by Jay Gill
‘Okay, I’ll bite. Why do you think that?’
‘If it was a terrorist cell or group, or a lone wolf doing this in the name of some organisation, surely we’d have heard from them by now. But the killer has never claimed any affiliation.’
‘So, what’s motivating your man to do this?’
‘That, I don’t know.’ I turned and looked out of my office window and watched the passing clouds for a moment. ‘In fact, right now, there’s a lot here I don’t know. Too much.’
Rayner picked up the photos of the type of bullet used. ‘Judging by the type of weapon used and the accuracy of each shot, I guess we’d both agree this guy has a military background?’
‘That’s another unanswered question: How was he able to gain access to such a weapon? We’re not talking about some hunting rifle here. We’re talking about a high-powered military-grade sniper’s rifle capable of firing armour-piercing rounds. Whether he’s a serving soldier or an ex-serviceman, a weapon like that is not something anyone can just walk off base with.’
‘What about the black market?’
‘Possibly. But I think we’d have heard something. Even if it was a whisper, there would have been talk. A weapon like this doesn’t come into the UK without someone noticing it. Not these days.’ I didn’t say anything, but I had been wondering whether the rifle was the key to tracking down the killer.
‘Where does that leave us?’
‘I suspect our shooter has some powerful friends. Friends able to move something like this rifle without questions being asked. Once again, that brings us back to a killer with someone on the inside who can make things happen and who can pass information on the movements and whereabouts of high-profile individuals.’
‘You think it could be someone within government itself, don’t you?’
I wondered whether Rayner thought I’d gone crazy. ‘I do,’ I said flatly. ‘It’s a theory that ticks all the boxes. But why stick to government? Maybe the orders are coming from within MI5 or MI6, or even here at Scotland Yard. Right now, all we know is that all the elements involved in pulling this off mean the shooter isn’t working alone. I know we keep hearing the theory, but I think we can rule out a foreign terrorist organisation. They wouldn’t have access to the crucial information, for one thing, and the fact that no one has claimed responsibility rules that scenario out for me.’
‘Well, if that’s true, then who has the most to gain by killing Brannon and McPherson?’
‘Right now, I don’t know, but what I do know is that we need to keep this to ourselves. If I’m wrong, you shouldn’t be near me when the shit hits the fan, and if I’m right, then anyone associated with the investigation is in the firing line. Either way, you’d be doing yourself a favour if you stayed as far away from me as you can on this one.’
‘No bloody way.’ Rayner shook his head, then looked me in the eye. ‘I’m not letting you . . .’
I cut him off mid-sentence. ‘I’ve already spoken to the chief. You’re not to get mixed up in this one.’
‘Like that’ll stop me,’ said Rayner. I could see he was seriously pissed off, but he stayed cool. He jumped to his feet, walked to the door and snatched at the door handle. Before leaving, he turned and asked, ‘Why do you think the shooter is calling you, James? What have you got to do with any of this? Do you think you know him?’
‘I’m not sure. I keep asking myself the same question. At first, I thought I was simply chosen to be the idiot who would put McPherson in the shooter’s line of fire. But after the last call, I felt the shooter was trying to tell me something.’
‘Tell you something?’
I felt frustrated with all the unknowns in this investigation. I had so many fragments I was trying to piece together, and each one felt fragile. The last thing I wanted to do was to force the pieces together in an attempt to make sense of them.
‘You know, right now all this could be nothing. In some ways it all makes sense, but I could just as easily argue the case for why none of my ideas stack up. All I am sure about is that for your own sake, you should keep a safe distance, for the time being at least. No point us both getting mixed up in this. Do you hear what I’m saying, Gabriel?’
‘I do. I’ll give you space, but if you need anything, you know where I am.’ He paused and looked at me pointedly. ‘And you know I’ve got your back, James. Always.’ Rayner let himself out and then closed the door behind him.
The small office fell silent; the gravity of our conversation hung in the air. I suddenly felt alone and more than a little overwhelmed. I shut off my laptop, grabbed my jacket and headed home. What I needed now was not more information but perspective. I needed distance from my investigations, time and space to let my brain download and process what it had gathered.
While some detectives achieved that with a pint of ale or a bottle of whisky, I achieved it through time with my family.
Chapter Eighteen
Our house was alive with the sounds of laughter and singing, the cheerful noise of cutlery and glasses clinking, and the warm smells of food and drink. It had been a wonderful day; Nana was celebrating her birthday and we were doing all we could to spoil her. Alice and Faith had made cards, and with Monica’s help they’d made a profiterole cake, which they were now proudly carrying into the room together. Everyone sang ‘Happy Birthday,’ and there was more laughing and clapping as Nana blew out her candles.
Granddad was filming and narrating the whole event on his new smartphone. He made sure he recorded the balloons and banners he had secretly put up with the help of Alice and Faith. In the background a song by Taylor Swift ended and Ed Sheeran took over.
‘How’s the cake?’ Monica asked me. ‘Judging by the size of that second slice I have a feeling you like it.’
‘Guilty,’ I said while holding up a hand. ‘It’s amazing, and you know how I hate to see cake left over, so I’m doing my bit to make sure that doesn’t happen.’
Monica laughed. ‘Good to see you’ve got your sense of humour back. The old Hardy returns.’
I must have looked hurt.
‘You know you disappear inside yourself – when you’re on a case, I mean. We get worried about you, James. I was worried.’
‘Sometimes the investigations… They...’ I trailed off. I didn’t know how to explain without sounding selfish.
‘I know.’ Monica put a hand on mine. Her skin felt warm and soft. ‘You’re here now and that’s what matters. Look at those girls of yours. They’re having a great time. They’re hoping you’ll do your ‘daddy dancing’ today. I know I’ve been looking forward to it.’
‘It sounds like I’m being set up.’
‘Definitely.’ Monica looked beautiful when she laughed.
‘Perhaps we should dance together, if you think it’ll be a hit.’
‘Are you asking me to dance with you, James Hardy?’
We turned in unison as the doorbell rang and Granddad filmed the latest arrival.
‘Rayner,’ he said merrily. ‘Come on in. Let me get you some birthday cake before my son eats it all.’
‘You need to watch him,’ said Rayner, inclining his head at me. ‘He’s getting slow on his feet and I’m sure it’s down to all the cake he’s eating these days. Now, where’s the beautiful Nana Hardy, the birthday girl? I believe she is owed one of my famous birthday kisses.’
We all watched and laughed as Rayner dramatically, and over-enthusiastically, lifted Mum off the ground and planted a big birthday kiss on her cheek.
‘Go and get yourself some food and stop your messing around.’ Mum gave Rayner a playful slap and he pretended to be injured.
Alice and Faith came running up and Rayner scooped them up in his giant arms.
‘How are my girls?’
‘We’re okay,’ said Faith. ‘Will you play Hide and Seek with us?’
‘You bet I will. If you two go and hide, I’ll grab something to eat and I’ll count at the same time.’
‘You won’t f
orget us?’ Faith gave Rayner a hard stare.
‘Never. How could I ever forget my little monsters?’
Alice and Faith ran off to hide.
‘You’ve done it now, Rayner. They know you’re a soft touch,’ I said with a grin. ‘They’ll have you playing games all afternoon.’
‘Suits me. It’s what sunny afternoons were made for.’
Rayner grabbed a couple of pieces of chicken, headed outside and started searching the back garden.
‘Where are those two little angels?’ he said to the garden at large. ‘They have to be round here somewhere.’
Chapter Nineteen
A strong smell of polish and shoe leather filled the stock room. Michael Cutler sat at a small corner desk behind rows of shoe boxes stacked on shelves. Today he was in Uxbridge, at one of the busiest and most successful Cassley Shoes retail stores in his region. This particular branch had first opened in 1997, the same year Cutler himself had joined Cassley Shoes as a junior sales assistant.
He ran a finger over the spreadsheet and rubbed his neck as he tried to identify patterns in sales. He was having trouble. It wasn’t the numbers that were the problem; ordinarily he’d find what he was looking for in no more than thirty minutes. His problem today was a distraction dressed in a crisp white blouse and short navy skirt.
Funny how things work out, Cutler thought to himself. You search and search and then you discover what you were looking for was right under your nose all along.
Stacy DiMarco was a new hire. She’d joined the company as a temporary sales assistant because she needed some spending money for a backpacking trip across Europe she’d planned with her boyfriend. Cutler had seen the boyfriend hanging around like a lost puppy. He wasn’t much to look at, and Cutler certainly wasn’t going to let said boyfriend, Peter Rice (Peter Rabbit, more like), stand in the way of the plans he had for Miss DiMarco. It would be a new experience, dealing with the boyfriend, but as soon as he’d seen her, he had known at once that whatever it took, he had to visit her. He just had to.
Stacy was reaching up to get a box of children’s shoes.
‘Everything okay, Stacy? Can you see what you’re looking for?’ He spoke as casually as he could.
‘You made me jump,’ she said with a gasp. ‘I forgot you were back here. Yes, fine, thank you. I’m helping the cutest five-year-old twins find matching shoes for school. You should see them. They’re adorable.’ She smiled and disappeared back into the store.
Cutler put the papers down on the desk and stood in the doorway of the stock room. He watched as Stacy walked up and down the store holding hands with the twins while the parents deliberated over whether the shoes would meet the demands of the schoolyard.
‘Excuse me? Excuse me? Hello, anybody home? Wakey, wakey.’
Cutler was jolted out of his reverie as Anthony, another of the sales staff, tried to shoulder his way past him into the stock room. ‘Welcome back to planet earth. Do you mind?’ Anthony adjusted the stack of boxes he was holding in his slender arms, slid past Cutler and started mumbling to himself.
Cutler felt his phone buzzing. He ignored it and smiled at Stacy as she helped the twins off with the shoes. She was perfect. An angel.
He pulled out his phone and checked the missed call. It was Melanie, again. No doubt wanting to remind him, once again, that tonight she was going out and he mustn’t be late. He stuffed his phone back into his pocket. He could see the boyfriend, Peter Rabbit, loitering at the front of the store, waiting for Stacy. Cutler checked his watch. He guessed her shift must be ending soon. He watched as Stacy shot a look outside. She didn’t look happy. Perhaps a lover’s spat? Interesting.
Cutler grabbed his papers from the desk and put on his jacket. ‘I’m heading off now, Anthony. I want to try and miss the traffic. Have a great afternoon. Well done, and thank you.’ He didn’t wait for Anthony’s reply.
Chapter Twenty
Cutler watched from inside his car as Stacy DiMarco and Peter Rabbit had a blazing row in the car park. Admittedly, it was all a bit one-sided. From what he could make out, Peter had been seeing another girl. Which he denied.
‘You told me it was nothing and now she’s texting you. Are kidding me? I just paid for flights and I don’t even know if I can trust you. How the hell do you think that makes me feel? Don’t just stand there like some gormless idiot – say something.’
She was a feisty one. Peter had his hands full with this one, that was for sure. Cutler went round to the back of his blue Mondeo, opened the boot and lifted the mat. He found what he needed and slid it into his jacket pocket.
Stacy cursed some more then stormed off, leaving Peter alone. It was only once she was gone that Peter started getting animated, waving his arms around and kicking the air. Too late now, young man, thought Cutler. You’ve gone and messed up big time.
Peter was clearly wondering what to do; he looked uneasily between Stacy’s retreating back and his own car, which was parked nearby. He seemed torn between heading off home with his pride or going after Stacy and seeking forgiveness. Cutler could see Peter was a coward and knew already which he would do.
Come on, Peter. Hop along now. Stop pretending you’re going to suddenly man up and go after her. You and I have some business to attend to. Come on.
Cutler followed Peter through the town centre. It was busy, and people were heading home. That didn’t matter; there were always opportunities. Most people these days kept themselves to themselves, Cutler knew. Even if they saw something they were unsure of, they generally kept their heads down and walked right on by.
Peter grabbed a large cola and a Big Mac before taking the underpass to cross the main road. He stopped to light a cigarette halfway through the underpass then marched on again at a quick pace. Where are you going, Peter? Cutler could feel his heart pounding, not only from the unusually fast walking he was having to do to keep up, but from the anticipation. This would be a first. It was necessary. It was a means to an end. It was exhilarating.
Peter was looking round as he walked. What was he looking for? He stopped a couple of times before speeding up again. Eventually, he crossed a car park and disappeared behind a row of shops. Cutler followed him, discreetly peering around to see where he’d gone.
Behind the shops, next to a big green industrial bin, he spotted Peter again. The cola must have gone straight through him. Cutler could hear the splashing of Peter relieving himself against the back wall. Oh, Peter Rabbit. That cola was more of a mistake than you realise.
Peter looked up in shock as Cutler approached. ‘Hey, I’m sorry. I was desperate. I’m just taking a quick leak. Is this your shop? Look, I’m really sorry. You know how it is – when you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta go.’
Cutler kept walking towards him and said nothing. Peter was desperately trying to finish so he could put his dick away.
‘Look, I’m sorry, all right?’
As Peter looked down to tidy himself, Cutler grabbed the back of Peter’s neck and smashed his head against the wall. He then spun him around, whipped out the blade and slashed repeatedly. The young lad grabbed his face and screamed. A mixture of shock and pain. He grabbed his nose, which was badly sliced. He held out his hands and looked at the blood.
‘No! Get off me! What the fuck did you do?’
Cutler got right up in Peter’s bloody face. Peter pressed himself back against the wall, no doubt wishing he could disappear into it.
‘Time for the pot, Peter Rabbit.’
Peter looked bewildered and furiously tried to push past Cutler.
‘I need Stacy. So you’ve gotta go,’ spat Cutler.
Peter was sobbing and holding his face, too terrified to move. ‘Please. Just leave me alone. I-I-I I’ll go. I’ll go right now.’
Cutler smiled and took a single step backward. Peter looked momentarily relieved.
‘I’ll just go,’ said Peter. He smiled hesitantly, unsure what to do. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them before taking a step aw
ay from Cutler.
Without a word Cutler matched Peter’s movement then stepped up close again to thrust the scalpel deep into Peter’s face. As Peter lifted his head to scream, Cutler removed the blade and then jabbed it repeatedly into Peter’s throat. When Peter’s hands rose to protect his throat, Cutler drove the blade into the back of his hands, before returning the blade to his face and slicing open his cheek.
Peter sank to his knees, sobbing and gurgling. Eyes bulging wide from the horror of what was happening to him, he tried without success to stop the blood, which seemed to be coming from everywhere.
Cutler’s work here was complete and he crouched down. ‘I hope you believe me when I tell you none of this is personal,’ he said conversationally. ‘You see, Peter, from time to time I find an angel. When I do, it’s a very special moment. You probably can’t understand, and it doesn’t really matter whether you do or not.’
Peter reached out for help and Cutler stared at the bloody hand as he spoke. ‘I’m not sure you’ve ever had a need so strong that you’d stop at nothing to feel it again and again. You, I’m afraid, are between me and my need. Let me rephrase that: you were between us. You get some rest now. This’ll soon be over.’
Cutler got to his feet and took out his phone, which was buzzing again. He wiped the scalpel blade on Peter’s t-shirt and answered the phone. Peter slumped sideways and began making some ungodly gurgling sound, so Cutler pressed a foot over Peter’s mouth to shut him up.
‘Hello, honey. Before you say anything, I know, I know. I’m sorry; I’m running late. I know it’s your class night. I’m really sorry. Something unavoidable came up. No, it couldn’t wait. Call the babysitter. I’m sure she’ll be happy to come over. Okay, so pay her double if you have to.’
Cutler covered the mouthpiece and spoke to Peter, who had now gone into cardiac arrest. ‘You should thank me. I’ve saved you from all this, you know.
