by Ellis, Tim
As much as Molly disliked the idea of letting Pike off the hook she didn’t have a choice. There was just something about him that felt wrong, but if he wasn’t in the UK when the first and third murders occurred then he could hardly be the killer.
‘Lucy, I want a search warrant to access Pike’s phone and credit card records for the past month. After that, if we find nothing, we’ll leave him alone – maybe. Abby, what have you got?’
‘I looked at those who were released from secure hospitals around the time of the first murder and examined their histories to see if any of them had been committed when they were children. You wouldn’t believe how many children are put in the nut house by their parents, there’s 1,100 under-10s and 1,700 10 to 14 year-olds, that’s 38 in every 100,000.’
‘All right, Abby,’ Frank said. ‘Stop bamboozling us with statistics. Did you find anyone who matched the profile?’
‘Yes. A Jacob Hansen, he was committed to Lemon Tree Asylum in Newcastle in 1987 when he was eight years old. I have no idea why, because Doctor-Patient confidentiality covers the details of his incarceration. He was transferred to Broadmoor when he reached sixteen in 1995, and released in 2007. But now he’s disappeared.’
‘What do you mean, disappeared?’ Molly asked.
‘Since being released from Broadmoor, there’s been no sign of him. No credit cards, no parking tickets, no letting agreement, no job, no training, no doctor’s appointment, no medication… Nothing.’
‘He could be dead,’ Lucy suggested.
‘There’d be some record of his death,’ Abby responded.
‘Or… He could have changed his identity,’ Tony offered.
‘Get a court order to access his medical records, Abby,’ Molly said. ‘I want to know everything there is to know about Jacob Hansen. Also, a photograph would be useful, and put him on the suspect board. You may as well do the search warrant and the court order, we don’t have time for doubling up.’
‘Okay, Gov.’
‘Paul, your turn?’
‘I was looking at how the killer selected his families, and I can tell you that we don’t want to go there. The electoral roll is available for copying by the public either legitimately, or through theft in libraries. Credit companies, marketing companies, local government bodies, and electoral officials are all given copies. We get a searchable copy. It’s available online, and anybody can search it for a small fee. You can find out details about people and their houses from the Land Registry with a phone call at no charge. The bottom line is that the information is not limited to a few select individuals anybody can get it, which doesn’t help us one bit.’
‘Thanks, Paul.’ Molly checked the time. It was five past nine. ‘Right, take a break, people. Back here at nine-thirty. We have a Vicki Mandrake arriving to tell us all about Tarot cards and hopefully, what they mean in the context of the murders.’
‘Gov?’ Abby said.
‘Yes, Abby?’
‘Couldn’t we find out where all the families with two children live and maybe protect them or something?’
‘You’ve just redeemed yourself, Abby, but you’re still on the next call-out. Get on it, Paul.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Vicki Mandrake – or Maureen Ormorod – arrived at exactly nine-thirty. She was a frumpy obese woman with dirty blonde shoulder-length hair, glasses, and a lazy right eye, but she did have rosy cheeks, good teeth and smelt of Pear’s soap.
Molly had given Lucy the task of meeting and greeting the Tarot reader. The six-year-old daughter had been diverted into the station crèche, and once they were in the briefing room Lucy explained the details of the murders to Vicki and swore her to secrecy.
Vicki wore jeans and a blue top with small circles on that made Molly feel dizzy if she stared at it for more than five seconds.
‘Thank you for coming, Miss Mandrake,’ Molly said shaking hands with her and trying not to look at her top.
‘Please, call me Vicki.’
‘Can you help us… Vicki?’
‘Should I address everyone?’
Molly sat down. ‘Yes, please carry on.’
‘Good morning. Normal playing cards were a Chinese invention,’ she smiled at Lucy. ‘The accepted theory is that Tarot cards were invented around 1440 in northern Italy and the images on the trump cards are thought to come from the Cathari and Patarini heretics of that time and to be a sacred map to mental or spiritual enlightenment. The deck consists of 56 regular cards called the Minor Arcana – lesser secrets – made up of four suits with ten pip and four court cards, plus a hierarchy of 22 allegorical trump cards called the Major Arcana – greater secrets – thus a Tarot deck has 78 cards. For a long time the cards were simply used as a game of chance, but in the late 1700s the Tarot was adopted by occultists and secret societies and used for mysticism, magic, and fortune-telling.’
‘What are the trump cards allegories of?’ Frank asked.
‘Each trump card is a representation of the most important archetypes of humanity. They also contain different elements such as: Images of biblical origin – the Angel of Judgement, the Tower, and the Devil; the virtues recommended by the Church – Justice, Strength, and Temperance; some stars accompanied by the signs of the zodiac – the Moon with Cancer, the Sun with Gemini; the two great powers of the age – the Pope and the Emperor, each one matched with his female companion; and the Magician, Hanged Man and the Wheel of Fortune can all be found in medieval iconography.’
Molly cleared her throat for attention. ‘I was told to ask you about the hidden meanings behind the cards, and the connection between the Tarot and the Hebrew characters.’
Vicki turned to look at the incident boards. ‘Yes, Lucy…’ She looked at Lucy who nodded. ‘…said that Hebrew letters were left at each crime scene. Just like the Major Arcana, there are 22 Hebrew letters. Some historians suggest that there is a valid correspondence between the Etruscan, Egyptian and Hebrew alphabets and the Tarot trump cards. Certainly, you have the first five trump cards here: The Fool, The Magician, The High Priestess, The Empress, and The Emperor. And each of the trump cards is usually associated with a number, except that The Fool can be 0 or 22. The others are 1 to 4 respectively. Also, each card corresponds to a Hebrew letter; The Fool is Alef, The Magician is Beyt, The High Priestess is Gimel, The Empress is Dalet, and The Emperor is He. These are the first five Hebrew letters, which loosely translated are A, B, C, D, and E.’ She took a drink of the coffee Lucy had made for her. ‘As for the hidden meanings, The Fool is said to represent Jesus, the Son of God, who is being held up to ridicule.’
‘That’s bit far-fetched, isn’t it?’ Tony said.
Vicki smiled at him. ‘In a regular pack of cards The Fool is the Joker. The King is the enemy of God, the Devil. The Queen is the Virgin Mary, the mother of our Lord, and she is called the mother of harlots. The Jack is the pimp who lives on the gains of prostitutes, and represents the moral leper. And if this were not bad enough, the secret language of a deck of cards goes further and declares that Jesus – the Joker card – is the offspring of Jack, and the Queen mother, Mary.
‘So, that’s why Tarot cards are called the "Devil’s Bible"?’ Molly said.
‘It’s certainly one reason,’ Vicki said. ‘So, what I’m saying is that the Tarot cards and the Hebrew letters the killer has left at each crime scene correspond.’
‘Is the fact that the Hebrew letter is carved on the forehead of the little girl significant?’ Paul asked.
‘Most definitely. What the killer is saying is that everything relates to the girl. For instance, The Fool tells us that he is starting out on a new adventure, taking a journey of faith without fear of the consequences, and each girl represents a milestone along his journey. The Magician tells us that the killer believes he can make anything happen, he can move mountains. He has absolute power over all his thoughts and actions, and will not stop until he reaches his destination. The High Priestess tells us that the killer is comfortable wit
h his knowledge and power and that you must earn the right to understand him. The Empress tells me that the killer is content to wait until his desires become manifest that he knows the pleasure is still to come. The Emperor card informs us that he has experienced all that life can throw at him. He is a master of his own making. He is cautious, wise, inscrutable, and sees beyond the disguises others erect to hide behind.’
‘This is like the psychological profile that Doctor Grady provided,’ Abby said.
‘And why wouldn’t it be?’ Vicki replied. ‘After all, a Tarot reading is for one person, an exploration of future events in answer to a question by that person. The reading I’ve given you differs from a normal reading because usually the cards are shuffled and laid out in a tarot spread. Here, I have based my interpretation on the first five cards in the context I find them, which is unusual to say the least.’
‘You talk about a journey and not stopping until he reaches his destination,’ Paul said. ‘Where’s he going?’
‘If he is following the path of the Tarot then there are two possible destinations. The first is The World, which is the last trump card, and embodies the completion of the journey. All elements come together and he will achieve enlightenment. The second destination is The Fool…’
‘But we started with that card,’ Lucy said.
‘Don’t we always return to the beginning? Remember that The Fool is either 0 or 22, and the twenty-second Hebrew letter is Tav, which is called the Seal of God. Tav means mark, sign or cross and in ancient Hebrew it was written as a cross. In Revelations 7 God sealed 144,000 of His servants on their foreheads against the coming judgement.’
‘Oh yes,’ Molly said, ‘Father Ignatius said something about the mark of God, and sending the girls to Heaven to be saved.’ Again, Molly was struck with the thought that all this talk of Tarot cards, marks, and journeys was all very interesting, but it wasn’t helping her to identify any suspects. She stood up. ‘It’s been enlightening, Miss Mandrake. Thank you very much for giving up your Saturday morning.’
‘I won’t say it was a pleasure, Inspector,’ Vicki said. ‘In the circumstances that wouldn’t be appropriate, but I hope I’ve helped. These murders are horrific, and the sooner you are able to catch the killer the safer everyone will be.’
‘Show Miss Mandrake out, Lucy, and don’t let her forget to take her daughter from the crèche.’
Once the door to the incident room had closed Frank said, ‘It’s not really helping us is it, Gov?’
‘No, not really, Frank.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
After leaving the café Cole Randall went back to his flat and took a shower. Then he lay down on the bed, but slept fitfully. Without the drugs he was tortured by that night, by his inability to protect Sarah, Mathew and Tilly, by the absence of memories that would help him to identify the killer. Shadows stalked his nightmares, but he couldn’t turn them into recognisable people. Deciding that it was easier to stay awake, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and dialled a number on his mobile.
‘Yes?’
‘RHINO?’ RHINO had told him that his online name was an acronym for, Really Here In Name Only.
‘Don’t you have other people to annoy, Mr Randall?’
‘I need another favour, RHINO.’
‘I didn’t think you were ringing to talk about old times. And anyway, our relationship is a bit one way. I don’t think you can use what I did five years ago to keep forcing me to do things for you. I’m not a criminal anymore, haven’t been since you caught me. I’m a successful entrepreneur. I’ll do what you ask because you’re trying to catch the nuthead who killed your family, but when you’ve caught him I think I’ll have paid my debt to society. After that, you’ll need to start paying for my services like everyone else.’
RHINO was right. He wasn’t even a cop anymore, couldn’t throw his weight around and use the law to threaten and blackmail people like he used to. He had discovered RHINO during an undercover operation into cloned credit cards over five years ago, but instead of arresting him for a multitude of computer offences he’d decided to use him – a cop needed all the help he could get. RHINO was a hacker of extraordinary ability, and Randall had taken to him immediately. Five years ago he had been a spotty eighteen year-old trying to find his way in the world, now he was an entrepreneur.
‘Okay, RHINO.’
‘What do you want this time, Mr Randall?’
‘A blueprint of number 7 Stratford Court just off Kensington High Street, postcode W8.’
‘I’ll call you back when I have it.’ The phone went dead.
It was quarter to ten.
He went to the kitchenette and made himself a coffee. Molly had been right, he wasn’t usually wrong about people. But it was only a hunch after all. Intuition, a gut feeling, it was hardly scientific. In every case he had to find evidence, extract a confession, or elicit a mistake to support his hunch. But if Pike was asleep in his bed when the murders were committed then that was a fairly strong reason for not pointing the finger of blame at him.
His phone rang.
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve sent it to your email address.’
‘I don’t have…’
‘Yes you do. Write it down:
[email protected].’ ‘Thanks, RHINO.’
‘I expect I’ll hear from you soon, Mr Randall.’
‘Before you go…’
‘Yes…?’
‘We’re talking about a property probably worth over two million, do you think they’ll have an alarm system?’
Randall heard a heavy sigh on the other end of the line.
‘Okay, I’ll disable it.’
‘By eleven o’clock?’
‘This morning?’
‘Of course. Have a nice day, RHINO.’
‘And you, Mr Randall.’
The phone went dead.
He made two pieces of toast, but only ate one. Then logged onto RHINO.com and set up his email account with a password, which no doubt RHINO could access, but it wasn’t as if he was going to be using it for anything private.
After printing off the blueprint, which came out on twenty-seven pages, he had to spread it all out on the floor with creaking knees to match up the lines and tape it together.
***
Following a brisk walk into a blustery wind, Randall entered Hammersmith tube station and caught the train to Kensington High Street. Not wanting to set off an alarm, he waited until eleven o’clock before entering 7 Stratford Court.
The front door opened easily. He climbed the steps to the second floor and let himself into Pike’s flat. It was a world apart from the one he inhabited. He oriented the blueprint and turned left. The first room he came to was an enormous reception room with leather sofas, dining table and chairs, Persian rugs, bookcases, and works of art. The next room was a large bedroom with an en-suite bathroom, and a substantial dressing room with another leather sofa, flat-screen television and Persian rug. Both rooms, linked by an oriental archway, encompassed the width of the property. He headed back down the hallway. Now, on his left, another bathroom, two smaller en-suite bedrooms, a utility room, a white kitchen, and taking up the other end of the property was another reception room overlooking a roof terrace with plants in pots, and a green metal garden table and chairs.
Randall grunted. Pike certainly had money and taste, and obviously liked to live the high life. Why would he jeopardise all this for a life behind bars? But he knew that killers didn’t rationalise their actions in the same way as others. The song they heard in their head was always different to the one other people were singing along to. A monster, no one else could see, grasped their hands and danced them through the madness.
Finding nothing untoward, he folded the blueprint and stuffed it into the pocket of his donkey jacket. He started in the master bedroom and began examining every inch of every room. Pulling up carpets, moving furniture, banging walls, wiggling fittings and fixtures, until he found what he was
looking for in the kitchen. Inside a cupboard stuffed with shelves of dry food there was a false back, which opened like a door on a narrow set of steps. A cord dangled from the ceiling, which he pulled. A light came on, and he navigated his way carefully down worn out concrete steps and through spider’s webs. At the bottom was a small empty room with a latched wooden door. A cold breeze enveloped him as he opened the door and stepped through it into a dirty and damp claustrophobic tunnel. Edging his way along the passage, he could hear water trickling somewhere up ahead. Eventually, he saw daylight, and exited to a precariously thin walkway running along an overgrown stream. To his right he could hear the noise of traffic on Kensington High Street. He shuffled along the bank, his back to a wall, until he came to a set of steps at the top of which was an alley with waste bins and a rusty white van parked on one side.
He made his way back, and although the empty room beyond the wooden door had a bare light hanging from the concrete ceiling, there was also a menagerie of dangling spider’s webs as well. This simple fact suggested that the room was unused, but what he found interesting was the lack of spider’s webs on the steps as he made his way back up to the kitchen.
After making sure that he left everything as he’d found it he departed through the front door. If the killer was Pike, now Randall knew how the bastard was getting out, but Pike still had an alibi, and there was no proof that he actually knew about the hidden door, or that he had ever used it. On its own, a secret passageway certainly wasn’t proof that Pike was the killer. There was still a woman who said that Pike was sleeping next to her all night. And there was still nothing to link him to the murders. No butcher’s axe, no blood-drenched clothing, no photographs, nothing.
As he walked back to the tube station, he realised that there was still some more work to do before he could put the Glock against Pike’s head and pull the trigger. He didn’t want to go killing the wrong man.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The team took a five-minute break to replenish coffee mugs, go to the toilet and wait for Lucy to return. It was now ten-twenty and Molly realised that she would soon need to go if she didn’t want to be late for Dr Lytton.
