Copycat Read online

  ‘Watton.’

  ‘Boss, it’s me,’ DS Carter started, and Melanie couldn’t help but sigh into the speaker. ‘We’re at the college still but we wanted to run something by you.’ Melanie grabbed a pen and a fresh sheet of paper, prepared for whatever was coming. ‘There’s a kid here who’s been taking a keen interest in Jenni, by all accounts. Alistair House, his name is. He’s only Jenni’s age–’

  ‘Too young to be in the big boy system but there might be something kicking around,’ Melanie said, finishing her colleague’s theory. ‘I’ll get the team onto it, see if they can find any family connections or anything similar that might lead somewhere. Thanks, Edd.’

  ‘No problem. We’re going in to talk to Jenni’s year group. We’ll let you know when we’re heading back.’

  The pair extinguished their phone call without the formality of a goodbye, and Melanie begrudgingly pulled herself back to the open case files in front of her. She chose Victim Number One, Zoe Ingram, from the pile and looked over the folder’s contents. The killing was unmotivated; there was never any proven link between Zoe and the man who murdered her, nor could Richards provide the police with one, despite repeated questioning on the matter. All his victims were selected at random, he maintained, but there was nothing too random about the beauty and youth that he targeted. Melanie picked over the collection of photographs from Zoe’s file; noting how the first four showed her alive, happy, surrounded by friends in some and family in others. The last picture showed her face, close-up, with that same steel examination table visible in the background.

  The accompanying case files for victims two to five were much the same, with the addition of Richards’ handwritten notes that became increasingly antagonistic as the killings continued. In the final folder that she opened, she found typed transcripts of conversations between Richards and a number of different detectives from the case. They were as unpleasant a read as the case files to date had been, showing a cocksure Richards who was clearly hell-bent on winding up the detectives who were interrogating him. A few pages along, Melanie was pulled into one of the final transcribed conversations where Richards explained – or, tried to explain – his reasoning for committing the five murders.

  Richards: Everyone knows who I am now, don’t they?

  DI Ewen: And that’s why you did, is it, so everyone would know your name?

  Richards: You’re saying it like it’s stupid, but it’s worked, hasn’t it? That’s why I had to hand myself in too. Frankly, you lot were taking a bit too long to get around to finding me. Even though I made it easy for you. (laughter) Hey ho, we’re all here now.

  DI Ewen: You understand that you’ve killed people, Mr Richards, you’ve ruined lives of young women who didn’t deserve it.

  Richards: Oh, c’mon. They weren’t so innocent. They wouldn’t have been out on the playing fields at all hours with a boy like me if they had been. They took their chances just like everyone does –

  There was a hard tap of knuckles against Melanie’s office door, and she’d never been more grateful for an interruption. She closed the transcript and shouted her permission through to whoever was outside. The door inched open and DC Lucy Morris hovered nervously on the threshold to the office. The DI gestured her in with one hand while reshuffling the documents with the other. When Melanie looked up, Lucy was still a metre away from the desk edge, what she obviously considered to be a safe distance from her superior officer.

  ‘Let’s have it,’ Melanie snapped.

  ‘The tech team has had a chance to look through Jenni Grantham’s computer.’ Melanie’s impatience gave way to optimism at the mere thought of a break in the case; the young DC had her full attention. ‘Her web browsing history, it’s mostly random searches and social media websites, nothing too remarkable yet,’ Lucy continued, reading from the sheet in front of her. ‘But there were a handful of searches that grabbed some attention; she’s been looking into Michael Richards, particularly in the two weeks before her murder.’ She paused here and passed the piece of paper over to her superior who snatched it from her with the excitement of a hungry child. Melanie inspected the sheet. ‘They’ve noted down the specific search terms for us there.’

  Melanie scanned the list: Michael Richards murders, Michael Richards picture, Michael Richards victims, Michael Richards victim clothing…

  ‘Shit,’ Melanie muttered as she reached the bottom of the list. ‘Is there anything else on there that we should know about?’ She looked to her colleague as she spoke.

  Lucy nodded. ‘They’re arranging for copies of her most recent conversations through her social media channels and through her emails, so we’ll have those to go through before the day is out. They’ve said they’ll flag anything else of interest as it comes up, so there might be one or two surprises still to come.’

  ‘If this is anything to go by.’ Melanie gestured to the sheet in front of her. ‘Are you okay to take point on this?’ Lucy flashed a quick smile in confirmation, showing what Melanie thought must be pride. ‘You know what you’re looking for; if anything does come through, anything at all, flag it and raise it with me.’ Melanie dismissed the young officer with a thank you and a thin smile, and Lucy gratefully retreated, closing the door behind her. ‘Jenni, Jenni, Jenni,’ Melanie said, scanning the search terms a second time. ‘What on earth were you getting yourself into?’

  10

  DS Edd Carter stepped into the room ahead of his colleague, so he was the first out of the two of them to be greeted by the intimidating sight of thirty-seven pairs of eyes staring at him in unison. Edd was visibly unnerved, but when DC Chris Burton straightened up alongside him, she showed no such concern with the gang of students. Seconds later, Mr Gibbons followed and positioned himself behind the desk at the head of the room, in front of what looked to be an interactive whiteboard. When Chris turned again to eye the principal, she came face to face with an enhanced image of their victim. Jenni Grantham’s face occupied much of the board space behind Chris and Edd, and it was a startling sight to behold. She nudged Edd to pull his attention to the same image, but he was fixed on the students, a hare in headlights.

  Gibbons cleared his throat. ‘You’re all aware of the tragedy that has taken place in our local community, and I know this is a difficult time for many of you.’ Edd and Chris took this opportunity to scan around the room, watching for tearful reactions, hoping – sick as it sounded – for some early signs of guilt. ‘The police are doing everything that they can to decipher what happened to Jenni, but your help in the matter will go a long way.’

  Despite Chris not having taken to Gibbons during their earlier conversation, she couldn’t deny that he clearly had a good hold over his students. Every one of them was held in the principal’s address and the room remained pin-drop quiet while he continued. ‘I know not everyone knew Jenni, and not everyone will have spent that much time with her; you’re a large group and all that. But if you know of anything that could be useful, now is the time to speak out.’ Gibbons eyed the student body, as though waiting for a hand to shoot in the air and offer the right answer; I know, I know, I know who killed her… Chris only wished it could be that easy.

  When an uncomfortable minute had rolled by, the DS decided to intervene. ‘I know this is a horrible time for a lot of people here, and we’re interested in making this as swift as possible because we appreciate that this is very difficult.’ He turned then to address the principal directly. ‘I assume there are some people here who didn’t know Jenni especially well, is that right?’

  ‘Of course, they’re a large class,’ Gibbons replied.

  ‘Perhaps it might be worth narrowing down the numbers?’ Burton added, finishing her partner’s line of thought. She turned to address the group herself. ‘If you knew Jenni, or you spent time with her during the weeks before her death, could you please remain seated. If you didn’t, you’re welcome to leave.’ The numbers dwindled significantly, and Carter appeared to immediately relax at the decrea
se. When a small queue of teenagers was left to trail out of the door, a curt shout emerged from the back of the room.

  ‘House, where do you think you’re going?’

  Chris and Edd shot a synchronised stare at the open doorway to find a young man about to cross the threshold. When Chris looked back to find the source of the noise, she spotted a young woman, out of her seat and staring with some accusation at the startled boy who she’d beckoned.

  ‘You were round her like a sniffer dog so sit down,’ the same young woman said before taking her own seat. With some evident despondency, the young man slouched back to his table without making eye contact with anyone along the way.

  Gibbons had requested to be present during the police discussion with the pupils – which seemed only fair, given that he had helped them to side-step calling each set of parents for permission. So, students seated and ready, Carter closed the door before rejoining his partner at the head of the class.

  Burton started the discussion. ‘Who in this room was with Jenni on the night she was killed?’

  One hand raised in an instant; a second, more hesitant, hand followed this.

  ‘Ellie,’ the confident student – the one who had called House out on his sudden exit, Chris saw – introduced herself without being prompted. ‘This is Patrick,’ she said, gesturing to the less confident student sitting next to her. ‘We were with her the evening it happened.’ She spoke with such confidence that Chris found herself jarred by the teenager’s composure. Meanwhile, the young man to Ellie’s left showed no such control.

  ‘Eleanor Gregory and Patrick Nelson?’ Edd chimed in, reading from the list Gibbons had provided for them already.

  Ellie smiled. ‘You’ve heard of us.’

  Edd went to speak but Chris set a hand on his arm to halt him. ‘What were you two doing on the night of Jenni’s…’ She hesitated over the phrasing. ‘On the night of the incident? Were the three of you up to something in particular?’

  ‘We were practising Halloween costumes,’ Ellie replied, still with that same confidence.

  ‘A trial run?’ Chris asked.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘What were you dressing up as?’ Chris smiled to soften the question.

  ‘I was Freddy,’ Ellie said, matching Chris’s smile.

  The DC felt like the entire conversation was out of place, as was the young woman’s willingness to take part in it. Chris looked around to catch Edd’s eye and, from his frowned expression, she thought he was thinking much the same as she was.

  ‘And your friend, Patrick, who were you?’ Chris aimed the question directly at the young man, fixing him with a stare, but still it was Ellie who replied.

  ‘He was Jason.’ She seemed pleased by their plan, as though she were the first person to think of this costume pairing. ‘You know, Freddy versus Jason,’ she pushed, apparently displeased with the neutral reaction that Chris had given her.

  ‘And who was Jenni?’

  As though flicking a switch, Chris watched the confidence drain out of the young woman in front of her. Ellie looked as though she were physically deflating as she sank further into her seat and, for the first time since their conversation had started, she dropped her eye contact with the questioning officer. The young woman flashed a glance at Patrick, who was slumped in a similar position next to her; the two shared something, but Chris couldn’t decipher what. Were they a couple? Or were they accomplices?

  Before she had the time to interrogate the thought properly, Patrick finally made eye contact with her and said, ‘A victim.’ His voice cracked mid-way through his speech, so he said it again, as though wanting to be sure. ‘For Halloween, Jenni was dressing up as someone’s victim.’

  11

  Robert Grantham pulled the phone line from the connection port in the wall and checked that his wife’s mobile, and his own, were switched off. DI Watton had assured him that the police would deliver any news in person, rather than over the phone, and so the bereaved father thought it was time to shut himself off from the world – and the news-hungry journalists who occupied it. DC Ian Dixon had been a godsend in the days since Jenni’s death, but there was only so much he could do about the harassing phone calls and the unsolicited offers of help from people who knew nothing about the case – who knew nothing about Jenni.

  ‘Why do they keep calling?’ Robert had asked Dixon one evening, when his wife had long dropped off into a drug-induced sleep, and the two men were left alone with a pot of tea and the remains of another casserole, delivered by a neighbour earlier in the day.

  Dixon shrugged. ‘It’s a horrible world, Robert, and I’m afraid some people are just too eager to capitalise on that.’

  Robert had managed to go another hour or two after that, but he soon found himself desperate to shut off means of communications entirely.

  ‘What if someone wants us?’ Evie asked when she came downstairs in the morning to find their three house phones disconnected and piled together on the dining room table.

  ‘Who in the world could want us, Evie? The only person who did has gone.’

  ‘That’s not true, Rob, it just isn’t. What if…’ She trailed off, unable to finish her own sentence, and while her husband in part wanted to shout at her, he instead moved across the dining room and encased her in a warm hug. Evie’s shoulders sagged, and Robert soon felt the wetness of tears pressing through the front of his shirt; he matched them with a handful of his own stray tears, landing on his wife’s bowed head. These moments – these shared moments of outpouring – felt to Robert like the only things holding them together, although he hadn’t said such concerns to his wife, or even Dixon.

  The shriek of the doorbell rang through the house, cutting short the couple’s contact. Evie pulled away, a confused expression on her face, meanwhile her husband showed contempt, even a flicker of anger. He pushed past Evie and padded out into the hallway, to find Dixon poised to open the front door already.

  ‘If that’s a journalist, you tell them where to go,’ Robert instructed and Dixon nodded his understanding, although he was unlikely to follow the guidance to the letter.

  The young officer indicated for Robert to go back inside before he turned to open the door himself. But there was no one waiting. The journalists who had been spending their days outside of the Granthams’ house hadn’t even arrived yet. From this angle, the street looked normal and deserted of human presence. The only giveaway that anyone had been to the house at all was the large box that sat on the doorstep, taped together in an obviously clumsy fashion – either by someone inexperienced or someone who was rushing. In block capitals someone had written FAO Granthams across the top of the container.

  Dixon remained inside the house but crouched down in the open doorway. He pulled his phone from his back pocket and hit the speed dial for DI Watton’s work phone number. She answered after two rings, as though she had been waiting for the call.

  ‘Dixon?’

  ‘I’m sorry to call you so early, Ma’am. There’s a package at the Granthams’ house. Marked for their attention but it was hand delivered, and whoever dropped it off had ducked out before I got to the front door.’

  Melanie expelled a shaky sigh. ‘Christ. Okay, I’ll call it in. Don’t touch a thing, Dixon, and don’t let the Granthams either.’

  Melanie disconnected the phone call and, still pulling on her work attire, dialled out to the other team leaders…

  12

  DS Edd Carter stood at the front of the incident room with his team – Melanie’s team, that is – staring back at him. His boss had called just thirty minutes earlier to tell him she was on her way to the Grantham residence to help with investigations into a package that had been left on their doorstep.

  ‘What kind of package?’ Edd asked.

  Melanie sighed. ‘That’s the question, isn’t it.’

  The DI had asked him to take the lead on the meeting for the morning, to fill the team in on his and Chris’s discoveries at the school, a
nd to see where other people were in their own investigations. But before he could do any of that, he had to get the team to take him seriously with a custard stain smudged down the front of his shirt.

  ‘What even is it?’ DC David Read shouted from the back.

  ‘It’s a sign that I’ve got kids, now can we?’ Edd batted back, and the back row sniggered like self-important school children. ‘I’m happy you’re in a top mood this morning but if you could channel some of that energy into finding out who murdered Jenni Grantham, you’d be doing the rest of us a solid favour.’ Edd spoke pointedly at Read, whose laughter quickly died out on hearing his superior’s tone.

  Read didn’t offer an apology but sank an inch or two lower in his seat, and he wore a similar sad face to the one Emily tried out when she knew that she was in trouble. But if it didn’t work when Carter’s own daughter did it, Read stood no chance. ‘Okay, updates,’ the DS started again. ‘DC Morris?’

  The officer stood up to address the group. ‘I’ve been working with the tech team to sift through Jenni’s recent Internet searches. From what we’ve seen so far, it looks as though she was taking an interest in the Michael Richards case.’

  ‘What kind of an interest?’ DC Fairer asked before Edd could.

  ‘She did a lot of searches on the victims, actually.’ Morris shuffled through papers as she spoke. ‘She seems to have been looking for pictures of the victims, their clothing when they were attacked, things like that.’ She looked back to her DS. ‘No surprises, but it turns out she was quite an active Internet user, so even though we’ve searched through a fair amount of data, there’s still a fair bit to go. These victim searches are the most significant things we’ve found so far, but we haven’t started on her emails yet…’ The DC trailed off, throwing a nervous look in Edd’s direction before sitting back down. For as long as she had worked with the team, Morris had come across as jumpy, edgy, and Edd had never been able to work out why. He shook away these recurring thoughts though; now wasn’t the time to overanalyse his team mates.