Phobia

by Dean Crawford

  The entry team, fully kitted with helmets, defensive pads, body–armour and face shields, set off down the street at a jog and reached Samir’s apartment within thirty seconds. Honor followed behind, desperate to intervene if Samir was found at home and for some reason had simply not been able to make it into work. She tried not to think about the worst possible scenario, one in which the killer had decided to extinguish Samir’s life in revenge for his own murders being derailed by either his victims’ struggles for life or, now, the police intervening at the last moment.

  The police team rushed up the side alley of a small two–storey, and with several swings of the “big red key” and the sound of shattering PVC and glass, the door was smashed in and the team piled into Samir’s apartment. Honor and Danny held back outside as the officers stormed through the apartment to repeated calls of “Clear”. A moment later, one of them poked his head out of the shattered door and waved them inside. The entire operation had taken less than thirty seconds.

  Honor stepped through the debris of the shattered door and saw Samir’s apartment, a simple affair, cheap sofas in a living room that looked through a bay window over parking spaces. A flat–screen television dominated the room, a couple of pictures of

  Samir’s sister and family at a wedding, a newspaper left on the coffee table in the centre of the room alongside a games console.

  ‘He’s not here,’ DC Hansen said. ‘We’re checking the communal garden, but we found this on the door mat.’

  The officer held up two unopened letters. Honor took them from him. One was just a junk flier for a local tandoori restaurant, but the other was a utility bill.

  ‘He’s not been here for a while,’ she said to Danny.

  ‘He might have anticipated us being here,’ Hansen countered.

  There was nothing that she could say in reply. Moments later, they were called into the bedroom. Hansen walked in first, with Honor and Green behind him, and they all stopped as they saw a large wipe–board on the wall in front of a narrow desk. On the board, which was one laid out in a similar style to the one back at the Incident Room, were the names of some of the victims, plus further names that they had not encountered before, and several trinkets that Honor carefully approached. On the desk were a number of watches, rings and other belongings.

  ‘What’s the betting these belonged to the victims?’ Hansen beamed, folding his arms across his chest.

  ‘Wow,’ Danny uttered. ‘You got there fast, genius.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Honor replied. ‘Very neat, don’t you think? Too neat.’

  ‘Done in a hurry,’ Danny agreed. ‘Most of that writing up there is fresh, but the dates look as though they’re designed to make us think it’s the result of months of work.’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ Hansen uttered. ‘How close to the bottom of the barrel do you two want to get before you’ll admit that there’s something going on here?’

  ‘It’s called police work,’ Honor replied with a smile that conveyed no warmth.

  Honor tried to think as the entry team clattered their way out of the building. Samir’s apartment was filled with evidence of him being the person they sought, and yet it was just as clear that he wasn’t the culprit. Or was it?

  ‘He could have arranged it this way on purpose, knowing it would make us think that he’s a victim,’ she said, hating her own words. ‘Hansen could be right. It could be Samir, and he’s playing us.’

  Danny nodded, deep in thought as he stared at the board before them. ‘There are a lot of names there we’ve never heard of.’

  ‘I know,’ Honor replied as she looked around, careful not to touch anything. She noted that the bed was perfectly made, untouched. ‘If this is the work of our guy, whoever he is, he could have been at this for years.’

  ‘Until he decided to escalate and go public,’ Danny agreed, his hands in his pockets as he surveyed the room. He leaned down and looked along the length of the desk. ‘Very fine layer of dust, undisturbed. Nobody’s been here for a day or so.’

  ‘And Samir vanished right after the Jayden Nixx drowning,’ Hansen pointed out. ‘Who was the last person to see him?’

  Honor swallowed thickly. ‘We were. He came with Danny to my apartment; we had a takeaway. Rough day and all that. He left about eleven, said he was going to get his head down then head back into the office.’

  ‘Where he never showed,’ Danny said. ‘Last I saw of him was walking away from Honor’s apartment toward Waterloo.’

  ‘Samir’s been missing over twenty–four hours,’ Honor agreed. ‘Either he’s our guy and he’s running, or he’s been abducted himself. His face was on the news, same as mine.’

  Danny looked at her, and although she knew what was coming, she didn’t like it one bit.

  ‘You’re off this one, Honor, DI Harper won’t let you run the case now that Samir might be involved,’ he said. ‘There’s every chance that he’ll come for you next, whoever’s behind all this. Do we know if Samir has any phobias?’

  Honor shook her head. ‘He never mentioned any, but the campaign has changed. The killer can’t use the sewers again, everybody knows that’s been his MO until now. He’s on the run or otherwise deceiving us, misdirecting us. If I leave the case now, he’ll know about it, it’s the last thing we should do.’

  ‘DCI won’t see it that way,’ Hansen said. ‘Mitchell won’t want you in harm’s way until this case is in the bag.’

  ‘That’ll take the heat off,’ Honor argued. ‘It’ll take somebody else time to get up to speed on this guy. Trust me, the suspect is planning his escape – he wants to vanish into history, just like the Ripper. When we get that photofit, everything’s gonna change.’

  Danny was about to reply when Honor’s phone rang and she answered it, seeing DI Harper’s name on the screen as she switched it to conference.

  ‘Honor McVey, Detective Sergeant, Danny and Colin are here.’ ‘You’d better get back here,’ Harper said, her voice sombre. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Can’t talk about it on the phone, Honor,’ Katy said, her tone setting Honor’s neurons racing with anticipation and dread. ‘There’s been another abduction, but you’re going to have to come back to the station to hear about it. Bring Hansen and Green with you, this one’s urgent.’

  23

  Honor felt a growing sense of dread burgeoning within her as she joined Danny and Colin and headed back to Danny’s car. They were back at Bishopsgate within thirty minutes, Danny and Hansen alongside her as they headed up to the IR. DCI Mitchell had obviously been informed of their arrival, because he came out of his office and blocked their way.

  ‘I’m afraid that you can’t go in the IR, Honor,’ he said.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Honor replied, ‘that Samir Raaya is a colleague and that I can’t be on the same case if he’s under investigation. It won’t affect my job, boss, I…’

  ‘It’s not about Samir.’

  Honor’s oratory came up short and she stared at the DCI for a long beat. There was genuine concern on his features, and a terrible fear rushed like poison through Honor’s veins.

  ‘My parents?’

  ‘They’re okay,’ Mitchell replied. ‘There’s been another abduction, and the family are asking for you directly to talk to them about it. They’re in the custody suite.’

  ‘They’re asking for me?’ Honor repeated, dread coiling like a venomous snake in her belly. ‘Why? Who’s been abducted?’

  DCI Mitchell pulled her to one side in the corridor and spoke quietly.

  ‘A woman named Natalie Delray, fiancé to a Zach Arnold. I’m told that you know him.’

  Honor’s heart seemed to stop beating in her chest, and every last girder and glacier of steel and ice within her collapsed into a smouldering heap in the darkness that swelled in her chest. Those names. Them. Delray, and Arnold. People she hated with a passion that was difficult to describe, let alone control.

  ‘Delray,’ she managed to utter. ‘She’s the ne
xt victim?’

  ‘We think so,’ Mitchell said. ‘Whatever the suspect is up to, whoever they are, this just got personal, Honor. The family wants to talk to you, I accept that, but Detective Constable Hanson will run the case from here, with Danny in support. I don’t want you on this for obvious reasons, okay?’

  Honor nodded without even thinking about it. Jesus. Delray.

  ‘They’re in suite four,’ Mitchell added. ‘Danny, go with her, if you will?’ ‘I’ll be fine,’ Honor said, too quickly. She sucked in a ragged breath.

  ‘Go with her,’ Mitchell repeated to Danny. ‘Hansen, the IR, get up to speed and be ready for a briefing in thirty minutes.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  Hansen turned for the IR without a word and left them in the corridor. Before she could change her mind, Honor walked down to the custody suite, her mind numb, her legs seemingly carrying her of their own accord as she and Danny were met by a FLO and escorted to the suite.

  ‘You sure about this?’ Danny asked as they walked. ‘I can interview the family.’ ‘No,’ Honor replied, unsure of why she couldn’t just let Danny go in there. ‘I can

  deal with this.’

  The door to the suite was open, and despite her not wanting to turn into the room, like a nightmare that refused to stop unravelling she followed the FLO inside and was greeted with the first sight of her ex–husband in almost twelve months.

  Zach Arnold sat on a chair alongside his mother, an elderly but formidable woman by the name of Rosemary. Zach looked pensive, stubble on his jaw, black hair in disarray, eyes clouded behind thin spectacles. Rosemary looked concerned but in control, holding her son’s hand. On Zach’s other side were the parents of Natalie Delray, Stephen and Alison, whom she had never met. To see them here, like this, was so utterly bizarre that Honor stood in catatonic silence as the FLO introduced her.

  ‘This is Detective Sergeant Honor McVey, she’s in charge of the investigation.’

  Normally, this would be where Honor would try to be warm and greet the bereaved, the suffering, the lost or the confused, try to get to the bottom of whatever horrendous crime they had endured, but now she simply stood and stared. Her colour flushed up and she missed a breath, tried to get some sense of control back in her mind. Get your focus on solving the problem. Don’t distract yourself, distraction doesn’t bloody work. Confront the issue.

  Honor turned and sat down on the nearest available chair, more for something else to do other than stand staring at them. Rosemary Arnold sensed Honor’s discomfort and reached out, one hand touching her forearm.

  ‘We’re so sorry, for all that’s happened.’

  She meant it. Rosemary’s eyes were filled with the same discomfort that swam deeply in Honor’s. She wanted to accept the apology –what had happened was hardly Rosemary’s fault, but Honor sank back into her seat a little and managed a fleeting smile as she introduced Danny Green.

  ‘Can you tell me what happened in the hours leading up to Natalie’s disappearance?’

  Honor kept her voice even and her expression neutral, not looking at her ex– husband. Don’t give the cheating bastard the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. Her frayed nerves hardened and she began to feel more in control as she surveyed the family. Zach was now sitting with his hands folded between his knees, moving them constantly. A silver band adorned his ring finger, different to the ring he’d worn when he was engaged to Honor. He seemed unable to meet her gaze as he spoke, looked as uncomfortable as she was.

  ‘She disappeared this morning, somewhere between work and home. She always calls when she gets into work. When she didn’t, I called her mobile but she’d switched it off. I called the office, but she never showed up.’

  She’d switched it off. How would he know? Could he have done something, or did he know nothing and simply assume that she was the one who’d turned the phone off? Could go either way, but despite being a duplicitous bastard, she’d never have pegged Zach for a killer – he just wasn’t the type.

  ‘Do you know where she was last seen?’

  Zach shrugged. ‘By me, I suppose, before she left home this morning.’

  Honor made some notes as she asked him what route Natalie took, on what transport, rough ideas of times. It wouldn’t be hard for MIT to track down her movements and identify where she had been abducted, but whether they would be able to tie in their suspect to the attack and whether he would be identified by then were unknowns. The fact that Samir was now on the suspect list made her shiver inwardly – he knew about what had happened to Honor the previous year, about the affair, about how her husband had ended up sleeping with Natalie for God–knows–how–long before he’d been caught out, before he had lost her their…

  Honor briefly closed her eyes and tried to keep her thoughts on track.

  ‘You called the Major Incident Team at this office with the news of the abduction,’ she said. ‘Why?’

  Zach spoke, his voice soft, meek even.

  ‘We got an e–mail,’ he said, and handed her a piece of paper which had clearly been printed from a computer.

  Honor took the paper, careful to ensure her hand did not come into contact with Zach’s as she looked down at it. The page was a standard Internet page, a private e– mail account belonging to Zach, and in the centre was a message from an e–mail address that belonged to Natalie;

  You’ve seen the killings in Whitechapel. Natalie is next.

  Honor stared at the message for a moment longer than was necessary, partially to conceal her own emotions, and partially because she was surprised. This was another break from method for their suspect, another pivot. This was possibly a copy–cat attack, unrelated to the string of murders they were investigating, although the choice of target was of course far too great a coincidence. Samir knew about the cognitive behavioural therapy, about the OCD, about the affair and the loss of her child, about pretty much everything. He also knew how much she valued her privacy, how much effort she made to keep her home life separate from her work life – that would all be shattered by the “public’s right to know”. Everything about her life would be processed and splashed across every news outlet and television station in the country, exposing her to the worst possible kind of public scrutiny.

  ‘You cruel bloody bastard,’ she uttered.

  It came out louder than she had intended. The family members stared with shocked expressions as she looked up from the page.

  ‘Excuse me for a moment,’ she said, then stood up and hurried from the room.

  Danny Green followed her outside and closed the door, an urgent look on his face. ‘You think this is our guy, or a mimic?’

  Honor shrugged.

  ‘He’s targeting people close to me,’ she replied. ‘He knows about them, knows about how they’re connected to me.’

  ‘Samir knew that information too.’

  ‘He knew enough to know who to go after,’ she said, but then frowned. ‘What I don’t understand is why anybody would target Natalie Delray. I can’t stand her. It’s not like they’d expect me to be moving heaven and earth to find her.’

  Danny frowned but said nothing as they turned away from the suite.

  ‘You need to stay clear. I’m going to ask the MET to put a car on your house in case this freak, whoever they are, makes a play for you directly. There’s nothing more you can do, and with a photofit in play it’s only a matter of time before we identify the suspect. Go home, get some rest, you’ve done enough already.’

  Honor sighed. ‘I want regular updates, okay? I don’t want to be left in the dark.’ ‘I’ll keep you posted, promise,’ Danny said. ‘Hansen’s a jerk, but he’ll get the job done.’

  Honor fetched her bag as Danny headed back to the IR, and within minutes she was standing outside the station, her umbrella up against a fine drizzle falling from a laden sky. She’d used the custody entrance, down an alley alongside the station, and now she used it to conceal herself from the paparazzi gathered in front of Bishopsgate, hurryi
ng away from them before they spotted her. She walked a single block, then fished out her mobile phone as it buzzed in her pocket.

  ‘Honor McVey, Detective Sergeant?’

  ‘Detective, it’s Paul Sharp. The flood waters in the sewers have subsided enough that your team can get into the crime scene. Do you want me to call the Incident Room and let them know that…’

  ‘No,’ Honor cut Paul off on impulse.

  She desperately wanted Danny alongside her, but she knew that she couldn’t contact him unless she had something concrete to offer. It was starting to get dark, and she knew how hard–pressed the IR team would be. They would appreciate the help.

  Bullshit, Honor, you’re lying to yourself. If there was something in the sewers that might lead to an arrest, she wanted to see it for herself.

  ‘I’ll be there in twenty minutes. I’ll pass on what I learn to the IR from there.’

  24

  ‘You’re not going to like this.’

  Honor stood in Fenchurch Street next to Paul Sharp within a small Hamlets Council cordon arranged in the middle of the busy high street. Cars splashed cautiously around the cordon, passers–by watching them from beneath umbrellas up against the rain.

  Paul gestured to the open manholes in the road.

  ‘That said, they got flushed pretty good so most of the really bad stuff was swept away. It’s not as terrible down there as you’re probably thinking.’

  Honor winced at his choice of words as she glanced sideways at him. ‘Never going to be good though, is it?’

  Honor donned a set of thick overalls, boots, gloves and a hard hat provided by Paul, before she gingerly followed him down into the sewer on a ladder that was slick with slime. The sounds of the city faded away above her, and air that she might have once considered polluted was replaced by a pungent odour that made her cough.

  ‘You’ll get used to it,’ Paul said cheerily from somewhere below as he stepped off the ladder onto a metal gantry. ‘Your brain will shut it out soon enough.’