by Luke Delaney
‘Well, let’s just pray she doesn’t turn up dead somewhere,’ Addis added.
‘She won’t,’ Sean told him.
‘Really? How can you be so sure?’
‘Because if he was going to kill her he would have done it on Your View. He would have wanted everyone to see. That’s the point of doing what he does – so everyone can see. So everyone can hear what he has to say.’
‘All the more reason to close him down fast.’
Sean looked away from Addis as Anna entered the office. ‘Sorry,’ she began. ‘It’s just I overheard you discussing whether he would kill this victim.’
‘And?’ Addis asked.
‘I agree with Inspector Corrigan. He won’t kill her. Not now. If he does, the charade that he’s doing this out of justice and that the people are the jury will be shattered, making him nothing more than another one-dimensional murderer. That’s not what he wants – not what he believes he is.’
‘Then we should be thankful for small mercies,’ Addis told them and walked from the office, fleetingly halting at the door. ‘Let’s just get this one solved and put to bed,’ he added. ‘Before it drags us all down.’
Sean waited until Addis was clear of the main office before speaking again. ‘Thanks,’ he told Anna.
‘What for?’
‘For backing me up and getting that clown off my back.’
‘I told him the truth – you’re right, he won’t kill her. Not now.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ Sean told her, ‘or Addis is going to use my bollocks to decorate his oversized desk.’
‘I doubt that,’ she argued. ‘Addis needs you more than you think.’
‘Maybe,’ Sean said doubtfully. ‘I’m still surprised he took a woman though.’
‘Why?’ Anna asked. ‘Because you thought this was about male pride?’
‘An element of it, yes – if what we’re seeing, if what he’s telling us is true. You’d have to think he’s someone who’s lost his job, or maybe a business and then his wife and family as a consequence. As a man, that would hurt your pride.’
‘As a woman too,’ Anna reminded him.
‘Touché,’ Sean accepted her point, ‘but it was still a mistake.’
‘Why?’ Anna still didn’t follow.
‘Public sympathy,’ he explained. ‘People weren’t exactly falling over themselves to help us find Paul Elkins’s killer. There wasn’t a lot of empathy with him out there. But now he’s made a young woman his victim that’ll change – even if she was well heeled and well paid. We might get a little more cooperation now.’
‘That’s a cold way of looking at it,’ Anna observed.
‘It’s a fact,’ he told her. ‘Cold or otherwise.’
‘And you?’ she surprised him. ‘Did you feel empathy for him?’
He leaned back as far as he could into his rickety chair. ‘No,’ he answered honestly. ‘No I didn’t. Does that make me a bad person – a monster?’
‘Hardly,’ she replied. ‘People have empathy for people they perceive to be vulnerable victims – young women, the poor, the elderly …’
‘Children?’ Sean cut in.
‘Especially children,’ she agreed. ‘I guess this case couldn’t be more different from your last.’
‘No,’ Sean sighed. ‘Maybe that’s why the team’s had difficulty getting up and running for this one.’
‘You think they are?’ she asked.
‘Maybe, until now. The mood seems to have changed with this new victim. They seem back to themselves.’
‘Their last few cases have been exceptionally trying, physically and emotionally. My professional opinion would be to rotate your personnel more frequently.’
‘I can’t,’ he told her flatly. ‘I need their experience. Health and safety. Employee welfare. Just leave all that at the front door on your way in. This is the Metropolitan Police, not Tesco’s.’
‘And you?’ Anna continued. ‘You don’t think any of this affects you?’
‘Think?’ he almost mocked her. ‘I don’t have time to think. Well, not about how things are affecting me.’
‘You’re not immune to it, Sean.’
‘Is this a friendly conversation or are you psychoanalysing me?’ He was joking, but Anna seemed to tense up a little, and he noticed it.
‘I wouldn’t try and examine you without your permission and knowledge,’ she snapped her answer.
‘Fair enough.’ Sean didn’t push it. ‘Besides, right now I’ve got better things to think about than whether you are or not. I’ve got to work out what this bastard’s going to do next and stop him.’
5
Geoff Jackson sat in the Three Greyhounds pub in Greek Street, at the heart of Soho in London’s West End. A colleague had tipped him off the killer was back on Your View, and he’d immediately ducked into the pub, grabbed a table close to the bar and logged onto the Internet on his laptop. The broadcast had been everything he could have hoped for and the killer had even had the good sense to apparently spare the woman. Her humiliation and torture had been unfortunate, but he was now convinced this was a man he could do business with.
He sipped his pint, oblivious to the crowd building inside the upmarket pub. He could almost smell the cash and celebrity coming his way. But how to make contact with the killer and still keep the police at bay long enough to get what he wanted out of him? He watched the Your View footage over again and drummed his fingers while he whispered to himself. ‘Contact. Contact. How the hell do I contact you and keep us both safe?’
He let the ideas swirl around inside his head, confident that eventually the answer would materialize – after all, it always did. Suddenly, almost without warning, he found himself mouthing the answer almost silently. ‘Twitter. I’ll get you to contact me on Twitter.’ He smiled and had to suppress his laughter. ‘I’ll get you to tweet me, you beautiful bastard.’ He kept talking, developing the idea, afraid that silence could chase it away. ‘I’ll get you to send me a private message, then I’ll give you the number of a pay-as-you-go mobile and get you to get one too and call me and fucking bingo – we’ll have our own untraceable, private means of communicating, all protected by journalistic material immunity.’ He allowed himself a smile of satisfaction as he thought of the police tapping into his usual mobile phone, reading his texts and maybe even eavesdropping on his calls, all of which would be a waste of time. That reminded him – he needed to call an old private detective friend of his. If the police were going to tap his phone it was only fair he did the same, and there was only one phone he was interested in – DI Corrigan’s. If his friend could pull it off, he could be tapping into a gold mine.
A waiter standing next to him disturbed his daydreaming. ‘Can I get you anything else, sir?’
‘What?’ Jackson asked, momentarily confused. ‘No. No thanks.’ The waiter turned to leave. ‘Actually,’ Jackson stopped him. ‘There is something. Do you know where the nearest phone shop is?’
‘I need everyone to quiet down and listen for a few minutes,’ Sean shouted across the main office. ‘I know you’re all busy and about to get busier, so I’ll be quick.’ The room soon fell silent. ‘As you all know by now there’s been a second victim taken, although it appears she’s still alive, meaning our man’s gonna have to drop her off somewhere without compromising himself. We need to start checking police stations and hospitals in case she’s been picked up in a confused state, which is entirely possible after what she’s been through. Hopefully they’ll recognize her, but they may not − they may just think she’s another victim of care in the community − so we need to check it before we end up with egg on our face.
‘As expected, it didn’t take long for the phones to light up and we’ve had confirmation of who she is. Her name is Georgina Vaughan, thirty-three years old, works in the City. Her parents, work colleagues and boyfriend, Freddie Griffith, all saw the Your View broadcast and all phoned it in. Obviously they’re all feeling pretty sick right now, so
we need to find her and at least let them know she’s safe. The rest we’ll deal with later. One thing she mentioned in the video was that she was a project manager and this we now know is true, so we’re not dealing with a financial big-hitter like the last victim, which means our man’s changed his MO slightly. He could be thinking about what we’re thinking a lot more than perhaps we first thought – making it as difficult as possible for us to predict his next move. His next victim. Something to bear in mind.
‘As of yet no one can tell us about her movements since she left work. We’ll be able to track her on any CCTV on her route home, but that’ll take time and we need to know sooner rather than later, which again means we need to find her. She has the answers. Boyfriend says her running shoes are missing, so she could well have gone for a run when she was snatched. He told us she usually ran from their flat to a nearby small park called South Park. My money’s on the park being the snatch point so we’ll treat it as such until she or something else tells us different. Remember – when she’s found she’s a crime scene. If he releases her without further harm she may have the best evidence we’re gonna get already on her. We don’t want some kind-hearted hospital employee putting her clothes through the wash. All right, that’s it. Dave and Sally will make sure you have your assignments on the hurry up, so don’t disappear till you have them.
‘And listen,’ he told them, the urgency and importance clear in his voice. ‘This is our chance to secure a live witness who’s seen him up close and personal – who’s probably been inside his van and has definitely been inside the white room. Who knows what she’s going to be able to tell us? Certainly more than the first victim – that’s for sure. It’s imperative we find her and find her as quickly as possible. Dave, make sure every cop in London and the southeast is on the lookout for her. Finding her and securing whatever evidence she may be carrying is now officially our number one priority.’ Donnelly simply nodded that he understood. The rest of the team murmured with excitement and Sean knew they understood the importance of finding the living victim and witness as quickly as they could.
‘You all know what you have to do so let’s get on and do it,’ he ordered before turning away and heading to his own office, letting the team know the impromptu meeting was over. He grabbed Sally as he walked.
‘I’m meeting the boyfriend at their flat, see what he can tell us,’ he told her. ‘Want to come?’
Sally looked around the chaotic office, detectives frantically trying to clear their last inquiries before she and Donnelly gave them more. ‘I’d better stay here,’ she explained. ‘Help Dave get the new actions dished out, like you said.’
‘Fine,’ Sean nodded in agreement. ‘I’ll go alone. Anything comes up, let me know.’
‘Will do,’ she answered just as Anna came up on Sean’s shoulder.
‘I could come,’ she told Sean. ‘I’d like to.’
‘It’s fine,’ Sean argued. ‘I’ll do it alone.’
‘I want to,’ Anna insisted. ‘Really. I’d like to come.’
He could feel both Sally and Anna staring at him, daring him to say no.
‘Fine,’ he relented. ‘Grab your things.’
Sean and Anna approached the mansion block that housed the flat Georgina Vaughan shared with her boyfriend of the last two years, Freddie Griffith. Sean was growing frustrated at the lack of parking spaces. Early evening had turned to night-time and most of the affluent, up-and-coming City types had long since returned home and swallowed up the residents-only parking spaces.
‘This close to the King’s Road we’ll be lucky to find anywhere,’ Anna commented unhelpfully. ‘We should have taken the tube.’
‘I hate the damn tube,’ Sean snapped back. ‘Especially in the evening, when everyone’s on their way home stinking of the day. Not so bad in the morning when all you can smell is deodorant and perfume.’
‘What a pleasant thought,’ Anna said.
‘Which one?’ Sean asked, looking for a reaction.
‘Neither really appeal,’ she answered.
‘So,’ Sean changed the subject, ‘what’s your guess so far? Do you think she’s still alive?’
‘I’m not sure,’ she explained. ‘Probably, but this one’s an angry one. He said he’d spare her, but it doesn’t mean he’s not going to have a fit of temper and change his mind. And he’s clearly clever and organized – perhaps he’ll decide the risk of letting her go, of leaving a living witness, is too great.’
‘Perhaps,’ Sean limply agreed.
‘You don’t sound convinced.’
‘I agree he’s clever and organized, even articulate, and yes, I can feel the anger in him,’ Sean explained, ‘but he’s a risk-taker too, and this persona he’s created is totally dependent on his own belief – the belief that people see him as some kind of dispenser of justice and not just someone who’s abducting and killing people. Remember he plays the part of the judge deciding the sentence. As to whether his victims are guilty or not, he leaves that to the people watching – the jury. With this victim the jury was split. If he kills her now he’s made himself judge, jury and executioner. That doesn’t fit with his plan.’
‘What plan?’ Anna asked. ‘I don’t see any particular plan in his actions.’
‘There will be,’ Sean told her. ‘Trust me. They all have a plan.’ He spotted a parking space and pulled over, climbing from the car quickly and waiting for Anna on the pavement. They walked along the road until they found number thirty-two.
Sean pressed the intercom button labelled ‘C’. After only a few seconds a desperate-sounding voice reverberated from the metal box. Sean could see there was a small camera in the system and knew they were being watched.
‘Hello. Who is it?’
‘Police,’ he said into the intercom, knowing there was little need for further personal details yet, stepping back and holding his warrant card close to the camera.
‘OK. Please come up. We’re on the third floor.’
Sean waited for the telltale buzz of the door being unlocked before pushing it open and stepping aside to allow Anna to enter first. Once inside he looked around at the opulent surroundings – a wide, sweeping oak bannister, parquet wood flooring, large antique-looking mirrors and everything clean and cared for.
‘Very nice,’ he said as they climbed the stairs, ‘and this is just the communal area. I’ve lived in a few flats in my time. None of them had communal areas that looked like this.’
‘I suppose so,’ Anna replied, looking around without much interest. ‘Is that relevant – the communal area?’
‘No,’ Sean answered. ‘I was just saying.’
They climbed the rest of the way in silence until they reached the third floor and flat C, where a white man in his mid-thirties was already waiting for them, tall and athletic with short blond hair, but looking agitated, tired and pensive.
‘Freddie Griffith?’ Sean asked.
‘Yeah, sure,’ he answered. ‘Please come in.’ He didn’t ask their names or for identification as he led them into the large, spacious flat, decorated simply, but with stylish and expensive furniture and electrical equipment. He showed them to the open-plan living area and clicked off the huge flat-screen TV hanging on the wall. ‘Please. Take a seat.’
Sean did as he was told, introducing himself as he sat. ‘Mr Griffith, I’m Detective Inspector Corrigan from the Special Investigations Unit and this is my …’ he looked at Anna, ‘my colleague, Anna Ravenni-Ceron.’ He hoped Griffith wouldn’t pick up on her lack of a rank and start asking awkward questions he didn’t have time for. ‘We’ll be investigating the abduction and assault of, I believe your girlfriend, Georgina Vaughan.’
‘Yes. Georgina’s my partner. Have you found her yet? Is she all right?’
‘Not yet,’ Sean admitted, ‘but I’m very confident we will soon. I’ve got the entire Met looking for her.’
‘That bastard,’ Griffith told them as he finally sat down, intertwining his fingers and rockin
g slightly in his chair. ‘Did you see what he did to her? If only I could find him before you lot do. I’d make the bastard pay. Jesus Christ – he cut off her hair, and then … with that knife. How could he do that to her? She’s never hurt anyone. You deal with these type of people – why did he do this to her?’
‘I understand your anger,’ Sean told him truthfully, ‘but right now I need to ask you some questions – questions that could help us find the man who took Georgina and find out why he did this to her.’
‘I can’t think clearly,’ Griffith admitted. ‘This is like a living nightmare. I mean, I’m working in my office when Lisa comes in … Lisa’s one of my colleagues, and right away I know something’s seriously wrong – she’s all pale and upset and she tells me Georgie’s on the bloody Internet – on Your View – that the lunatic who killed that other poor bastard’s got Georgie. I turn it on and there she is, taped to that bloody chair. Fucking hell, I watched the whole thing. Do you understand? I watched the whole thing and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop it.’
Sean saw the colour drain from Griffith’s face. He was sure Griffith was about to throw up. ‘That must have been very difficult,’ was all Sean could think of to say, wishing Sally was there to take care of the compassionate element of the witness interview, ‘but I really do need to ask you some questions.’
‘If it helps find her,’ Griffith answered, ‘if it helps find him, then of course, anything. Please. Anything. Christ, Georgie. Why did it have to be her?’
‘When you first called the police,’ Sean moved him on, ‘you told them you’d noticed Georgina’s running shoes were missing?’
‘Yeah,’ Griffith agreed. ‘I figured she’d come home, then gone for a run. The sick bastard must have grabbed her when she was out running. I thought it could be important the police knew that as soon as possible.’
‘It was the right thing to do,’ Sean cajoled him. ‘So the first time you called the police was when you arrived home, not when you saw your girlfriend on Your View?’ He felt Anna’s eyes fall on him, as if she was trying to warn him it was too early to treat Griffith as a suspect.
