I See You(68)

‘They’ve all been London-based so far, boss.’

‘There was an abduction in Maidstone yesterday. A witness reported seeing a man drag a woman into a black Lexus and drive off. An hour later Kent police received a call from a distressed female who had been abducted and sexually assaulted, before being pushed out of the car in an industrial estate on the outskirts of the town.’ He handed several printed sheets to Kelly, who glanced at the details written at the top of the statement.

Kathryn Whitworth, 36.





‘Commuter?’

‘She travels from Pimlico every day to a recruitment firm in Maidstone.’

‘Did she get the index number of the Lexus?’

‘No, but the car triggered a speed camera a few miles from the incident. Local officers are bringing in the driver now.’

It didn’t take Kelly long to set up a new account, and to find Kathryn Whitworth, promoted as newly listed on the first page of the website. She checked the details given in Kathryn’s victim statement against the profile on the screen in front of her.

White.

Blonde.

Mid thirties.

Flat shoes, dresses with fitted jackets. Woollen checked wrap. Black umbrella with tortoiseshell handle. Grey Mulberry laptop bag.

Size 8–10.

0715: Enters Pimlico Tube. Takes escalator and turns left to northbound platform. Stands by large advert to the left of Tube map. One stop to Victoria. Exits platform, turns right and up escalator. Turns left towards platforms 1–8. Goes to Starbucks adjacent to platform 2, where barista prepares venti skinny decaff latte without instruction. Takes Ashford International train from platform 3. Opens laptop and works for duration of journey. Gets off at Maidstone East. Walks up Week Street, turns left into Union Street. Works at Maidstone Recruitment.

Availability: Monday to Friday

Duration: 80 minutes

Difficulty level: moderate





There was no doubt it was the same woman. On impulse Kelly looked up Maidstone Recruitment. A professional headshot accompanied the short bio beneath Kathryn’s name and job title. Senior Recruitment Consultant. In the photograph on the website Kathryn had her hair tucked behind her ears; she looked – if not stressed, exactly – as though her mind were elsewhere. In her work shot she sat left-shoulder forward against a white background, shiny blonde hair resting on her shoulders in a neat bob. She met the camera with a gleaming smile; professional, trustworthy, confident.

What did Kathryn Whitworth look like now, Kelly wondered? What did she look like when she gave this ten-page statement to a Maidstone detective; when she sat in the rape suite in a borrowed robe, waiting for the Force Medical Examiner to violate her all over again?

The images came all too easily.

She took the profile off the printer and leaned over her desk to pass them to Lucinda.

‘It’s a match.’

Kelly’s mobile rang, ‘number withheld’ flashing on the screen. She picked up.

‘Hi, is that DC Thompson?’

Kelly was on the verge of telling the caller he had the wrong number, when she remembered. ‘Yes, that’s me.’ She glanced at Lucinda, but she had turned back to her computer.

‘It’s DC Angus Green, from Durham CID. I’ve dug out the rape file you were after.’

‘Hang on a sec, I need to take this outside.’

Kelly hoped it wasn’t obvious to anyone else in the office that her heart was racing. She forced herself to walk casually away from her desk, as though the call were of little importance.

‘Thanks for returning my call,’ she said, when she was in the corridor. She stood at the top of the stairwell, where she could see who was coming up the stairs, and keep an eye on the door to MIT at the same time.

‘No problem. Have you got someone in custody?’

‘No, we’re just doing some work on similar jobs around the country, and this one came up. I was calling to see if there had been any developments in the last few years?’ Kelly’s heart was banging so hard now it was hurting her chest. She pressed the flat of her palm squarely over her sternum. If anyone ever found out about this she’d lose her job for sure; there’d be no second chances this time.

‘Nothing, I’m afraid. We’ve got DNA on file, so if he’s ever nicked for something else we’ll get a match, although our chances of a prosecution are slim, even then.’

‘Why’s that?’ An arrest was what Kelly had hoped for, ever since she joined the job, when she realised how many historic crimes were solved not by dogged investigation work, but by sheer chance. An elimination swab submitted after a burglary at work; an evidential sample taken after a positive roadside breath test. That sharp intake of breath, when a simple job turns into so much more, and a crime committed twenty years previously is finally solved. It had happened to Kelly a couple of times, and it was what she wanted now more than anything. Kelly had never seen the man who raped Lexi, but she could almost visualise the arrogance on his face morphing into fear; a relatively innocuous charge paling into insignificance beside the positive DNA match that would prove unequivocally he had stalked her sister; watched her; attacked her.

‘There’s a letter from the victim on file,’ DC Green was saying. ‘A Miss Alexis Swift. The letter says that although the evidence given in her written statement still stands, she does not support a prosecution, and does not wish to be informed of any developments in the case.’