Solomon's Key

by Tim Ellis

  ‘When,’ I shouted laughing. A second helping for Africa, I thought. There was more red cabbage than pie. I fancied something sweet, so I helped myself to a chocolate muffin.

  ‘Tea or coffee?’

  ‘A mug of tea would be nice.’ I was hoping it would be nice, but at this time of day it was usually stewed.

  ‘That’ll be five pounds exactly, dearie.’

  I paid and made my way to a table away from everyone. Some peace and quiet would be good, to collect my thoughts. Everything rested on Suzie deciphering the messages. We had lots of evidence, but no leads. I was positive there would be another murder soon. Somebody had left the Sun on the table and I flicked it open whilst shovelling the cottage pie/red cabbage mix into my mouth. The pie was well cooked. I suppose it had been on the hotplate since lunch, so I was hardly surprised. I eventually found a brief article on Gillian Wilkinson’s murder hidden on page five, obviously less important than the ‘cash for honours’ fiasco and the Page Three girl, who looked suspiciously like a younger version of the Chief. It was only a small piece with the title: Murder in Hammersmith. No mention was made of missing body parts. It was more or less my press release. I pulled the wrapping off the muffin and broke a piece of the chocolate cake off. My mobile rang. My heart began racing. The butterflies fluttered. I swallowed quickly, thinking and hoping it would be Sally. I pressed accept.

  ‘Harte,’ I said into the phone. It was quiet for a short time. I waited.

  ‘Sally won’t be ringing you,’ a voice said through what I imagined was a distortion device. ‘She’s tied up and having the time of her death. I don’t normally like reporters, but she was worth it.’ I heard him laughing a weird laugh just before he hung up.

  My stomach was in my shoes. I knew it was the killer. I sat there frozen in time with the phone pressed to my ear. I sprang up, knocking the chair over. The few people still in there turned to see what was happening. I sprinted back to the incident room, nearly breaking my arm when I tripped on the stairs.

  I burst into the room. The door cracked into the filing cabinet. ‘Let’s go,’ I shouted insanely. ‘Seven Anchor Road, Bermondsey. He just rang me on my mobile, we have another murder.’ I knew he must be at Sally’s flat because I had left the number on the table for her. I was desperate to get there, to save Sally, but I knew it was too late. I just wanted to curl up in a corner and hide. The feelings I had after Angie’s death were returning. I wanted to kill this bastard with my bare hands. Rip him apart piece by piece, and hear him scream in agony. He had taken Sally from me and made it very, very personal.

  ***

  It was a nightmare journey that took far too long. The sirens were deafening. Ali radioed the station during the drive for uniformed backup and forensics. It was all a blur. My brain had turned to mush. At last we got there. Out of habit, I looked at my watch – it was five-ten.

  I ran to the door, but it was locked. I took a step back and smashed into it with my shoulder. The door frame splintered and I was propelled into the hall. I heard someone whisper behind me, ‘Forensics won’t be happy.’

  I knew Sally would be in the bedroom. The door was shut. I opened it quickly. I stood there, my arms dangling at my side. Sally lay upside down on top of the bed in a sea of blood that appeared to have come from her chest. Tears welled in my eyes. I turned, barging my way outside. I flopped on the frozen ground, feeling light-headed.

  ‘What’s up, Sir? You’ve seen plenty of dead bodies before.’ Ali had followed me out. She didn’t wait for a response, but continued, ‘I called KP whilst we were in the car, she should be here soon.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, wiping my eyes with my handkerchief and blowing my nose. ‘You’ll all find out soon enough, I suppose. I spent the night with Sally. The killer set her up by ringing her yesterday. He knew then she was going to be the next one on his list.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir,’ she said sympathetically. ‘Let KP deal with it when she gets here.’

  ‘No, I’ll be all right in a minute, but thanks.’

  Just then, the forensics van arrived together with Terri Holmes and two squad cars.

  ‘I’ll deal with them, Sir. You just sit there.’ Ali walked over to the Chief Scientific Officer, Paul Blatchley and Terri Holmes, and briefed them on what was inside. She ordered the uniforms to seal off the area and begin a house-to-house.

  KP and Paul arrived separately. ‘Is it another one, Sir?’ KP asked as she came towards me. Her brow was furrowed, probably wondering what I was doing sat on a mound of snow.

  ‘Yes, Sally Renshall, the Daily Star reporter we spoke to yesterday, the one the killer rang up.’

  ‘Shit. We should have thought of that.’ KP was probably recalling how she had been nasty about her after Sally had left.

  ‘It was a set up. I spent the night with her. The killer must have got in the flat shortly after I left. He phoned me on my mobile bragging about what he’d done.’

  ‘How did he have your mobile number, Sir?’ That’s why KP was the second in the team. She was quick and smart, very little slipped by her unnoticed.

  ‘I left early this morning to go back to my flat to wash and change. ‘I wrote Sally a note asking her to ring me, and put my mobile number on it.’

  ‘We’d better tell forensics and Terri Holmes your fingerprints and DNA will be all over the place, including in and on the victim.’

  I looked up at KP. For a moment I thought she was having a dig, but she appeared genuinely kind-hearted.

  Wearily, I scrambled up. My arse was wet and uncomfortable. ‘Come on, let’s get it over with.’

  ‘I can deal with it if you want, Sir,’ she offered.

  ‘No, I need to face it.’

  After putting on the paper suit and all the other paraphernalia so that we didn’t contaminate the crime scene, we went into the house. Why I put the protective gear on I don’t know, my DNA and fingerprints infected the flat and the victim, but I suppose it was habit. The forensics team were collecting, dusting and inspecting like a unit of ants. I received some sour looks as KP and I walked into the bedroom where Terri Holmes was leaning over the mutilated Sally.

  ‘Have they found her mobile?’ I asked KP.

  ‘I don’t know. Why?’

  ‘The killer rang me using her phone, he might have left fingerprints or DNA on it.’

  ‘I’ll let forensics know.’

  ‘Same as the last one, James,’ Terri called out. Raped, sodomised, but this one has had her heart removed.’

  KP looked at me as if she was expecting me to faint or something. I noticed the Sun on the bedside table. It wasn’t there when I left this morning.

  ‘You’ll find my DNA,’ I mumbled to her. ‘I was with her last night.’ I averted my gaze and shuffled my feet.

  Terri looked at me. Even through the mask, I could see she was shocked. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered, probably at being so blunt. ‘I didn’t realise.’

  Why would you, I thought, but I kept quiet. I wondered briefly how this affected the way that she thought of me.

  She rummaged in her bag, pulled out a sealed swab, twisted the seal, and came towards me. I pulled the mask down and opened my mouth. She rubbed the cotton bud up and down the inside of my mouth, pulled it out, sealed it, and wrote my details on the label.

  ‘For elimination purposes,’ she offered as explanation.

  I knew what it was for. I nodded.

  ‘You’ve got another message,’ she said.

  I looked at the face and ears, but couldn’t see anything. The rope burns on her wrists and ankles suggested that she had been tied to the bed like Gillian Wilkinson and Irene Stone.

  ‘In her belly-button,’ she said. I forced my eyes down past her open chest. The folded note had been attached to a safety pin and inserted through the piercing. The gem was missing – another trophy for the killer.

  I knew we wouldn’t find any evidence. This killer was meticulous in his planning and execution. I’d seen more than enough. I sai
d to KP, ‘Drive me back to the station, Ali knows what to do.’

  KP remained quiet as we set off. I sat in the passenger seat like a zombie staring straight ahead.

  Eventually she said, ‘Are you going to be all right to continue with the case, Sir?’

  I turned and looked at her. ‘Of course I will, I hardly knew the woman. It was just one of those instant attraction things. She didn’t deserve to die.’

  ‘None of them did, Sir.’

  Yes, you’re right, I thought. It was a stupid comment.

  ‘Well, that’s three dead women, three messages and no suspects,’ KP said, trying unsuccessfully to lighten my mood.

  ‘I hope that cryptographer woman has come up with something useful,’ I muttered absentmindedly.

  ‘Suzie seems to know what she’s doing,’ KP pointed out.

  I was non-committal. ‘We’ll see.’ I was determined to dislike the woman.

  We arrived back at the station; I looked at my watch. It was six-fifty. We trudged up the stairs to the incident room to find it empty.

  ‘I hope that cryptographer woman hasn’t gone back to her hotel.’

  ‘Her name’s Suzie,’ KP reminded me unnecessarily. ‘She’s probably had a long day.’

  ‘We’ve all had a bloody long day, but we’re not on office hours here. We’ve got a bloody killer to catch and she should damn well know that. Which hotel is she staying at?’

  ‘I heard her tell Ali she was staying at the Jumeirah Carlton Tower on the corner of Cadogan Place and Sloane Street. It’s a five star.’

  ‘It bloody well would be, seeing as we’re footing the bill.’ Everything about this woman was rubbing me up the wrong way, and I was in the mood to tell her so.

  I looked on the desk which she’d been sitting at, there was nothing. No note. No update. Nothing to indicate that she’d made any progress at all. The incident board was just as empty as it had been before.

  ‘She must think she’s on a fucking shopping and sightseeing trip to London,’ I didn’t normally swear, but I was livid. I didn’t like the idea of losing control. Of having someone here that thought they could do as they liked. ‘I’m going over there to find out whether she’s made any progress. I’ll bloody let her know how things work around here.’

  KP barred my way with her hands on her hips. ‘That isn’t wise, Sir? I mean, you’re not exactly in the right frame of mind.’

  ‘I’m in exactly the right frame of mind for telling her a few home truths.’

  ‘If you go, Sir, I’ll have to inform the Chief.’

  ‘What?’ My mouth hung open.

  ‘You need to calm down, Sir.’

  ‘Calm down! I am bloody calm.’ I swept my arm across the desk. Files, pens, pencils, and paper clips went skidding across the wooden floor. ‘Who are you to tell me where I should and shouldn’t go?’ I barged past her and stomped towards the door, kicking a filing cabinet on my way past. A tall pile of files toppled over and thumped on the floor. ‘I’m going home,’ I bellowed. I didn’t stop to wait for her. ‘I’ll be bloody well seeing her in the morning though, you can bet on that.’

  ***

  I parked in the underground car park. It was seven twenty-five. Lexi would be in bed by now. Another broken promise, I thought sadly. They were beginning to mount up.

  By the time I entered the flat, my anger had left me. I didn’t want Harry or Lexi to see the monster that lay beneath the person they knew.

  Chapter Six

  Friday 20th December

  ‘Although I don’t want to, James, I’m going to have to take you off the case.’

  Avril sat behind her desk. Offers of coffee and a chair were not forthcoming. It was eight-thirty. She didn’t look angry, merely resigned to maintaining discipline. I felt like a naughty schoolboy stood before her for the second time in a week. ‘There’s no need to do that, Chief,’ I said.

  No smile, this morning she was the boss. ‘You’re personally involved.’

  I used my hands to emphasise my defence. ‘It was a one-night stand. That was all.’

  ‘DS Preston informed me that you lost your temper again last night.’

  ‘It was the shock.’ I forced a smile. ‘A bit too close for comfort, she was so… young.’ It was a lame excuse.

  ‘I’m not convinced, James.’ She leaned back in her brown leather executive chair. ‘What I don’t want is a vigilante out there looking for revenge.’

  ‘You know me, Chief, I’m not like that. I’ll do my job. I need to do it.’ I realised I was pleading. My voice sounded as if it belonged to someone else.

  ‘That’s exactly my point.’

  I looked down at my shoes. I was arguing for the sake of it. It was a lost cause, I knew she would take me off the case.

  Instead, she threw me a lifeline.

  ‘I’ll allow you to continue for the moment.’

  My head shot up.

  ‘On one condition...’

  The pause lasted forever. She was like a game show host: And the winner is…

  ‘…you attend counselling.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘No buts, James. Counselling, or you’re on leave. Take it or leave it. No pun intended.’

  It was my worst nightmare. ‘I’ll take it,’ I mumbled.

  ‘Look me in the eyes, James.’

  I looked in her eyes. ‘I’ll go to counselling.’

  ‘Your first appointment is with Dr. Andrews at the Hammersmith in forty-five minutes.’

  My mouth opened like a volcanic fissure. I was between a rock and a hard place. The Chief knew it.

  ‘And don’t think you can agree to it, then not go. I’ve asked Dr. Andrews to report back to me after each session. You’re to attend them all. It’s for your own good.’

  ‘What happened to doctor-patient confidentiality?’

  She smiled like a piranha just before closing its jaws on your private parts. ‘So take me to an industrial tribunal.’

  ‘How long? How many sessions?’

  ‘Dr. Andrews has advised me that you should attend a session today, Monday and Tuesday of next week, and then after Christmas, twice a week until the end of January.’

  I grimaced. Numbers cascaded inside my head. ‘Six weeks! Fifteen sessions!’

  ‘Yes, James.’ She exaggerated looking at the slim gold watch on her left wrist. ‘You‘d better get going, you don’t want to be late for your first appointment. That wouldn’t be a good way to start.’

  ‘But…’

  She stood up. ‘DS Preston can deal with anything that comes up. You trust her don’t you?’

  The Judas. ‘Well, yes. But…’

  ‘Go.’

  I slunk out. Shoulders hunched and head down. Counselling! Me! How embarrassing.

  ***

  ‘Please go in Chief Inspector,’ the short dumpy receptionist said. ‘Dr. Andrews will see you now.’

  ‘That’s very kind of him.’ I’d been pacing in the waiting room for at least five minutes. It was now nine fifty-five.

  I barged through the door.

  ‘I can’t stay long, I’ve got…’

  ‘You’ll stay for the full session, Chief Inspector. You know what will happen if you don’t.’

  I thought I heard the wheels turning the universe grind to a halt. Medusa had transformed me into a block of stone. My mouth hung open like the entrance to the Channel Tunnel. I was half in and half out of my coat. Instead of a man, a teenager confronted me. White knotted elastic held bunches of short brown hair that sprouted from either side of her head. She wore a pair of pink weird-shaped glasses. A pink Pooh Bear cardigan covered a flowery white and orange dress. I didn’t know much about women’s fashion, and I guess she didn’t either. One foot was hidden underneath her nestled posture in a high-backed leather easy chair. A pencil hovered threateningly above a large notebook. She was ready to write down my every utterance. I was a work experience project. The Chief was playing a joke on me.

  ‘If you’re stay
ing Chief Inspector,’ she said without smiling, ‘please take your coat off and lie down.’

  I hung my coat on the stand behind the door, and looked around the large room. ‘Have I got a choice?’

  ‘None,’ she said.

  I inwardly smiled, wondering if she meant None, or she was saying No in French.

  A brown velvet chaise lounge to her right beckoned me, but I knew that she wanted me to relax, to lower my guard, to become easy meat for her psychological games. I needed to stay alert so that I could keep her out of my head. I sat in a well-used chair opposite her and made myself comfortable.

  Strange noises emanated from beneath her, as she leaned forward to switch on the small tape recorder on the coffee table between us. ‘Tell me about your wife.’ Her voice was syrupy.

  What, no introductions? No coffee? No pleasantries?

  ‘Are you sure you’re old enough to do this?’ That should put her in her place, I thought.

  Her mouth smiled fleetingly, but her eyes told another story. ‘Very original,’ she said, then started writing in her notebook.

  My heart skipped a beat. ‘Don’t start writing yet, I haven’t said anything.’

  ‘A PhD in Forensic Psychology, an accredited profiler, and you still don’t know that everything you say and do speak volumes about you. I am surprised.’

  I had the feeling I was sinking in a sea of jelly. ‘Call me James.’

  ‘I’m Gail Andrews, James. I have two PhDs from Cambridge, one in Cognitive Psychology, and the second in Psychotherapy. I’m twenty-five, and I’ve been here for eighteen months. You can call me Doctor. Is there anything else you’d like to know?’

  She could see my brain calculating like a rusty abacus.