‘What about Jamie?’ Bryant asked.
‘He’s not on the dating sites and we don’t have his phone.’
‘But we found some stuff on his Facebook page, didn’t we?’ Kim interjected.
‘The account has been taken over. All the settings have been changed. I can’t get in there at all.’
‘Damn. Okay, leave it with me,’ she said, ending the call.
‘Tesco’s, Cradley Heath,’ she said to Bryant as they got in the car. There was only one person she could imagine taking over Jamie’s account.
Bryant pulled out of the car park and began to talk. ‘Our killer isn’t as stupid as we’d like him to be.’
‘I know,’ Kim agreed. ‘He plans every crime meticulously. He sets the tone, he sets the date, time and location. He researches areas close to where they live and even takes the time to try and cover his tracks by attempting to make it appear they died by suicide.’
‘I’ve been thinking about that, guv, and I’m not sure that’s what he’s doing.’
‘Have you not been paying attention to how our victims have been found?’
‘I have indeed. Our first victim, Jamie Mills, was reported in the press initially as a suicide but then changed to a murder investigation. I can understand that our killer might not have got the memo before killing Sarah, but a double murder investigation was all over the news before Liam was murdered. Why keep up the charade? He knows we’re onto him and don’t believe that our victims took their own lives, so why carry it on? Why not just stab them or something that takes less elaborate planning?’
‘Do I get points for a correct answer?’
‘Maybe,’ he answered, heading towards Cradley Heath.
‘He’s staging them as suicides because he thinks that’s how they should have died.’
‘All the points,’ Bryant said, turning into the supermarket car park. ‘I think he wants them to appear to be so distraught by their sexuality it’s not even worth living, leading them to their final act. That’s what he wants the world to see and he doesn’t even care.’
‘Hmm…’
‘Not even awell done, Bryant, on your intuition and sensitivity?’ he asked.
‘You know, in my college days I lived above a woman named Mrs Richards. She had three dogs. Two of them could do all sorts, shake a paw, roll over, beg, but not the fat bulldog. Only thing he could do was sit on command but he expected to be congratulated for it.’
‘I’m not a fat bulldog,’ Bryant protested.
‘And I’m not Mrs Richards,’ Kim said as he parked the car.
She got out and made for the entrance, having already spotted the old Mini parked roughly where it had been the other day.
She headed straight for the fishmonger, which was next to the deli.
‘May we speak with River?’ Kim asked the tall, balding man behind the counter.
‘Who wants him?’ he asked, sticking out his chin.
Kim sensed a smidge of protection in the man’s tone.
Both she and Bryant showed their IDs at the same time.
He turned and called the boy’s name.
River appeared from out back, and Kim would have walked right past him. The white coat was fastened up and appeared a full size too big for him. The hairnet covered a shock of dirty blonde hair. The pink was gone.
‘Got a minute?’ Kim asked.
River looked to his boss, who nodded and then glanced after him with concern as the boy came around the counter.