by Max Manning
Bell nodded sagely, a tactic he often used when he felt out of his depth. ‘I believe the DCI can fill us in on that,’ he said.
Fenton kept his expression neutral. His boss was a master at passing the buck. ‘I’m no expert, but I’m told there’s all sorts of software you can use to prevent detection. Even something as simple as moving around to use different public wi-fi services will make you hard to track down.’
Hall frowned. ‘You’re saying nothing can be done?’
‘No, I’m not saying that. We have officers out visiting wi-fi spots in cafés, restaurants, hotels, libraries even, but it’s time-consuming legwork. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a longshot.’
Hall summoned something resembling a sympathetic smile. ‘And how are you coping with everything?’ she said. ‘It must have been traumatic, finding that poor woman’s head. Don’t forget we have counselling services for officers who feel they need help with that kind of thing. If you haven’t already done so, I recommend you make an appointment.’
Fenton had the distinct impression that she didn’t really care whether he’d suffered trauma or not. She was simply saying what she thought she ought to say, expertly repeating responses learnt at the numerous senior management courses she’d attended while climbing the career ladder.
‘I can handle it,’ he said. ‘I’m focused on doing my job.’ It was a lie and an unconvincing lie at that. He hadn’t slept for more than thirty hours. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Marta’s head on the bonnet of his car. He’d spent the last two nights outside his daughter’s bedroom, listening to her crying herself to sleep. He was exhausted and still suffering from shock. But he wasn’t going to admit it. This wasn’t the time to show weakness.
Bell opened his mouth to speak, but Fenton shut him down with a look. ‘The killer has changed his pattern to make a point and that could turn out to be his downfall. Unlike the first two victims, Marta, I mean Miss Blagar, was selected to specifically get at me. The killer wanted to demonstrate his superiority. His ego is making him take more risks. He’s been so careful up to now. To carry out a decapitation he must have had much more contact with the body. This gives us a better chance of finding some forensic evidence that’s going to help us track him down.’
The assistant commissioner raised an eyebrow. ‘So, you don’t feel at all responsible?’
‘Responsible for?’
‘For goading the killer during your last press conference. For getting under his skin, making him strike out at someone in your household.’
Before Fenton could respond, Bell put the boot in. ‘I must agree with the assistant commissioner.’
‘Of course you must,’ Fenton snapped. ‘You’re a natural born arse-licker.’
Bell’s face reddened as he started to protest, but the assistant commissioner silenced his spluttering with a wave of a hand.
‘That kind of language is unprofessional,’ she said. ‘Personal insults will get us nowhere. We have a killer terrorising the city and we’re starting to look as if we couldn’t catch a cold in the Arctic.’
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Bell said. ‘The press is having a field day at our expense. What I was trying to say before you started throwing insults around was that your deliberate baiting of the killer back-fired big time. I had a complaint from the media office that you didn’t run your statement past them. If you had they would have advised you to tone it down.’
‘I don’t give a shit about managing the press. All I care about is catching this killer.’ Fenton waited for another ticking off, but instead Hall and Bell simply exchanged an uncomfortable glance. An uneasy feeling stirred in Fenton’s gut.
‘We all want this case wrapped up as soon as possible,’ Hall said. ‘We’re increasing the size of the investigation team again and we believe the addition of a psychologist will prove important. Belinda Vale will study the case files to provide a detailed profile of the killer. This type of work has been pioneered by the FBI and has proved invaluable.’
Fenton didn’t look convinced. ‘Surely it doesn’t take a genius to come up with suggestions about the personality of a cold-blooded murderer. I can tell you now, he’s definitely a psychopath. He’s probably in his mid-twenties, fit and athletic. More than likely he lives in London, has a good job. In his spare time he’s an evil bastard who loves killing people and gets off on the feel of his blade penetrating their skin and the sight of blood draining from their bodies. And, of course, he was abused or traumatised, or both, as a child, so it’s not really his fault that he grew up like this is it?’
Fenton forced himself to stop talking. Anger was his natural response to threat. At the same time as satisfying his bloodlust, the killer had threatened both Fenton and his daughter. He’d wanted to make the point that getting to Tess would be easy.
Hall exchanged looks with Bell again. ‘I have been reviewing the case with Chief Superintendent Bell and we are both wondering why you haven’t pulled Adam Blake in for additional questioning.’
‘He has a cast-iron alibi. The landlord of the South Pole pub has confirmed that Blake was there all night on the evening of Lauren Bishop’s murder.’
Hall lifted a bony hand. ‘We all know what happened to Blake. Pure coincidence? We’re going to pull him. Question him again. Double-check the alibi.’
Fenton wasn’t used to being told how to do his job. It pissed him off big time. Especially when the person issuing the instructions was right. ‘I’ll get my team on to it,’ he said.
Hall looked momentarily taken aback, as if she’d expected more resistance, hoped for it even. She glanced down at a sheet of paper on the desk in front of her. Fenton guessed she was consulting notes she’d made prior to the meeting, and that added to his growing unease. In his experience, if a superior officer brought a script in a meeting, it almost always meant they were about to break bad news.
She looked up at Fenton and cleared her throat with two short, sharp coughs. ‘This unpleasant business has been difficult for you, and I know you’d want to make your family, your daughter, your priority. After an internal review of the murder investigations and an assessment of your position, it has been decided to remove you as senior investigating officer.’
Fenton said nothing. His brain struggled to process what he’d heard. He looked to Bell for some kind of support, but his boss avoided his gaze. Hall cleared her throat again. ‘It’s been decided that you should take compassionate leave,’ she said. ‘The length of that leave, which starts right now, has yet to be decided. Of course, you will remain on full pay. I stress, this is not a disciplinary action, rather a measure to give you the time and space to recover from the trauma you suffered and to care for your daughter.’
Fenton stiffened, the look of surprise on his face changing to disbelief. ‘You’ve got to be joking. This is crazy. It doesn’t make sense. Taking me off the case is going to set the investigation back. You’re playing right into the killer’s hands.’
Hall looked down at her notes again. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s done. You’re officially on compassionate leave. You’d be wise to make the most of it. Rest and recover, spend some quality time with your daughter. We all know what she’s been through. Losing her mother to cancer, and now this. She’s going to need her father.’
Fenton turned accusingly to Bell. ‘What have you got to say? I assume you knew this was coming.’
‘Having considered everything very carefully, I have to agree with Assistant Commissioner Hall.’
‘I bet you fucking do.’
Hall clenched her jaw so tightly the blood drained from her unlipsticked lips. ‘I’m aware this is not what you expected to hear, so I’m prepared to cut you some slack. This time. But there’s no leeway on this one, I’m afraid. You’re out. It’s been decided.’
Fenton shook his head in frustration. How high did this balls-up go? If no higher than Hall, then maybe he had a chance to challenge it. ‘This is going to stall the investigation at a time w
hen we need to rev it up,’ he said. ‘What the hell do you think the press are going to make of it? They’re going to go to town on it. It’s admitting failure. Who’s going to take my place? Nobody on the team has the experience to run an investigation. This is my case.’
Hall shrugged her narrow shoulders. ‘It’s not as if you’ve made much progress. Quite the opposite in fact. The papers are already baying for blood. It might be viewed as a good thing that we’re shuffling the pack. Trying something new. A press release will be put out explaining that you are being replaced because of personal reasons. That won’t be hard to justify after what happened. The killer has targeted you and your family. That makes it personal. It wouldn’t be right for you to be involved in the investigation. Surely you can see that?’
Fenton couldn’t see it. He didn’t even want to look in its direction. What he did want to do was to catch the man who’d killed Marta. Evil had come too close to his daughter. They’re right about one thing at least, he told himself. Damn right it’s personal.
‘This is a big mistake,’ Fenton said. ‘There’s a good chance that my press statement may have forced the killer into making his first error. It bruised his ego. Changing his selection process meant he probably had to hang around, watching my house for days, tracking Marta’s movements. He had to follow her then lie in wait for her. There’s a good chance someone saw him, or that he was caught on CCTV somewhere. I’ve got people studying footage from cameras in the area right now. This could be our chance.’
Hall nodded her agreement. ‘That’s all true,’ she said. ‘Rest assured, your replacement, an experienced senior investigating officer from another division, has already been fully briefed. I repeat what I said earlier. You’re out. At least until this case is over. There’s no going back.’ Hall stood up and raised both her hands to signal that she’d had the final word.
The instant the door closed behind her, Bell stood up, walked around his desk and reclaimed his chair. He puffed out his chest, relieved to be back on the power side of the desk ‘I’m sorry, but there was nothing I could do,’ he said. ‘The decision to replace you has been approved at the highest level. I couldn’t do anything to stop it, even if I wanted to. I had no choice but to go along with it.’
Fenton’s shoulders drooped and he hung his head. Bell was a snivelling tosser, but there was nothing to be gained from telling him something he already knew. Hurling abuse at the toad-faced bastard might well offer a distraction from the guilt he felt about Marta, but that relief would be fleeting. A young woman had been murdered, mutilated, simply to send him a message. Teach him a lesson. An innocent life snuffed out. He wondered why she had thought it necessary to lie to him. The poor girl had never even been to Latvia.
Tess hadn’t attended school since Marta’s murder. She’d barely ventured out of her bedroom. The family liaison officer watching over her while he was out, and the uniformed officers standing guard outside their front door were supposed to reassure her. Instead, they only added to her anxiety. He’d go back, comfort her when she cried and try to answer her questions. He no longer had an investigation to run, a team to lead.
Fenton stood and walked slowly to the door. As his fingers slipped around the chrome handle he turned back to face Bell. ‘You’re making a big mistake,’ he said.
35
Blake stood facing the northern perimeter of the western section of Victoria Park. Directly in front of him was Gore Gate, the entrance from Gore Road. To the right of the gate he could see the spot where Lauren’s body had been found in dense undergrowth between two mature plane trees.
The late-afternoon sun hung low, casting long shadows across the park, the crispness of the air giving a false impression of purity. Blake tucked his hands in his jacket pockets and recalled the news reports on the murder. The police believed Lauren had been killed shortly before dusk.
He imagined her enjoying the softness of twilight as she walked unsuspectingly towards her death. With that image firmly in his mind, he turned and walked towards the centre of the park. The light was dimming fast and he guessed he probably had no more than twenty minutes before the park rangers ushered the stragglers out and locked the gates.
Apart from a couple of cyclists heading west, the half-dozen people Blake could see were using the time to exercise their dogs before returning to their tower blocks. Coming his way, a scrawny black youth in a grey tracksuit was being taken for a walk by powerful looking black and tan dog, with a head the size and shape of a rugby ball. Neither the youth nor the dog gave Blake a second glance.
After five minutes, the path veered east towards a modern, redbrick building with a few wooden tables outside the front entrance. Above the glass, in bold red script on a white sign, were the words Vic’s Café. To the left of the sign, a small, black security camera pointed its lens in Blake’s direction. The tables had been cleared and wiped clean and inside the café looked empty, but he stepped off the path and walked to the door. He pushed his face close to the glass and peered in. He could see another group of tables, but these ones were topped with red-and-white-chequered tablecloths.
Blake raised his right fist and rapped his knuckles on the glass. There was no sound or movement inside. He was considering whether there would be any point in knocking again when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around, his right fist still clenched.
‘Steady on, mate, no need for that. We’ve stopped serving. We’re closed. Banging on the door won’t do you no good. There’s plenty of takeaways nearby if you’re hungry.’
Blake found himself looking down at a pair of dark hooded eyes and an aquiline nose, jammed between a shiny bald pate and a bushy beard. In his late thirties, the man stood at least three inches shorter than Blake and probably two stone heavier. Most of that extra weight padded his torso between his chest and his waist.
Blake unclenched his fist and stuck his hand back in his jacket pocket. ‘I’m not looking for something to eat. I want a word with the boss. It’s important.’
‘You’re speaking to the boss, mate. The owner, the manager and the chef. The only thing I don’t do is wait on the tables or clean the toilets. I got people to do that. That’s what the minimum wage is for. Anyway, what’s important to you ain’t necessarily important to someone else. You get me? Now this park is going to be shut in about fifteen minutes. The gates locked. We’ve got to get a move on, like, pronto.’
Blake stepped away from the door and pointed up at the sign. ‘I take it you’re Vic?’
The café owner scratched his beard, turned and walked towards the eastern boundary of the park. Blake followed and found himself having to jog every now and then to keep up. ‘I’m not Vic,’ the café owner said over a powerful shoulder. ‘The name’s Perry. Perry Lee. I called the place Vic’s Café cos it’s in Victoria Park. See what I did there?’
Blake didn’t answer. He didn’t think an answer was expected. ‘I’m making inquiries into the murder of Leah Bishop and I wanted to speak to you about your security camera.’
Perry Lee stopped and looked up at Blake. ‘I’ve been through all this before, mate,’ he said. ‘Weeks ago. Why’ve I gotta go through it all again? Who are you anyway? You ain’t no copper, I know that.’
Blake nodded and smiled, eager to put the man at ease and get him talking. ‘Is it that obvious?’
The café owner walked on. He might have smiled back, but it was hard for Blake to tell through the facial hair. ‘I can spot a plainclothes copper a mile off, don’t worry about that. They always look like a cross between an accountant and a nightclub bouncer. And that’s just the women. You get me?’
Blake said nothing. He concentrated on keeping up. The sun had slipped below the horizon and the light was fading fast. They were heading for the park’s Crown Gate. Blake estimated they’d reach it in about ten minutes.
‘I could tell you were no copper right off. You’re tall enough, and ugly enough, I’ll grant you that. But you got an edge coppers don’t have.�
��
‘I’ll take that as a compliment, shall I?’
‘Take it how you want. Don’t matter to me. But if you ain’t no copper what are you doing poking your nose into this murder? And who are you anyway? You know my name. Rude not to introduce yourself, I always think.’
Blake decided he had no reason to lie. ‘My name is Adam Blake. I’ve been asked by the victim’s family to look into the case. A bit of extra manpower. Help the police along if I can. That’s all.’
Lee gave Blake a sideways look designed to let him know that he wasn’t fooled. ‘Like I said. I’ve been through it all before with the detective who came to see me on the day the body was found. Young bloke. Younger than me. Ince, I think. He seemed to know what he was doing.’
Blake nodded. ‘I was trying to follow the route the victim took as she walked through the park and I noticed the security camera above your door. I wanted to check that the police had asked to have a look at the footage.’
The café owner stopped again and pointed a stubby finger in the direction of Gore Gate. ‘That’s where they found the body,’ he said. ‘Hidden in the bushes there. A bloody mess apparently. They closed the park for a whole day near enough. My takings hit the sodding floor that week.’
Blake wanted to focus on the security camera. ‘I know the park has its own CCTV cameras, but I take it the one above your café’s door is your own?’
‘That’s right, mate. There’s CCTV at the main gates, but most of the small entrances to the park aren’t covered. I gotta have my own protection ain’t I? I’d be stupid not to. There’s a lot of dodgy people about. The gear’s a bit pricy, but it’s worth the investment. My camera catches everyone who comes in the café, and everyone who passes by. It’s a digital camera, but I’ve set it up to convert the footage on to a DVD. I keep them a week then record over them. I ain’t got a camera inside the café. Like I said, they’re not cheap.’
They’d started walking again, and were no more than a couple of hundred yards from the gate. ‘I got me van parked out there and I gotta get home quick. I got someone waiting for me and she’s tasty. You get me? I ain’t got no more time to waste.’
