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‘We already got that, boss,’ Penn offered, nodding towards Stacey, who took over the narrative.
‘According to the PNC, our first guy, Eric Gould, was convicted of actual bodily harm when he was fifteen. Made quite a mess of his victim. Broken nose, split lip, two front teeth knocked out and bruising all over the body.’
‘Who was his victim?’ Kim asked.
‘Cheryl Gordon, his girlfriend, except she didn’t want to be that any more, which is why he smacked her around,’ Stacey said before tacking a Post-it note on the edge of the desk. Cheryl Gordon’s address.
Kim held her feelings in check. She hoped Cheryl Gordon had seen the news and recognised the name.
‘And Paul?’
‘Paul sexually assaulted a girl after a school disco. She’d danced with him once and didn’t want to dance again. He followed her home and assaulted her about twenty metres from her house.’
Kim’s gaze went to the single photo of Paul Brooks that had been added to the board. She tipped her head.
‘They’re letters,’ she realised.
‘Yep, we got that too, boss. Our guy formed Eric into an A for abuser and Paul into an R for rapist.’
‘Bloody hell, what a pair. Either of them re-offend?’
Stacey shook her head. ‘Not that we know of.’
‘Address of Paul’s victim?’
Stacey tacked another Post-it note on the edge of the desk. ‘Her name is Daisy Hobbs.’
‘So if neither of them have re-offended, this has to be some kind of punishment for the crimes they committed back then. But obviously it’s not the same historic victim, so do we have more than one killer?’ Bryant asked.
‘We have exactly the same MO, which would be difficult for two different people to replicate,’ Stacey said as the puzzlement grew.
‘Hmm…okay, finally, did anyone work out the numbering system on the Sentinel’s tweets?’ Kim asked.
The blank expressions told her they’d forgotten all about that.
‘It’s his progress. One of six, two of six. He’s talking victims.’
‘We have another four to come?’ Bryant asked.
‘Not if we can help it. Their old teacher, Ryan West, gave me another four names who made up a particularly nasty group of six at Welton.’
Stacey took out her notepad, but Kim waved it away. It was getting late and they all needed some rest. ‘Not tonight. Get gone, all of you. See you back here at the normal time.’
They all gathered their things and offered the usual ‘goodnights’ as they walked out the door.
Unfortunately it was unlikely to be a very good night for her.
THIRTY-FIVE
For the first time ever, Stacey didn’t know how to act or feel walking into her own home. It felt alien, tainted and not like the safe haven she’d known. It was almost like Terence Birch was present in every room, even though he’d never set foot in the place.
The habit of him hadn’t yet left her. She’d spent the journey home searching every face, every half-turned figure to see if it was him. Her heart had beat a little harder at every bus stop in case he’d boarded the vehicle.
It felt as though the fear had become a part of her being, that her muscle memory now included searching pavements and shops. It was as though she couldn’t allow herself to believe he was gone. That he’d tricked her somehow and that the minute she let down her guard, he would reappear outside her bedroom window. Even now, after walking into her home, her stomach was telling her to go to the window: to be certain.
Surely her ordeal couldn’t end just like that.
She knew that part of her discomfort came from feeling unsure around Devon. They’d had many fights over the years, but they’d always resolved never to go to sleep on an argument.
