by Paul Finch
‘Hey, you boring cunt! Ticket us or piss off!’
This came from a brawny-looking character in the front passenger seat. He wore a hooded tracksuit top under his anorak, and had pale, almost white features, a scarred top lip and a blue star tattooed under his left eye, with what looked like sprinkled blue dots underneath it. He curled his lip when Heck glanced at him, showing brown, lopsided teeth.
‘The thing is, Lee,’ Heck said. ‘I’m a bit different from all the others on the team … because I happen to know this is something you aren’t guilty of.’
Shaughnessy remained eyes-front. His expression of studied indifference never altered.
‘I mean, you’re a bad lad,’ Heck added. ‘But you’ve not been burning up Mr Ship’s Bradburn connections. You wouldn’t do something as stupid as that, would you?’
‘Hey, pal …’ the star-faced man interjected again.
‘Wind your neck in, son!’ Heck told him. ‘I’m talking to the shagger, not his used johnny-bag!’
A stony silence filled the car.
‘Like I say, Lee, I don’t believe you’re behind these flamethrower attacks. But do you think Mr Ship will share that view? And if he doesn’t, this thing’s soon going to turn into an all-out war, isn’t it? And when that happens, what’s going to stop you and the rest of the snot-nosed kindergarten here saying goodnight to grandma?’
Shaughnessy smiled. As if he’d thought this through already and it still didn’t worry him.
‘You know Ship’s got some Russian muscle on board?’ Heck said.
Shaughnessy said nothing.
‘Russians, Lee. People who aren’t easily impressed, but who’ll be very, very keen to impress Mr Ship. I’m sure you and the rest of the Brains Trust have worked this out already, but the way I see it, there’s only one thing standing between you and the apocalypse – me.’
Heck offered his business card again. Shaughnessy glanced at it, but still didn’t take it.
‘And I’ll tell you why that is, Lee. Because no one else in the cops gives a rat’s arse about you. They don’t want a gang war on the streets of this town, but they don’t want you either. They can’t very well shoot you, so why not leave it to someone who can and will? But, believe it or not, I don’t know you well enough to want to see your name in the obit columns just yet. So I’m keen on catching the real Incinerator, and it’s probably in your interest if you help me.’
Now, finally, Shaughnessy looked around. ‘You want our help?’
‘Well, you’ll be helping yourself primarily. Anyway, don’t take this if you don’t want – I’ll serve it on you instead.’ Heck flicked the card in through the window; it landed in Shaughnessy’s lap. ‘There you go. Just like a summons. I’m sure you’ve had plenty of those in the past.’ He stood up. ‘You better get wise, Lee. You lads are being set up. I mean, you may court this rep for being the new kids on the block, but the crew that’s coming down on you will land like a pile of Godzilla shit. So why don’t you run along and think about that, and when you’re ready, give me a call. Or alternatively stay here –’ Heck shrugged ‘– watching the cop shop from your motor, being all scary and gangsta-like. Till a traffic warden comes along, of course. Then who knows, maybe you can bump her off … that’ll put you somewhere Vic Ship won’t be able to get at you. For a few months at least. Till you wind up in the lifers’ block, where I’m sure Mr Ship will have a lot more mates even than you.’
Heck didn’t wait for a response, but circled the Mazda and crossed the road towards the nick. Behind him, an engine revved to life and tyres squealed as a vehicle spun quickly away. He glanced over his shoulder. The Mazda was gone, but more interesting was the lack of business card twirling in its wake. Shaughnessy hadn’t thrown it out before driving off.
Chapter 18
The problem with throwing out a lure was that there was no way of knowing how long it would be before you could reel in the catch. However, Heck had several other things to occupy his mind with. After Shaughnessy had gone, he wandered back up to the MIR, which was empty except for one or two detectives on the phone, and slouched across to his desk in the corner. The previous afternoon, more out of gut instinct than any kind of thoughtful design, he’d laid out all the crime-scene photos relating to the sex-shop attack. He’d looked them over several times since, and now stood there with hands in pockets, perusing them again.
It was Heck’s experience that quite often in cases of serial murder the offender would himself be on a learning curve and was much more likely to make mistakes early on. Often, during a spree, the initial crime scene was scattered with clues, though that wouldn’t necessarily apply to the sex shop. First of all, once the Fire Brigade had extinguished the flames, all they’d really left was a blackened interior, inches deep in water and strewn with charred, unrecognisable debris. Secondly, the Incinerator was no traditional serial killer. OK, what they were seeing here was a clear quest for abnormal psychological gratification – he wouldn’t be doing this if he didn’t enjoy it – but what if he was a professional too, one of Shaughnessy’s acolytes, or maybe a contract killer who’d been brought in from the outside (like Sagan)? If so, there’d be no guarantee this was his first sequence of murders. You couldn’t read anything into the fact there was no record of other flamethrower crimes in the UK; he might still be a seasoned killer, with this his weapon-of-the-moment.
But for all these doubts, Heck reassessed the crime-scene glossies, scanning the scabrous shell of the boutique, knowing there was always something you’d missed the first time if you just kept looking. And almost immediately detecting a possible oddity. He lifted one of the glossies and took a magnifying glass from a shelf to examine it more closely – only to be distracted by DI Hayes slamming her way in through the swing doors, looking vexed and frustrated.
He guessed this was because Langton was almost certain to get bailed. They’d failed to break him in the interview, more or less as they’d expected, but it was never easy releasing a suspect without charge when you confidently believed he’d had a role in the crime you were investigating. They would put a covert tail on him, but Langton was a time-served pro. He’d anticipate that, and for the time being at least would behave accordingly.
Hayes sensed Heck’s eyes on her, and glanced over at him.
‘Bad day, ma’am?’ he said.
‘I think we’ve all had better,’ she replied.
‘Langton was always going to be a hardcase in the interview room.’
‘Yeah, but now there’s another problem.’ Something in Hayes’s voice had subtly changed. ‘It seems Langton isn’t the only guy who’s been keeping his gob shut today. For instance, Langton isn’t the guy who’s apparently been holding unofficial and from what I can see thus far unlogged interviews with some of our chief suspects?’
Heck turned to face her.
‘We knew Shaughnessy and some of his boys were in the area earlier on,’ she said coolly. ‘Ostensibly to collect their mate once we’d done with him, but also to see what was going on. We fully expected that.’ She arched an eyebrow. ‘What we didn’t expect was to see you cross the road and have a natter with him like you were old mates.’
‘And do you think we are old mates, ma’am? Me being an ex-Bradburn lad an’ all?’
‘Don’t try and be clever with me, Sergeant Heckenburg.’
‘Whoa, whoa.’ Heck raised a placatory hand, conscious that other officers in the room were glancing curiously over. He lowered his voice to a suitably respectful level. ‘Ma’am, I’d feel a lot better if you’d call me Heck.’
‘And I’d feel better if you gave me a straight answer.’ Her voice was still terse, but she’d lowered it a little. ‘What was all that about?’
He indicated her office. Still looking peeved, she stumped over there, held the door open for him and closed it loudly when he’d entered.
‘It’s honestly nothing to worry about,’ he explained. ‘I just, well, I sort of made a deal with Shaughnessy.’
‘Excuse me?’ Hayes had just thrown herself into her chair, but now her eyes bulged like shuttlecocks. ‘What kind of deal?’
‘An open-ended thing really. I’m not sure he’s even bought it yet.’
‘For Christ’s sake … what kind of deal?’
Heck gestured vaguely. ‘I told him I’m not convinced he’s the man.’
She leaned forward on the desk. ‘You cannot be bloody serious!’
‘I told him that was my personal view, but that it wasn’t necessarily shared by anyone else in the investigation team.’
‘Damn right it isn’t, and with good reason! You told him that … Suppose he is behind the Incinerator crimes?’
Heck shrugged. ‘If that’s the case, he writes me off as an idiot – we’ve not really lost anything.’
‘And if he isn’t behind them, I mean just for the sake of argument – what have we actually gained?’
‘How many ears have you got out there, ma’am? How many snouts, grasses – I mean reliable ones?’
She looked bewildered by the question. ‘Enough.’
‘Do you think you know as many people at street-level in Bradburn as Lee Shaughnessy does?’
‘Are you saying you expect him to help us find the Incinerator?’ Hayes’s voice almost cracked. ‘Because if you do you’re away with the bleeding fairies!’
‘Shaughnessy’s in trouble, ma’am, and he knows it. Even if he’s got nothing to do with these murders, he’s gonna cop the blame. He has to start looking for this guy.’
‘And supposing that’s true, why would he give him to us? Why wouldn’t he just kill him?’
‘Maybe he will. It won’t be ideal, but at least there’ll be no more burnings.’
It all seemed perfectly reasonable and logical to Heck, but it took DI Hayes several seconds to process what he’d just told her.
‘Is this the way you normally work?’ she finally said. ‘Doing deals with ultimate lowlifes? Getting psychopaths to carry out hits for you?’
‘I believe in using every tool available,’ Heck replied. ‘And I feel that’s a more proactive approach than focusing fifty per cent of my energy on one suspect who most likely is innocent.’
She sat back. Clearly, now that she’d considered it, the idea wasn’t completely anathema to her. ‘I admire your boldness of thought, Heck, but you realise this is one hell of a long shot?’
‘That’s the name of my game, ma’am … generating my own leads and chasing them down.’
‘Even those that are so unlikely as to be unimaginable?’
‘Not just those, ma’am. I don’t know if you noticed, but I’ve been looking through the early crime-scene pix.’
‘So?’
‘The sex shop on Buckeye Lane’s an interesting site.’
‘OK …?’
‘I assume it’s still in our possession.’
‘For the time being.’
‘Good.’ Heck opened the door. ‘If you’ve got a minute or two, there’s something down there I’d like to show you.’
Chapter 19
‘In case you were wondering, the search at Langton’s house has turned up nothing,’ Hayes said, as they drove.
‘Doesn’t totally surprise me,’ Heck replied from behind the wheel. ‘But just out of interest, does Langton have access to any other properties?’
‘We’re looking into that now, but we don’t think so.’
‘I’d say don’t waste your time, but I suppose we’ve got to cover every possibility no matter how fanciful.’
She glanced at him irritably, but he drove on.
Their destination was the small, burned-out unit on the corner of Buckeye Lane. Most of the front of the shop was covered by a forensics tent, and access to this was only possible by passing under a fence of incident tape, behind which a uniformed bobby stood guard. The once neon-lit letters comprising the shop’s name – SADIE’S DUNGEON – were blackened and cracked and hung at lopsided angles. Smoke stains trailed up the wall above, smudging the windows of the five levels of flats stacked over the top.
Heck parked and climbed out. ‘Was there ever a real Sadie here?’
‘Not as we’ve been able to discover,’ Hayes said. ‘But Vic Ship owns this place – most of it, at least. He bankrolled it when it first opened in 2003. He’s got a few like this in the Northwest. That was after hardcore porn had just got legalised. He’d supplied enough illegal porn before, so he already had the network set up. Suppose he didn’t want to miss out on the chance of a legitimate earner.’
They flashed their warrant cards and were passed under the tape and into the tent. Here they donned the usual Tyvek coveralls, disposable gloves and boots, and entered the crime scene, which essentially was a concrete shell so thoroughly burned out that there was almost no visible evidence of what it once had been – only the odd scrap of girlie mag lying amid the ashes, and a collapsed display board on which the sole remaining fragment of merchandise was a partial bikini made from scorched leather. The fire had been extinguished seven days ago, but the stench was still eye-watering. It was also evident that SOCO had not yet finished with the scene, some areas doubly roped-off by reams of tape, camera tripods remaining in place, evidence labels everywhere.
‘One of the reasons I have some doubt this hit was ordered by Lee Shaughnessy and/or carried out by Langton is because this entire block of flats could have gone up,’ Heck said. ‘God knows how many innocent people would have died. The same with the Shelley Harper and Nawaz Gilani murder. Whichever one of those two was the target, the other was collateral damage. That would be unusually careless for a professional hitman – I mean, even the stupidest gangland goon would expect a world of shit to fall on his head if that happened. But that’s not the main reason I brought you here.’ He set off down the length of the shop, feet crunching the charred debris. ‘I want to show you something I spotted on the photos earlier.’
They turned a corner behind the point where the counter had once been, and entered a short passage. The fire had reached this too and surged down it, reducing its carpet and whatever lurid imagery had once adorned its walls to cinders, as it had the slightly unusual fixture at the far end: what looked as if it had been some kind of walk-in closet, only with a dividing wall between two separate compartments, the one on the right considerably narrower than the one on the left and still with the burned iron frame of a single chair placed inside.
‘Uh-huh,’ Heck said, nodding to himself. ‘When I first saw this, I wasn’t totally sure. It wasn’t completely clear on a glossy, but now I’m up close to it, I’m certain.’
Hayes shrugged. ‘OK … I’m waiting?’
‘Well, what do you think this was, ma’am?’
She looked the closet-type structure over. ‘I don’t know … a storage cupboard.’
‘Look closer. You enter the section on the right, the one with the chair, from this side – our side. In other words as a customer. But the door to the other’s on the back.’
Hayes appraised it again. Heck pointed, indicating that the compartment on the left, whose floor was made from some black lacquered material and its walls apparently covered with what resembled glittery paint, had an entrance door on the other side, connecting with some kind of staff-only area, though this also had been reduced to a shell.
‘It becomes more self-evident the more we examine it,’ Heck said, fingering the shards of smoke-stained glass running along the footing of the dividing wall. ‘Check out this two-way mirror in between. Not to mention the fancy lightshow.’
A row of different-coloured bulbs was visible on the left side of the mirror.
‘Good grief,’ she said slowly. ‘This is a peepshow booth?’
‘That’s what I thought.’
The phone shrilled in Hayes’s pocket. She fished it out and answered. ‘Yes, ma’am … yeah, course. ETA ten.’ She still looked distracted as she tucked the device away. ‘Gemma wants us all back at the nick … debrief on today’s arrest be
fore this evening’s video conference.’
Heck shrugged. ‘Fine … but what about this?’
‘The significance of which is what?’ she asked.
‘We only found two bodies in the ashes, ma’am. The blokes who worked here. Now all along we’ve been operating on the basis there was nobody else here – no customers, for example, because the shop was attacked after hours. But what if there was a woman here? Someone who was working in this booth when it happened?’
‘We’ve uncovered nothing to indicate that.’ But Hayes was clearly giving this possibility serious thought.
‘According to the first responders’ sit-rep, the shop’s back door was wide open,’ Heck said.
‘Doesn’t necessarily mean someone got away.’
‘No, I agree … but it could do.’
She gazed at him wonderingly. ‘You’re saying we may have a surviving witness?’
‘Time to set those really reliable grasses of yours a really challenging task, ma’am.’
*
‘Let’s face it, we expected him to stonewall us to death,’ Gemma told Gibbshaw and several others as they walked along the corridor. ‘It’s frustrating as hell, especially the search teams turning up nothing. But we’ve got to play by the rules. We can’t hold him … we might as well let him go.’
‘Ma’am!’ Hayes said, catching up with them from behind, she and Heck having just ascended the station stairs. The DI was bubbling with nervous energy. ‘We may have a new lead on the Incinerator.’
Gemma stopped in her tracks, regarding them both curiously. ‘Tell me.’
Hayes explained their new theory about the sex shop.
‘Hmmm,’ Gemma said. ‘That’s good. That’s very good in fact. Because I’m about to break the habit of a lifetime, and divide our forces.’
Hayes looked puzzled. ‘I’m not sure I follow, ma’am.’
‘Everyone into the office if you please.’ Gemma stood aside as Gibbshaw and the other taskforce members filed past.
