‘Next case – Rosa Milicz – murder. The DNA profile from the material under her nails should be back tomorrow. At that point we can run it against Stone and Gleason. Rosa’s relatives have been notified. Enquiries are ongoing at the club. So far all we’re getting is a load of no’s: no boyfriend, no trouble, no dodgy clients, no address. Rosa was an illegal immigrant, the rest of the girls are kosher – though the filing system leaves something to be desired. Now Rosa was Polish and so is the club owner, Konrad Sulikov. Possibly a connection there. We’re doing a paper search on him. One big gap is her address – someone must know where she was living but we haven’t got to them yet. We’re still no nearer a crime scene for the murder.’ The yellow pins had spread along the meandering route of the river showing more areas searched and ruled out. ‘Every crime scene tells a story: who was there, who did what to whom. Without it, to be frank, we’re struggling. We’re redoubling efforts to find Rosa’s home in the hope that’ll lead us to the scene.’
Richard turned back to the boards. ‘We want to talk to Lee Stone about this one as well. He worked at the club, he was the doorman. A search has been made of Stone’s flat but that’s not our scene.’
‘He liked to mess about with the dancers, trying it on.’ Shap put in.
‘Yes and he’s a history of sexual violence. But there is no prior relationship between Stone and Rosa. Not that we can find.’
Richard moved over to the picture of Ann-Marie, the details of the Mercedes. ‘Finally, the hit and run. Now death due to dangerous driving plus failing to stop etc.etc. Here we have sightings of the Merc and there’s a pattern emerging with the odd rogue report that is out of sync.’ He pointed to a time that was outside the accepted parameters. ‘Where’s that, Butchers?’
Butchers started, stumbled over his words. ‘Erm… Burnage at ten to eight.’
‘That Mercedes will have been everywhere from Land’s End to John O’Groats before we’re done,’ said Richard. ‘The fire damage to the car means we’ve not got anything concrete from forensics yet to place Stone or Gleason behind the wheel. They’re still on the job; all we need is an eyelash, a speck of dandruff. The chances might be slim but stranger things have happened.’
Shap tapped his pen against his notebook. ‘We’ve had a couple more witnesses come forward and they are all singing from the same song sheet – describing Stone and Gleason near where the car was dumped.’ It was good news, reinforcing the likelihood of being able to hold Stone for questioning when he was finally found.
