularies across the country, I want you to swap cases. Get the teams up to speed with what you know, then leave them to it.” She sees the glances between detectives. “This is not about assigning blame. This is about putting fresh eyes on a murder case. Shenton,” she says, pointing toward her DC. “You seem to know a lot about serial killers. Research everything about our murders so far—and put together a list of the most notorious serial killers out there. Something might pop up that links to another case. And Campbell,”—one of the new DCs nods in acknowledgment—“follow up with Missing Persons. I want these victims identified.”
She finishes the briefing, and the room is filled with noise. Energy, conversation, people eager to get on and catch this guy.
She gestures to Griffin.
“You okay?” she says, and he nods. He’s not, but she knows he won’t want to be asked about it again.
“Fine. Listen, Nate.” She turns to her brother. “If you’re going to be here, on this investigation, I need you to keep in line. Don’t ruffle any feathers, don’t piss anyone off.”
He tilts his head to one side, smiling slightly. “I’ll do my best.”
“Do better than that. Because this is my job on the line too. No one else will take you. Marsh has made it clear, you’re my responsibility. So if you get fired, I get in trouble. Clear?”
He nods, raising one hand in a mock salute. “Crystal, boss.”
“Good. Deaks?” she shouts across the room, and Noah comes over. Griffin scowls.
“And you need to apologize to Noah.”
The two men glare at each other.
“I’m serious, Nate. Apologize. Because I can’t have you two working together like this.”
And there it was: the reason for his suspension. Tensions running high, late at night, no progress made on Mia’s murder. Griffin barely out of the hospital. And an observation from Noah toward Griffin: “Maybe you shouldn’t be here.”
“Maybe, if you were a better cop, I wouldn’t need to be.”
And then the final comment: “Maybe, if you’d been a better husband—”
Noah had regretted it immediately after he’d said it, he’d later confessed to Cara, but by then Griffin had punched him full in the face, breaking his nose.
Griffin frowns at Cara, then sighs. “I’m sorry for punching you,” he growls. “But you were a prick.”
“And you, Noah. Let it go.”
“Only if I can return the favor.”
“For crying out loud,” Cara mutters under her breath. Men. “Fine. If Griffin behaves like a prick, you have my permission to break his nose. But don’t do it where anyone can see.”
“Deal.” Deakin holds out his hand, and Griffin reluctantly shakes it. “And I am sorry for what I said.”
Griffin nods briefly in acknowledgment. Cara rolls her eyes. “Now go and do something useful.”
Griffin heads off and Cara looks at Deakin. She shakes her head. “Tell me it was a good idea to get Griffin in on this, please?”
Noah gives her a withering look. His hand subconsciously goes up to his nose. “It wasn’t. But we might as well make the most of it. As much as I hate the arrogant wanker, he’s good at what he does.” She sees his gaze shift to the whiteboard. “So, what’s next for us?”
Cara closes her eyes for a few seconds, then opens them and looks at him. “Let’s keep going with Kemper and Dahmer,” she says. She shakes her head. “I can’t believe we’re calling them that.”
