‘She’s not real, but she is. She was a real person,’ said Moss. ‘As real as Lacey Greene and Janelle Robertson.’
‘Why is this all still here?’ asked Erika.
‘The site is being redeveloped, so the London Dungeon moved to the South Bank. This interior is due to be ripped out next week.’
Erika was feeling chilled; she forced herself to focus on the bike, leaning on its stand next to the lamp post.
Alan went on: ‘I’m in contact with the British Transport Police every day, because the tube and train stations have to remain open during all of this construction. I heard they were looking for a coffee bike and remembered this.’
Erika and Moss pulled on their latex gloves, and moved to look at the coffee bike. Alan trained his torch onto it. The wooden box at the back was padlocked.
‘Have you got a bolt cutter?’ asked Erika.
Alan went to the corner and found a pair. Erika took them and clipped open the padlock. Moss unhooked it, and they carefully opened the wooden box at the back. The top of the box tipped back onto the bike seat, and the two sides came apart in flaps and hung down over the back wheel. Printed on the inside was the price list. Inside the box was a small shelf with a metal coffee machine, a tiny fridge, paper cups, condiments and a small cash box.
‘Jeez,’ said Moss, opening the fridge and quickly closing it. ‘That milk has been in there a long time.’
The nasty smell of sour milk wafted over, and Erika felt her stomach lurch. She gulped and ran her hands along the sides of the coffee machine, and came into contact with something. She gently teased out an iPhone.
‘Janelle’s?’ said Moss, her eyes lighting up.
There was a compartment under the coffee machine where clothes were neatly stashed. A pair of jeans, some tops, bras and pants. There was also a small washbag.
‘Can we see a key for this cash box?’ asked Moss, lifting it up. ‘Jeez, this has to be Janelle’s.’
Alan watched from his spot by the fire exit.
‘And who has access here?’ asked Erika.
‘There’s a security team who patrol every twenty-four hours, but this is a very strange site. There’s all sorts of props still left over from when it was a working attraction. They just assumed that the bike was part of the tour, along with the body and the cobbled street.’
‘They thought that during Jack the Ripper’s era you could get a takeaway macchiato?’ asked Moss.
Alan nodded wearily. ‘We have a lot of foreign workers.’
‘Can you find out when the bike appeared here?’ asked Erika.
‘I don’t know. The staff turnover is huge; we use multiple agencies. I’ll try.’
‘Thank you.’
Erika looked around at the gloomy space and back to the wax body of Mary Nichols lying at the base of the stairs.
‘Let’s get this closed off. I want the whole area printed, and the bike going over with a fine-tooth comb.’
Chapter Thirty-One
Erika was back at West End Central, and had gone to see Melanie in her office. It was now dark outside.
‘The coffee bike belongs to Janelle Robinson,’ said Erika. ‘It’s been positively ID’d by a friend who worked at the Barbican YMCA where Janelle was living. We also found Janelle’s mobile phone with the bike, and her clothes and toiletries.’
Melanie sat back in her chair. She looked tired.
‘Hang on, hang on,’ she said, putting up a hand. ‘Why was she hocking her clothes and toiletries in a coffee bike?’
‘Well, according to the friend…’
‘Whose name is?’
‘Sada Pence; she tells us Janelle had a real thing about not leaving her belongings anywhere. It started when she was in the children’s home.’
‘Okay. Have you managed to get anything off Janelle’s phone?’
‘It’s being rushed through with the technical team… I’ve also just had word that we’ve found Lacey Greene’s mobile phone.’
‘Where?’
‘On a piece of scrubland five hundred yards down from the Blue Boar pub. Looks like it was thrown there. It was switched off. We’re running it for prints.’
‘You still think these cases are linked?’ asked Melanie.
‘Of course,’ said Erika. She was exhausted, both from the past few days and from Melanie’s belief that they still had to prove a link.
‘Do you have anything to back this theory up?’
‘We’re now working on the theory that Janelle was abducted near the Tooley Street tunnel,’ explained Erika.
‘But you have nothing concrete to suggest this? No CCTV images, no eye witnesses?’
‘Not yet.’
‘This coffee bike could have been stolen; she could have left it in the tunnel.’
‘It was her main source of income.’
‘Yes, but unless we have concrete evidence that she was abducted…’
‘She was abducted, Melanie. Janelle and Lacey died in exactly the same way. Their wounds indicate they were tortured for several days. They’d lost weight, and they both died from catastrophic blood loss from severing of the femoral artery… I need more officers on this. If I’d had more uniformed officers, Lacey Greene’s phone might have been found days ago. The only reason it was found was because uniform arrested a couple of kids this afternoon doing drugs on that piece of wasteland. I’ve had to sweet talk two other boroughs to do door-to-doors in Croydon and Southgate.’
‘Erika, you have six officers and four support staff working directly for you…’
‘It’s not enough.’
‘Do you have any idea what this job is like?’ said Melanie, unable to hide her anger. ‘There are finite resources. You think I’m against you, I’m not. I fought for you to keep John McGorry.’
‘John, why? What happened?’
‘I had a call from Superintendent Yale, wanting him back. It’s okay, he’s not going anywhere, but you will have to work with what you’ve got.’
‘What if this person abducts another young woman?’
‘If he does, then of course, Erika, I will throw every resource your way,’ she said, then went back to work at her computer. ‘We’re done here.’
Erika started to leave, then came back to the desk.
‘Melanie, I’ve worked on so many cases like this. I’m not saying we have a serial killer, but there is a pattern. Two murders, just over five months apart. Now there may be others we don’t know about…’
‘And we both know how these cases work. He might vanish; he might not kill again for a year… Yes, perhaps he does it again, but I can’t plan my budgets for might do and perhaps.’
‘That’s ridiculous. The whole counterterrorism unit works on that principle!’
‘Well, Erika, we can’t.’
Erika paced up and down in front of the window.
‘I’d like approval to do a media appeal.’
‘We’ve got the e-fit up on news outlets and Twitter.’
‘Who goes on bloody Twitter to help the police solve crimes!?’ shouted Erika.
‘Remember who you’re talking to. I’m your senior officer. I may be Acting Superintendent—’
‘Sorry, can you please consider that we do a full media appeal.’