THIRTEEN
This morning, police announced they are hunting a single perpetrator believed to be responsible for the deaths of at least six women in the last three months. Meanwhile, the number of women going missing from North London is growing steadily, with two more disappearances added to the list this week.
Andrew Mulveny has the story. . .
Angry residents are demanding more is done to stop the killings. One woman who lives in Highgate near the woods where the second victim was discovered says she’s terrified to go out.
‘It’s got to the point where I’m scared to leave the house,’ she told the reporter, and she’s not the only one.
North London based minicab firms have reported a forty-five per cent increase in bookings by women since July, while sales of panic buttons in the area have risen threefold.
Police say the victims are similar in appearance: young, slim women in their late teens or early twenties with curly brown hair, between five foot two and five foot five. Although they have stressed that all women should be extra vigilant regardless of their appearance.
Scotland Yard says it believes a single psychopathic killer is responsible for the crimes. However, as Detective Inspector Harry Connor, who is heading up the investigation, told a press conference this morning:
‘It would be improper from an investigative perspective to become tunnel visioned and exclude the possibility of a copycat or multiple offenders.’
Andrew Mulveny, Channel 3 news, Lond—
My mother came into the living room, saw what was on, and killed the TV.
‘I’ve told you, I don’t want you watching that.’
Her jaw was clenched. For a moment she could have been Nanna G telling me to chew with my mouth shut.
‘I think you should get a new job,’ I said, eyes fixed on the now black television screen, picking at my nails.
‘Why would I do that?’
‘So you can work somewhere closer to home. I mean, with all this going on. . .’
She wet her lips, tilted her head the way a sparrow will listen for rain.
‘I know it’s scary, what’s going on. But don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit?’
‘It’s dark when you walk home. Please, Mummy. It’s not safe.’
‘It’s perfectly safe, sweetie. There are always plenty of people around.’
There weren’t though. Her route was quite deserted in places. I told her as much, but she shrugged it off, called me her Little Miss Worry-Wart.
‘Will you at least straighten your hair?’
She laughed.
‘Can you imagine what Matty would say about that?’
I could. According to him, her hair was her best feature. Don’t ever change it, Ams.
I looked at my mother, took in the dip of her head, the way she was rubbing the back of her neck.
‘You’re scared too, aren’t you?’
She started to answer but the phone cut her off.
‘Hello?. . . Oh, hey, Matty.’
They were talking again, the argument I’d overheard the night of my birthday consigned to the dustbin of their not always romantic history.