Claire
Sam quickly forwards Claire’s email to Taylor and Tina, then sits, chewing her lip and thinking. Northumbria Police is the largest branch in the North East, both in terms of the population they serve and geographical area they cover—some two-thousand-plus square miles, including the city of Sunderland. Sam opens her “Who is Denver Brady?” list and reads down it. Then she opens a browser and types “Where was Mary Ann Cotton from?” She scans the page and sees that Britain’s most prolific female serial killer of all time worked as a nurse in Sunderland, although shelived in small villages all over Tyne and Wear and was born in County Durham. Could it be that Denver was so upset by the suggestion that Mary was innocent because she’s the only serial killer from his hometown?
Sam checks the database. The victim searches have turned up nothing so far, and while she hasn’t given up hope entirely, it wouldn’t normally take this long. She decides to try things the old-fashioned way and types a quick message to Taylor telling him to call Durham, Cleveland and Northumbria and enlist their help identifying any potential real-life Denver victims.
She glances at her watch and gives the little dog a gentle stroke to wake him up—it’s time for the vet’s. He’s modeling a perfect downward-dog stretch, almost ready to move, when Chloe suddenly hops out of her chair and grabs the remote for the communal television, turning the volume as loud as it will go. Sam freezes in place: the press conference is beginning.
On screen, Nigel Mathers cries deep, racking sobs.
“God, my heart just breaks for him,” Chloe groans. “You know his wife was killed in a hit-and-run when Charlotte was a baby? And now she’s gone, too.”
Sam steps toward the TV. Nigel looks even worse than he did on Monday, if that’s possible. Sandwiched between Harry and Tina, his skin is ashen and his eyes hazed. As he appeals for witnesses to his daughter’s murder, a map appears on the screen showing Charlotte’s route the night she was killed. Actors appear, a reconstruction of Charlotte’s final movements. There’s a pretty, ginger-headed girl wearing a green school uniform and walking down a footpath toward Holland Park, Nigel speaking all the while—the most heartbreaking voice-over Sam has ever heard.
“I just want it to unhappen,” he says, “but I… I know that can’t be, so finding him… the monster who did this to my baby… my baby girl… is all I can do for her. Please. Just please, if youknow anything at all. I have money. There will be an award… reward, I mean, reward. The police know about you, Denver—”
“Please,” Tina’s voice cuts Nigel off mid-sentence, “if you were in or around Holland Park at the time, call the Metropolitan Police.”
The reconstruction finishes and the camera zooms in on Tina giving out the number of the helpline for witnesses to call. Sam imagines she can hear the phones ringing on the civilian desks already. As Tina repeats the telephone number, Nigel’s voice can still be heard but it’s unclear what else he’s trying to say. There’s a commotion off-camera and suddenly the angle shifts back to Nigel, who appears to be pushing Harry out of his chair and trying to pull something from inside his own jacket. Does Nigel have a weapon? Alarm flashes through Sam as her godfather grabs at the tablecloth and sound equipment in an effort to maintain his balance. Then Harry falls backwards, and a camera man steps into shot, trying to help him.
The camera pans wildly. Sometimes a flash of Tina, then Nigel, then a room full of startled journalists. Finally, it stabilizes. Nigel stands, shouting and waving something. It’s not a gun but he points it like one—at Edris, who says, “Please keep calm, Mr. Mathers,” in her slow, considered way.
Harry is signaling to someone to end the broadcast but the camera keeps rolling. Nigel leans forward to speak into Tina’s microphone but she quickly unplugs it.
Nigel’s mouth moves, but his words are too quiet for Sam to catch. He turns and points the item in his hand at the gathered journalists, who are now on their feet, their questions flying through their own microphones. Harry manages to wrestle the item from Nigel’s hand. A book.Of course it’s a book, Sam thinks, feeling her stomach drop.
“Mr. Mathers, do you think your daughter is the victim of a serial killer?” a journalist calls out.
“Mr. Mathers, can you confirm that you’re accusing the Metropolitan Police of covering up an active serial killer investigation?”
“DI Edris, DCI Blakelaw, how do you respond to these allegations?”
Uniformed officers flood into the room from the side door but hover at the edge of the stage, looking to Harry. Before he is escorted away, Nigel Mathers makes a dive for Harry, snatches the book back and tosses it to the nearest journalist. The camera follows Nigel’s grief-stricken face as he’s maneuvered off the stage and out of the room, yelling all the while. Nigel’s words are inaudible to television viewers like Sam, but not to the room full of journalists who, she has no doubt, will print them on the front pages of the evening newspapers.
“Shit!” Sam mutters.
“Ma’am? Are you OK?” Taylor appears at her side. Sam is surprised to find her trainee’s sudden presence reassuring, and her hand is steady as she points to the TV. Taylor watches, his brows knitted tightly. On the screen, the journalists are in a frenzy. Tina Edris is frozen in her seat, her hands in a surrender position, desperately trying to calm the room with her quiet voice. To the side of her, Harry is fumbling to plug his microphone back in.
“DCI Blakelaw,” calls a journalist, “Craig Walton for theSun. Is there any foundation in Nigel Mathers’ accusations?”
“I know who you are, Craig,” snaps Harry. “Let’s not create unnecessary alarm here. Mr. Mathers is under enormous stress. Please have some compassion for the family.”
“DCI Blakelaw,” another journalist says, “for the record, is there an active serial killer in the UK right now? Today?”
“We have no reason to believe at present that the murder of Charlotte Mathers is connected to any other crimes. While this is something we never rule out, it is an ongoing investigation and I can’t comment further,” Harry says. The journalist tries again, not satisfied.
“So theremight bea serial killer?” he calls.
“This is an ongoing—” Harry begins but more voices join the call.
“Is there a serial killer?”
“The public have a right to know!”
“What is the Met hiding?”
“Who is Denver Brady?”
“What measures are you taking to protect the public from this killer?”
