"Because I didn't have any facts to go on, and I didn't want to send you down the wrong track. Preston's had a difficult time in recent years, and I didn't want to add to that by making you suspicious of him."
"You're suspicious of him."
"My suspicions were in my head. I wanted to be certain I wasn't being paranoid. I'm still not certain if they mean anything."
"I can't believe he's involved in any of this," Elizabeth said. "Maybe the killer is setting him up, like he tried setting up Brendan Mahon. Preston suggested as much this afternoon."
"Have you spoken with him?"
"Yes." She told him about the courier firm, the latest letter, and the CCTV. "The courier firm says that Preston didn't leave a letter with them, although Preston said that the killer wouldn't be stupid enough to be caught on tape."
"The risk-taking behaviour fits the profile perfectly," said Williams.
"What are we going to do?" she asked. "I don't know who to trust anymore."
"You can trust me, just give me a chance. Let me make it up to you over dinner, and then I think we should talk to Preston together."
***
"Do you know what time Harold Preston will be back?" Elizabeth asked. "We arranged to meet him at 8p.m., but he doesn't seem to be in. I've tried his phone, but there's no answer."
"I saw him returning to his room this afternoon. I haven't seen him since,'' said the university’s accommodation manager.
"Maybe we should check that everything's okay. I'm a friend of Mr. Preston," said Elizabeth, seeing the manager's reluctance. "I'm with the Murder Unit." She wasn’t sure which statement was the bigger lie.
"Just get the key," said Williams.
A few minutes later, the manager led the way upstairs to the third floor of the accommodation block. The sign outside the door bore the name: Dr. Harold Preston. The manager knocked loudly. "Dr. Preston? Are you in there? Can you hear me?"
Elizabeth held her breath, but there was no answer. "Open it."
The manager's hands shook as he found the correct key from the bunch in his hand. "Stay here." Elizabeth said to him. "You too."
"No way," said Williams. "I'm coming with you."
Elizabeth didn't bother objecting. She simply turned the handle, pushed open the door and stepped carefully into the dark. The faint glow of the streetlights took the edge off the blackness. "Preston?" she whispered, sensing that he wasn't there; empty rooms had their own unique atmosphere.
Williams switched on the light. A dingy glow swamped the cramped room. Lecture notes were scattered on the table by the window and library books littered the floor. Elizabeth glanced at the titles, which were mostly religious. A large cardboard box sat on the kitchen counter. Christmas gift-wrap lay beside it. The lid was slightly askew. She lifted it and looked inside. Her breath caught in her throat. The strong smell of disinfectant hit her as her eyes took in the perfectly preserved hands.
Day Seven
Chapter Thirty-One
"What would you like to eat?" asked Elizabeth.
They were sitting in the same coffee shop where Brendan Mahon had told her that Teardrop was back. It was the same table with the same rainy view out the window. Nora had welcomed her back as if she hadn't seen her in years, instead of days. Elizabeth was strangely touched. Apart from them, the place was empty.
"I'm not hungry," said Williams, laying down the menu, which he'd been studying without taking in the words. "I'll just have a coffee."
"Eat something," Elizabeth insisted. "Nora will be upset if you don't."
"Okay, okay, I’ll have the poached eggs," he said, conceding.
"Frank?"
"The usual."
"Coming right up," Nora smiled, before hurrying away to the kitchen.
"I'm exhausted," said Williams. "I barely slept. My phone didn't stop ringing all night with reporters wanting to know if Preston was a suspect."
"You should have switched it off," said Frank.
"I had to leave it on in case my wife was trying to call. How did the reporters get my number anyway?"
"I'm sure a trusty source was more than happy to provide your number. Next time fob them off with my usual spiel about following a definite line of inquiry," said Frank. "They don't need to know that we're as bemused as they are about what's become of Harold Preston. There's no sign of him at the airports or ferry docks. Elizabeth and Holland are among the last people to see him, apart from the accommodation manager who saw him returning to his room yesterday afternoon, but there's been no sighting since."
"Excuse me," said Williams. "Back in a moment." He got up to use the men's room.
"What's wrong?" Elizabeth asked, once he left. Frank had been frowning ever since they'd arrived at the coffee shop. He pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Is it a migraine? I have some painkillers in my bag."
"I'm grand. My head's no worse than it's been all week. I can't believe that Preston's the killer. It doesn't make sense."
"It adds up in a way. For the first time in his life, he loses control and is suspended with nowhere to turn. He has no family or partner. His friends and colleagues are keeping their distance. It's one stressor after another, and I’m sure he blames me for the start of his unravelling."
"What about our theories on Campbell's son?"
"I'm sure that Oscar attacked Darcy and the London prostitutes. The more I go over it, the more certain I am that he was part of what his father did. I don't know how, but they were in it together. However, he may not have had anything to do with these recent murders. Maybe Oscar was just another pawn in Preston's game." The shrill ringing of her mobile phone interrupted her.
"Saved by the bell," Frank grinned.
"Yes?" she answered, not recognising the number.
"That's no way to answer the phone," replied an electronically enhanced voice. It sounded slow and robotic. "Didn't they teach you manners at The Met?"
Elizabeth covered the mouthpiece. "It's him.''
Frank jumped up and put his ear close to the phone.
"It's difficult to be polite when I don't know who I'm speaking with."
"That's the way I like it," the voice continued. "Besides, you know who I am."
"Preston?" she asked. "Tell me what you want."
"I just called for a friendly chat. It's the last day. We can talk freely now."
"Let's meet."
"One step at a time, Elizabeth, there's no rush. I've been looking forward to talking to you without any pretence. We understand each other. I have a lot of respect for you."
"Okay."
"That's why I'm so disappointed in you. I didn't expect much from the others: Delaney, Hayes, Foley, obedient little Sergeant Holland, not forgetting Chief Superintendent Murphy. No doubt Frank has his attractions for you as a playmate, but as a detective he leaves a lot to be desired, wouldn't you agree?"
"You're doing all the talking."
"That's the spirit. That's why I had such high hopes of you. Maybe I was wrong. Should I give you another chance?"
"What do you mean?"
"I'm referring to Darcy, not your trashy friend, another Darcy. Are you ready to play?"
"Cut the crap! This isn't a game."
"You need to control your temper, Elizabeth. It's most unladylike. How are you going to make any progress if you keep flying off the handle?"
"According to you, we're not making any progress."
"I'm going to help you. Do you have a pen and paper?"
"I'll remember."
"Are you sure? These are directions to something I think you'll find interesting."
"Get on with it, Preston, before I kill you myself."
"You'll have to find me first. Do you know the phone booth on Cook Street?"
"Yes, I think so."
"It's near your favourite coffee shop, the one you're in right now, the one I watched you going into with Frank and Ken. It looks like a cosy party. I'll leave something in the phone booth for you."
/> She dropped the phone and ran to the door. From the corner of her eye, she saw Williams emerging from the men's room, she heard him shout, but she couldn't wait. "Get out of the way!" she yelled at a man who was on his way inside. She ran the forty metres to the phone booth. He was gone. She looked left and right, but the street was empty. "He was here all along," she said to Frank as he caught up with her. "He was calling from the booth." Taped inside was a scrap of paper that had been torn from a map of the city, with an X marking the spot.
***
Frank sped through the traffic, ignoring the blare of horns that followed. Soon they were passing through the entrance gates to Fota Wildlife Park, into the killer's latest playground. The seventy-acre zoo was home to fifty mammal and bird species and was one of Cork's major tourist attractions. Thickets of bare winter trees materialised on either side of the road as they drove. Fog trailed between the branches, while drifting, restless birds smudged the sky. A glimmer of spotted deer darted in front of them before hiding and watching, while the trees huddled close like conspirators.
"This is the place he marked on the map," said Elizabeth.
The silence surrounding them was incredible. Elizabeth looked up as the wind dragged the branches overhead. Frank barely noticed. He reached into the glove compartment and dropped something in his pocket before she could see what it was. "Let's split up," he said.
"Let's not." Something in her voice made him stop and look at her. She wondered if Preston was waiting for her, like Campbell had been waiting for her that night a decade ago.
They walked together, scanning the edges where the ground was strewn with rotting leaves, looking for signs of a body. A few hundred metres down the path, the trees thinned and gave way to an overgrown track. "This is it," said Elizabeth. "He's been here." She could tell from Frank's expression that he thought so too.
"Come on," he said.
In no time at all, they had moved deeper into the forest until there was no sign of the road behind them. In front of them, nothing moved, not even a bird. Each step felt like it was deliberately leading them astray.
Frank saw the car first. A black Audi was parked up ahead, only a few years old, not the sort of car to be lightly abandoned. Frank didn't break his stride. He reached into his pocket as they drew closer, pulling out a new pair of latex gloves. They were only a few metres away from the car, and if the light had been better, they'd have been able to see the inside of the car from where they stood. They stopped adjacent to the driver's side door, before finally seeing what they feared most. A blanket was draped over the head.
Frank circled the car, peering in each window, checking each door. The keys hung from the ignition. The passenger side door was unlocked. He could have left it for the crime scene technicians, but he had to know. Carefully, he reached out and grabbed the handle. As he opened the door, the body fell out heavily. He leapt out of the way, almost falling over. The body of a young man lay on the ground in front of them.
When they returned to the road, two squad cars had arrived and four uniformed police officers were standing around Frank's car, wondering what to do. They looked surprised when they saw Elizabeth and Frank emerging from the forest.
"Secure the scene," Frank ordered. "Don't touch anything," he barked, as they headed off towards the track.
Another car appeared as Elizabeth and Frank stood by the road. Elizabeth groaned when she saw it was Derek Delaney. He crunched to a stop beside them, flung open the door, and climbed out. He looked her up and down, not bothering to hide his contempt, before popping some gum in his mouth.
"Why didn't you save everyone a lot of trouble and tell us that the psycho was an old friend of yours?" he asked.
"Unlike you, Delaney, I try to wait for the evidence before closing a case. You should try it sometime. It'd make a change from your usual method of deciding beforehand who did it and then trying to make the evidence fit."
"You'd know all about that," he smirked.
"If you're trying to annoy me..."
"I haven't even started."
"Enough!" said Frank. "Both of you."
Delaney shouldered past Elizabeth without waiting for another word from Frank, already looking forward to tormenting the unsuspecting officers.
"When you get back to the Station ask Holland to call the car rental company and confirm that the car is one of theirs," Frank said, handing her a scrap of paper on which he'd written the car registration number.
"Are you not coming?" Elizabeth asked.
"I should stay here until the team arrives. Call me as soon as you have anything."
***
Elizabeth drove out of the park. Her head ached with questions. She wondered why Preston was making life so easy for them: first the map, then the car, and the keys with the name of the car hire company on the keyring. The only explanation she could think of was that he wanted to end the game on his terms.
She headed straight for the canteen when she arrived at the Station. Holland was there, enjoying a full Irish breakfast. "Where's Foley?" she asked.
"A homeless guy rang the hotline saying that he'd been approached by a man the night the last letter was sent. The man offered him money to drop a parcel off at another courier firm. Foley wanted to speak with him personally. Why do you want Foley anyway?"
"It doesn't matter," she replied. "Would you do me favour?"
"Depends what it is."
She told him about the body they'd found in the forest. It was obvious from his face that he hadn't heard about it. When she told him it was the body of a young man, he was even more surprised.
"Shall I check the files for male prostitutes?" he asked.
"That's what I was thinking. No one checked them when we got the letter yesterday. We assumed that Darcy was a woman."
"I'll get right on it."
"Thanks. Oh, and I'm sorry for giving you the third degree yesterday."
"Forget it; I have."
Elizabeth found an empty desk and called Barrett's Car Rentals.
"Yes, the car belongs to us," Mr. Barrett confirmed as soon as she explained the situation. "It was hired out two weeks ago and is due to be returned next week."
"Who hired it?" she asked.
A keyboard clicked as Barrett checked the log. "Harold Preston."
"When did you first hear from Mr. Preston?"
"He called about a month ago from London. He said he was coming to Cork on business and needed a car. I ran through the prices with him, he chose the car and asked for it to be at the airport when he landed."
"Why didn't he hire a car at the airport when he arrived?"
"I didn't ask; I didn't want to lose a client to the opposition."
"Did he specify the colour?"
"He said he wanted a black car."
"One of my staff drove the car to the airport to meet Mr. Preston. He checked his licence, got him to sign for the car, and then took the full payment in cash."
"Do people usually pay in cash?"
"Not often."
"One last question, if I may: what address did he use while he was staying in Cork?"
More clicking on the keyboard. "That doesn't seem to be logged. I'll root around and give you a call back if I find anything."
"I've got the information on the latest victim," said Holland, arriving at her desk just as she hung up the phone. "He’s Darcy Egan, eighteen years old, homeless, no family. He was in and out of foster homes until about six months ago, when he was thrown out to find his own way in the world. He was reported missing this morning by another homeless boy who said he'd been out with Darcy until about 3 a.m. It doesn't take a genius to work out what they were doing."
"He must have been concerned if he contacted the police."
"He said it wasn't like Darcy to go off on his own for long."
"How the hell did Preston find him?" Elizabeth asked. "A random pick-up is one thing, but to know where to locate the one male prostitute in the city who shared a name with our D
arcy."
"He must have contacts."
The phone rang, and she snatched it up, not bothering with polite greetings. "Mr. Barrett? Did you find the address?"
"I'm impressed," said the same robotic voice from the coffee shop. "You've spoken with Mr. Barrett? You're moving fast."
"This is becoming a habit, Preston."
Holland's mouth dropped open. He ran to put a trace on the line.
"This is your last call, Elizabeth. I'll be leaving soon."
"Where will you go?"
"No more clues, Elizabeth. You're on your own now. I gave you the boy and the car, you’re getting too close."
"What's this all about?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I gave you a reason. I suppose I grew tired of being in the shadows while the killers got the glory. Don't you ever get tired of it? We catch them and they go down in history. No one remembers the good guys."
"Where will you go?" Elizabeth asked.
"Somewhere you can't follow."
"I'll find you. I won't give up."
There was a click as the line went dead.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Elizabeth and Frank sat in the car, a few hundred metres from the door of the house that Preston had rented. They waited and watched as the Armed Response Unit covertly took their positions.
"We should break down the door and go in ourselves," said Elizabeth.
"Take it easy," said Frank. "God knows what Preston's got in there. No one's going anywhere until we're sure it's safe."
The usually busy suburban street grew uncharacteristically quiet as the traffic was diverted and plainclothes detectives went from door to door advising residents to stay inside.
"I wonder if Preston will notice," said Elizabeth.
"He may not be in there," said Frank.
A burst of noise from the police radio interrupted them. He turned it up to follow the crackle of commands and whispers as more officers moved in.
"Chief, we're set. Just give the word." Joe Sullivan said.
Tear Drop: Serial Killer Thriller (Detective Elizabeth Ireland Crime Thriller Series Book 1) Page 15
