by Luke Delaney
‘Nothing on paper from the victim’s flat. The bods have his computer, but it’ll take time to recover his emails.’
‘Any other credible suspects?’
‘Well, one of the barmen from the club’s gone missing. Apparently he knew the victim and possibly could have been romantically linked to him. Other than that we’re trying to find a recently released nutter who did eight years for the attempted murder of a young gay man. He lives close enough to the scene to be a cause for concern. He also appears to have gone missing.’
‘At the very least they need to be found and eliminated.’
‘They will be.’
‘We need to be careful with this one, Sean. You can bet, with a gay victim, someone, somewhere will be watching the investigation’s progress, waiting for a chance to accuse us of being homophobic. Let’s not hand the media a stick to beat us with.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ said Sean.
‘Speaking of the media,’ Featherstone asked, ‘what about an appeal? Crimewatch? Save some shoe leather and let the television do the donkey work.’
‘It’s a bit too soon for that. I’d rather no one knew what we’re up to just yet.’
‘You still camera shy?’ Featherstone smiled. ‘If it comes to it, I can take care of that side of things. I know you’re not exactly a fan, but I’ve got some people in the media I can trust. We can do a piece for the papers and try to get a slot on Crimewatch. I’ll have my secretary make a few calls.’
‘No need. I’ll get it arranged and let you know when the telly people want you. Should be able to sort it out in a day or so.’ Sean hoped he’d bought some time.
Featherstone got to his feet. ‘Fine. Let my secretary know the time and place and I’ll be there. You can give me a full briefing beforehand.’
‘Not a problem.’
‘I’d better get myself up the Yard. Commissioner’s called an emergency meeting. On a Sunday − can you believe that?’
‘Sounds like trouble.’
‘Bloody Territorial Support Group, kicked the shit out of some student on the last anti-capitalist march. Turns out the kid’s parents are connected, so now we’re all going to be issued with foam truncheons. Wankers.’ Featherstone looked to the heavens and walked from the office heading for the exit.
Sally appeared at Sean’s door. ‘Problems?’
‘No,’ Sean told her. ‘Not yet.’
Donnelly ate his sausage sandwich. It was the best Sunday-morning breakfast he could hope for under the circumstances. He stood close to the small wooden hut in the middle of Blackheath where he’d bought his sandwich. It was a well-known spot, used mainly by hungry taxi drivers and police looking for a place to talk without being overheard.
He enjoyed the gentle cooling breeze that whipped off the flat, wide heath. In winter, it was the coldest place in London. He spotted the dark blue Mondeo pull up opposite. Detective Sergeants Jimmy Dawson and Raj Samra stepped from the car. They could only have been police.
The detective sergeants worked on the other two murder teams in South London. They carried out the same roles on their teams as Donnelly did on his. Meeting regularly helped maintain the strong bond between detective sergeants and engendered a feeling that they were the ones really running the police.
Donnelly smiled to himself and stuffed the remains of the sandwich into his mouth. He waited for the men to cross the road. ‘For Christ’s sake, Raj. You’re the only Indian in the Met who looks more like a copper than Jimmy here.’
‘I like looking like a copper. You should try it some time. Instead of looking like a bag of shit,’ Raj replied.
The trading of insults was routine. Jimmy joined the conversation. ‘What you doing in the middle of Blackheath on a Sunday morning, Dave? Exposing yourself to students again? If it isn’t that, then I’ll assume you want a favour.’
‘Jimmy, Jimmy.’ Donnelly sounded insulted. ‘Are the best sausage sandwiches in London not a good enough reason for you?’ Dawson didn’t reply. ‘And you, Raj. Thinking I would ask for favours. Me. Dave Donnelly.’
‘Well, I don’t eat pork, so it better be something other than the sandwich.’
‘I didn’t know you were a Muslim,’ Donnelly said.
‘I’m not. I’m a Sikh.’
‘You should wear a turban − you’d be a commander by now.’
‘I’m not interested in playing that game,’ said Samra.
Donnelly gave a short stunted laugh, before his face turned serious. ‘Okay, gentlemen, I’ll assume you know what sort of case my team’s working on. I want to know if anything similar comes up. If one of your teams gets it first, I want to be called to the scene immediately. Understand?’
‘If it looks linked, it’ll be passed to your team anyway. What’s the rush?’ Dawson asked.
‘No,’ Donnelly snapped. ‘I didn’t say I want my team informed immediately. I said I wanted to be informed immediately, before anyone else. Including DI Corrigan.’
Donnelly watched them exchange glances. He knew they would be happy to help, but not if it meant being dragged into a dangerous situation. Dangerous for their careers. He understood their concerns.
‘Don’t look so worried, boys.’ He tried to sound less serious. ‘I just want first crack at any new scenes. I’m getting a taste for this case. I need a wee glance at an uncorrupted scene. You know, before the circus arrives and takes the feel out the place. That’s all.’ His fellow detective sergeants stared at him blankly, their way of letting him know they didn’t believe a word he was saying. ‘Okay, for fuck’s sake. You boys drive a hard bargain. Listen, our prime suspect is a clever, slippery bastard. Any forensic evidence we find at the next scene may require a little helping hand, if you catch my drift. But it has to appear genuine. The forensic boys have to find it, not one of my team, so I’ll need to be in and out of there before anyone’s the wiser. Clear?’
‘Well why didn’t you just say so?’ Samra mocked. ‘We’d be happy to help,’ he added, and meant it, knowing that one day he or Dawson might require a similar favour from Donnelly.
‘I thought your job was shaping up to be a blackmail?’ Dawson asked.
‘I know Corrigan better than he thinks,’ Donnelly told them. ‘He thinks there’s more to our prime suspect than he’s saying. Forget the blackmail element. You get anything a bit nastier than usual, then I want to know.’
‘Okay,’ Samra said with a shrug. ‘I’ll make sure you’re called straight off.’
‘Good, but keep it quiet. Tell your teams to call you, then you call me. Keep it nicely between the three of us.’
‘If you want to take jobs off my hands, that’s fine and dandy with me,’ Dawson said. ‘But if anyone asks, we never had this conversation.’
Donnelly spread his arms to show his good intentions. ‘Boys, please,’ he pleaded. ‘I promise. Nothing dodgy. Trying to solve a murder here, that’s all.’
The two detectives were already crossing the road. Samra called back to Donnelly: ‘Drag me into anything naughty and you’ll be solving your own fucking murder.’
You just do as you’re told, Raj my boy, Donnelly thought to himself. Just do as you’re told.
It was mid-morning by the time Sean walked from his office into the briefing room where his team were assembled. He wasn’t in the mood to let the room settle naturally. Time to push along. ‘All right, all right. Listen up. I haven’t got all day. The quicker you listen, the quicker we can get on with it.’ The room settled into silence. ‘So far we have three possible suspects: Steven Paramore, Jonnie Dempsey the missing barman and James Hellier. The reasons why Paramore and Dempsey are suspects are obvious, so they need to be found and spoken to. Hellier’s more complicated,’ Sean told them. ‘My best guess is still that our victim was attempting to blackmail him. No other motives have come to light and we’ve pretty much spoken to all his friends and family. Any last lingering possibility that this could be a domestic hangs on whether the victim was having a relation
ship with Jonnie Dempsey, and so far no one’s been able to confirm whether he was or wasn’t. Dempsey is only a suspect in so far as he worked at Utopia, knew the victim and now he’s missing and can’t be found, so all other suggestions are welcome.’
‘Maybe we should consider a stranger attack,’ Donnelly spoke up. ‘A random killer.’
‘No forced entry, remember?’ Sean reminded him.
‘Maybe the killer posed as a client?’ Donnelly suggested. ‘Talked his way into the flat.’
Sean was beginning to suspect Donnelly knew his blackmail theory was little more than a smokescreen. A screen that allowed Sean time to think. Time to walk in the killer’s shoes – to feel him. To understand him. ‘From what we’re being told of our victim, he was too careful for that.’ Sean tried to steer Donnelly away from the possibility for a while longer, until he had things straight in his own mind.
‘But it has to be a possibility?’ Donnelly insisted.
He had to give Donnelly something. ‘Possibly,’ Sean answered. There was a ripple of noise around the room.
‘If it’s a possibility, then what are we doing about it?’ Sally asked.
‘We’ve released a national memorandum, police eyes only, checking for recent similar cases,’ Sean reminded them.
‘Maybe we should go further back?’ Sally suggested.
‘As it happens, I’ve already asked General Registry to send me a number of old files.’ He sensed Donnelly’s discontent. ‘I’ve asked them for anything involving vulnerable victims where an excessive use of violence was involved, going back over the last five years. But don’t get too excited, we’re doing these checks as a matter of protocol, not because I think we have a madman on our hands.’
‘That’ll be a lot of files,’ said Donnelly. ‘You’ll need some help going over them.’
‘No,’ Sean snapped. ‘I’ll read them myself.’
‘What about Method Index?’ Sally asked. ‘They may have data the General Registry doesn’t. Something older or something that never made it to court.’
‘Good,’ Sean said. ‘Look into it, Sally. Take some help if you think you’ll need it.’
‘And Hellier?’ Donnelly asked. ‘What about Hellier?’
‘Surveillance started on him this morning,’ Sean told them. ‘Link up with them as soon as you can and keep them on the right track.’ Donnelly nodded without speaking. He didn’t seem too happy. Sean raised his voice slightly. ‘Don’t lose focus, people. Hellier is still our prime suspect and blackmail our prime motive. We’ll look into other possibilities because we have to, but I don’t want anyone going off on a wild-goose chase when we have an obvious suspect right in front of us. As for Paramore and Dempsey, let’s get hold of Customs and Immigration – see if either have left or tried to leave the country. Paulo.’ DC Zukov raised his head. ‘You take care of it, okay?’ Zukov nodded once. ‘We’ve all got work to do, so let’s get on with it.’ The meeting broke up.
Sean reached his office just as Donnelly caught up with him. He knew Donnelly would want an explanation.
‘Are you going to tell me what’s really going through your mind?’ Donnelly asked.
‘Let’s not make a drama out of it, Dave.’
‘How long have you known this wasn’t about Hellier being blackmailed?’
Sean closed the door to his office. ‘I don’t.’
‘Come on, guv’nor. Protocol, my arse. If you’ve requested old files from General Registry then you’re looking for something else.’
Sean sighed. He could see no sense in keeping anything from Donnelly any more. ‘All right. Hellier wasn’t being blackmailed, but I still think he could be our man. The second time I met him I really began to believe it could be him.’
‘Can I ask why?’
‘Graydon wouldn’t have tried to blackmail him. From what we’ve learned about him, he was too passive to attempt blackmail. Especially someone like Hellier. He’s too intimidating. Too threatening.’
‘Then why have you got the team chasing the blackmail theory, not to mention Paramore and Dempsey?’
‘I need to make things appear straightforward, just for a while longer. It’ll buy me time to think the way I need to think. Once I show my hand, things will get a lot more complicated around here. I can’t see clearly when I’m crowded, and besides, Paramore and Dempsey must be found and spoken to. I could turn out to be wrong about Hellier.’
‘So you don’t think Hellier was being blackmailed, but you do think he could have killed Graydon.’
‘I do.’
‘Care to share?’
‘Because I don’t believe in coincidences. Hellier’s bad to the core. It’s simply in his nature. You know the type of animal I’m talking about. We’ve both dealt with them before. And now someone Hellier was connected to is dead.
‘If I’m right about him, then his motive for killing is the killing itself. He’s a very rare breed; the chances that Graydon crossed two such people are extremely remote, although not impossible.’
Donnelly slumped in a chair, exasperated. ‘Bloody hell, guv, this is all a bit loose. You wouldn’t want to take it to court.’
‘Agreed, but there’s another way to go after Hellier. He has no anxiety about this case. When I speak to him about it I can’t feel anything. No panic, concerns, doubt, nothing. He’s absolutely sure he’s got away with it.’
‘If he did it,’ Donnelly reminded him. Sean ignored the warning.
‘He was at his most confident when we were talking about the Graydon case. So long as we stuck to that, he was totally in his comfort zone. That tells me he’s left us very little, if anything.’
‘But?’
‘But at other times I’ve sensed his anxiousness.’
‘About what?’
‘About something else. Something that could betray him.’ Sean sat and faced Donnelly. ‘Something in his past. Maybe he’s—’
‘You think he’s killed before?’ Donnelly interrupted.
‘If he’s the type of animal I think he is, then there is a very real possibility he has. When I read the old case files from General Registry, hopefully some detail will stand out.’
‘You are aware of what you’re saying?’
‘Of course I am.’ Sean looked him in the eye. ‘That’s why this has to stay between the two of us for now. I’ll fill Sally in when I get a chance.’
‘God forbid the powers that be find out you reckon you’re on to a serial killer. This place will go fucking crazy with senior officers trying to get their faces on the telly.’
‘Then they better not find out.’
‘Indeed,’ Donnelly agreed as he stood up. ‘But there’s one thing that still doesn’t make sense to me.’
‘Go on.’
‘Why would Hellier kill Graydon if he knew we could connect them? Why would he pull us on top of him like that? Is he trying to play games with us? Is he one of those sick fuckers who wants to get caught?’
‘No,’ Sean answered. ‘Hellier absolutely doesn’t want to get caught. Trust me. There is nothing self-destructive about Hellier.’
‘Then why?’
‘For one of two reasons. Because he wanted to or because he had to.’
‘Well?’ Donnelly asked, his hands held apart. ‘Which one is it?’
‘I don’t know,’ Sean confessed. ‘I just don’t know. I keep going over it and over it, but every time I think I’m close to understanding why, it all melts away. There’s something not quite right, something I’m missing. Christ it’s so close I could fucking touch it, but I can’t see it yet.’
‘We’ll find out why soon enough,’ said Donnelly.
‘To be honest, with Hellier I’m not so sure.’ The doubt was unusual for Sean. ‘That’s why we go after his past. Identify his earlier offences. That’s where he’s vulnerable. I’m certain of it.’
‘If indeed he has offended before.’
‘He has,’ Sean insisted. ‘There’s no doubt. All I need to know i
s who, where and when. And why the hell his prints aren’t on file.’
‘I don’t know, boss,’ Donnelly admitted. ‘This all feels like a bit of a stretch for me. Maybe we shouldn’t be homing in on Hellier so much? Stretch our horizons a little. See if we can’t rake up a few more viable suspects.’
‘You think I’m fixating on Hellier?’ Sean snapped. ‘You think I’m putting the investigation at risk?’
‘That’s not what I said.’
‘But it’s what you’re thinking.’ Sean regretted the words as soon as they’d left his mouth. He wished he could explain to Donnelly how he could be so certain of something long before the evidence justified it. How he’d seen the killer strutting around Daniel Graydon’s flat, calm and content, the dead man lying in an ever-increasing pool of blood, of no concern to him now – an empty shell that had served its purpose. But he knew he couldn’t tell Donnelly what he had seen. He couldn’t tell Donnelly that when he looked into Hellier’s face he saw more than just skin, bone and flesh – he saw into the man’s soul and could see only darkness.
Sally walked into New Scotland Yard, a huge glass building just around the corner from Parliament Square. Standard searches of criminal intelligence and conviction databases had yielded nothing. It was time to try something a little different, which was why she’d come to check the Method Index. They kept records of serious and violent crimes, as well as unusual crimes. If an offender used the same peculiar method more than once, it was possible he or she could be identified here. Sally walked into the Method Index office and glanced around the small beige room. Wooden desks were squeezed together. Ancient, worn-out computers filled every corner. Large posters adorned the walls advertising what the department could do for you. Everything seemed old. The two people in the room looked surprised to have a visitor. One, a thin, bespectacled, middle-aged man nervously closed the filing cabinet he’d been tending and hesitantly moved towards Sally. He spoke shyly.
‘Are you looking for somebody?’ He had a Yorkshire accent, unblunted by years in London.
Sally realized they didn’t get many visitors. ‘Well, if this is Method Index, I guess I’ve found the right place.’ She tried to sound enthusiastic. ‘DS Sally Jones, from Serious Crime Group South.’ She held out her hand and hoped the mention of her unit might stir some interest. The nervous man seemed confused. ‘The Murder Squad,’ Sally added. ‘SCG is the Murder Squad.’
