Carver listened patiently, allowed her to vent the worry and fear he’d reignited in her with his call. Finally, he spoke.
‘I’m sorry to break your holiday spirit, Ms Kramer, but I could really do with your help again. I understand that you might be reluctant after the break-in, but—’
‘No, it’s fine,’ Maddy cut in. ‘I keep picturing Coleridge’s face. He’s lost his only daughter, and I’m not sure he’ll ever recover. I know all about loss. I know how much it hurts, how it changes you forever. We can’t allow others to suffer like him and his family. We can’t let the killer win.’
Carver was again blown away by Maddy’s tenacity. In all his years on the force, he hadn’t come across anyone like her. She wasn’t a police officer, and yet she had so much courage; willing to stand up to a monster who’d murdered her best friend, threatened her life and violated her home. ‘You’re a brave young woman, Ms Kramer. Coleridge is lucky to have someone like you on his team. I’ll text you the riddle now. Can you stay on the line?’
‘Sure, I’m not doing much.’
It was true. Since getting back from her grandmother’s the day before, she’d mostly lounged around the flat in her pyjamas, eating too much, watching too much TV. Paul had come back with her but wasn’t around at night; he needed the extra money and was working every evening shift at the bar between the 27th and 31st.
Maddy waited anxiously for Carver’s text to come through. When it did, she read it quickly first. Then again, more carefully.
‘Well, figuring out where she works, and the subject, is pretty easy,’ she finally said.
‘Canary Wharf?’
‘Yes, has to be. And I’m pretty certain the subject is EU.’
‘European Union?’
‘Uh-huh. Have you Googled this Andrew S. Grove guy?’
‘Yes. He’s a Hungarian-born American businessman, and the former CEO of Intel Corporation.’
‘Ah, that makes even more sense then.’
‘It does?’
‘The killer talks about “competition”. Although the quote’s not specifically about competition law, it seems to be saying that competition between companies is a type of war, and therefore something which brings competition law into play. Competition is one of the main subjects we studied as part of the EU module on the GDL. It’s all about maintaining market competition by regulating anti-competitive conduct by companies.’
‘So how would that translate into practice? I mean in terms of how or where the murder might take place?’
Maddy thought for a while. She was on a roll, the challenge before her sweeping aside her initial gloom. Even so, she told herself not to rush, not if she wanted to get this right. ‘So far, the victims have either worked in an area related to the subject inscribed – Sarah Morrell and Lisa Ryland – or in a building related to the subject – Emma Marsden – or they’ve been killed by a physical affliction related to the subject – Natasha Coleridge. They weren’t all lawyers: Coleridge was still a student and Marsden a librarian. But as we know, they all attended the academy. And they were all taught by Professor Stirling.’
‘So, you think we’re looking at three different possibilities? Practice area, physical landmark or physical affliction?’
‘That’s my theory. As far as physical landmarks go, I guess it’s possible the killer plans on striking in or around an EU-related attraction or site, but if we’re right about location, I can’t think of anything that falls under that category in Canary Wharf. As for physical afflictions, there’s no disease or sickness related specifically to EU law I can think of.’
‘Apart from the mental cruelty of being tied to the French and the Germans, of course?’ Carver attempted to inject some humour into the conversation.
‘Apart from that,’ Maddy chuckled. He was funny as well as smart and attractive. Don’t go there.
‘So that leaves practice area?’
‘Yes.’ Neither spoke for a while until Maddy’s cry of recognition nearly punctured a hole in Carver’s eardrum. ‘How could I have been so stupid!’
‘What?’
‘I’ve already mentioned it. Competition!’
‘Still not following.’
‘UK competition law is shaped by both UK and EU elements, and “competition” is an area of legal expertise offered particularly by the larger firms in the City and Canary Wharf. It can be a stand-alone department, or one element of an overarching department, for example, the Corporate department.’
‘So you think the next victim is a competition lawyer?’
‘That’s my best guess. The killer calls her a qualified legal trooper, so she can’t be a trainee.’
‘Why trooper? What’s he getting at there?’ Carver asked the question more to himself, rather than to Maddy, not necessarily expecting her to have the answer. But she did.
‘The killer’s just continuing the same war terminology. He refers to competition as warfare. Hence, the victim is one of the “troops” engaged in this warfare. A legal trooper.’
Carver understood. ‘Brilliant, Ms Kramer.’
Maddy grinned widely. She was glad Carver wasn’t there in person to see it. She cleared her throat. ‘That’s all by the by. What we need to do is concentrate on potential victims who work in Canary Wharf-based firms.’
‘Are there many of them?’
‘Enough to make life difficult.’
‘Damn. That’s what I was afraid of. Once we have a list of names, we’ve then got to figure out where they live. It’s the holiday season. They could be anywhere.’
‘Let’s take this one step at a time. Give me a couple of hours. I’ll fire up my laptop and see which firms based at Canary Wharf have a competition department. I’ll also try and put together a list of partners and associates who work in competition from the firms’ websites. Some firms only list partners on their websites, in which case I’ll need to go on to the Law Society database and try and locate the relevant names from there. As I said, the killer makes it clear this victim is qualified, so I think we can safely rule out trainees.’
‘Great, I can’t thank you enough, Ms Kramer. I’m heading to the office now. Text me once you have something.’
‘I will. Maybe we won’t be too late this time.’
‘I hope so. But I can’t help worrying the killer’s got something else up his sleeve – something we haven’t thought of.’
‘We can only do our best.’
But that was exactly what Carver was secretly afraid of. He was afraid that their best wasn’t going to be good enough.
***
Maddy spent the next two hours researching law firms based in and around Canary Wharf. There were lots. Four had competition departments. She was able to get the names of some competition associates and partners from the firms’ websites. But as she’d suspected, not all of them listed their associates, so she was forced to go on to the Law Society’s website to locate the remaining names. Once she had all the information she needed, she drew four columns on a piece of paper. She then wrote the name of each firm at the top of each column and listed every qualified lawyer who worked in the competition department of each underneath.
Taylor & Brant’s competition department had six partners and four associates. Four were female.
Rider Freedman’s had three partners and two associates. Two were female.
Cooper Bateman’s had five partners and three associates. Three were female.
Jenson Mason’s had six partners and five associates. Five were female.
All four firms were in the heart of Canary Wharf, either on Bank Street or Canada Square.
Fourteen women in total. Fourteen potential victims to track down and speak to. One of them was the killer’s target, but which one?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Carver’s team spent the next twenty-four hours tracking down the fourteen women Maddy had found. Of them, six were partners, the rest associates. None of the partners had attended the academy, while four
of the eight associates – all more senior than Maddy – had. Two of the partners were at their London homes, the other four on vacation. Although the killer had indicated that the next victim lived close to her office, and it seemed logical to focus on ex-academy students, Carver didn’t take any chances. He sent officers to alert each partner and associate that they might be in danger and arranged for their protection until the New Year, planting teams in lookout stations to watch for anything suspicious.
The associates were easier to find. All eight lived east.
But all the time, Carver couldn’t help thinking it was too easy. They were missing something, but he couldn’t think what.
***
‘I’m going to spend New Year’s at Cara’s if that’s okay with you?’
December 30th, 7 pm. Maddy tore off a slice of the large pepperoni pizza she and Paul had ordered, continuing their run of unhealthy eating over the holiday season. In her mind, she pledged to get fit in the New Year. She could feel an extra inch at her sides. Usually, she swam or ran three or four times a week, but what with work, and becoming embroiled in Carver’s investigation, she’d had neither the time nor the inclination.
‘Yeah, course, why wouldn’t it be? I’m only going to be working all bloody night at the bar. So, what time are you planning on heading to Cara’s?’
‘About sevenish. When does your shift start?’
‘Six.’
‘Will you remember to put some food and milk out for Atticus’ breakfast when you get back? I don’t want him going hungry, and I expect you’ll be sleeping in.’
‘That’s for certain,’ Paul said. ‘Course, no problem.’
‘Thanks. Not sure I’m going to be able to relax, though. Even at Cara’s. I can’t help thinking I’ve missed something. Carver’s got men set up to guard all fourteen women tomorrow, but somehow it seems too easy.’
Paul put his beer down on the table then edged along the sofa closer to Maddy. He looked into her eyes, as if working up the courage to say something important. It made her anxious. ‘Look, don’t get freaked out or anything, but I think I was followed this morning.’
‘What?’ She sat up as straight as an arrow, alarm sweeping across her face. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘It was just a feeling I had. When I left the building, I saw this guy across the road. He was wearing a long leather coat and a baseball cap. It was raining hard, so I couldn’t make out his face properly. But there was something suspicious about him. And then I saw him get into the same Tube as me, only a few carriages down. He definitely glanced in my direction, then quickly looked away as if he was worried I’d spotted him.’
‘God. Do you think it could have been Stirling?’
‘I really couldn’t say,’ Paul shrugged, a helpless look on his face.
‘We have to tell Carver.’
‘Hang on, that’s not everything.’
Maddy’s face fell. And he’s told me not to freak out? ‘How do you mean?’
Paul got up and disappeared from the room. Less than thirty seconds later, he reappeared, holding a piece of paper.
‘What’s that?’
‘Read it.’
She took it from him and began to read:
Dear Paul,
I apologise for wrecking your flat, but the fact of the matter is I am growing sick and tired of your flatmate’s meddling in my business. She doesn’t seem to want to take my warnings seriously, so I thought maybe you could knock some sense into her? You seem like a nice guy, and I know you care for your best friend deeply.
I know you wouldn’t want to see anything bad happen to her.
She’s not like the others, and was never part of my plan, but I’m starting to have a change of heart. Don’t make me take her life along with the others. My patience is wearing thin.
Stop her before it’s too late.
For a while, Maddy didn’t speak. She felt numb as her eyes wandered over the page. It was the same font and line spacing the killer had used in his letters to Carver and to her.
‘We have to take this to Carver!’ She finally came alive, waving the letter in the air. Her reaction amazed Paul. In her eyes, he saw resolve, rather than fear. He hadn’t expected that.
‘Do you reckon? Aren’t you scared? Maddy, your life is in danger. Serious danger. It’s all there in black and white. Somehow, the killer knows you’re still helping Carver. You’ll be next on the list if you don’t stop. Please, I beg you. I just want you to think straight for a minute.’
‘I am thinking straight, Paul. Whoever it is, I think, deep down, they’re afraid – afraid we’re getting close. Now, will you call Carver, or will I?’
Paul saw that she wasn’t about to backtrack. If anything, she seemed more determined. There was no point arguing. She’d made up her mind and there was nothing he could do to stop her.
‘I will,’ he said resignedly. ‘Do you have his number?’
Maddy grabbed her phone, dialled Carver’s number, then passed it to Paul. ‘You’re doing the right thing. We can’t let this lowlife get the better of us.’
***
Wednesday, 31 December 2014, 9 am
It had started to snow, and Carver was glad to be in the warmth of his office. He studied the five pieces of paper he’d laid out on his desk: the killer’s three letters to him, plus his letters to Maddy Kramer and Paul King. The type of paper used was identical: everyday HP A4-sized. And as Maddy had pointed out on the phone earlier, the font and line spacing matched.
He buried his head in his hands, his temples throbbing. It was only 9 am, but he felt like a whisky to take the edge off. A dark, slippery slope he warned himself not to go down.
Focus! Focus!
He thought back to his conversation with Paul King the night before. It was obvious how much Maddy meant to him, and Carver had tried his best to assuage Paul’s fears for her safety, while keeping his own fears buried. Because in his mind, Carver knew Maddy was placing herself in grave danger by continuing to help him. Short of placing her under the protection of an armed bodyguard 24/7, he had no way of guaranteeing her safety.
They just had to hope the killer got sloppy.
***
The killer stared at Atticus, faltering slightly, having worked up the resolve to go through with this unfortunate, but necessary, diversion in the plan. The cat had never done the killer any harm, was innocent in all of this. But like Frank, he was a tragic victim of circumstance.
‘Come here, puss puss.’ Atticus, sensing a warm cuddle, possibly some full-fat milk, walked obligingly towards the killer, who scooped him up, stroked his fur then, with closed eyes, plunged the knife into his pulsing side.
It didn’t give the killer any pleasure, but Maddy Kramer had had enough warnings, and she had no one to blame but herself.
***
Maddy dived into the pool and immediately felt calmer. In the water, she was free, all the muscle tension and nervous energy floating away with each stroke, her mind less cluttered.
It was midday on New Year’s Eve. She’d felt jumpy from the moment she woke up, worrying about the coming evening, whether her efforts to save the next victim had been good enough.
The pool was quiet, and it was heaven. She was a strong swimmer, having competed for her school, and she swam fifty lengths front crawl in under twenty minutes. Pushing herself harder with every length, even as she felt her thighs and arms begin to tire and burn. That was the way she was: she couldn’t stand to admit defeat. She pushed herself to the limit, constantly, in everything she did. It was a strength and a weakness, because although it had brought her success, it was also draining. It meant she was never content, never satisfied with her lot in life, always striving for something bigger and better that surely had to be out there. That would surely make her happier.
Her swim over, she reluctantly got out of the pool. Her suit clung to her like a second skin as she stood under the tepid poolside shower to wash off the chlorine. She’d grab her stuff fr
om the locker, quickly dry herself, then take a proper shower at home. The automated shower tailed off. She scrunched out the excess water from her hair and left the warmth of the pool area for the cooler temperature of the changing room. Shivering, she removed the locker key attached to the elastic band she’d fixed to her wrist and inserted it in the locker. She turned the key, opened the door, screamed, then passed out.
***
When she came around, two staff members were standing over her, looking concerned. As she took in her surroundings, she realised she was lying on a bed in the first aid room. They had wrapped a towel around her, but she was still freezing, with her damp hair and suit.
The side of her head pounded, making her wince. And then she remembered; felt an overwhelming terror, then grief. Atticus was gone. Her beautiful boy. Dead. A cut in his left side, giving off a grotesque odour. How did the killer know about him? How? It had to be Stirling. He knew where she and Paul lived. He’d broken in for a second time and killed her darling boy.
‘I have to go,’ she said, her eyes roaming the room as she tried to raise herself up. Her legs felt shaky, the pain in her head still intense, making her feel queasy. ‘My cat,’ she said, blinking back tears.
‘It’s okay, sweetheart, stay still for a while. We’ve called the paramedics to check you over.’
‘I don’t need checking over,’ Maddy protested, on the verge of hysteria.
‘You fell and banged your head. It’s a precaution. We are obliged to make sure you’re okay under health and safety regulations. Is there someone I can call?’
Maddy looked up at the man called Rob, according to his name badge. His face was caring, but his tone was firm. It was clear she had no choice but to wait and get checked out.
‘Paul, my flatmate. His number’s in my mobile, in my gym bag.’ She glanced right, saw her bag propped up against the wall. Rob followed her gaze, went over to retrieve her phone. As he did, Maddy said, ‘My cat, did you see him in the locker?’ Tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘Someone murdered him.’
The Scribe Page 22
