by James Arklie
Boyfriend had done what he could and left a bit later.
‘Why did he leave you like that?’
‘Said he had something to do.’
Kline glanced at Angie. ‘Did you give your boyfriend the name of smiling boy over there?’
Artie paused and Kline could see him considering lying. Then he gave a quick nod.
Kline spoke sharply. ‘I need to talk to your boyfriend.’
This time Artie shook his head. Angie intervened. ‘Artie, now is not the time. Kline needs to confirm your story.’ He shook his head again.
Kline tried to read the reason for the refusal. Loyalty? The first something serious in Artie’s life and it may be destroyed? Was he trying to protect it, not betray it? Artie’s anger at the unfairness of it all was apparent.
The sirens were outside the windows when Artie added. ‘One more thing, boss.’
That was the first time he’d called Kline anything. Artie eased himself his feet and led them to a tiny kitchen where, resting amongst the foil trays of a takeaway curry, there was a dried, pressed flower. From behind them, there was a heavy rapping on the door.
Artie jumped nervously, looked towards the door and then at Kline. He swallowed heavily. ‘It was on the doorstep last night.’
Kline stared and ran and hand through his cropped hair. The rapping started again. Angie tore herself away to open the door. Kline put on a glove, picked up the lily by the stem and twirled it between his fingers. Shit, shit, shit. What did this mean?
Kline took hold of Artie’s arm. ‘What’s his name, Artie?’
It came out in a gulp of sadness. ‘Luke. Luke Walton.’
*
Kline followed Artie back to the Station, threw himself and what influential weight he had round, spoke to Pete Simpson who’d been put in charge of the investigation, then went face the music.
‘About bloody time.’ Dave Barker was not happy.
Kline felt sorry for him. He was so incandescent with anger, he could have lit the Christmas lights on West Quay for the whole of the festive season.
‘You know what a shit-storm I have coming my way.’ He pointed a finger at Kline.
‘Your bloody way.’
He sat down. Stood up. Paced. ‘What the hell were you thinking?’
‘He was trying to sort it himself. I wanted to respect that, not call him out.’
‘Well if you had…’ He sat down, took a deep breath in through his nose and let it out full of anger and frustration. He slapped the table. Kline could read the unspoken thought, took a gamble.
‘If you want me to go, resign, just say.’
Angry eyes flicked over Kline’s. ‘Sod that. You’re staying, if it’s only to face the music.’
Kline breathed and stepped into the space, dropped his voice to reasonable. ‘Dave, look, two things. Artie, he didn’t do it. Guaranteed.’ That got him another flash of anger.
‘Secondly, the person who claims to be Luke Walton, Jehovah’s Witness, is not.
That got him a finger, jabbed straight at him. ‘What a Jehovah’s Witness or Luke Walton? And you knew him.’
‘Dave. I didn’t know him. I told you, he was hanging round me.’
Dave was disbelieving. ‘Bloody hell. He was at Jenny’s funeral.’
‘Uninvited.’ Then Kline added, ‘Because no one was invited.’
Dave Barker pushed back in his chair, shaking his head with a sigh. ‘Okay, so where can we find this non-friend and what do you know about him?’
‘Nothing, but Pete’s team are on it. They should get CCTV images that will show Artie’s telling the truth.’
Kline sensed Dave was calming down. At least in Luke Walton, he had a strong lead, a suspect. Something powerful to throw to the media. ‘You think Walton did it?’
Kline shrugged. ‘Seems a bit extreme. They’d only been together for a few days.’
Barker took it a step further. ‘Is Walton the ALICE murderer?’
‘No way. Too young.’
‘Audrey Water’s and this guy Bleakley?’
‘Only if he’s the ‘son of’.’
They stared at one other. Cops who’d been round the houses, seen most things, experienced and accepted the horror that people can inflict on other people. Had careers that spanned generations in violent families and listened to the arguments of nature versus nurture. Was the son born a killer or did his upbringing create a killer?
Kline finished their thinking. ‘We really, really, do not want to go there.’
Dave threw him out with a wave of his hand. ‘Next time, if I call, you bloody-well answer.’
Kline raced down to the office. He had to get out for air. Angie was in the middle of the room. She’d spent the last hour playing spin doctor with all their colleagues. The only problem with police officers is they are trained to question and to be suspicious, so smile as they might, Artie would not be clear until he was formally cleared.
She didn’t want to go, but Kline dragged her out and parked by a pop-up food van at the Port. He needed to regroup with a bacon sandwich plastered in ketchup and a strong black. He could see Artie’s mess of a life had shaken Angie as well. Taking her mind back to her own dark labyrinthine lanes of depression when the whole world had seemed against her. Kline wanted to give her the support and reassurance she needed before she started backing away from the world again; disassociating herself to minimise the pain it had caused her.
They took coffee and a sandwich and went back and dropped their backsides onto the bonnet of his car. ‘Always buy a car with a bum-high bonnet,’ said Kline.
Angie smiled and carefully chewed a mouthful of her sandwich. They both stared up at a cruise liner, the Harmony of the Seas, the size of a small town.
Angie said, ‘What a bloody trio we are. I’m screwed up. I can’t move on with my life. I spend all day staring at ten-year old girls in case they are Carly. I trawl social media all night and pester mothers with babies because I am concerned for them.
‘Artie is fighting his own demons, won’t accept help and life keeps giving him a good kicking.’ She paused for another mouthful.
Kline laughed quietly at the truths. ‘And me?’
‘You’ve always been screwed up. Keeping a dead person alive is pretty weird behaviour, Joe, however much you loved her.’
‘Love.’
She gave Kline a ‘whatever’ shrug, turning to look at him. ‘And where are you now, Joe? When Jenny was here it was easy to tell, but now I can’t read what’s in your head anymore.’ Kline looked away to the cruise liner as she carried on.
‘You seem angrier, vicious even, but calmer and quieter. I feel there’s a beast inside you roaring with rage, but you’ve tamed it. Now it’s pacing up and down it’s cage, waiting for the moment to be let out.’
Kline gave her a quiet smile. That’s about right, he thought. That’s one of the changes since Jenny was murdered. Calm and focused. Yet some other seed had germinated and was growing inside him. He was seeing things differently and the new viewpoint brought fleeting moments of anger and viciousness with it. Sometimes it felt good, then he thought about it and it scared him, so he backed away.
Angie went on as though she was never expecting an answer. ‘Do you really think that three screw-ups like us are capable of catching the ALICE murderer?’
Kline did believe it. He also believed they were getting closer, they just didn’t know it, yet. He said so.
‘Every negative is a positive. All information is just that, information. We keep gathering, we keep assimilating, we keep…’
Angie had heard it all before and interrupted. ‘Like in a minute we’re going to tour all the cruise operators, Cunard, P and O, Royal Caribbean and they will all tell us that they don’t have passenger details going back that far.’ She raised her eyebrows at him to create a question. ‘Giving us yet another brick wall to bang our heads against?’
Kline gave her one of his other talks that she’d heard before. The, ‘if
you don’t want to embrace depression, despondency, disillusionment, frustration, annoyance and anger then don’t become a police officer’ talk. She ate her bacon sandwich and listened politely…. and then Kline agreed with her. But it had to be done, just in case.
They still did the tour and did get negative answers. Kline knew they needed something new or to change perspective or the angle of attack. Something, but he didn’t know what.
They picked up a soya coffee and a sandwich and went back to see Artie in the cells. Pete had seen to it that he was patched up by the doctor and he visibly brightened when he saw them. Kline gave him the goodie bag.
‘I’m asking Dave Barker to let you back to work.’
Kline got a look from Angie, which was really a question asking whether it was a good idea that Artie should be walking round the office. Feelings were raw when a police officer died. Kline ignored her. It would be refused, but it was something positive to say to Artie.
Artie sipped the flat white like it was nectar. ‘They’ve taken my passport.’
Angie laughed. ‘Is there a border control between here and Shirley?’
Artie did his best to laugh back. ‘Makes me feel like a criminal, that’s all.’ He opened the sandwich pack, then opened the sandwich to inspect it.
Kline said, ‘Hummus, falafel and rocket.’
Artie nodded his thanks and said, ‘I have some information for you.’
Kline sat up, waiting, watching him wince a couple of times as he forced his bruised mouth to chew. ‘Go on.’
‘Last night, I finally found something all the ALICE women have in common. They are all blood type AB.’
Kline couldn’t keep the deflation out of his expression. Artie read it. ‘I know. Doesn’t sound much, but only four per cent of the population are AB, so it is quite a coincidence. They are rare individuals.’ He swallowed and even that seemed difficult.
Angie coughed gently and said with mock importance. ‘I’m AB.’
They both looked at her and then Artie went on. ‘Also, that old hospital building with ALICE graffitied on the wall? It was the last place Deborah Wilcox worked before she disappeared or was abducted. That could be his real message.’
Kline cursed to himself. He needed this boy back in the office and working. He said, ‘If our killer knew Deborah Wilcox….’
Kline faded into thought and Angie finished. ‘Then perhaps he knew her partner come abductor, Sam Little.’
Artie had stopped eating, perhaps because of the pain, and he spoke with the deliberate manner of someone who’s face is still numb after a painkilling injection from the dentist. ‘Now we have two triangles, boss.’ He drew them in the air.
‘Bryony, Alan Bleakley and our killer. Deborah, Sam Little and our killer.’ Then he drew a generic triangle. ‘Woman, male with issues, killer.’
Along the corridor a cell door was slammed shut and crashed through their thoughts. A lone male voice started shouting drunken abuse at the police and the world in general.
Artie made a face at the company he was being forced to keep. ‘Lastly, late last night, before all this started, an email arrived from New Zealand.’ He looked apologetic. ‘I was in a rush, so…’
Angie stopped his embarrassment. ‘No worries. I’ll access your email.’
Kline stood, made Artie stand as well, and gently gave him another man hug. What the hell is wrong with me, thought Kline. The bemused smirk on Angie’s face was asking the same question.
Yes, thought Kline, something inside me is changing. Something was softening, just as something else was hardening. Right now, he just wanted his colleagues to find Luke whoever-he-is.
And he wanted his boy back on the team.
*
One hour later Kline was at his desk working up a plan in his mind. He swivelled when he heard a minor commotion behind him. Dave Barker was making a show of walking Kline’s boy through the main office in front of everyone. Artie looked thoroughly embarrassed, but as far as his smashed face allowed, he was grinning from ear to ear. Probably with relief as much as anything else, thought Kline.
Dave delivered him to Kline’s desk, slapped Artie slightly too hard on the shoulder. Said loudly. ‘Good to go.’ A message to all watching colleagues, he’s innocent.
Kline nodded his silent thanks to Dave, who turned and walked away. Very professional.
Kline gave Artie the once over. ‘You okay?’
‘Fresh plasters, bruising getting worse. Swelling stable. Two cracked ribs and enough painkillers to sell on the streets. I think so.’
Kline smiled, reached forward and slapped him gently on one arm. He had his eyes and ears back, even if they were bruised and bloodshot.
Angie was more concerned than Kline. He knew why; there could be a charge brought against a dead officer for the beating he gave Artie. It could backfire amongst colleagues.
Angie asked, ‘You okay to be here?’
Artie was ready for the question. ‘I am not pressing charges. What’s the point? He’s been murdered, that’s more important. If he was killed by Luke as retribution for what he did to me, that will come out in the trial. That will be enough.’
Shit, thought Kline. Little man is quickly growing into a big man. Beaten up; lost boyfriend; potential murderer; all taken on the chin, literally. There was a hardness inside this boy.
Angie wanted to talk about the email from New Zealand. It contained a DNA test result. Kline put her on silent for a second. ‘I have a plan.’
The way they looked at him they thought he was about to crack a joke, but Kline was deadly serious.
‘Whose agenda is this investigation being played out to?’ He didn’t wait for an answer.
‘We are dancing to his tune, waiting for him to do something. He is stage-managing this process. The appearance in front of the CCTV camera. The lilies. The message in the record sleeve. Audrey Waters. Jenny. Alan Bleakley.’ Kline looked at each of them.
‘We need to take control. The evidence isn’t out there for us to find. Or if it is, he’s far too clever for us. So, what do we do?’
Artie said, ‘Knock him out of his comfort zone.’
‘Exactly.’
Angie voiced her concern. ‘Isn’t that dangerous, boss? We’ve seen how he reacts. He kills.’
‘We have to risk it.’ Kline added what should never be recorded. ‘And if he does kill again, we’ll have to hope he makes a mistake. Because he will make one.’
Kline acknowledged to himself that inside, he carried a silent longing wanting him to kill again. A cruel willingness to see others sacrificed in order to get his revenge.
Angie wasn’t happy. ‘But a family could come after us for that. Accuse us of deliberately provoking him to get a result; arguing that it was something we could have avoided.’
Kline repeated. ‘My decision. I risk it.’
Angie held his eyes for a moment, then let it go and pointed at her screen, but Artie was in first. ‘What’s the plan?’
‘He travelled the world to kill. I’m personally taking the investigation back to Australia and New Zealand. You Angie, are taking it to Greece and France. And you, Artie, get to stay home in Southampton and co-ordinate because we are going to be in some very different time zones.’
Angie was getting it. ‘Make the killer worry about us, rather than us about him.’
‘Correct. He’s playing a game and he’s positioning us. Moving us round the board at will. Let’s step away and mess up his game plan. Let’s play out of position.’ Kline sat forward.
‘He’s a psychopath. He likes order, he wants to be the manipulator, in control, show he’s smarter than us. He won’t know what we’re doing, saying, what modern SOCO may be discovering about him. He’s going to worry.’
Angie tried one last time. ‘He will lash out. Shouldn’t we check this with Cassie?’
Kline lied. ‘I have and like I just said, my risk.’
That provoked another silence and allowed Angie her moment.
She swung her screen round to face them. ‘We have an anomaly.’
They looked at two DNA profiles on the screen. The series of bands on the screen always meant nothing to Kline. Neither did the names of the enzymes that were used to cut loci at this point or that. It all washed over him, like a warm shower if in his favour; like a cold doosh, if it damaged his case.
Angie said, ‘New Zealand took swabs from the cuts to the chest but also, because they weren’t sure about a sexual attack, from her vagina and surrounding area.’
Kline sat forward, squinting, because even he could see the differences between the two profiles.
Angie used a ruler. ‘On the left is Chesney Arthur. On the right, at the time, an unknown.’
Kline frowned at unexpected information. It didn’t fit the MO. ‘She was assaulted?’
‘No. Negative for sperm, fluids, condom, lubricants.’
Kline sat back. ‘You’re correct. That’s an anomaly. Has to be contamination.’
Angie shook her head. ‘That’s not the anomaly and it’s not contamination.’ She brought up another profile. ‘Because I’ve matched the unknown.’
She clicked and dragged the new profile over the unknown until the bands on the profiles cancelled each other out. There was no doubt of the match.
She looked between them. ‘It’s Bryony James.’
Surprise filled Kline’s face. ‘What? But she…’
‘Died in Southampton,’ said Angie. ‘Four years before Chesney Arthur was murdered.’
*
Kline sat back scratched at the improving goatee, looked sideways at Angie. ‘That’s impossible’.
Artie muttered, ‘That’s nuts. It doesn’t fit.’
Angie was shaking her head. ‘I know, it’s weird, but it is what it is. There’s no doubt.’
Kline stood and paced, freeing his thoughts to try and work out the impossible. It couldn’t be contamination because how would that have got all the way to New Zealand.
Artie said the only possible solution. ‘She must have been alive and down in New Zealand.’
