by Tania Carver
Phil himself had barely had any sleep and Marina’s early-morning call hadn’t helped. Not that he minded when she had told him what was troubling her. He wished he could be more help to her but at the moment, his own work took precedence.
Reluctantly, he put Marina to the back of his mind. Focused. He had his take-away cup of coffee on the desk next to him. He had bought it from outside, knowing from experience not to trust the stuff in the department. He gave another look round the room, wondered how many briefings had been conducted here. How many echoes the bare brick and wood panelled walls had heard, how many ghosts of cases they held. Couldn’t think about that now. He had work to do.
‘The victim’s name is John Wright.’ Phil looked at the murder wall behind them. It showed photos of victims and locations along with details of the case so far. Lines connected faces like a gruesome, grim game of snakes and ladders.
A photo of John Wright as he was had been stuck to the wall. Phil gestured at it, continued. ‘A banker. With all that that entails.’
A few boos and profanities broke out.
‘Nevertheless,’ Phil went on, ‘he didn’t deserve what happened to him.’
‘Probably didn’t,’ someone – Phil couldn’t tell who – muttered. Someone else laughed. Phil ignored them.
‘And we have to catch who did it. John Wright had apparently been addressing a business group then lunching with them at a restaurant in Brindleyplace. Then he went back to the Malmaison with,’ Phil checked his notes, ‘Denise Nettleworth. Not his wife. I think we can guess what he intended. But unfortunately for him, it didn’t happen. The Lawgiver got there first. Because of Wright’s dealings, the Lawgiver’ – Phil still felt faintly ridiculous saying that – ‘stupid name, decided he was a legitimate target for his crusade. It seems like he gave him a choice. Lose his money or his fingers. He chose his fingers.’
‘Typical banker,’ said Sperring, contempt mingling with dark mirth.
‘Denise Nettleworth provided us with that information. She’s in a bad state of shock, but we managed to get something out of her. Apparently, the Lawgiver,’ Phil took a breath, ‘set up a laptop with Wright’s accounts on it. As he took off his fingers and thumbs the balances went down. It looks like he lost quite a bit of money. Maybe he found it harder work than he thought he would.’
‘Or maybe he couldn’t face letting him keep the money,’ said Imani.
‘Good point,’ said Phil. ‘Our villain is driven by anger. If Wright were to walk away financially intact, even if he had lost his fingers, then he felt like he wouldn’t have gained anything. I’m surmising here, but it’s an educated guess.’
‘He gave the same choice to Darren Richards,’ said Imani. ‘Because a mother and child had been killed and he’d gone unpunished, he gave Richards the choice of dying himself or having his girlfriend and daughter die. He chose them.’
Gasps and profanities went round the room.
‘And he’s admitted this?’ asked Phil.
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Then wondered why I wasn’t sympathetic.’
‘Lovely,’ said Phil. ‘So. He picks his targets well. Researches them, plans what to do, finds a kind of justice that he thinks is appropriate or poetic or whatever. Then goes through with it. In his mind, he thinks he’s a hero, the people’s champion, something like that. We have to disabuse him of that notion.’ He turned to DC Khan. ‘Nadish, what you got?’
Khan checked his notes. ‘Nothing much yet. I’ve been coordinating the door-to-doors on the first killing. The building was derelict, half demolished. Most of them up the street are in the same state. The area’s been tarted up a bit but it hasn’t reached that spot yet.’
‘Probably why it was chosen,’ said Phil.
‘There’s a Sikh temple nearby but there wasn’t anyone about to talk to. I’ll go back. There’s a few little houses and small businesses around there. Some of the people in the houses weren’t in so I’m going to check back at different times when they might be there. Long shot, but…’ He shrugged. ‘You know.’
‘That’s what we do,’ said Phil. ‘Be thorough. Good work, though. So we know that he deliberately chose the first location because it’s out of the way. No other reason that we can find. He must have checked the place out, recced it. He’s thorough, he’ll have done it more than once. He’ll have checked entrances and exits. Someone must have seen him. At some time. How did he get the three of them there? He must have used a vehicle of some sort. Found a way on to the site. Keep checking, Nadish.’
Khan nodded solemnly.
‘Also check with the company contracted to demolish the building. See if there’s anyone on their staff who stands out. Any names or behaviour that rings any bells. Do a bit of cross-referencing with local criminals in the area who’ve come out of prison. Elli’ll show you how if you need it.’
Khan looked slightly less pleased at that. He was only a young man but, as Phil had had cause to upbraid him on at times, his views and attitudes could have come from the 1970s. He knew he was Sperring’s protégé. He thought it naïve to hope that he was only picking up the positive things.
‘SOCOs are still going through both crime scenes,’ said Phil. ‘They haven’t turned up anything from the first one. Clean as a whistle, Jo Howe said. Although personally I’ve always wondered how clean whistles actually are. All that saliva… Anyway. I digress.’ He was aware of a few strange looks. A lot of the team still found him odd. Or at least at odds with the rest of them. But he got results. So they respected that. ‘Right. The hotel. How’s that going?’
‘Early days,’ said Sperring. ‘Only a matter of hours so far. We’ve gone room to room, asking if anyone saw or heard anything. Nothing. The walls between rooms are quite thick and not all of them were occupied. We kept all the guests and staff on the premises all night. Which obviously everyone was thrilled about. Yardley and Chapman are still down there now, coordinating. But I have to say it doesn’t look good. He seems to have just vanished into thin air.’
Thin air, thought Phil. Like a ghost. He looked around the room once more, thought of all the ghosts it held.
I’m not bothered about old ghosts, he thought. It’s the current one I want to catch.
32
T
he woman calling herself Fiona Welch was sitting on her bed in almost the exact same place and the exact same posture as the previous day. She looked up as Anni and Marina entered, smiling. It was a knowing smile, thought Marina, as if she had expected them and was having a bet with herself as to how long they would take to arrive.
‘I’m assuming you’ve been here, what? About an hour?’ asked Fiona Welch.
‘Something like that,’ said Anni. ‘Why is that important?’
The smile broke even further. ‘I thought you’d have come to see me before now.’
It was Anni’s turn to smile. When she spoke her voice was deliberately light, the words offhand and inconsequential. ‘Do you think you’re that important?’
The smile froze on Fiona Welch’s face. Before she could speak, Anni continued. ‘Someone is dead and we’ve got a lot of people to talk to, a lot of people to see. It takes time to get round everyone.’
Anni pulled up a chair and sat down. Marina stayed standing. She looked around the room once more. It was meticulously tidy, scrupulously clean. Marina scrutinised, trying to take in as much as she could from it. A small collection of books on the shelf. All psychology textbooks, kept in good condition. A file propped up next to them labelled ‘Case Studies’, the writing neat, contained. She kept scanning the room.
Fiona Welch noticed. ‘Looking for something?’
Marina opened her mouth to answer her, thought better of it. ‘Just looking,’ she said. She gestured to the file. ‘May I?’
Something passed over Fiona Welch’s face. Marina couldn’t tell whether it was fear, pride or a mixture of the two.
‘Be my guest,’ she said.
Marina took the file down, started t
o read. Anni continued the questioning.
‘As I’m sure you’re aware,’ she said to Fiona Welch, ‘Joanne Marsh was found dead this morning.’
‘I heard,’ she replied.
‘Yes. And we’re questioning everyone on the ward about their whereabouts last night.’
‘And you want to talk to me.’
‘We do.’
Fiona Welch smiled once more, as if pleased with the attention. ‘What would you like to ask me?’
‘Did you talk to Joanne last night?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘Where did you talk to her?’
‘In her room.’
‘What did you talk about?’
She leaned backwards, sticking her arms out, arching her back, as if tired. She sighed. ‘It’s not important.’
‘It might be.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Her voice patronising, speaking to an inferior.
‘Tell me. And I’ll be the judge.’
‘The judge?’ Fiona Welch laughed. ‘You are the law, after all. You may as well be the judge.’
Anni said nothing.
Fiona Welch finished stretching and leaned forward. ‘And if the judge, you’ll also become the jury on whatever answer I give.’
‘If you say so.’
‘And if I give an answer you don’t want to hear, or you as the jury doesn’t like, will you also be the executioner?’
Anni again didn’t respond. Fiona Welch laughed.
‘You haven’t got that power, have you? You just collect information. Gather things up. That’s all you are. A gatherer.’
‘Yes,’ said Anni, trying to choose her words carefully, ‘that’s what a detective does. Gathers information. Then when we’ve gathered that information we make a decision based on it. And if that decision goes the wrong way for the person we’ve gathered that information on, we charge them. And if the CPS agree, and then the jury agree, they go to prison. As you should know.’
‘Oh, indeed I do. I know how the law works.’ Her eyes twinkled, lit by a strange light. ‘But don’t you wish you could do more than just gather? Don’t you wish that when you find someone you know is guilty, let’s say, but can’t actually prove it, don’t you wish you could just skip the preliminaries and take decisive action?’
‘Be an executioner, you mean?’
‘Exactly what I mean.’
Anni sat back, smiling. ‘I think we’re getting off the subject in hand.’
‘Really? I think this is the subject.’
Anni paused, regrouped her thoughts before speaking. Before she could say anything, Marina put down the file she had been reading and turned to Fiona Welch.
‘These case studies,’ she said, ‘is that what you intended Joanne to be?’
‘Yes,’ said Fiona Welch. ‘Exactly.’
‘And,’ said Marina, ‘is that why you went to see her last night?’
‘It is.’
‘Then,’ said Anni, ‘why couldn’t you say that earlier?’
‘Because you never asked that particular question,’ said Fiona Welch, her voice patronising once more.
‘So she was a case study,’ said Anni.
‘Yes.’
‘What kind? What were you studying her for?’
‘I’m interested in deviant psychopathology. Especially sexually deviant psychopathology. She’s a prime example to study.’ She smiled. ‘I’m sorry. Was.’
‘And did she mention killing herself to you?’
‘No. Why should she?’
‘What did she say to you, then?’
Fiona Welch, seemingly bored by the question, didn’t answer. Instead, she turned her attention towards Marina. ‘What do you think?’ she asked, her voice no longer patronising, now with pride. ‘As one professional to another.’
‘Very clever,’ said Marina. ‘Very good.’
Fiona Welch couldn’t help but give out a beaming smile. ‘Thank you. I’m glad you see merit in my work.’
‘Oh, I didn’t say that,’ said Marina.
Fiona Welch frowned, wary now. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘I said your case notes are very clever. Very well done. But I don’t believe a word of them.’
‘What?’ Her voice sharp, anger building.
Marina crossed the room until she was standing right in front of Fiona Welch. ‘You’ve used all the correct jargon, definitely. I should think you got it from those textbooks there. They look barely read. But you’ve got just enough to give your work a sprinkling of verisimilitude. But just a sprinkling. Because the first and secondary sources in your arguments are weak, amounting to no more than guesswork and anecdotal evidence. When you have quoted other practitioners you seem to have gone out of your way to misinterpret them. And your conclusions are laughable.’ She looked down at Fiona Welch. ‘Would you like me to go on?’
Fiona Welch just stared at her.
Marina gestured round the room. ‘This room,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing here. No evidence of personality. Of individuality. Nothing. Just like the case notes. It’s all an act. A clever one at first, but that’s as far as it goes.’
Marina stopped talking, waited.
Fiona Welch just stared ahead, her chest rising and falling rapidly, saying nothing. She sat like that for a long time, her eyes simultaneously blank and angry.
‘I exist,’ she said eventually. ‘Existence is identity.’
Marina frowned. She had heard that line before but she couldn’t place where.
She didn’t have time to dwell on it, because Anni was speaking. ‘So why were you in Joanne’s room last night? What did you talk to her about?’
‘Case. Study.’ The words had to fight their way out, as if Fiona Welch was struggling to keep control of herself.
‘Case study,’ repeated Anni.
‘Yes. Case study.’
Fiona Welch sat back and stopped talking.
33
G
hosts, thought Phil. No. The Lawgiver wasn’t a ghost. Whatever he was, he was real. ‘Which is, of course, impossible,’ said Phil. ‘So he can’t have done. CCTV must have him. Without his mask.’
‘We haven’t found him yet.’
Hopefully when John Wright comes round he can give us a better description.’
‘Denise Nettleworth already did,’ said Sperring. ‘But don’t get your hopes up. It’s the same as the last one. Some kind of boilersuit thing, boots, gloves and a gas mask. Could be anyone in there.’
Phil shook his head. ‘Okay. But we keep looking. We keep going. CCTV must have him on there somewhere. Somehow. It’s just a matter of finding him. He must have disguised himself in some way. He’ll have been carrying a bag with his gear in. Look for that.’
‘We have been,’ said Sperring, the strain showing in his voice, ‘but it’s a hotel. Everyone’s got a bag. And some people aren’t too happy about us raking through them without a —’
‘Without a warrant, right,’ said Phil. ‘Too many TV cop shows to blame for that. And of course by the time you’ve argued with them…’
‘It’s tiring,’ said Sperring. ‘But we’re still doing it.’
‘Good. Something should turn up. Somehow.’
Before he could say anything more, DCI Cotter jumped in. ‘Phil, I just want to stop you there,’ she said.
Phil stopped.
She stood up, took the floor before the team.
‘As you’re all probably aware, the Lawgiver…’ She paused, shook her head. ‘Bloody ridiculous name. Just tells you the level of person we’re dealing with here.’ She continued, the name repeated with heavy sarcasm. ‘The Lawgiver has developed something of a connection with DI Brennan. We don’t know why. Phil himself doesn’t know why. But he has so we have to work with it. He’s called here, asking to speak to DI Brennan personally. Built a rapport and become personally involved. It’s clear that he’s a very disturbed, possibly deranged, individual so we have to tread carefully. If the calls are to continue t
hen obviously a psychologist could be of help to us in this instance, helping us to guide the conversation. I believe that DI Brennan’s first choice of psychologist,’ she glanced at Phil, a small smile curling the sides of her mouth, ‘is unavailable at present. So we’ll hang fire on that one.’
‘I think we have a fair idea of the personality we’re dealing with here,’ said Phil.
‘Indeed,’ said Cotter. ‘Deranged and narcissistic. And that’s just for starters. As you know, he has asked DI Brennan to appear on TV to make a direct address to him.’
‘That’s narcissism for you,’ said Sperring.
‘Quite,’ said Cotter. ‘Now, usually I wouldn’t allow that kind of behaviour. That kind of pandering. But given what he’s already perpetrated and the fact that we seem to be no nearer to catching him, this would seem to be an extreme situation.’
She turned to Phil. ‘You media trained, Phil?’
He seemed surprised by the question. ‘Bit rusty, if I’m honest. I try not to do it if I can help it.’
Cotter nodded. Took in his attire. ‘And you’ll have to smarten yourself up for it.’
Phil inwardly groaned.
She turned back to the room. ‘DI Brennan and I already spoke about this before the meeting. He’s agreed to talk to the media. And hopefully, directly to the Lawgiver. But obviously everything that he says will be agreed in advance.’
‘And can I just say,’ said Phil, ‘that since this person seems to have developed, or tried to develop, some kind of attachment to me I’m going to be reviewing all my previous arrests to see if anyone might fit the bill for what’s happening here.’
‘Good,’ said Cotter. She scanned the room once more. ‘Anything else?’
‘Yeah,’ said Sperring, sitting forward. ‘Moses Heap. I know we got off to a bad start with him but I think he’s connected to all this in some way. Want me to keep looking into it?’
