by Rob Ashman
She put her hand on Tavener’s arm.
‘Be careful.’
Cracker made a beeline straight for the service stairs, sniffing at the floor and walls as he went. Up and up they climbed, until they reached the top. He hurried down a windowless corridor then he froze, standing absolutely rigid and silent.
Yates caught up with him and signalled to the others. ‘He’s found something.’ Pointing further on.
The armed officers skirted around Yates and the dog with their weapons raised and crept along the last few yards of the passage way. The entrance opened up into a big space with horizontal bars of light cascaded onto the pink walls. One of them peered down the big round hole at the end. He gave the ‘All Clear.’
Kray slipped on a pair of overshoes and stepped inside, casting her eyes around the room. Sachets of packet food were lined up in regimental order in one corner, along with bottles of water and a gas stove. Three bottles of vodka stood in a line against the wall next to three mobile phone boxes. Against the other wall lay batteries, medicines, spare laces, cutlery and two bottles of Tabasco sauce all lined up in order. A black holdall and a neatly folded set of clothes sat beside them.
‘And I thought I had OCD,’ Kray muttered under her breath.
Then she noticed the faces of two women and two men staring at her from across the room. Four pictures were stuck to the wall, each one with a fat red X through it. Tavener joined her, staring at the photographs.
‘Shit,’ he said.
Kray went up to the faces, examining each one carefully. ‘There’s one missing.’
‘How can you tell?’
‘These are blu-tacked to the wall. Look at this.’ Kray pointed to the space next to the mug-shot of Billy Hicks. She clicked on her torch and directed the beam at the plasterboard. Four round blue marks stained the surface. ‘There was a fifth picture, he’s taken it with him.’ Kray took out her phone, enabled the flash and started clicking away.
‘Who do you think it is?’ asked Tavener.
‘I don’t know.’
‘This is great, now all we need to do is wait for him to come back and nab him.’
Kray looked around the room. ‘I’m not so sure.’
‘Why?’
‘Where’s the bedding? He has this place kitted really well, but where does he sleep?’
‘After all the preparation, you wouldn’t leave this lot.’ Tavener waved his hand at the supplies.
‘You would if you had some place else to go.’
‘Hey.’ Tavener nudged Kray’s arm and nodded in the direction of the hole in the floor and the rope suspended from above. ‘Looks like Jarrod is on a suicide mission.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of.’ The flash went off and the hangman’s noose was preserved for prosperity.
Chapter 41
The woman wearing Ugg boots drops a pound coin into my Costa cup. I’m sitting cross-legged on the pavement and can only see up to her knees because my head is bowed. I grunt a ‘thank you’ as she walks off feeling better about herself.
I’m in a place that catches the sun but I can still feel the cold of the concrete chilling the bones of my arse through my sleeping bag. I’ve pulled it around my legs for extra warmth but, in reality, I am hiding my boots and combat trousers. They still don’t look right.
Whenever I went to the Lakeland I always changed into this gear to give it a worn lived-in look. I didn’t wash the clothes I’m stood up in for six weeks and made a point of ensuring they got grubby. But while they are soiled, they are not street soiled – there is a big difference.
It is an amazing feeling. Scientists don’t have to waste their time inventing an invisibility cloak, all you have to do is sit on the ground in a busy shopping centre and abracadabra! - no one can see you. Which is good because the next part of my mission requires me to hide in plain sight.
In my peripheral vision I see a police officer and a PCSO ambling up the pedestrianised thoroughfare. An old lady stops them to have a chat. It seems they know one another. She is smiling, throwing her head back and cackling while waving her arms about. The coppers are smiling back and nodding. Eventually she goes on her way and the officers resume their preamble up the street.
I watch them stop and the PCSO flicks her head in my direction. They are ten yards away and the police officer is looking straight at me. My pulse rate spikes.
Stay calm, stay calm.
They change direction and head towards me. I keep my head down and control my breathing.
‘Are you all right, sir?’ The polished boots of the PCSO enters my field of vision. I look up shielding my eyes from the sun. She looks about fifteen years old.
‘Yeah, I’m fine, officer.’ I lower my gaze back to the floor and the second pair of bright shiny boots come into view.
‘Do you have somewhere to stay?’
I raise my head again, peeking through my fingers. This lad looks about twelve.
‘Oh, erm, I have a bed at the B&B on Clevedon Road.’ I lied.
‘I know it, up by the Hilton?’
‘Yeah, that’s the one.’
‘I’m afraid, sir, you have to move on,’ said the man.
Shit what do I do now? How would a proper homeless person reply? Would they argue or simply go away?
‘I’m not bothering anyone, officer,’ I said.
‘I know but you have to move on.’
‘Okay.’ I step out of my sleeping bag and pick up the cup containing the money. ‘Sorry if I’ve …’
‘That’s okay, sir, but we do have to ask you to move on.’
All right, you’ve told me three times, I get the picture.
I shuffle to my feet, maintaining a slight stoop when gathering up my things. Then I hold my hand up as a sign of goodbye and slope away.
‘Excuse me, sir.’ It’s the PCSO calling after me. I keep my head down and pretend not to hear her. ‘Sir, excuse me.’
I carry on going. Then I feel a tug on my sleeve.
Every sinew is poised to take the knife from my boot and slice her head off. Instead, I stop and turn slowly.
‘You dropped this.’ In her hand is a pound coin. She gives it to me and I grunt a ‘thank you.’
If only she knew how close she came, if only she knew.
Chapter 42
The sun had long since given up the last of its glow as it disappeared below the Irish sea. Kray and Tavener were in a car watching the back of the Lakeland Hotel. The rest of the team were dotted around doing the same while the armed response officers were cooped up in the back of a van. The digital clock on the dashboard read 20:50.
The sky was grey with clouds and fine rain cast an opaque veil over the windscreen. The streets were empty save for the occasional passer-by.
‘I hate stakeouts,’ Tavener said offering Kray a mint. ‘They start off with a buzz of high expectation, and dissolve into a pool of boredom.’
‘Bloody hell, that’s a bit poetic for you. How many have you done?’
‘Including this one … two.’
‘You’re hardly a seasoned veteran.’ She shook her head and popped the sweet in her mouth.
‘You only have to stub your toe once to know how much it hurts. It’s not necessary—’
‘Thanks for that stunning piece of insight. You are making this so much more fun … after all, it could be shit.’
‘Yeah, well it looks like it’s about to get worse.’ Tavener nodded out of his side window at the figure scampering towards them with his jacket pulled over his head. The back door flew open and Bagley piled into the back.
‘Evening,’ Kray said staring into the rear-view mirror as Bagley shook water all over her back seats.
‘Evening. Nothing has moved at our end,’ Bagley said.
‘Same here,’ muttered Kray. ‘The most exciting thing we’ve seen is a man picking shit up off the pavement.’
‘Bloody hell, was he taken short?’
‘He had a dog with him at the time.’
‘Oh … anyway, I came over to tell you I’ve arranged for us to be relieved at nine o’clock. So I suggest when they arrive, you get off home. I will handle the handover. We have also doubled up on the uniform officers babysitting the other convicted people on the list. The Chief and the ACC are still in damage limitation mode and we can’t afford another slip-up.’
‘That sounds a sensible move. You could have told us that over the phone, you didn’t need to get soaked.’
‘I suppose but I wanted to check in on you.’
The headlights of two cars came into view, cruising to a stop on the other side of the road. Kray switched on the windscreen wipers.
‘That will be them,’ Bagley said opening his door. ‘You two go home and get some rest, we will resume at seven in the morning. I will leave instructions that if anything happens during the night they will contact both of us, Roz.’
‘That sounds fine. Good night, Dan,’ Kray replied.
‘Goodnight, sir,’ said Tavener.
Bagley bundled out into the rain and trotted across the tarmac to the first car.
Why the hell can’t you behave like this all the time? Instead of being a complete wanker. Kray started the engine and pulled away.
She stared at the road ahead and said nothing.
‘Do you think Jarrod will return? He has that place well prepared. If it were me I’d be loathed to leave it,’ asked Tavener.
‘My gut feeling says he won’t be back. We have to go through the process of watching the hotel because that is the right course of action but I think he’s done a runner again.’
‘Are you making that judgement because the sleeping bag and the picture are missing?’
‘Yeah, but more than that the place didn’t feel right. The food supplies were so well organised it looked like he had stored them away with a rule and a spirit level. Everything was lined up with precision but there was something out of place, and I can’t for the life of me put my finger on it.’
They rode the rest of the journey in silence. After five hours of sitting together in the car there was not much left to say. Kray dropped Tavener off at the station and headed home. Feelings of anxiety raged in her belly.
Kray slid the key into her front door and stepped into the hallway, stooping down to pick up the mail off the floor. She placed the letters on the side table along with her keys. Her phone buzzed, it was Millican calling for the fifth time today.
‘Hey, that’s good timing I’ve just walked in,’ she said. The voice on the other end was erratic. ‘Yes I’m sorry, I couldn’t take your calls earlier we were tied up.’ Kray hung her coat on the hook and kicked off her shoes.
Millican babbled on while Kray walked into the kitchen, retrieved a bottle of wine from the fridge, a glass off the draining board and sauntered upstairs.
‘You are not going to feel good about any of this, Chris, so that’s to be expected.’ She held the phone in the crook of her neck and turned on the taps, pouring a hefty glug of bubble bath into the swirling water. The bottle and the glass sat patiently on the wooden bridge that spanned across the bath, waiting for the full-frontal assault to ensue. She undressed, leaving her clothes in a pile on the floor.
‘If you don’t mind, Chris, I’m going to say no. I’m dead on my feet, having only had three hours sleep, and I need to take a bath and go to bed. I’ve got an early start and if you come over that won’t happen.’
The line went dead.
‘I don’t have the time nor the inclination for that shit.’ She muttered under her breath, unscrewing the cap and filling the glass. She watched the bubbles grow into a thick white carpet on the surface of the water. The first chug of wine felt cold in her mouth.
She eased herself into the bath, shutting off the taps. The hot water burned her skin, making her shudder. The image of Catherine Stubbs flashed into her mind with her clothing melted into her flesh under the heat of the flaming aerosol. Kray sunk beneath water until only her head was visible, her anxiety running riot.
The second gulp of wine was followed by a third and in no time the glass was empty. She topped it up.
Should have brought another bottle with me.
Kray ran her fingers across the puckered skin of the scar sliced across her belly. It tingled to the touch. The wine began to do its job and Kray’s eyelids slowly closed.
She was drifting down the promenade on a warm bed of fat, white bubbles, past the tower with the Central Pier in the distance. The sun bathed the Ferris wheel with an orange glow against the horizon. Then she was in a kitchen, Joe was preparing a meal. He had that rolling chopping action going on and was laughing, drinking beer. Chris Millican was standing beside him, slicing vegetables with the same chopping action. When Joe drank, so did Chris, they were mirror images of one another. Their mouths were moving but she couldn’t catch what they were saying. They flung their heads back and laughed.
Then the scene cut away to the inside of the penthouse at the Lakeland. The blushing pink walls were frosted up with the cold. Four floating faces stared at her, their faces scared with a red X. A blank sheet of paper was pinned to the wall. The hangman’s noose dangled above the hole in the floor, next to it Kray could see Jarrod looking out of the shutters at the pier.
Jarrod’s supplies were lined up with regimental precision. Everything in perfect alignment.
Kray awoke and sat bolt upright, knocking her glass into the tepid water, the suds were gone. She hauled herself from the bath, wrapped a towel around her body and grabbed her phone, flicking through the photographs she had taken at the Lakeland.
‘Where is it? Where is it?’ she growled at herself. Then she found it. ‘Fuck!’
Kray hit the buttons and called a number. A sleepy Bagley picked up at the other end.
‘Roz? What is it?’
‘I know who Jarod’s next victim is going to be.’
Chapter 43
The woman sitting on the floor to the right of me is called Primrose – quite an odd name for someone who smells of shit. Next to her is Bulldog and the guy on the end is Ken. I guess he’s the one with no imagination.
The three of them are in their late-twenties to early forties but look like they have a combined age of two hundred. During the day others have come and gone. It is a transient arrangement where nods and glances are exchanged for the ones who choose not to say anything. One guy turned up, sat on the floor, only to get up and walk off two hours later, and I swear no one registered he was there.
Bulldog rummages in a plastic bag and pulls out an aerosol can. He snaps off the top and puts the spray nozzle into his mouth. He bites it off and spits it onto the floor, revealing the plastic spigot at the end. He grips it between his rotting front teeth and forces the can towards him. His cheeks inflate as the gas fills his mouth and throat. His eyes roll back and he hands the can over to me.
I pretend to have a go.
‘Thanks man,’ I say in a woozy voice.
The others are so high they don’t notice I’m faking it. A metal bucket is ablaze in the centre of the room, the naked flames give the place a demonic feel and fat clouds of smoke cling to what is left of the ceiling. It’s like a bizarre campfire scene from a low-budget horror film. I half expect people in robes to burst and sacrifice a goat.
The heat radiates out in a tight circle. The other three would be cold but for the solvent. It keeps them numb. I don’t mind the chill seeping through the walls but I miss my view.
Bulldog keels over sideways and wraps himself in his piss-stained sleeping bag, bunching a roll of cardboard under his head to serve as a pillow. He turns his back and lets out a long, low fart. No one stirs.
Primrose takes another blast of solvent gas and follows suit. She struggles to pull her sleeping bag around her and ends up laying half-in, half-out. I lean over and tug it around her, she doesn’t even feel it.
Ken and I stare into the flames. He is the youngest of the group but the ravages of sleeping rough and getting high or pisse
d every day has left its mark on him. He has the haunted look of a man counting down time; his eyes are sunk deep into dark sockets and his cheekbones are sharp. He counts a fist-full of coins into a sock for the fifth time tonight, maybe he can’t remember how much money he’s made today, or maybe it simply gives him something to do. He wraps the sock into a ball and stuffs it into his pocket.
‘Where did you say you were from?’ he asks.
‘Kind of all over,’ I say pretending to sway.
‘Cos I’m sure I’ve seen you around. Have you been to the shopping precinct?’
‘Once or twice, I guess. I really appreciate you guys letting me join you. I will pay my way, you know?’ I change the subject.
‘Yeah man, like every fucker else pays their way. I went to the job centre today.’
‘How did you get on?’ I say, amazed at the spectacular change of topic.
‘Like fucking always, it’s a simple equation - no address plus no bank account equals no money. Anyway I only went in for a warm cos it was fucking Baltic.’
‘Yeah it was cold all right.’
I am conscious that I don’t look or smell right and I’m sure Ken is wary of me. The one thing I’m struggling to hide is my three hundred quid sleeping bag. It was the most expensive one in the shop when I bought it. Still, so far I have managed to keep it under wraps and it is gradually getting soiled from sleeping on floors. I flip my pound coin in the air and catch it. The look on Ken’s face says, ‘I’ve had a better day than you.’ I’m conscious of the five hundred pounds I have concealed in each of my boots.
Maybe not, Ken.
The fire is dying down to embers, casting a red and orange glow around the brick and breeze block walls. Ken stares into the bucket, drifting off to a better place. I stare at the bucket thinking this is exactly where I want to be; daydreaming about the woman who bottled that off-duty police officer. Two months pregnant my arse. The last time I saw her there was no hint of any pregnancy.
