The Sister(175)

‘No matches, even after all these years.’ His head shook from side to side, in silent disapproval. ‘To my way of thinking, there are a number of things to consider—’

Kennedy interrupted him. ‘There was actually something else she said; it was a really hot day, but he wore a boiler suit. At the time, we guessed he might be a mechanic or something like that.’

Miller paused, thought about what Kennedy had just said, and continued, holding up the forefinger of his right hand. ‘Whether or not it was the first and only time he intended to kill that day, he dressed for it – to avoid cross-contamination between them. He inseminated her so we can conclude he intended to dispose of the body quickly. If her friends hadn’t intervened, you wouldn’t have found her. I believe he’s done this before. This man has never come up on the radar, never had a sample taken.’ He fixed Kennedy with an intense stare. ‘Do you know how many young women go missing without a trace every year? This character could have killed many times before.’

Kennedy sighed. ‘We considered all those things and more. It’s also possible he died before committing another crime, before we got to him.’

Staring up into the dark clouds, Miller didn’t hesitate in his response, ‘He’s not dead.’

‘You can’t say that, Miller,’ Kennedy retorted. ‘Not without a shred of evidence.’ He stared through the misted glass. ‘I, on the other hand, can. You know, a few weeks ag, I was in a lift with a character, a big, rough looking man. I'd never seen him before. There was only him and me. He was looking down, but I noticed him watching me, caught the devilish glint of them from under his eyebrows. And I noticed the smell of stale tobacco, so strong and overpowering I didn’t need to look at his hands. I knew what I'd see. Yes, that’s right – the hands of a bare-knuckle fighter. My gut told me I was in the presence of the man who had committed that crime. I just knew it. If you could arrest someone on a gut feeling, I'd have arrested him there and then. We made the briefest eye contact. I knew then he was going to attack me, but the lift stopped and more people got on. He hesitated, and then got off.

‘Afterwards, I tried to disregard my instincts, but you know what? I remembered a case in Gibraltar in the late eighties; the SAS had shadowed some IRA suspects. One of the SAS men exchanged a look with one of the suspects a split second before the shooting began. At the inquest afterwards, the soldier testified there was recognition on both sides of what was about to happen. He seemed to know.

‘It was the same in that lift. The minute I laid eyes on his knuckles, and he saw me looking, he knew. Whether he left the lift early because of that, I couldn’t say, but I know it was him and although I curse I missed my chance, I also know he wouldn’t have come quietly. It would have been like a ten-year-old trying to arrest a full-grown man. I also got the impression,’ he paused for reflection, ‘that he knew me, not from any kind of instinct, though. I think he knew my face; I got that feeling as well.’

Miller looked sideways at him. ‘So you get a feeling, and that’s okay?’

‘You know, you’ve just reminded me. It didn’t seem so important at the time; I mean we are talking about a lot of years ago now.’ His eyes looked slightly out of focus; he rubbed them with his knuckles until they were pink and bloodshot. ‘I was just a rookie detective back when Jackie Solomons was attacked. I checked the records to see if there had been any reports of any other incidents around that time, in the few months before. I can remember being in the pub just talking generally, making enquiries.’

Miller looked at his watch.

‘Am I boring you?’

‘No, no,’ Miller said, tapping to show the time on the watch. ‘But if we don’t make a run for it now, we’re going to miss breakfast.’





Inside the cafe, they located a table in a relatively quiet corner. The place was busy, a sign of good food. Miller placed their orders at the counter. A young girl in a bibbed red and white striped apron brought over the order. Kennedy heaped a spoonful of sugar into his steaming mug.

‘Would you like my toast?’ Kennedy asked. ‘It’s too heavily buttered for my liking.’

‘No, what I have is plenty enough, thanks.’

‘I hope you don’t mind if I slip out of my detective’s overcoat and talk to you as a friend,’ Kennedy said. ‘It just might be easier to forget I ever was a detective and listen to the story I’m about to tell you.’

Well, this is a new one, thought Miller. Inside, the cafe was steamier than it had been in the car. The windows had previously served as a shop front. With too much cold glass, they ran with condensation.

‘You know, I’m going to try to tell it as a bystander from back then, if you’ll indulge me.’ Kennedy’s eyes appeared grey, devoid of any depth.

Miller checked his watch; he had time. ‘Well, why not…’

Kennedy nodded and began his story. ‘So, as I was saying. I was in this pub; not much bigger than someone’s front room. I was off duty, but I got talking to one of the locals there. Vince, his name was, and the youngest in there apart from me. Anyway, he’d seen me around, and he knew I was a detective. I told him I was investigating the rape of a young girl. 'I heard about that', he said. I asked him eventually if he’d heard about anyone acting suspiciously anywhere around. He looked at me thoughtfully. 'Are you talking about the area around Devils Pond? If you are, it wouldn’t have been anyone from round here.’’ Kennedy blew at his tea.