‘What’s your gut tell you, Jack?’
‘I think she has him, sir. I think unless something happens very fast to enable us to find this van of hers, then we’ll be looking at another corpse.’
His Super gave a sound of deep disgust. ‘How could she know what we were doing? From what you told me this morning, the Hastings boys were all but on top of Fletcher.’
‘It’s not that she knows what we’re doing, sir, I think it’s more that we’ve been playing catch-up and she sensed we were getting close and most likely sped up her own activities.’
Jack stared at his diary, noted that someone’s red pen had left giveaway dots near the heart he’d doodled a few days ago. It had to be Kate and he felt his gut twist. Today he had been accused of sleeping with one of his DIs, and he hadn’t thought it could get worse until he’d worked out that, despite all the heated denials to her fiance, she was in fact carrying a torch for him. Now, as if life was deliberately kicking him while he was down, he had discovered the woman he was sleeping with was the serial killer Britain was hunting. He imagined what kind of headlines it would make in the press if word of this got out. He closed his eyes in shame as the Super ranted.
‘. . . and now we’ve lost Phillip Bowles. That’s all four of them she’s effectively killed.’
‘I don’t think it would be fair to blame her for Bowles, sir.’
‘Not in legal terms, no, but you know what I mean, Jack.’
‘Yes, sir, I do.’
‘So where do we go from here?’
‘I’ve got Swamp heading over to St Albans where this Mrs Shannon has apparently been garaging Anne McEvoy’s van. We traced her call to Anne’s answering machine, and although I doubt she knows very much, there could be something.’
‘What else?’
‘The housekeeper from the Castle Hotel has been located. She’s been on a trek of some sort — no telephone contact. She verifies that a woman claiming to be an old friend of Michael Sheriff ran into him on the evening he disappeared.’ He heard his Super let out an angry breath. ‘I won’t go into the details, sir, but we suspect this was Anne McEvoy, as also the hoax call from the hospital.’
‘Right,’ Sharpe said. ‘Any more good news?’
‘Brodie’s found the roadster that she picked Clive Farrow up in outside the fish and chip shop. She hired it in Manchester apparently and drove it south, returning it two days later.’
‘Why has it taken us this long to find that bloody car?’
Jack took a steadying breath. Martin Sharpe hadn’t yet heard the worst, and he wasn’t going to take it at all well if the roadster was forcing his blood pressure up. ‘Sir, it was a small boutique rental place — she chose cleverly. The guy who owns it has been in the Caribbean for the last two and half weeks and has only just seen the call to action. He came up with the details pretty swiftly on his return, but that explains the hold-up on that piece of the puzzle.’
‘Okay, so how does this help us now?’ the Super said, somewhat wearily. ‘Do we have an address we trust?’
‘Yes, sir.’ He swallowed. ‘It’s in Highgate.’
‘Highgate, London?’
‘I’m afraid so, sir.’
‘Good grief!’ Sharpe exclaimed.
No turning back now. ‘It’s worse than that, sir, far worse,’ Jack said, lowering his voice. ‘Any chance we can meet?’
‘What’s up, Jack? I don’t like the sound of this.’
‘And won’t, sir, when you hear it all, but I can’t tell you over the phone.’
Sharpe understood. His protégé needed to speak off the record where no conversations were monitored.
‘Where?’
‘Fancy a pint?’
‘I’ll see you at the Star in half an hour.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Jack put the phone down, grim-faced, and looked up to catch a soft glance of concern from Kate. She was at her desk, listening to someone on the phone. He gestured for her to come in when she was free. She arrived moments later.
‘That was news from Fletcher’s mother. Seems he did say something to her about meeting an old schoolfriend.’
Jack sighed. It was already too late for Billy, he suspected. ‘I told the Super. Well, that’s not true. I haven’t told him everything yet, but he’s meeting me shortly to hear it all. He knows there’s something unpleasant coming at him.’
Kate nodded.
‘I want to tell the team,’ Jack went on.
‘Are you sure?’
‘I have to. I’d expect any one of you to come clean with me.’
‘Yes, you’re right. But only the core members need to know.’
‘Get them together, will you. I’d order cakes for a coffee break but I’m not in a party mood.’ ‘They aren’t either. We’re all holding our breath and waiting for news of another body. I told them as much as I could . . .’ She trailed off, uncomfortable to say more.
He nodded glumly. ‘I have to find out how Sophie learned about me being appointed to the case. She moved much too fast not to have inside information.’
‘I agree. Want me to look into it?’
‘You don’t have time.’
‘I’ll make time,’ she insisted, adding more gently, ‘I want to.’
‘Okay, see what you can dig up. The commissioner would have sent out the directive, but I know Commander Drewe was on the SMT that set up Operation Danube as soon as Farrow’s body was discovered. But I know how these things work. When Sheriff's body was discovered, the mutilations would have alerted the decision-makers that this killing had the potential to be repeated. They’d have taken steps on the off-chance that another similar murder occurred. I know Superintendent Sharpe recommended me to head up the case if required, but I don’t think anyone from Sharpe upwards would have said anything to anyone about me until it was formally announced at the media conference. It was coincidence that the apartment in my building was free, but irrelevant really. She could have moved in anywhere close by and achieved the same result.’
‘Accidentally on purpose bumping into you?’ Kate offered.
‘Any number of scenarios leap to mind. A pretty blonde and me single. How could I resist? That said, Sophie had to have had at least four or five weeks’ notice to get set up in the apartment before I met her.’
‘So, admin staff, right?’ Kate asked, frowning. Jack nodded, pleased as usual with the DI’s fast-moving mind. ‘Why don’t I begin with the Super’s secretary.’
‘Helen, yes, good idea. She’s much too wily to be bandying around information, but she will know who the gossips are, where the leak might have occurred, and will certainly point you in the right direction.’
‘Do I tell her why I’m asking?’
‘Hell, yes. She’ll learn soon enough anyway.’
‘I’m on to it. See you in a minute then.’
Jack waited for her to go and then finally found the courage to dial the number he’d wanted to for the past couple of hours.
She answered almost instantly. ‘Jack, hi, I’ve been longing to hear from you.’
‘How was lunch? How’s Mrs Fenton?’ he asked as casually as he could.
‘Lunch was sufficiently terrific that Mrs Fenton’s sleeping it off.’
He’d got what he wanted from her. She was pursuing the lie.
‘You sound out of breath,’ he commented, doodling hard on his pad to keep his mind empty of the anger.
‘Yeah, I hurried — if you can call it hurrying at my speed — to pick up the phone,’ she said, taking a furtive glance behind her at Billy’s corpse.
‘Are you outside?’ he asked.
‘I’m in a hire car now,’ she said, slamming the van door and putting the phone on loudspeaker. She quickly started the engine.
‘I didn’t know you drove. You’re okay to talk?’
‘I’m not a complete cripple, Jack. Of course I can drive. And, yes, I can even talk at the same time, but forgive me if I’m a little distracted while
I’m managing things in the car.’ She laughed but he didn’t. ‘Jack, are you alright?’
‘Just a big day. I’m still at the office.’
‘How’s it going?’
‘Not great.’
‘No progress?’
‘Yes, actually. But the deeper you get into these operations, the uglier it always is.’
‘So what have you turned up? Anything that will help you get this killer?’
He hesitated, wondering whether to bait Sophie. He opted not to at this stage. She’d tricked him with such ease that she was obviously far too smart to be deceived, especially when she was on the alert for hints of discovery.
‘I don’t really want to talk about the killer,’ he said. ‘I’d hoped you could cheer me up.’
‘I will tomorrow.’
‘So you’re definitely coming home tomorrow evening?’
‘Absolutely. I can’t wait to get away from Devon, to be honest.’
‘Well, that’s great. I’ll be waiting for you.’
‘You sound really odd, you know.’
‘Sorry. Guess I miss you.’
‘Ah, that’s more like it. Thank you. I’ve been thinking about you all day.’
‘Me too,’ he said truthfully. ‘I’ve got to go, Sophie. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ He ended the call, unable to keep the bile down a moment longer. He dialled Sarah’s extension. It was a pointless, last-ditch effort to understand.
‘DS Jones,’ she said, sounding distracted.
‘It’s Jack, sorry to disturb you.’
‘No problem, sir. I was just closing down some computer files — apparently there’s a meeting in a minute.’
‘There is. Can I ask you to look into something for me?’
‘Sure.’
‘Can you hunt down a Mrs Fenton who lives at North Molton in Devon? I’m pretty sure it’s a small enough place that not having her Christian name shouldn’t pose a problem.’ He gave her the address.
‘What am I tracking her for, sir? Is there anything specific to look for?’
‘Her existence,’ he said abruptly.
As the van idled at the lights, Anne allowed her thoughts to wander sadly back to Jack and the fact that there could never be a future for them. Everything about Sophie was fabricated: the bright gold of her hair, the cosmetic enhancements on her perfect teeth, the coloured contact lenses. Only the body was Anne’s, sculpted over years of hard training and careful eating, but even that had been disguised in the wheelchair. Sophie was simply a vehicle for Anne: a tool to get her close to the source, close to the one person she knew could get in the way of her full revenge. It was unplanned that she’d develop such genuine feelings for Jack, but, she told herself again, it was a relationship based on lies and misdirection and was always going to end. Had the end just arrived? Jack had sounded strained, remote. Granted, he had plenty on his mind, but he usually found some warmth for her, no matter what was happening at work. Had the bitchfaced sidekick set off warnings in his mind?
Anne tracked back through the day. The first bell that could have sounded the death knell of their relationship was almost certainly Jack not finding her on the train platform at Paddington. She thought she’d sidetracked him adroitly but perhaps not. Jack was a police officer after all, and he didn’t get to the position of DCI without some genuine talent, no matter who was pushing his barrow. So perhaps he did some checking up on the timetable and discovered there were no earlier trains. It was the only trick she could pull out of the hat when he had put her on the spot and she’d known as she said it that she was laying herself bare to scrutiny. Nevertheless, more must have occurred for him to become suspicious enough to take it further. But Anne’s internal radar was giving off signals of dread; she was convinced Jack was on to her. Whether he had made the final connection she had no idea, but his edgy tone suggested something was amiss between them and, unless he had stumbled upon something, there was no reason for it . . . not even work stress. No, it had to be his nosey colleague, that Kate woman. And then daylight switched on in her mind as she realised the crucial error she’d made.
Cars honked with irritation that the van hadn’t lurched forward immediately the lights had turned green. She apologised, holding a hand to her rear-view mirror, and quickly pulled off the road into a parking spot to consider this new development.
How could she be so stupid! She’d become familiar with the phone system at Scotland Yard when she’d posed as a research student there: Every phone call recorded. Every phone number flashing up on the consoles. Now she understood how she’d given herself away to Kate.
‘Bitchface was smart enough to register I wasn’t calling from Devon,’ she murmured. ‘And she’s told Jack.’
That was it. It had to be. Kate’s jealousy, or whatever was driving that bitter tone in her voice when they’d spoken earlier today, had prompted the police officer to bring Sophie’s lie into the open. Kate could have left it alone, or she might never have noticed the number, but neither of those scenarios had occurred. Not only had Kate noticed the Brighton number — damn her — but she had decided she’d tell Jack to boot. And assuming he had checked the train timetables, this news would have set off a much bigger explosion in his mind.
Anne shook her head to clear her thoughts and tried to reassure herself that Jack couldn’t possibly have connected Sophie Fenton with the serial killer just yet, no matter how suspicious he might be about his new girlfriend telling fibs. But doubts persisted.
She rang Mrs Becker. ‘Hello, Traute, it’s Sophie here. How are you?’
‘Ah, Miss Fenton, I’m alright, thank you. I —’
Anne didn’t give the older woman the chance to get into one of her long conversations. ‘I was just wondering, have you seen Mr Hawksworth today?’ The older woman hesitated and Anne decided to help her along. ‘I’m not sure if you know this, Mrs Becker, but Jack and I are seeing each other. We blame you for bringing us together, actually,’ and she gave a soft laugh.
‘I can put two and two together,’ Mrs Becker replied in her thick accent.
Anne laughed again, began crafting the lie. ‘I figured you would. Anyway, I’m trying to reach him but I can’t find him at work or home and I’d promised him I’d call him this evening. I don’t know what to do. I thought you might have seen him,’ she prompted.
‘Well, that’s what I’m telling you, Miss Fenton. His people are here. They’re in your apartment.’
Anne froze. She felt as though she couldn’t breathe. ‘Pardon?’ she finally croaked.
‘Ja, your apartment has loads of police people walking in and out of it.’
‘Mrs Becker, what’s happening?’ Anne said, already guessing but needing to have it confirmed by someone else.
‘Mr Hawksworth came to the apartments with a woman — his colleague, he told me later — but I didn’t speak to them at first, just saw them out of the window. I’m on the first floor after all, with a very good view of the street, and you know I miss nothing.’ Anne wanted to reach down the phone and throttle the old busybody. ‘Anyway, he came banging on my door not very long later and told me not to be alarmed but a team of investigators — ja, that’s the word he used — investigators would be coming to enter your apartment.’
‘What time was this?’
‘About, ah, let me see, I spoke to him just after four perhaps and they were here from six-ish or so. I can’t be sure. What is going on?’
‘I have no idea but I will be finding out. I have to go,’ Anne said firmly. Jack had put all the sums together, it seemed, and come up with the right answer.
‘Do you want me to take the phone up to them?’ Mrs Becker asked and Anne could hear the greed in her voice, the desire for any excuse to get into that apartment and see exactly what all this excitement was about.
‘No, don’t worry yourself, Mrs Becker, but thank you. And don’t mention I called. I’ll find Jack and sort this out.’
‘I don’t want to be involved, Miss Fenton. I am s
imply telling you what I know,’ the woman replied, obviously offended that she might be considered overly curious.
Anne hung up, her breathing ragged. Jack wasn’t just suspicious, he was on to her.
She dialled the St Albans number. ‘Mrs Shannon?’
‘Oh, I’m glad you’ve called. Now, you won’t be bringing that van back, will you, luv? I don’t want any trouble with the police.’
Anne’s stomach did a flip. She was too late. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Nothing yet, but I’ve been seeing those reports as I told you on that machine and I know they’re going to come snooping around my house. I can’t be caught breaking the law, luv. I hope you won’t take this the wrong way.’
‘No, no, I won’t, but what do you mean about the machine?’
‘Oh, I left a message on that answering contraption of yours. I thought that’s why you’re calling.’
‘No, I haven’t been home yet, Mrs Shannon,’ Anne answered, her mind dull with rage.
‘Well, great minds then, luv. I’m sorry we can’t continue — I liked the cash, but I can’t have Social Security cutting me off and all that. I know you understand. Just post back the key, there’s a luv.’
Anne shook her head. It was all falling part and she was so close . . . just so close to her nemesis. She couldn’t believe he was going to elude her again.
‘Will do. Keep mum, Mrs Shannon — don’t tell them anything if they ask any questions.’
‘Why would they?’ the old girl demanded, freshly anxious.
‘I mean just in case any neighbours say they’ve seen a white van and all that. You have nothing to be afraid of.’
‘I’ll say it was my niece’s or something.’
Anne couldn’t care less any more. ‘Whatever. Goodbye, Mrs Shannon.’
She hung up, her mind already racing ahead. She couldn’t go back to Highgate, and she had to get rid of this van. But the truth was, she no longer had many choices. Fortunately, she’d packed cleverly — she had all she needed in her backpack and small luggage case. Again she counted her blessings at removing the most incriminating evidence from the apartment — the note from the Jesters Club — but they’d have worked out within minutes that the occupant of the fourth floor was no invalid and they would have decided that Sophie Fenton was the alter ego of serial killer Anne McEvoy.
Bye Bye Baby Page 38
