‘Oh, hello!’ she said.
He stepped around and leant over the table to look at her picture.
‘What a lovely drawing.’ He seemed really impressed.
Paige giggled and carried on sketching.
‘Do you like horses?’ asked the man.
She nodded.
‘Ever ridden one?’
Paige shook her head.
‘Would you like to?’
‘Yes.’ She gave her answer as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘I might have an idea about that.’
Monday
18th January
Sixty-Seven
Lexi had left Tim’s apartment early in the morning and caught the bus into Putney. Her first appointment at the trauma clinic was at nine thirty, but she had a half-hour to get an update from Dan before she needed to head down to Tooting.
She’d received the text from Dan last night, around ten, asking if she could meet him at Jubilee House first thing. By that time, she’d already seen a whole lot of news coverage about the murder of a young teenager called Jordan Hennessey. Photos of the poor kid, posed in another church, had already appeared online. Tim had been fascinated with the images, while Lexi – having been shown pictures of two almost identical scenes in the past couple weeks – had barely wanted to look at them.
Lexi felt horrible about it. Did she miss something in the details of the first two murders that could’ve helped nail this son of a bitch? Had her profile helped at all, or did it just push Dan and his team in totally the wrong direction? Lexi couldn’t bear the thought that she might have some responsibility for this latest death, however small that contribution.
Either way, she was determined to help and, despite feeling a little irritation with Dan for the fact that she had to find out about this third murder in the media rather than from him, she’d made time to visit the office.
As she hopped off the bus and walked quickly towards Jubilee House, hands buried in her coat pockets against the cold, she wondered whether this was the time to tell Dan what she’d discovered about Tim. It would only be a formality, pretty much just checking a box. She wasn’t even sure now that Tim was hiding anything.
When he’d arrived an hour late at the Green Monkey café on Saturday, she’d been mad at him, but he’d explained that there’d been an emergency at work. One of the kids from his form group had run away from home over the weekend and been found by a security guard, sleeping in the school.
The boy said he only wanted to speak to Tim, so they’d called him to talk the boy into going home. It had taken two hours straight to persuade the kid, and Tim hadn’t been able to break off to let her know. He seemed genuinely sorry about it, and with that bumbling English charm of his, along with the reasonable excuse, it was hard to stay mad at him.
After that, it’d been Lexi’s turn to explain why she was going through his Facebook photos from eight years earlier. She’d said something about curiosity, and he’d told her that the guy in those pictures wasn’t him. He said he wasn’t that person any longer, that he’d realised the church he’d been going to wasn’t for him, and that he’d been embarrassed to tell her about it. She said it was cool, and after talking some more, Lexi had felt herself relaxing. They’d spent a great night together. Tim had gone for one of his long runs on Sunday, but they’d hung out again in the evening, watching Netflix at his apartment. Things seemed to be getting back to normal between them, and Lexi was pleased about that.
She pushed open the door of Jubilee House, took a squirt of hand sanitiser and made her way over to the reception desk. She held her work ID up to the guy.
‘Dr Lexi Green,’ she said. ‘Here to see DI Dan Lockhart in the MIT.’
‘OK…’ The man typed a few words, clicked his mouse a couple times. ‘Hm. I don’t have anything on here—’
‘Lexi!’
She turned to see Dan coming through the door from the stairs.
‘Oh, hey.’ Lexi gestured to the reception computer. ‘I’m not listed as a visitor.’
‘No.’ Dan rubbed his chin and smiled a little awkwardly. ‘I thought we’d go out, grab a coffee.’
‘If you’re buying.’
‘I am.’ He nodded. ‘We can go to that Swedish place you like round the corner. Hoggy and all that.’
‘Hygge.’
‘That’s the one.’
‘I’ll never turn down coffee, especially not from there.’ She paused, pointed at the ceiling. ‘Won’t we need the stuff in your office, though? I mean, to talk about the case. Files, notes, details, whatever.’
‘We should be all right,’ he replied. ‘And I really need the caffeine.’
‘Sure.’ Lexi was sceptical. They had coffee upstairs. OK, not great coffee, but good enough, especially if you were busy. It felt a little as though Dan was trying to keep her out. She was pretty close to calling BS.
‘Is this about Tim?’ she asked as they walked.
‘Huh?’
‘Me not going into your office. It’s never been a problem before. But, obviously, there’s been that whole thing with this investigation.’
‘Er…’
‘Come on, Dan.’ She looked sideways at him. ‘We’ve known each other long enough.’
He didn’t reply right away, like he was weighing his words.
‘It’s just to stop any, um, conflict of interest,’ he said.
‘So, what – Tim’s still a suspect?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘But is he?’ She could hear herself getting louder.
‘No.’
‘I don’t get it.’ She shook her head. ‘What’s the problem, then?’
‘The school,’ Dan said. They stopped outside the café and he lowered his voice. ‘Jordan Hennessey had been at Richmond Park Academy school.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. Not for long. He was kicked out for fighting early last year. But he was there.’
‘That’s all three victims.’
‘Exactly. So, as you can probably guess, we’re looking at the school very closely.’
‘Of course.’
‘And it isn’t just the sensitivity of that,’ he continued. ‘Everyone’s treading on eggshells around Burrows at the moment after those leaked photos yesterday.’
Lexi frowned. ‘Your boss thinks one of you guys posted it online?’
‘Right. So, it’s not the best time to bring an outsider into the office.’
She bristled a little at the thought of being labelled an outsider, after all the work she’d done for Dan’s team. Ultimately, though, that’s what she was. But at least it solved the dilemma of whether or not to tell Dan about Tim. If they weren’t interested in him, then she didn’t need to disclose that he’d been in care or had a zealous religious phase of his life. She’d seen from her previous work with the cops how, if a suspect became known in the press, their life was basically over, whether they were guilty or not.
Once they were seated in the window with their coffees, out of earshot of everyone else, Dan proceeded to brief her. Jordan Hennessey, fourteen years old, had run away from home six months ago after discovering that the man he thought was his father was actually his uncle, and that his birth dad was a rapist. Jordan’s mother was in pieces, apparently, blaming herself for what had happened. She hadn’t even reported him missing because she’d had occasional word from school or friends that he was showing up there. There’d been a brief enquiry from Social Services after his school exclusion, but it hadn’t gone anywhere. His mom just thought he’d come back home when he was ready. She didn’t see him again.
Jordan’s story was tragic, and Lexi’s heart went out to his mom and uncle. But she had to focus on the facts and how they might hone her offender or victim profiles.
‘Was there a Bible verse highlighted?’ she asked.
‘Yup.’ Dan produced a small notebook, flipped a couple pages. ‘Ezekiel eighteen, verse twenty.�
�
Lexi googled it and read: ‘“The soul who sins shall die. The son shall not bear the guilt of the father, nor the father bear the guilt of the son. The righteousness of the righteous shall be upon himself, and the wickedness of the wicked shall be upon himself.”’
He shrugged. ‘That mean anything to you?’
Lexi considered the verse. ‘Well, it’s got a lot of the same references as before. Afterlife, sin and guilt, children. Maybe the killer knew about Jordan’s home situation.’
‘You think?’
‘Could be. He’s targeting these victims. I say “he”, but…’
‘It might be a woman.’
‘Possibly. It’s unlikely, though. Let’s call him he for now. He knows these kids are vulnerable, they’re a little off-grid, harder to look for. A lot of serial killers have chosen targets like that. Samuel Little, Luis Garavito, Dennis Nilsen, for instance.’
‘OK.’ Dan sipped his coffee.
‘But there’s something more personal with this guy. It’s like the victims reflect him, somehow, as though he sees himself in them. He’s luring them rather than ambushing them, so he’s building trust, appealing to something they want. He knows about them.’
‘Agreed.’
‘So, he’s gotta have access to some kind of list, a database or something. And he’s probably had some interaction with them in the past, so they feel comfortable with him.’
Dan nodded. Neither of them spoke for a moment.
‘It’s someone at the school,’ he said.
That was the most obvious link between the victims. But there was another one, too.
‘Either that,’ replied Lexi, ‘or the other organisation that was in contact with all three at some point. Social Services.’
Sixty-Eight
As Lockhart drove to Isleworth, he tried to collect his thoughts. They were right to be focussing their efforts on Richmond Park Academy, and the fact he’d sent Guptill and Parsons there first thing this morning to check the records was proof of how seriously they were taking that lead. Lockhart would bet the number of teachers who knew all three pupils would be even smaller than their existing list. He also hoped he’d be able to eliminate Green’s boyfriend, Tim McKay, from their investigation. When he’d told her earlier that Tim wasn’t a suspect, that hadn’t been the whole truth.
McKay was still a person of interest in Op Paxford; all the more so now that the school had come up again. He couldn’t share that with Green, though. He hated lying to her, even by omission, but sometimes that was what the SIO had to do. He’d known cases where certain details hadn’t even been shared with all the detectives in the team. And where close relationships were concerned, even people you trusted couldn’t be briefed.
The school wasn’t the only lead they were following up. Smith and Khan were just down the road in St Margaret’s, speaking to one of Jordan’s friends, Malachi Powell. Late yesterday, Powell’s mother had contacted police to say that Jordan had been staying at their house recently. They’d need to see if that visit, the Richmond Park Academy follow up, or their enquiry to Social Services produced anything.
Lockhart was aware that Op Paxford was getting bigger and more complex now that there were three victims. He’d asked Burrows if she could find some extra support for them. Still angry about the crime scene photos and Green’s relationship with McKay, she’d protested about costs and efficiency, reminded him that he’d already been relieved of his other active cases to focus on leading this investigation. He’d repeated the point that Green had made to him that morning: that it was highly likely this killer was already stalking and perhaps grooming his next victim. Burrows had countered by stating it was up to him to use the resources he had more effectively. The conversation had ended with another tense impasse and, once again, he found himself relieved to get out of Jubilee House.
It took Lockhart a while to find the Ivybridge boxing club, because it was right in the middle of a large housing estate. Eventually, though, he saw the sign on a wall and parked up nearby. They had been able to identify Jordan after finding his boxing club membership card in the top pocket of a shirt he’d been wearing. Or, more accurately, that he’d been dressed in after death.
The thought made Lockhart wonder if they should check local charity shops for bulk purchases of children’s clothes. He made a note of it; another thing to follow up on. They needed that extra resource, and fast, or else he was convinced they were going to miss something. And that would be on him. He felt a pressure building behind his eyes and decided to get inside the gym before it grew any more insistent.
In the middle of a weekday morning, the boxing club was pretty quiet. Half a dozen people were training; working on bags, doing weights, skipping. Lockhart needed to find the guy who ran the place, and was about to ask the nearest boxer to tell him who that was when he recognised one of the men.
It took him a second to place Ben Morris because he’d only met the sports coach once, and that had been almost two weeks ago at the Latchmere Leisure Centre, on the other side of the river. The ex-paratrooper looked to be in good shape, to judge by his movement as the skipping rope blurred around him. He stopped as Lockhart approached, hand raised in greeting.
‘All right, Ben?’
It took a few seconds for the recognition to register on Morris’s face. ‘Hello, mate,’ he said. ‘Dan, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Hang on…’ He shut his eyes. ‘Gimme a sec… Lockhart. SRR.’
‘Well remembered.’ Lockhart put his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels. ‘You box?’
‘Did a bit back in the reg. Gave it up after I got filled in a couple of times, but the training’s mega.’
‘This your local place?’
‘It’s not the nearest.’ Morris used his sleeve to wipe sweat off his brow. ‘But it is the cheapest.’
‘I get you.’
‘What brings you out this way? Donovan never used to come here, far as I knew.’
Lockhart grimaced briefly. ‘I’m afraid this is about someone else. Another murder. Lad called Jordan Hennessey.’ He reached into his jacket pocket and produced the photograph of Jordan they’d been given by his mum. ‘He’d been training here for the past six months or so.’
Morris studied the image, narrowed his eyes. ‘Skinny little fella?’
‘Yeah, apparently he was.’ Lockhart could’ve seen for himself at the post-mortem this morning. But, since the duty pathologist at the crime scene yesterday had indicated that Jordan’s murder was identical to that of Donovan and Charley, he’d chosen not to join Dr Volz at St George’s mortuary today.
‘Did you know him?’ asked Lockhart.
‘Think I’ve seen him about the place, but he’d have been in the juniors, and I’m not a coach, so… you could ask Henry about that.’ Morris pointed the handle of his skipping rope at a bald black man on the other side of the gym who was spraying gloves with a bottle of cleaning fluid.
‘I’ll go talk to him. Cheers.’
‘He was murdered? The kid.’
‘Yeah.’ Lockhart compressed his lips into a line before speaking again. ‘There’ll be more about it in the press later, but there’s strong evidence the incidents are linked.’
‘Serious?’
‘Donovan, Jordan, and a third victim last week. A girl called Charley.’
‘Fuckin’ hell.’ Morris shook his head. ‘What a waste,’ he said quietly. ‘I miss Donovan. Now there’s other lads and lasses dying too young. Saw enough of that in Afghan. Bet you did and all, eh?’
‘I did.’ Lockhart didn’t want to get into military reminiscence right now. Or, as Green had called it, rumination: dwelling on the past, on things that might’ve been different but which you couldn’t change. Then he remembered his speculation from the first time he’d met Morris over why he’d left the army early. Mental health was Lockhart’s best guess. If this was Morris reaching out, he didn’t want to shut it down. During their therapy sess
ions a while back, Green had encouraged him to have more social contact, and for some of it to be with people who understood the sort of things he’d been through. ‘Listen, I’d better get on, but you’ve got my card, right?’
Morris frowned. ‘Don’t think so.’
‘Here you go.’ Lockhart plucked one from his wallet and handed it over. ‘Give me a shout some time if you want a beer.’
Morris tucked the card into the pocket of his tracksuit bottoms. ‘Only if it’s Stella.’
Lockhart managed a brief smile. ‘What else is there? All right, see you later.’ He turned to leave.
‘Dan.’ Morris’s voice stopped him, and he spun back around. ‘Whenever you catch who done this to Donovan and the other two, fuck ’em up, yeah?’
‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.’
As Lockhart reached the guy spraying the gloves, he saw he was much older than he’d initially thought. Fifties, maybe. Lockhart had barely taken out his warrant card when the guy put down the spray bottle and spoke.
‘You’ve come about Jordan, then.’ It was a statement rather than a question.
‘Yup.’ Lockhart introduced himself.
‘Henry Robertson. I run this place.’
‘I’m sorry about Jordan, Mr Robertson. Ben over there said you might’ve coached him.’
Robertson picked up a cloth and started wiping down the wet gloves. ‘I knew he’d had his issues at home. We never talked about it much, but I told him I knew some of what he’d been through cos I had my own family problems when I was his age.’
Lockhart let him keep talking.
‘So, when he come here, I didn’t ask too many questions. I let him train, for free, in exchange for a bit of cleaning. Even let him sleep here a few times when he didn’t have nowhere else to go. There’s a sofa in the office.’
‘Were you aware that Jordan was known to us?’
Robertson looked up and Lockhart could see that the older man’s eyes were moist. ‘Yeah, I knew about his record. And it didn’t bother me. I saw a bit of myself in him, I s’pose. Thought he could change if someone give him half a chance. Boxing was teaching him discipline. Hard work.’
Lost Souls Page 24
