Impression (DI Gardener 4)

“The butt end?” questioned Reilly. “What was on the other end?”

“A bayonet.”

Gardener put his coffee on the desk, realizing where Fitz was heading.

“He eventually drew that bayonet, repeatedly stabbing both mother and daughter. Despite Sarah having multiple wounds, she managed to get to the door and cry for help. A neighbour heard the cry and ran to her aid. The pair found Hannah dead, pinned to the floor with the bayonet.”

“Where did you say this took place?” Gardener asked Fitz.

“Hume Street, Batley.”

“When?”

“1865.”

“Is it likely that Hume Street in 1865 is where Hume Crescent is today?” Reilly asked.

“Exactly.” Fitz turned around his computer monitor so it faced both men. “I kept telling you these murders reminded me of something. Anyway, I approached a company called Alan Godfrey Maps. They gave me access to an old ordnance survey map of Batley in 1892. I also got hold of a modern-day map and managed to superimpose one onto the other.”

Gardener leaned in closer. Sure enough, when viewed side-by-side and one on top of the other, the locations matched perfectly. Gardener sat back and glanced at Reilly.

“Coincidence?” he asked.

“We don’t believe in coincidences.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“There’s obviously more, Fitz,” said Gardener.

“Yes. I think your man has his roots in true crime. You’d have to have made a real study to operate on this level. You’ll need a profiler for this, but in my opinion, he’s not your average everyday psychopath. He’s working to a plan and, personally, I think he’ll stop when he’s reached his number.”

“Whether we catch him or not,” said Reilly.

“We will,” said Gardener.

Turning to Fitz, Gardener said, “There’s a match for each murder, isn’t there?”

“Yes. The second one was known as The Batley Mystery, and actually went unsolved. Happened one morning at the end of May, in 1881. A miner and his son were walking to work down Batley High Street, what you now know as Cross Bank Road. They were heading to The West End Colliery in the town.”

“So, if they were miners, it would have been early,” said Gardener.

“Four-thirty.”

Even the timings were almost exact, thought Gardener.

“The boy thought he had seen a sack on the doorstep of one of the local shops.”

“Wouldn’t happen to have been a butcher, would it?” Reilly asked.

“It certainly was. Belonged to one Mary Wrigglesworth.”

“Are you serious?” asked Gardener.

“Deadly,” replied Fitz. “If you’ll pardon the pun. Anyway, the father examined the sack. Inside was a body, half-reclining on the door, half-lying on the doorstep.”

“This is getting freaky,” said Reilly.

“Judging by what you’ve said, these murders are anything but random,” said Gardener.