Jacob's Ladder (Stone & Randall 1)

by Ellis, Tim

  ‘What about you, Gov?’

  Molly ignored him. ‘Do we know where any of the other children are?’ she said to Lucy.

  ‘Some of them, Gov. Angel married a Trevor Hall in 1995. He’s no longer around, but she has two children by him. I have her address. Frank and I thought we might…’

  ‘Hang on,’ Molly said. ‘There’s too many to double up. You visit Angel, Lucy, and Abby can go to see Lizzie on her own…’

  Paul grinned.

  ‘Remember, more important than the life history, is finding Jacob. If anyone knows where he is, it’ll be Angel.’ She had a thought. ‘Do we know what happened to Trevor Hall?’

  ‘He was stabbed in 2007…’ Lucy began.

  Frank connected the dots. ‘Of course, Jacob was released from Broadmoor in 2007. He finds Angel, kills her husband, and then promptly disappears.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Tony said.

  ‘On second thoughts, you’d better go with her Frank. If Angel is hiding Joseph… Anyway, I’d feel better if two of you went. What about the other families?’

  ‘I’ve discovered that the wives are still alive and where they live. Also…’

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, Lucy, but I have a press briefing in ten minutes. Paul, you go and visit Mrs Hartman, and Tony can see Mrs Bailey. Find out everything you can from them. When I’m free, I’ll go and interview Mrs Myers. We want to know what happened in the past, but I’m more interested in what’s happening now. We don’t have the resources or the time to be interested in the daughters, so focus on the sons. Find out where they all are. What about Jacob Hansen’s picture, Frank, did forensics manage to…?’

  Frank pulled the picture from a file on the table and passed it to her.

  ‘Shit,’ she said. ‘I can’t give that to the press, there’d be a fucking uproar.’ She held a photograph of Malachi Pike in her hands.

  ‘It’s too late, Gov, you told me to get the photograph out to uniform – I’ve done that. The press probably have ten copies each already.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll need to come up with something.’

  ‘Talking of Malachi Pike, wasn’t I meant to be seeing the CPS this morning to lodge an appeal against the restraining order?’

  ‘Christ, so you were.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Do that first, then go with Lucy to see Angel.’

  He nodded.

  Sweeping her hand over the board Molly said, ‘So, which one of these children is Malachi Pike?’

  Lucy shook her head. ‘None of them, Gov. If Pike’s real father was George Hansen, and if he was adopted, then there’s another family we don’t know about. None of these children were offered up for adoption.’

  ‘Good job, Lucy.’

  Lucy beamed. ‘Thanks, Gov.’

  ‘What about Dr Grady, Frank?’

  ‘She phoned me late last night and said she needed more time. Tuesday at nine o’clock.’

  Molly shrugged. There was nothing she could do about it. She’d just have to wait for the annoyingly beautiful Marie Grady to grace them with her presence and an updated psychological profile. ‘Right, I need to go. If there’s anything urgent, ring me on my mobile. After the press briefing, I’ll be in with the Chief, then I’ll be visiting Mrs Walters. We’ll meet here at four this afternoon to catch up.’

  ‘Good luck with the press, Gov,’ Frank said.

  Yes, she probably needed some good luck. The press would have a field day with Jacob Hansen’s photograph. How could she explain the resemblance to Malachi Pike without referring to her theory about his adoption? If it weren’t true, she’d be hung on a gibbet outside the station as a warning to others. ‘Thanks, Frank.’

  Chapter Forty-Two

  He thought that maybe he could get used to lying in bed in the mornings. The smell of Kiri’s perfume impregnated the quilt and reminded him of when he had first been married to Sarah, before the children came along. Sarah’s perfume used to hang everywhere, and then for some reason he didn’t notice it anymore. What had happened? Where had her smell gone? Did the essence of who they were as individuals mingle until two became one? Until they smelled of two people? Were people simply one half of a chemical looking for a compatible half? He sat up overwhelmed by a feeling of panic. Thinking of Sarah, he realised he couldn’t remember what she looked like, her smell, the touch of her. Kiri had overwhelmed his senses and pushed Sarah to the back of his memories. ‘Shit!’

  Getting involved with Kiri was the worst thing he could have done. He was loosing his resolve. He’d had the idea that there was a future for him and Kiri, a yellow brick road gently winding over the hills and into the distance, but there wasn’t. His future had died that night with Sarah and his two beautiful children. All he had left now were feelings of what once was and a rage that consumed him.

  Once he had walked out of the café, he would never come back. He only had one purpose in his life now, to find out who was responsible for butchering his family and kill them, then he would kill himself. Kiri had side-tracked him momentarily, but he was back on the main line again now, heading for the terminus and picking up speed.

  It was eight-thirty when he threw off the quilt, scrambled out of bed, and went into the bathroom. After brushing his teeth with the new toothbrush Kiri had bought for him, showering, drying himself and dressing in yesterday’s clothes he went downstairs to the café and sat near the counter. There weren’t many empty seats; three tables were filled with noisy builders in yellow reflective jackets and hard hats. He saw one of them put his arm around Kiri’s waist when she took their order. If he’d had his gun he thought might have shot him, but then he remembered he wasn’t coming back.

  ‘You’re turning into a slob,’ Kiri said to him when she came to take his order.

  ‘I know. I have no purpose in my life anymore.’

  ‘You should get a job.’

  ‘Yeah.’ It was a pointless conversation. They both knew he wasn’t going to get a job. The only thing he was planning to do was carry out his mission. He nodded towards the builders. ‘Do you want me to have a word?’

  ‘No, I do not,’ she said indignantly. ‘Are you trying to put me out of business? We expect to be pawed by men, it’s part of the job description.’

  ‘Well, it shouldn’t be.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Full English…’

  ‘…toast and a pot of tea,’ Kiri finished for him. ‘You could try an omelette, or…’

  ‘In the asylum, when they gave us runny porridge, I used to dream of a full English.’

  ‘I’ll get you a full English. I was simply saying that there are other things on the menu you could eat.’

  ‘I know, but a full English is a symbol of my freedom.’

  ‘I can’t really offer an argument against food that symbolises freedom.’

  ‘No, I suppose not,’ he mumbled as she walked away. He didn’t tell her that Sarah used to cook him and Mathew a full English on Sundays, or that Sarah and Tilly called it ‘Man-food’ and wouldn’t have eaten it even if they’d been starving.

  After he’d devoured the breakfast and drank the tea, he waited until Kiri had gone through into the kitchen, left a twenty-pound note on the table, and skulked out like a paying client. As he turned left out of the door towards his flat and walked past the large window with Pepper Pot Café printed on it in ten-inch red letters, he saw Kiri staring at him accusingly. He pretended not to notice and carried on walking. He wasn’t coming back, was he?

  In his flat he logged onto the laptop and then into his email account – there were three emails. He opened the first one from RHINO, who wanted to know where his money was. He ignored it. The second email was from Ruby (with personal comments):

  Hello Cole Randall!

  Malachi Pike was born to Ruth Weiss and George Hansen on 18th February 1979 in London Bridge Hospital. The mother died in childbirth and the father – who died in 1985 – deserted the child. Initially, Social Services placed the boy with a foster family until S
tratham and Celia Pike adopted him on 7th June 1979.

  He attended Glendower Preparatory School, St Andrews Primary School, Bales College, and Cambridge University. Throughout his education he was an average student and only achieved a 2nd Class degree in Politics, Philosophy, and Economics.

  After graduating, he began working for his father at Pike International as a financier dealing in exchange rates, foreign investment, and international trade. He is now responsible for trading in futures, options, and currency swaps. He is paid £175,000 a month, and at the end of the last financial year received a bonus of £2.5 million. (It fucking sucks that someone with a 2nd Class degree can get paid all this money!)

  He travels all over the world, and is currently in Israel attending a meeting of the International Monetary and Financial Committee with his father, who represents the British Government (Flies into Heathrow today at 1350 hours on flight ISR5073). Wherever he stays in the world, he pays for women to come to his room. He has never had a long-term relationship with a woman. (This guy uses women. He sucks!)

  He owns a number of properties in England, France, Spain, and America under various names (see attached). He spends his time either at work, or at home. If he wants entertainment, he phones Blueberry Escorts and requests any number of women. (This guy’s really a suckling pig – ha, ha!)

  Love from Ruby, your greatest fan.

  He smiled with a grunt. He’d never had a fan before. The third email was a request for £300 from Ruby via Google Checkout – he approved the payment, and almost immediately received two kissing smilies back. He printed the attached property list, but left it in the printer. He already had the list from Molly, and didn’t need another one.

  When he phoned Molly, he was diverted to her voicemail. He hated leaving messages, but he left one anyway. ‘I hate to admit it, Molly, but you were right – Pike was adopted.’ He described the circumstances surrounding Pike’s adoption. ‘Anyway, if Frank’s going to the CPS this morning, he might find that information useful. I’m setting off to Viking Wharf now to see what’s there. I’ll see you later, say about six at my flat.’ He disconnected the call, grabbed the torch he’d bought at the market on Portobello Road and left the flat.

  Deciding that carrying a torch on its own would look suspicious, he bought a cheap black rucksack on his way to the tube station. He thought about putting the gun – hidden in the small of his back – in the rucksack as well, but in the end he left it where it was.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Molly thought the press briefing room resembled the New Year sales at Harrods. Heaving bodies pressed forward dressed in layers of winter clothing and carrying bags, digital cameras, video recorders, pens and notepads.

  As usual, the strong lights directed at her transformed the audience into a sea of blank faces and she couldn’t see who was asking the questions.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Molly began although she was quite convinced that none of the people in the room were either of those things. ‘You have been given a photograph of thirty-one year-old Jacob Hansen, who we would very much like to interview in connection with the murders of five families in the Hammersmith area. He was released from Broadmoor Hospital in 2007 and there is no record of him since then.’

  ‘Do you think he’s the Butcher, Inspector?’

  ‘We are keen to ascertain his whereabouts and ask him some questions. There is no evidence to suggest that he might be the killer.’ Without evidence she was treading on thin ice and had to be careful what she said.

  ‘Can you explain how the man in the photograph looks like Malachi Pike?’

  ‘I’m sorry, at the moment we have no idea.’

  ‘Are they related?’

  ‘We don’t know. Until we can talk to Mr Hansen, we have no answers to that question.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask Malachi Pike?’

  A ripple of laughter ran around the room like a Mexican wave.

  ‘As you are all well aware, Mr Pike has taken out a restraining order against us, and we are awaiting the outcome of an appeal.’

  ‘Can you tell us why Jacob Hansen was in Broadmoor?’

  ‘I’m afraid that information is confidential.’

  ‘Did you obtain a court order to access his medical records, Inspector?’

  She knew that they could easily find out she had. ‘Yes, we did.’

  ‘You must have presented a compelling argument to convince the Magistrate to grant you access to medical records?’

  ‘I’m afraid that is confidential.’

  ‘How did you identify Jacob Hansen as a suspect?’

  ‘I haven’t said Mr Hansen is a suspect, we simply want to trace his whereabouts.’

  Her phone was on silent, but it still vibrated on the table and lit up like a Christmas tree. She saw Randall’s name flash on the screen, but ignored it. He’d just have to leave her a message on her voicemail.

  ‘If Jacob Hansen isn’t a suspect, can you tell us who is?’

  ‘We are pursuing a number of leads.’

  ‘You said that last time, Inspector. It’s been five days now, and during that time there have been two families mutilated in their own homes. Isn’t it about time you had a suspect?’

  ‘I’m afraid…’

  ‘Is there any more information you can share with us, Inspector? If Jacob Hansen isn’t a suspect and you can’t find him anyway, and Malachi Pike has taken out a restraining order against you then as far as I can see you have very little. What exactly have you been doing?’

  She knew the briefing wasn’t going well. What had she been doing? There were so many things she couldn’t tell them. There was Randall’s illegal search of Pike’s flat, the secret exit he had found, and even the fact that Randall was involved in the investigation. She couldn’t tell them about the message left for her at the last murder, the Hebrew letters carved on the foreheads of the girls, the Tarot cards, Randall’s search of Pike’s properties within the area, the possibility that there was more than one killer. Also, that Pike might have planted his own pubic hairs at the crime scenes, Randall’s CCTV surveillance of Pike’s flat, all the dead ends they’d pursued such as the analysis of the 999 phone calls and the search for local two-child families. Last, but certainly not least, there was the probability that Randall was going to kill Pike and then himself.

  She decided that there were two things she could tell the press. ‘Someone asked me earlier how we identified Jacob Hansen as a suspect.’

  ‘That was me,’ a female voice shouted. ‘Catherine Cox from the Hammersmith Herald.’

  ‘Well, Miss Cox,’ Molly said. The silence made her head throb. Now that she was about to give them information they didn’t possess they were hanging on her every word and eager to please. How easy it was to snatch back control. Maybe she could come out of this smelling of someone who still had a future in the police force. ‘Based on the available evidence from the first four murders, Dr Marie Grady provided us with a psychological profile, and from that profile we identified that Jacob Hansen had been released from Broadmoor shortly before the first family were murdered.’

  ‘So he is a suspect?’

  ‘There is no evidence linking Mr Hansen to the murders, and as such we cannot describe him as a suspect. He is merely someone we wish to question.’

  ‘Can you give us the details of Dr Grady’s psychological profile?’

  ‘No, I’m sorry, I can’t do that. What I can tell you, however, is that when we visited Broadmoor to ascertain the details behind Jacob Hansen’s committal, we discovered that his father – George – was a petty criminal and bigamist. We are now tracing George Hansen’s families, paying particular attention to the male members of those families. I should stress that none of these family members are under suspicion of any crime, we are simply trying to eliminate them from our enquiries.’

  ‘How many families are you talking about, Inspector?’

  ‘Besides his legal family, we have found another three families based
on the aliases that George Hansen used in his criminal pursuits.’

  ‘And how many children?’

  ‘If we count the children produced from his legal family, there were nineteen, but four have died.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ somebody exclaimed.

  ‘Oh Christ,’ somebody else said, ‘you’re saying that Malachi Pike is related to Jacob Hansen?’

  ‘I’m not saying anything of the sort,’ Molly said. ‘As you very well know, the restraining order prevents me from making any reference to Mr Malachi Pike.’

  ‘It doesn’t stop members of the press referring to him though,’ someone shouted.

  There was a rush for the door. It appeared that the briefing was at an end. Suddenly, she was no longer the centre of attention. She had turned the spotlight back on Malachi Pike without breaking the conditions of the restraining order. It was hardly her fault that the discerning ladies and gentlemen of the press had reached the same conclusion as she had when they saw Jacob Hansen’s photograph and heard about George Hansen’s extended family. No doubt they would do their own research and report on all the juicy details in the coming days. She wondered what Randall had found out about Malachi Pike’s adoption.

  Desperate for a cigarette, she slipped out of the rear door of the briefing room, walked along the corridor to the car park entrance, and stood on the gravel against the wall in the drizzle shivering. It had been over two hours since her last cigarette. As she inhaled the nicotine-laced smoke, she felt relieved that she had come through the press briefing relatively unscathed. It had been touch and go for a while, but giving the press George Hansen the bigamist was a stroke of genius on her part, even if she did say so herself. Now, the press would be busy working out how Malachi Pike was connected to George Hansen’s criminal and sexual exploits and leave her alone to get on with the investigation. In fact, they might discover more families, and any number of other things. It was about time she started to use the press instead of them being a ball and chain around her neck.