by Max Manning
“Did your sister ever mention anything about being watched or followed in the weeks before her murder?”
Leah frowned. “She never said anything to me. What are you suggesting? I thought it was simply a case of her being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m exploring possibilities. People who do what this killer is doing are usually grade A psychopaths. More often than not, they carefully select their victims, usually for a reason that exists only in their twisted minds, and stalk them for days, even weeks. In some cases, they make a point of getting to know their victims socially. They almost all have an uncanny ability to put people at ease. If you get to meet them several times and you know what to look for, you can often pick up that there’s something off about them. Something not quite right.”
Leah’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back. “Could I have some water, please?”
Fenton darted into the kitchen and returned with a tumbler he’d filled to the top. He handed it to Leah, and she took a small sip.
“I know talking about this can’t be easy for you,” he said.
Leah took another drink and sighed. “Lauren and I had a difficult relationship. In some ways, I think we were too alike, and in others, so different. Our parents died in a car crash in France seven years ago. After that, we drifted apart. We only started to get close again after she left Blake.”
Fenton hadn’t expected Leah to bare her soul and was at a loss as to how to respond. He played safe and nodded sagely at her.
She took the hint and changed the subject. “I thought maybe I’d get to meet your daughter tonight. It must have been horrible for her, and you, of course, you know, what happened to her nanny.”
“Tess is in her room. You know what eleven-year-old girls are like. Last time I checked, she was reading.”
“That’s pretty impressive,” Leah said. “I’d expect most children of her age to be glued to their computer screens or smartphones.”
Fenton leaned back in the chair and felt his body relax. Leah was easy to talk to. “You know, Marta was the first nanny Tess liked. The fifth since her mother died. She gave the others such a hard time. I think she felt they were employed to replace her mum, and she wasn’t having any of it.”
“What was your wife’s name?”
“Josephine. I called her Josie.”
“She got sick?”
“Cancer. Once we had the diagnosis, it took her quickly.”
“That’s so sad. I’m sorry.”
Fenton smiled ruefully. This was the last thing he had expected to talk about. For the past year and a half, he’d had to be strong. For Tess. He’d done it by trying his best to pretend it had never happened. Saying the words out loud, for the first time in a long time, felt less traumatic than he’d expected. “Coffee?” he asked. “Or I could open some wine?”
“Coffee would be good.”
Leah followed him into the kitchen and sat at the table. Neither of them spoke while Fenton made the drinks, but it was a comfortable silence. As he handed Leah her coffee, Tess walked in. She stared silently at Leah, not bothering to hide her disapproval.
“Hi, Tess,” Fenton said. “I’ve been telling Leah all about you. We’re having coffee, but I could do you a hot chocolate if you’d like?”
Tess ignored him, went to the sink, and half filled a glass with water. On her way back to her room, she hesitated and looked over her shoulder.
“If you’re a new nanny, then you’re wasting your time,” she said. “I’m old enough to look after myself now.”
“No, I’m not a nanny,” Leah said, laughing softly. “But it’s nice to meet you anyway.”
The girl switched her gaze to her father. “Is this a date or something?”
“It’s not a date. Don’t be silly,” he said. “Leah and I are working together. It’s a work meeting.”
Tess gave him a weary look and walked out, closing the door behind her.
“I’m sorry about that,” Fenton said. “She’s a great girl really. She’s struggling a bit, that’s all. She hasn’t been to school since Marta was killed. The truth is, I’m thinking about sending her to stay with my parents in Devon for a while. Just until the killer is caught.”
Leah picked up her coffee and took a drink. “I understand that you’re worried about her safety, but after what happened, I’d be surprised if she wouldn’t rather be with her father.”
“Maybe you’re right,” he said. “I just want to do what’s right for Tess. Josie was a remarkable woman. The void her death has left is impossible to fill.”
“Being a single parent is hard. You’re doing your best. Anyone can see that.”
“What if my best is not good enough?”
Leah didn’t have an answer, and Fenton decided to move the conversation back to the investigation. “Can I ask you a bit more about your sister?”
“Feel free.”
“How long was she in a relationship with Blake?”
“Nearly a year, I think.”
“What did she say about her relationship ending? Why did she leave him?”
Leah thought for a moment before replying. “It was pretty complex. She loved him. That was obvious.”
“But she ended it. She walked out on Blake, didn’t she?”
“She did. She didn’t want to, but she felt she had no choice. Lauren saw the good in him. She desperately wanted to help him. When it became clear he didn’t want to help himself, that was when she gave up. He was lost. Like a kid lost in the dark woods. That’s what she told me. She tried to guide him out, but I think she got frightened about being dragged into the darkness herself.”
Leah paused, took another sip of her coffee, and frowned. “What is this all about? I’ve asked Blake to take a fresh look at Lauren’s murder, and you’ve agreed to help. I don’t understand these questions.”
“I just want to get it clear in my head why you picked Blake. There are plenty of experienced investigators for hire in the city. I could even recommend a couple of former police officers who’d do a good job for you. I know Blake was a well-regarded journalist, but researching a story is not the same as investigating a murder.”
Leah shrugged. “I believe he can do a good job. I am confident he’s got the skills. Otherwise, it’d simply be a waste of time. I did some research of my own, and he had a reputation as a fearless reporter.”
“A bit too fearless if you ask me,” Fenton said. “There’s a fine line between bravery and stupidity. Hanging around the Iraq-Syria border armed with nothing more than a pen, a notebook, and a smartphone could be considered foolish.”
Leah shook her head. “He may be a bit reckless, but I don’t think he’s a bad person. In fact, I’m sure he’s not. He’s honest. Says what he thinks. I like that about him. Are you having second thoughts?”
“I’m not. I simply want to understand who I’m working with and why.”
“Another reason I chose Blake was to do something for Lauren. To try to finish what she started. She always said he needed to get back to work. Needed to focus his mind. I also believe he wants to do it for Lauren. Needs too, even. Does that answer your questions?”
“I suppose it does.”
Leah pulled her cell phone from her pocket and tapped at the screen. “I’m ordering a taxi to pick me up in ten minutes,” she said. “That should be long enough for you to fill me in on the progress you’ve made.”
Fenton thought her use of the word progress a little optimistic, but he didn’t say so. “It’s early days yet. I’m taking a fresh look at the three murders. Obviously, I haven’t got access to the case files anymore, but I did bring some notes home with me, and I have a pretty good memory for details.”
“What about this suspect Blake has already come up with? The detective who took the café’s se
curity camera footage?”
“I think, at this stage, calling him a suspect is a bit strong,” Fenton said. “We’ve only got the café owner’s word for it. If it is true, then we can’t afford to let Ince know that we know. If he gets a whiff of what we’re up to, he could destroy the footage. It’s possible he’s done that already. But keeping this to ourselves makes me uneasy. I’ve been suspended, not sacked. I’m still a police officer. I could be accused of withholding evidence.”
“But nobody knows you’re working with Blake. I’m not going to tell anybody.”
Fenton took a swig of coffee, made a face, then took another. “Let’s hope we can keep it that way. I like Blake, but he seems to have no qualms about breaking the law.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s arranged for that contact of his to take a look at the Yard’s computer system to see if anyone’s been accessing data they shouldn’t have.”
Leah frowned, her perfectly plucked eyebrows almost meeting. “That’s a problem because?”
“Because it’s as illegal as hell, and he’s going to land us all in big trouble if he’s caught.”
• • •
Fenton stood at the window sipping a cold beer as he watched Leah slide into the backseat of the taxi. He put the bottle down, covered his face with his hands, and rubbed his eyes. He needed sleep but knew it wouldn’t come easy. Walking over to the sink, he poured the remaining beer away. For a moment, he considered checking on Tess. Only for a moment. He didn’t want a grilling about Leah.
Feeling cowardly, he tiptoed past her bedroom, but the sound of sobbing stopped him dead. He pushed the door open and walked in. Tess had yanked the duvet over her head. He pulled the cover back and gently wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “Don’t cry,” he said.
“I don’t want to go. Please don’t make me, Daddy.”
“Hey, come on. What’s this about?”
Tess sniffed loudly. “I heard you. You’re sending me away.”
Fenton bent down and kissed her softly on the top of her head. “I think it might be a good idea for you to stay with Gran and Granddad for a while. You always love it when we visit.”
Tess rubbed her eyes hard with the back of her hand. “I want to stay with you.”
“I know that, darling, but it’s my job to keep you safe.”
“I’ll feel much safer, I’ll be much safer, if I’m with you.”
Fenton pulled the duvet up to her shoulders, bent down, and kissed her hot forehead. “I want to do what’s best for you. I’ll think about it. Okay?”
She replied with another sniff.
By the time he climbed into bed, it was almost midnight. His eyes ached, but he knew sleep was a long way off. Opening the drawer of his bedside table, he pulled out a sheet of paper, unfolded it, and carefully smoothed it between his fingers.
Written on the paper, in a flowing elegant script, was Josie’s last message to him. Fenton smiled to himself. He’d been lucky to marry an amazing woman. She knew what was coming, and she knew it was coming soon, and she chose to write him a list of instructions. Josie had always loved writing lists.
Her last list was almost certainly the shortest. Three things, just three things he had to promise to do. Number one was the easiest: Take all of Josie’s love and give Tess double. Number two: Make their daughter laugh at least once every day. He’d failed miserably on that one. Number three: When he was ready, find Tess a new mum. Fenton doubted that was ever going to happen, but he’d promised anyway.
He carefully folded the sheet of paper, slipped it back into the drawer, and switched off the light. Lying in the darkness, he tucked his hands behind his head. The likelihood of him sleeping was zero unless he stopped thinking about Josie.
He started mulling over the events of the last few days. He’d always been a stickler for following rules and regulations, doing everything by the book. That had been a big part of his success. Most big cases were broken by slow, steady police work. Each stage of a murder investigation, from initial door-to-door inquiries to background checks on suspects to the assessment of forensic evidence, had to be done meticulously and in the right order.
One careful step at a time. That was how he led murder inquiries, and until now, it had worked for him. Somehow, he’d found himself banished from the Yard, entangled in an unofficial inquiry with a former journalist who didn’t follow the rules. Hell, Blake didn’t even acknowledge that a rulebook existed. It wasn’t too late to back out. To admit he’d made a mistake. So what was stopping him?
Fenton closed his eyes in a feeble attempt to block unwanted thoughts. After a few seconds, he opened them again. As his vision adjusted to the darkness, he accepted the undeniable truth. More than anything, he wanted to be part of taking this killer down. The Yard had decided to deprive him of that privilege. He couldn’t accept it. It was unacceptable. Evil had come to his doorstep. He wasn’t going to sit around waiting for his replacement to get lucky.
Fenton’s eyes closed again. This time, they were heavy with tiredness. He rolled over onto his side, ready to embrace sleep. Then his cell phone rang. He reached over to the bedside table, snatched up the phone with one hand, and switched on the lamp with the other.
“What the hell is it, Blake?” he said, wanting to shout but having to keep his voice down because he was worried about waking Tess. “Do you know what time it is?”
“I do, but here’s a tip for you, Detective. If you haven’t got a watch, take a look at the screen of your cell phone. The time should always be on there.”
Fenton pushed himself up into a sitting position and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He’d told Leah that he liked Blake, and he’d been telling the truth, but sometimes the man could be downright annoying.
“I assume this is important.”
“Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep,” Blake said. “I know how much you need it.”
“What is it?”
“Detective Constable Ince.”
“What about him.”
“He’s been a naughty boy. Accessing parts of the computer network way above his security level. Looking at stuff he shouldn’t be looking at. Reading information about people he shouldn’t be reading about.”
Fenton stood up and switched on the main light. “Are you sure about this?”
“My contact is sure, and I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.”
“Shit,” Fenton said. “How did Ince get into these files if he didn’t have the right clearance? The security on the system is meant to be virtually impregnable.”
“I think the word ‘virtually’ is the key to answering that question. According to my man, Ince must have specialist knowledge. A talent for all things techie that he’s been keeping secret.”
“What files has he been looking at?”
Blake hesitated before answering. When he did speak, it was clear he’d chosen his words carefully.
“I don’t want to go into that sort of detail right now. Like computer systems, phones can be hacked into fairly easily, if you know what you’re doing. Get back to your beauty sleep, and we’ll talk more in the morning. Somewhere out in the open maybe.”
“Where do you suggest? I don’t want to leave Tess for too long.”
“I’ll text you in the morning. Good night. Sleep tight.”
Fenton tossed his cell phone onto the bed. There was no way he was going to sleep. He picked the phone up, went to Google, and searched for I, Killer. One point seven million results in 0.89 seconds. Fuck.
He was fighting to stifle an urge to hurl his cell phone at the wall when the third item on the results list caught his eye. Breaking news on the BBC. New I, Killer post. He opened the page. The bulletin was brief. Serial killer sends internet followers chilling new post. Police say the message appeared on a Twitter account set up one hour ago.
My next victim has shown her childish face. #IKiller
Fenton read the news bulletin again. The killer wanted his followers to be ready for his next offering. Whetting their appetite…her childish face. Fear for Tess flamed in his chest.
Forty-Seven
The Regent’s Canal is one of London’s best-kept secrets. Stretching nine miles from Paddington in the west to the Limehouse Basin in the east, Blake thought of it as an oasis of calm in a city of troubles.
Sitting on a wooden bench facing the waterway, he tilted his face to the sky and let the autumn sun warm his skin. The four-mile walk along the towpath, from Victoria Park to the York Way canal bridge in south Islington, had given him plenty of time to think how best to handle Fenton.
The suspended detective would advise caution, suggest that, based on his vast experience, they shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Blake had other ideas. He was in the mood to jump so high, he’d need a parachute.
Fenton appeared to be an honest, decent citizen. Blake liked him, but he wasn’t sure whether he should trust him. He’d only known him for twenty minutes and Blake didn’t trust people he’d known for twenty years.
He nodded encouragement as a puffing, middle-aged man wearing unflattering, skintight Lycra pedaled by and returned the smile of a woman in her midtwenties jogging in the opposite direction. For almost a year, Blake had done all his running indoors. Watching a green-and-red narrow boat chug under the bridge, he allowed himself to consider joining the towpath joggers.
He turned at the sound of footsteps to see Fenton descending the slope. Wearing a dark suit, white shirt, and black tie, the police officer looked like he was on his way to a funeral.
“Right on time,” Blake said. “Nice of you to dress up for the occasion. If I’d known, I’d have worn something smarter.”
Fenton stopped behind the bench, took a white paper bag out of his jacket pocket, and tossed it to Blake. “Shut up and eat,” he said.
Blake opened the bag and pulled out a bagel filled with bacon and cream cheese. The bagel was still warm. He took a bite and licked his lips.
