The Night Stalker (Detective Jane Bennett and Mike Lockyer series Book 4)

by Clare Donoghue

  Roger pursed his lips and cleared his throat. ‘Well, I got a call yesterday about an RTC. Possible hit and run. The victim’s car left the road, collided with a tree and caught fire.’

  Lockyer sucked air through his teeth. ‘Nasty.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Roger said, steepling his fingers.

  ‘Well, my team’s open. So where am I going?’

  ‘Somerset.’

  Lockyer stopped midway through getting his pen out of his jacket. He looked over at Roger. ‘Somerset? As in Somerset, Somerset?’

  ‘Yes,’ Roger said. ‘The victim was only in the South West temporarily. She was a London resident. She’s got a flat over in Bromley. Anyway, given the severity of the incident, the superintendent in charge of CID down in Bridgwater felt it was important to have the Met involved from the outset.’

  ‘Sounds fair,’ Lockyer said with a shrug. ‘Will it be a joint investigation?’ He started jotting down some notes on his pad. The rain was pounding on the glass outside, punctuating his words. ‘Are they sending someone here? Am I sending one of the team there? What’s the plan? How do they want to work it? Oh, and what’s the superintendent called?’ He looked up when there was no response to his last question – or any of the others.

  Roger sniffed and cleared his throat. He opened his mouth and interlocked his fingers. ‘It’s not quite that . . . straightforward.’

  ‘Why not?’ he asked. ‘What’s the problem?’ Silence greeted his question. ‘You’re gonna have to help me out here, sir.’

  Roger pulled at his collar. ‘It’s complicated – delicate. It will require discretion.’

  ‘I think I can handle it,’ Lockyer said, although he doubted anyone would put diplomacy at the top of his CV.

  Roger sighed and dropped his shoulders. ‘You didn’t hear this from me, OK?’

  ‘OK.’ Lockyer’s curiosity was piqued.

  ‘I got the call first thing yesterday morning from the superintendent – Terry Atkinson. He told me the basics and the London connection and asked if I could send a senior officer down to assist with the investigation, which, as you said, sounds fair,’ Roger said. ‘However, when I asked all the questions you just did . . . whether it’d be a joint inquiry, et cetera . . . he seemed unsure. He said he would reassess as the case developed, but for now he just wants you.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Well,’ Roger said, ‘he asked for an experienced senior DI, so I figured . . .’

  ‘You figured you’d send in your best,’ Lockyer said with a grin.

  Roger raised an eyebrow. ‘That remains to be seen.’ He pulled his thumb and forefinger down the sides of his mouth. ‘Anyway, as it stands it’s a hit and run. However, there is a question over premeditation, and therefore what kind of charge they’d be looking to go with as and when they have a suspect.’

  ‘I’m sensing a but?’

  ‘The but is where it starts to get complicated,’ Roger said. ‘When I pushed Atkinson on exactly what kind of support he was after, he reluctantly admitted that he wasn’t confident about the DI currently assigned to the case.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He didn’t go into detail.’

  ‘You didn’t ask?’

  ‘Of course I asked,’ Roger said, sitting forward in his chair. ‘Believe it or not, Mike, this isn’t my first day on the force.’

  ‘So what did he say?’

  ‘Atkinson just said the DI was a recent transfer from Bristol and that he had struggled with his last case, so he felt it only prudent to put proper support in place ASAP.’

  ‘Come on, Rog, what else? I can see by your face there’s more to this than babysitting some green DI.’

  ‘I got another call this morning,’ Roger said.

  ‘From who?’

  ‘I can’t say.’

  ‘Someone high up, then?’ Lockyer said.

  Roger shrugged. ‘Let’s just say it was someone I trained with who has done better than me, career-wise.’

  ‘OK. Do you know why they’re involving themselves with us lowly folk?’

  ‘Not really, no.’

  ‘What do they want?’

  ‘They want whoever I send – namely you – to take over the investigation,’ Roger said, opening his hands. ‘According to . . . my contact, the DI in charge is bordering on incompetent.’

  ‘So why don’t they get shot of them?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Roger said, shaking his head. ‘It seems that information is above my pay grade . . . and yours. All I do know is that you will be lead DI in all but name. However, as far as Atkinson and this DI are concerned, you are just going there to assist. And as far as you are concerned, there was no second phone call.’

  Lockyer blew out a breath. ‘Bloody hell. Why all the secrecy?’

  Roger opened his hands. ‘Who knows? But if I had to guess, and given who my contact is, I’d say they want some kind of control over the case but don’t want to be accused of . . .’

  ‘Undue influence, abuse of power?’ Lockyer said.

  ‘Yes and yes,’ Roger said.

  Lockyer scratched the back of his head. ‘How on earth am I going to lead without telling the DI I’m leading?’ Roger looked at him, but didn’t speak. ‘Oh, I see. I’m going to have to figure that one out myself, is that right?’

  ‘That’s why it’s a favour,’ was all Roger said.

  ‘You’re telling me,’ Lockyer said. ‘Am I right in assuming I can’t take the team with me?’

  ‘You can take one.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll take Jane.’

  Roger was shaking his head. ‘DS Bennett will be needed here. She’ll be picking up the slack on your cases.’

  ‘Not a chance, sir,’ Lockyer said. ‘If I have to go down there and lead without appearing to lead, and run someone else’s team without actually being able to tell them what to do, then I want Jane with me.’ He could see Roger was about to argue. ‘You want your best,’ he said. ‘Well, I want mine.’

  Roger rolled his eyes and dragged his hands down his face. The new job was taking its toll. Lockyer would swear the poor guy was ageing before his eyes. ‘Fine.’ Roger pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘I really don’t have time to argue with you, but Lockyer, I want all cases covered and handed over before you leave for Somerset.’

  ‘No problem,’ he said, knowing it was a lie; but he had no intention of walking into the unknown without backup, and the only person he trusted was Jane. He followed Roger out of the incident room. He would call in some old favours. He would sort his and Jane’s cases – one way or the other. He walked across the office, Roger at his side. Neither of them spoke. Lockyer was beginning to wish the meeting had been about his missed therapy session. He pushed the button for the lift. ‘When are they expecting me?’

  ‘As soon as you can get down there. Today, if possible. I’ve emailed the file over to you.’

  ‘This just keeps getting better,’ Lockyer said.

  ‘Look,’ Roger said. ‘I know this is a big ask. Under any other circumstances I’d have said no. But I got the distinct impression that my career was on the line.’

  ‘Don’t you mean our careers?’ Lockyer said as the doors opened.

  Lockyer let the phone ring, but there was no answer. He left another message. ‘Megs, I got your text. Can you give me a call back? I’m leaving town on a job but wanted to speak to you before I . . . well, just call me, OK?’ He hung up as his office line started to ring. He picked up. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Hey, Mike, it’s me again.’ He looked at the call log on the phone. It was Dixie on reception. ‘I’ve got DI William Townsend on the phone for you again,’ she said.

  ‘Shit,’ he said. ‘Sorry, totally went out of my head. Put him through.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. My brain still thinks it’s Monday,’ Dixie said. ‘I’ll put him through now, hon.’ Lockyer winced at the ‘hon’. When had that started? He wasn’t aware he and Dixie were that close.

  ‘Hello?’ a voice said.<
br />
  ‘DI . . . Townsend,’ Lockyer said, managing to drag the guy’s name out of his addled brain. ‘Sorry not to get back to you.’

  ‘Not a problem,’ Townsend said. ‘I just wanted to get things sorted . . . manpower-wise so I know who’s doing what, where.’

  ‘Sorry, I’m not sure I—’

  ‘DI Lockyer?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘I’m Bill Townsend from Avon and Somerset constabulary.’

  The penny dropped. ‘Of course . . . sorry, Bill,’ Lockyer said. Roger had never told him the DI’s name. He hadn’t asked. ‘It’s been a busy morning.’

  ‘Here too,’ Townsend said. ‘I hope you don’t mind me calling? In my experience collaborative investigations can be a minefield of problems and miscommunications so I wanted to speak to you and get things straight before you meet the team either later today or tomorrow, depending on your schedule.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ Lockyer said, trying to sound casual. His meeting with Roger had been less than ten minutes ago. He hadn’t had a chance to check the details of the case on the computer yet. All he knew was that it was an RTC. He realized he didn’t even know the name of the victim. ‘I’m hoping to get down to you today. What do you need from me in the meantime?’

  ‘I think it’d be better to speak in person, if you don’t mind?’ Townsend said.

  ‘Sure, sure. Well, why don’t you give me your mobile number and I’ll call you when I know my timings and we can meet . . . get on the same page or whatever before I . . . before you introduce me to the team . . .’

  But Townsend didn’t give him his mobile number. There was no need.

  Lockyer ended the call and punched in Roger’s extension.

  ‘Yes,’ Roger said, answering on the first ring.

  ‘I need to see you.’

  ‘I can’t, I’m due in with the Chief . . .’

  ‘I don’t give a shit who you’re due in with, Rog. I need to see you now. I need to know exactly what your friend told you about this DI.’

  ‘Why? What’s happened?’

  ‘He’s here.’

  ‘What do you mean he’s here?’

  ‘I mean, he’s downstairs.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  10th December – Thursday

  Jane pulled into the station car park, found a space and reversed into it, turned off the engine and rested her head on the steering wheel. On a scale of one to ten, one being amazing and ten being Armageddon, today had so far been a twenty-seven.

  She had paid for her tardiness to the breakfast table, and then some. Peter had thrown the mother of all shit-fits. The kitchen floor had ended up coated in cold scrambled eggs and the walls smeared with a combination of baked beans and buttered toast. There was no way she could reward his behaviour with a Friends episode, so she had ended up bundling him into the car kicking and screaming and taking him straight to school. The only small mercy was that as soon as he saw his teaching aide, he had forgotten all about breakfast and their fight. Mrs Roberts had been treated to a beaming smile and a detailed briefing about the feeding habits of the Velociraptor. When Jane left, he had turned and waved goodbye as if the entire morning had been wiped from his memory. She wished she had the ability to do the same.

  She took her handbag off the passenger seat, ignoring her pale reflection in the rear-view mirror, and climbed out of the car. An afternoon in the office would be a welcome distraction at this point.

  As she walked across the car park she pulled her coat tighter while searching in her handbag for her lanyard. It was bloody freezing and forecast to get a lot colder, but at least the rain had stopped. Her hands closed around the frigid piece of plastic and she pulled it out and put it around her neck. She realized she was muttering to herself. A morning off was meant to be more relaxing. She had only just finished cleaning the kitchen when the first of her childminder interviewees had arrived. She paused for a second before punching in the code and letting herself in by the back entrance of the station. They changed the codes on a fortnightly basis. For the first few days after a change it was commonplace to see officers milling about around the entrance, waiting for someone with a better memory to let them into the building. The door slammed shut behind her.

  The highlight of the childminding bunch had to be Karen, the twenty-two-year-old. What a peach she was. Her first comment had been that Jane was small for a copper and then, with a straight face, she had asked whether Peter’s autism was anything like Dustin Hoffman’s in Rain Man.

  Jane shook her head, deciding whether to take the stairs or be lazy and call for the lift. She didn’t expect people to fully understand Peter’s condition, but given everyone was meant to be on the spectrum these days, she was surprised to still find so much ignorance surrounding the subject. She unwound her scarf as she dragged herself up the stairs.

  ‘Hey.’

  She looked up. ‘Penny, hi,’ Jane said. ‘You off to lunch?’

  Penny walked down a few steps to meet her, a broad grin on her face. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m going to meet my mum. We’re off wedding-dress shopping.’

  ‘You’ve set a date already?’ Jane asked.

  ‘Not yet, but it’ll be towards the end of next year, so there’s no time to waste,’ Penny said, hopping from foot to foot. ‘I want to look at favours, invitations. Max said we might even get a wedding planner. He’s happy to pay for it.’

  ‘Could this guy get any more perfect?’ Jane asked, hoping she didn’t sound bitter.

  Penny shook her head, a wistful expression settling on her features. ‘I just feel so lucky,’ she said. ‘I still can’t believe it.’

  ‘It’s no more than you deserve, Pen,’ Jane said as she began to climb the stairs again. She felt like she needed to get away. If she had to listen to any more of Penny’s unbridled joy, she thought she might snap and say something she regretted. It wasn’t Penny’s fault Jane’s taste in men was crap. It wasn’t her fault that Peter’s father was a pathological liar who seemed to be making it his mission in life to destroy everything Jane had built for herself and her son.

  ‘Anything I need to know before you go?’

  ‘Chris and Franks took statements from Simons and Rivers this morning,’ Penny said. ‘Both guys knew Bashir, but of course both are keeping schtum.’

  ‘Of course,’ Jane said. Gang-related deaths were a common occurrence – the team’s bread and butter. The murders themselves might be different, but the interview process was always the same. No one saw anything, no one knew anything and no one was going to talk to the police, no matter what you threatened them with. ‘When does this borough ever talk?’

  Penny shrugged and looked at her watch. ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said.

  ‘Go,’ Jane said. ‘Have a good time.’ Penny seemed to float away. Jane turned and pulled herself up the last remaining stairs before yanking open the door to the murder squad’s offices. The buzz of conversation and ringing phones made her head ache.

  Lockyer was striding towards her. If his stubble was anything to go by, he was on day three of his personal maintenance embargo. How he made dishevelled look good she would never know. If she didn’t wash her hair every day and plaster her face with BB cream, she wasn’t fit to be seen in public. ‘Jane, good, you’re here,’ he said.

  ‘Only just,’ she said as the heavy fire door hit her on the back, knocking her off balance.

  ‘Good, great,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a few things I need to go over with you.’ He had turned away and was heading for his office. He looked at her over his shoulder. ‘My office?’ he said, gesturing with his head for her to follow.

  ‘Can I . . . ?’ she asked, holding up her bag and her scarf.

  ‘No need, this won’t take long. Sasha,’ Lockyer called across the office. ‘I’m just sitting down with DS Bennett for five minutes. Can you go down to Bella’s and tell a DI Townsend that we’ll be with him in ten minutes, and apologize again for the delay.’

  ‘What does he
look like?’ Sasha asked, pushing back from her desk and reaching for her jacket on the back of her chair.

  Lockyer shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Just look for the out-of-place copper, and that’ll be him.’ He turned. ‘Come on, Jane.’

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and followed on behind him.

  Lockyer waited for Jane to take a seat before he closed the door, walked round his desk and sat down, positioning and repositioning his legs until they weren’t pushing against the underside of the table. ‘Cold out?’ he asked. Her skin was the colour of weak tea, or gnat’s piss, as he called it. The expression ‘ridden hard and put away wet’ sprang to mind. Without answering, she shrugged out of her coat, the smell of the freezing afternoon coming off her in waves accompanied by, if he wasn’t mistaken, a sense of doom. He took a breath, but then decided it was best to plough on in the hope the warmth of his office might thaw her rigid expression.

  ‘Roger has just assigned me to a new case.’

  ‘Right,’ she said without inflection.

  ‘It’s an RTC down in Somerset. It’s been listed as suspicious.’

  ‘Somerset?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Looks like a hit and run . . . possible premeditation.’ She nodded, but didn’t speak. ‘How’s your caseload?’

  Jane looked up at the ceiling and let out a long sigh. Lockyer resisted the urge to do the same. He didn’t have time for this. ‘I’m finishing up three,’ she said. ‘Ayoade, Trenton and Assaf, and we’re on second-round interviews for the Bashir hit.’

  ‘Anyone talking?’

  ‘What do you think?’ she asked, with a lot more attitude than he was used to or happy with.

  ‘OK,’ he said, ignoring her tone. ‘I’ve got four – Highdale, Davis, Woodland and Smith – and two active, Merrett and Morris; but both are close to wrapping up, given I am getting nowhere. All pretty straightforward. I will be able to remotely close off the four but I’ll need to hand over Merrett and Morris.’ He stopped to let her say something – anything – but she just stared at her hands. It was like talking to a zombie.