‘Mistaken identity?’ suggested Pete.
‘Possibly. If so, mistaken by who, for who?’ Gill said. ‘Talk to people, see if we can find out anything more about him, his movements, contacts, any possible enemies. This man so far has no reputation for violence. Test that out. Had he any drinking buddies who can tell us more? Was he known to homeless charities or hostels in the area?’ Nine times out of ten, building a profile of the victim led you to their killer. Usually someone close by. Who’d been close to Richard Kavanagh?
She turned to the notes on the whiteboard. ‘Two elements we are investigating, firearms and arson. Firearms first. The lab reports the bullets are both from the same gun. The gun was used in 2007 in a post office shooting in Stockport – not a million miles away. Perpetrators were arrested, charged and are currently enjoying Her Majesty’s hospitality at Strangeways. We’ll have a chat with them, see if they’d like to earn some Brownie points by telling us what happened to the weapon. Did they sell it on, give it to someone for safekeeping?’
She saw Rachel roll her eyes. ‘You’d like to contribute, Rachel?’
Rachel seemed skittish. Gill knew the young officer had been through the mill in the last few months, but dared to hope that settling down with her bloke would help stabilize her, ground her. When Rachel had turned her brother in, revealing his involvement in the death of sleazeball barrister Nick Savage, Gill had stood up for her. She had sung her praises at the subsequent hearing with the top brass. And she meant every word she said: Rachel was a great asset to the police service, had huge potential and had already done excellent work on a number of major investigations. Gill believed Rachel had nothing to do with any revenge attack on the barrister. She’d shown great self-control in not going after him when he escaped prosecution for trying to have Rachel herself killed to save his own skin. Corrupt and venal was Nick Savage, and with the connections he had he’d been able to evade the law, while Dominic Bailey felt its long cold grip all too swiftly. But marriage hadn’t mellowed Rachel, she still seemed impatient, volatile. Perhaps she just needed more time to process what had happened.
‘Well, it’s not likely, is it?’ Rachel was saying. ‘They’ve taken the fall, banged up, they’re not gonna cough now.’
‘So we don’t bother?’ Gill said. ‘We close down that line of inquiry? Take our bat home?’
‘I’m not saying that,’ Rachel argued.
‘Good,’ Gill said. ‘It is our job to be thorough, to be meticulous, and to go where the evidence takes us, even if that turns out to be a complete waste of time. Yes?’