by Diane Saxon
‘Bloody hell.’
‘Yeah.’ She scraped one hand through her hair. ‘Let’s pray this isn’t what we have on our hands now.’
Mason tugged his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger before letting it go. ‘Do you think this is what we have? Another serial killer. A copycat?’
She hated to admit it. ‘It stands a pretty high chance. Even though I knew in my heart yesterday that Marcia’s ex didn’t do it, there was a part of me that really wanted it to be him. Because then it would be over.’
‘Instead, it may only just have begun.’
She nodded and they both fell silent for a moment before Mason drew in a long breath.
‘We’re agreed then?’ he asked.
‘Agreed on what?’
‘That I’ll take the lead on this show, so we don’t rub McCambridge up the wrong way by a woman daring to engage with him on a basis other than having her throat slit, posed on a chair and make-up smeared over her face so she looks like a freakin’ marionette.’
Mason was good enough to run the show entirely on his own, but she wanted in on it. ‘Okay. I’ll keep quiet, unless I feel a need to contribute.’
Mason slid the file onto the floor, leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes.
For several miles, they sat in companionable silence, then Jenna let out a heavy sigh, which had Mason sliding her a sideways glance. ‘What’s up?’
She shrugged her shoulders and eased off the accelerator for a brief moment while she came around the long sweeping curve of the M6 as it met the M5 and judged the distance between the traffic. She slipped neatly in between an HGV and an Audi, managed to manoeuvre her way into the overtaking lane and then jammed on her brakes as the overhead gantries flashed up a 40mph sign.
Already weary, she rubbed her hand through her hair. ‘I hate Long Lartin.’
‘Who doesn’t hate Long Lartin?’
She shot him a quick glance. ‘Do you feel it? When you walk in. Do you feel the malevolence? Like it washes over your skin.’
Mason rubbed his hands over his face and nodded. ‘Yeah. Like you say – only not as poetic. It’s as though the depravation of all those criminals has been absorbed into the bricks and mortar, or the prefab walls, over the years. It sucks at you as you walk through. I hate it too. Thank God we don’t have to go there often. I always think if there’s a riot while we’re there, we’d be the first ones dead.’
‘Thanks for those reassuring words, Mason.’ She reached over and patted his arm while she puffed out a breath. ‘I was looking for more along the lines of “No, Sarg, you’re perfectly safe there. I’ll protect you.”’
‘You want me to lie to you? Someone broke the fucking governor’s jaw last year. If she didn’t have enough protection, who the fuck does?’
She could hardly argue that philosophy. Rather than dwell on it, Jenna picked another subject that had been whirling around her mind from earlier that morning.
‘You ever used a dating app?’
His slow head-turn and jaw-drop told her everything she needed to know. She jiggled her shoulders, indicated and took the slip road off the M5 to join the M42. ‘I don’t understand why you’d select a particular type of person. Do we all have a type?’
He hummed in the back of his throat as he gave it some thought. ‘I like tall blondes.’
‘Hmm. But you don’t meet them online.’
‘I didn’t say that. I said I didn’t use a dating app. But you can meet women on any kind of social app these days.’
‘Yeah, but I wouldn’t.’
‘I thought you preferred men.’
‘I do. I meant meeting someone through a social app and start dating them. Seems weird to me.’
‘You don’t date full stop.’
She opened her mouth, ready to deny it, and then found the breath lodged in her chest. She hadn’t dated for months. Longer. Possibly over a year since she’d gone out with that fitness instructor. She’d not met him online. She’d met him at the gym, all rippling muscles and glowing skin. So tied up with his own self-image, Jenna soon realised he didn’t want a relationship with someone, merely a sounding board for his own looks. Someone to praise him every day and stroke his ego. It was never going to work with her. It wasn’t in her psyche to stroke someone’s ego.
‘Maybe I should try the dating app.’ Aware of Mason’s scrutiny, Jenna sent him a quick glance. ‘What?’
‘I thought you and the Suit might have got it on.’
‘The Suit?’
‘Yeah, you know. Wanker boy with the black Range Rover Autobiography. Flash bastard.’
She grinned. ‘You really liked Adrian, didn’t you?’
He laughed. ‘More to the point, I thought you did.’
‘Yeah, I thought he was… interesting.’
‘Interesting. Right.’
She blew out a breath. ‘He’s married.’ She hoped it would make him shut up.
‘Married. Oh fuck. How did you find out? Did you ask him?’
She snorted. ‘No. I wasn’t exactly looking for a relationship. I was trying to find my little sister,’ sarcasm laced her voice. ‘You know, that insignificant incident when she was kidnapped by our deranged intel-analyst, Frank bloody Bartwell. I was a little preoccupied at the time.’
Mason’s lips kicked up at one side. ‘Still, Adrian was around for a while longer after you found her. To tie up the loose ends.’
‘Well, he did tie them up. Donna asked him if he was married and he told her he was. Even if I had been interested, he wasn’t. And too right. Married is married.’
The traffic thinned as she hit the A435 and sailed past the slower traffic. She wasn’t about to tell Mason the married man still contacted her from time to time. A little flirtatious, a little suggestive. Friends she would classify them as, coffee and cake as Adrian had suggested, but she’d put him off several times until he’d stopped texting, then she’d sent that stupid message to him when she’d drunk too much. She should never have sent it. Never encouraged him to keep in contact. She wasn’t about to date a married man.
‘Shame. I might have got on with him. He was sound.’
She flung back her head and let out a hoot of laughter. ‘Excellent, Mason. What an endorsement. Sound. To be damned by faint praise from Mason Ellis.’
Offended, he twisted around in his seat to face her, but she kept her eyes on the straight stretch of road ahead, determined not to let him know just how interested in the Suit she had been. Finding out Adrian was married was the prime reason she’d stumbled about the last few months. A little lost. A little confused. And certainly not interested in any other men.
In silence, Jenna negotiated the minor roads.
‘Have you heard from him recently?’
She hummed in the back of her throat while she considered what she should tell him. ‘Yeah. He’s been seconded to a major case in London. Started a few weeks ago.’
Mason settled back in his seat, seemingly satisfied with her answer, and Jenna held back any further comment. Better to remain quiet than contribute.
As they pulled into the car park, Jenna glanced sideways at Mason. ‘Who are we meeting?’
He skimmed his finger over his iPad, swiped left and scowled. ‘Not the Governor. She passed it on to McCambridge’s counsellor,’ He scanned the notes. ‘Denton Harper.’ He snorted. ‘Denton freakin’ Harper. Made up name if ever I heard one. Got to be.’
‘Nice name,’ she disagreed. ‘Strong.’
‘Yeah, strong. Like James Bond.’
‘Like Mason Ellis.’
‘Hey, there’s nothing wrong with my name.’
‘No, there’s also nothing wrong with Denton Harper – or James Bond.’
‘Right.’ The loud clap of the passenger door slamming after him put an end to that conversation and Jenna peeled herself from her own seat, taking a moment to stare up at the ugly façade of Long Lartin Prison with its 1970s architecture flat-fronted entrance.
Foreboding and miserable. She hated the place. Her worst nightmare was to be caught in lock-down with the all male A-class convicts. Some of the hardest in the country.
Her neck cricked as she rolled her shoulders and started forward.
15
Wednesday 5 February, 12:25 hours
When Jenna walked through the heavy glass entrance door, Mason turned to hand her a visitor’s badge before he followed the prison officer into the first of the locked down areas for authorised personnel only. She raised her arms, breathed long and slow as she waited for the officer to complete his swipe with the wand over her body.
Last time she’d been, it had been a full body search. Times had changed and changed quickly. It was more like airport security. No touching. No intimacy. Which was just as well as she’d developed a distinct dislike for the full hands-on variety body search.
Good to go, she gave the prison guard a reserved nod and followed Mason through the next set of lock-down gates, ignoring the catcalls and whoops from prisoners who had no idea who was there. They wanted the visitor to know they existed. To instil fear in them as they lived with fear every day.
She appreciated Mason’s deference when he stepped back to allow her into the hallway first. She’d worked with Mason for so long, they were comfortable with each other’s rhythm, and the respect he showed for her rank in front of others, despite their familiarity, was evident.
A prickle of discomfort raised the hackles on the back of her neck as she strode, stiff-backed, through the dilapidated corridors, the oppressive atmosphere pressing down as a wall of overheated air closed in around her.
She raised her head and angled her chin.
Silent, their group came to a standstill outside a locked iron door leading to the close supervision centre. Jenna pretended patience as she waited for the guard to unlock it and swing it wide open.
Paul McCambridge, handcuffed to a guard, slouched back in a red plastic chair, his huge, muscle-bound shoulders pressed against the wall. Eyes of a shark narrowed as he tracked Jenna’s progress into the room with a sly stare. His lips twisted with the slash of a scar through them, lacing outwards across his skin in thin white lines to map a broad face squatting on a bull-like neck.
Taken by surprise at the man’s stature, Jenna hesitated as she entered the room. The photograph on file depicted a tall, rangy man with wide shoulders and broad chest. The one who’d been caught, convicted and incarcerated. The prisoner before her had evidently thrived. Bulked out, his muscles pushed at his veins, so they strained against his skin, a sign of the anabolic steroids he’d clearly had access to. The broad chest had barrelled, his thick neck sitting on muscle-bound shoulders.
Jenna made a fast assessment of the prison officer McCambridge was cuffed to. Not a small man by any means, but his slack belly and narrow shoulders didn’t fill her with confidence that he’d be able to restrain McCambridge if the need arose. She could only hope it didn’t.
Dark malice swirled around the room to make her skin prickle a warning. There was nothing she could do to change the atmosphere in the room. The entire prison was steeped in sinister darkness, decades in the making, but this particular man stifled any atmosphere that may have existed. As his physical presence dominated, so too did his seething aggression.
With a sense of unease, Jenna turned her attention to the man by McCambridge’s side. Clean shaven, wearing navy suit trousers with an open neck shirt, he came to his feet and without hesitation held out a hand, first to Jenna, then Mason.
‘Morning, I’m Denton Harper, this is Paul McCambridge. I’m Paul’s counsellor. I hope we can help you with your enquiries.’
A clear blue gaze lit with bright intelligence met hers. The firm handshake he offered was quick and professional, while his straight lips kicked up at the edges in a welcoming smile.
Jenna withdrew her fingers from his and grasped the folder she carried with both hands. Pleasantly surprised by the calm openness of the man, Jenna cleared her throat before she spoke, mild relief at the sense of control from Harper. ‘Detective Sergeant Jenna Morgan and this is Detective Constable Mason Ellis. Thank you for seeing us at such short notice.’
Her gaze flickered over McCambridge, she didn’t bother offering her hand to him, not trusting him to be quite so polite. Instead she met his intense stare for a brief moment before she broke eye contact and gave a brief nod. Depravity lurked in the churning depths of his eyes. She recognised it immediately and chose not to challenge it. Their decision to allow Mason to take the lead had been the right one.
She’d not had anything to do with his case years ago, but from the file she’d scanned briefly the night before, she knew for certain McCambridge would never be released. Intelligence showed her the wicked crimes he’d committed. Instinct screamed that the depraved state still brewed within.
Mason had no such qualms. He leaned in after shaking Harper’s hand and offered it to McCambridge, who curled his lip up in a sneer and folded his arms over his huge chest, dragging the guard’s arm close in a display of power. If his eyes could turn darker, they did, while the prison officer’s gaze skittered around the room as he gave a nervous lick of his lips.
Harper pulled a plastic chair away from the small table and offered it to Jenna. As she took her seat, McCambridge kept his hard gaze on her. ‘So, to what the fuck do we owe this pleasure?’
She kept her smile benign and glanced down at her notes, breaking eye contact with him for a second time. No need to aggravate the man before they started. They needed information from him. The last thing she was looking for was for him to kick off.
Harper made his way back around the small table to sit next to McCambridge, while Mason took the chair next to her. His expression filled with placid amusement she knew was only for show. Inside, Mason would be on full alert.
Harper placed both hands on the white surface of the table, palms down. ‘I’m sure the officers just want to make some enquires, Mac, just relax.’
‘You fucking relax. I hate pigs.’
Harper sucked air in through his teeth and his lips flattened in a straight line. ‘Mac. You know what we’ve talked about. Anger management is vital in volatile situations.’ His tone, a firm warning, appeared to have no effect on the man next to him.
Mason scraped his chair as he pulled it in and, as her partner intended, McCambridge whipped his attention straight to him.
‘Paul. Do you mind if I call you Paul?’
‘You can, but I won’t fucking answer you.’
Unfazed by McCambridge’s answer, Mason gave a tight smile.
Harper linked his fingers together. ‘Mac.’
‘Mac.’ Mason paused, waiting for some sort of acknowledgement, but this time McCambridge stared ahead, boredom reflected in his dead eyes. Mason drew in a breath and continued. ‘Mac, we’re conducting some cold-case enquiries and hoped you might be able to help us.’
A sharp grin slashed over McCambridge’s face and he leaned his elbows on the table, his stare burning into Jenna as though it was her who had spoken. ‘You mean some bitch was murdered night before last, and you want to know why it held similarities to my MO?’
Shock rippled in small electrical pulses through Jenna’s veins and it took all her effort not to let it show. She removed the lid from her pen and wrote McCambridge’s name at the top of her pad. Date. Time. She kept her eyes downcast in order not to engage the manic interest brewing in the inmate’s eyes.
Mason’s fingers spasmed in surprised response, and then immediately relaxed. If she hadn’t had her gaze down, she would never have noticed and only hoped McCambridge hadn’t. They didn’t need to supply him with any more power than he already exerted.
McCambridge wasn’t supposed to know. How the hell did he? Theirs was an information gathering exercise about his past crimes to establish if the similarities were a coincidence or merely the perpetrator’s attempt to emulate them. The details of their visit hadn’t been given, not even to The Governor of Long
Lartin. McCambridge should have no knowledge. The details of the victim, the crime, the murder, were all still under close wraps. The press had only been told the basics. Unexplained death, female victim, police investigating.
She waited in the silence for Mason to continue. They’d agreed she shouldn’t say anything unless absolutely necessary. McCambridge’s reputation as a woman-hater could prove flammable.
A thin line creased between Harper’s eyebrows and confusion flitted across his face. ‘What’s going on?’
Mason cleared his throat and drew their attention away from her once more. ‘We’re here to investigate historical cases, Mac, but if you have any information you think will assist with a current crime, we’d really appreciate it if you could help us.’
‘Current? You couldn’t get any more current. I bet her blood was still fucking warm.’ His yellowed teeth flashed from behind tight lips. ‘What time did you discover her?’
A frisson of shock skittered through her veins. Where the hell did he get his information from?
‘Yesterday morning. Around 0630 hours.’
‘Yesterday morning? Early. Fresh. Although not as fresh as I would have expected. You took your time getting here.’ He leaned back, his face flushed with eager enthusiasm. ‘Someone identified the modus.’ Full of arrogant pride, he banged his hand on the table. Other than a sharp blink, Jenna never moved a muscle. ‘What was the hold-up – paperwork?’
Jenna bowed her head and he slapped his hands together, rubbing them vigorously in barely contained excitement. She wasn’t about to explain they’d lost time chasing the wrong perpetrator.
