by Luke Delaney
‘It’s closed and locked after dark,’ Sally explained, ‘but the locals are babysitting it for us until we can get to it.’
‘Good,’ Sean answered just as he spotted DC Bishop wandering past his open door. ‘Bishop,’ he called out, making him take a couple of steps backwards before he popped his head around the corner of Sean’s office.
‘Yes, guv’nor?’
‘You got a trace on this joker’s location yet?’ Sean asked.
‘Not yet, guv, but I’m working on it – getting closer and closer,’ Bishop answered. ‘I’m as sure as I can be the signal’s coming from somewhere in east Surrey or thereabouts. He’s trying plenty of tricks to cover himself, but I’ll get him eventually – it’s only a matter of time.’
‘Did you try to borrow some gear off the CIA like I told you to?’
‘I phoned the embassy,’ Bishop explained.
‘And?’
‘They told me to go fuck myself,’ Bishop told them.
‘So much for the special relationship,’ Donnelly added.
‘OK,’ Sean told Bishop. ‘Just keep on it.’
‘Will do,’ Bishop assured him and headed off. Sean turned back to the others.
‘In the absence of a positive trace what else have we got?’ he asked them.
‘The new video,’ Sally reminded them.
‘The new video,’ Sean repeated, leaning forward to turn on the laptop and calling up the latest Your View footage, the picture frozen where he’d left it after folding it shut in the restaurant, showing the victim slumped in his chair with blood dripping from the wound where his little finger had been severed. He clicked on the replay icon and watched with the volume turned down from the beginning. ‘Christ. What’s going through his mind?’ he questioned. ‘Why change his … his reaction again?’
‘His reaction?’ Sally asked. ‘In what way?’
‘The relatively minor injury caused to the victim,’ Sean suggested, ‘despite the fact about fifty per cent of viewers voted guilty.’
‘I don’t know,’ Donnelly reminded him. ‘That was a nasty wee video. It was pretty brutal. Maybe he decided it was enough to get people’s attention?’
‘But he already has people’s attention,’ Sean argued, ‘and what’s this about – it’s about crime and punishment, isn’t it? And this victim’s “crimes” seem much more significant than Georgina Vaughan’s. He’s an ex-vice president, whereas she was just a project manager, yet her “punishment” was arguably more severe than his. So why is he easing off?’
‘It could be a sign he’s becoming increasingly media savvy,’ Anna suggested. ‘He would have seen that people are voting to spare the victims in as many numbers as they are to punish them. He would see this as a direct vote against him and what he believes he’s trying to do. It’s possible he’s trying to appease his audience.’
‘So he’s moving away from more gratuitous acts,’ Sean recapped. ‘Relatively small, but nasty acts of violence.’
‘That would be my guess,’ Anna answered.
‘Wait a minute,’ Donnelly suddenly told them. ‘He met with that slippery bastard Jackson, right?’
‘So?’ Sean asked.
‘I bet he bloody well briefed him,’ Donnelly explained. ‘Told him to ease off on the gratuitous stuff if he wanted to keep the public, or at least a significant section of it, on side. This was all bloody Jackson’s idea.’
‘Well, if it saves lives …’ Sally spread her arms.
‘If it is Jackson’s idea, he’s not doing it to save lives,’ Sean told them. ‘What d’you think, Anna? Think Jackson could persuade our man to tone things down for the sake of positive press?’
‘He’s always been publicity minded, otherwise why use Your View, why publicize yourself at all?’ Anna explained. ‘Just quietly go about your business of revenge, or retribution, or whatever it is he’s motivated by.’
‘But his first victim was murdered,’ Sean reminded her. ‘A serial offender whose crimes get less and less serious or brutal? I’ve never come across that before. They always escalate.’
‘Then you’d be assuming he’s just another serial offender driven by his desire and need to kill for killing’s sake,’ Anna pointed out.
‘Is that what you think?’ Sally asked Sean. ‘That this is all an act, a camouflage for something a hell of a lot more basic – that underneath all this he’s just another serial killer?’
‘I don’t know anything for sure right now,’ Sean admitted. ‘I’m neither buying into the whole avenging hero persona, nor am I discounting it. I’m just trying to keep an open mind until we know more. What I do know for sure is the shit’ll hit the fan once the top-brass get wind of what’s happened, assuming they don’t already know.’
‘So what now?’ Sally asked.
‘No need for an office meeting,’ Sean told her. ‘Everyone’s seen the latest video and they all look up to speed. Bishop seems sure the location of the broadcasts is somewhere in east Surrey, so let’s get the area swamped with whatever the Met and Surrey Old Bill can spare. He has to be using a derelict building or something similar and it must be rural or someone would have seen or heard something by now. There can’t be that many places left to check. Get on to it, will you, Dave?’
‘No problem, boss,’ Donnelly assured him.
‘Anna,’ he told her. ‘Keep working on the suspect’s profile. I’ll take anything you can give me that’ll help me get in his mind.’
‘OK,’ she agreed, but quickly looked away. Sean knew what it meant: did he really want to be in the mind of another killer? DC Jesson suddenly appeared at the door and distracted him before he could challenge Anna.
‘Guv’nor,’ Jesson said urgently.
‘What is it?’
‘They’ve found the victim,’ Jesson announced, ‘walking around the back streets of Acton – hands tied behind his back, mouth still taped over. A good Samaritan found him and called us. Local uniforms took him straight to Charing Cross A&E. No life-threatening injuries.’
‘He let him go then,’ Donnelly said what they were all thinking.
‘A man of his word,’ Sally added. Sean was already standing, once more pulling on his raincoat and loading his pockets. ‘Charing Cross, I presume.’
‘Yeah,’ Sean told her, ‘and you’re coming with me.’
Sean and Sally entered the A&E department at Charing Cross Hospital through the entrance used by the ambulance crews wheeling patients on stretchers. They had their warrant cards already in hand on the off chance someone challenged them, although they knew the staff would know exactly what they were, even without their IDs.
‘You all right?’ Sean asked Sally. ‘You were a little quiet in the car.’
‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ she lied. ‘It’s just … I haven’t been here since my final outpatient visit. I wasn’t planning on ever coming back.’
Sean remembered all too well the months Sally had spent in the hospital. Intensive care at first and then a private room on a ward – recovering from the wounds Sebastian Gibran had inflicted on her.
‘Unfortunately,’ he told her, ‘given your line of work, that was never going to be likely.’
‘No,’ she answered. ‘I don’t suppose it was.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ he encouraged her as they approached the main nursing station where three female nurses wearing a variety of uniforms sat behind the large desk. After being ignored for what seemed a long time the youngest nurse eventually looked up.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked.
Sean and Sally both let her have a long look at their warrant cards. ‘We’re here to see Jeremy Goldsboro,’ Sean told her without saying who they were or where they were from. He knew she wouldn’t be interested in the details. The nurse looked at her colleagues without answering him.
‘Do you know where Dr Mantel is?’ she asked the other nurses, one of whom leant forward and picked up a phone and spoke into it after a few seconds.
‘Can you
page Dr Mantel for me?’ she asked whoever she was speaking to. ‘Let her know the police are here and want to see one of her patients. OK. Thanks.’ She hung up and nodded to the only nurse who would speak to them.
‘She should be here in a few minutes,’ the talkative one told them. ‘You can take a seat in the waiting area outside.’
‘It’s OK,’ Sean told her. ‘We’ll just wait here.’ The nurse looked at her colleague who’d made the phone call; she shrugged.
‘Fine,’ she replied and sat down without saying anything further.
Sean and Sally moved far enough away that their whispers couldn’t be heard. ‘Looks like somebody’s been briefed not to speak to the Old Bill,’ Sally suggested.
‘It’s not their fault,’ Sean excused them. ‘If they accidentally say too much they’ll be in the shit with the hospital board. Better to say nothing.’
‘I remember there was a time a visit to an A&E department was a guarantee of a cup of something warm,’ Sally reminisced.
‘A long time ago, maybe,’ Sean reminded her. A very slim woman in her thirties, brown hair tied in a ponytail, wearing glasses, grey trousers and a white blouse with a stethoscope draped around her neck, drew his attention. He watched her pause at the desk and talk briefly with the nurses before turning her head in their direction. ‘This is our doctor,’ he told Sally and walked towards her, warrant card once more in hand. As they came near the woman seemed to stiffen.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked.
They both showed their IDs. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Sean Corrigan and this is Detective Sergeant Jones from the Special Investigations Unit, Metropolitan Police. Are you the doctor who’s treating Jeremy Goldsboro?’
‘I am,’ she answered curtly.
‘Can you tell me anything about his condition?’ Sean asked, before quickly adding, ‘Sorry. I didn’t catch your name.’
‘Dr Sara Mantel,’ she told him, ‘and Mr Goldsboro appears to be fine, more or less. His left little finger has been amputated …’
‘Amputated,’ Sean interrupted. ‘You mean cut off?’
She looked him up and down. ‘Whatever word you prefer,’ she told him, ‘but it wasn’t hacked off, if that’s what you mean. The wound is relatively clean. It’s a shame we don’t have the finger – we could probably have sewn it back on. Other than that he’s suffering from a degree of shock – nothing life-threatening − and mild blood loss, although he won’t need a transfusion. Must have been a terrifying experience though. He may need some psychiatric assistance at some point in the near future.’
‘Can we see him?’ Sean quickly moved on.
‘Very well,’ she agreed, ‘but usual rules – not too long and not too much.’
‘Fair enough,’ Sean conceded.
‘Cubicle ten,’ she told them and started to move away before Sean stopped her.
‘One more thing.’ Mantel turned towards him without speaking. ‘Does anyone know he’s here – friends, family?’
‘His wife’s been informed.’
‘How?’ Sean asked, confusing her further. ‘Did he call her – on his mobile perhaps?’
‘No,’ she answered. ‘We called her. He said he’d had his mobile taken from him.’
‘By his abductor?’
‘I really don’t know,’ Mantel told him with growing frustration. ‘Such things aren’t my concern. Now if you’ll excuse me.’ She turned on her heels and headed off along the sterile corridor.
‘Not exactly a bundle of information, was she?’ Sally complained.
‘Once Goldsboro’s signed his medical release form she’ll be more forthcoming,’ Sean reminded her. ‘Whether she likes it or not.’
He gestured that she should go first and they both walked the short distance along the corridor to the cubicle marked with a ‘10’, the thick, light blue curtain pulled across the entrance. Sally pulled it open only slightly and half stepped inside.
‘Mr Goldsboro? Jeremy Goldsboro?’ The well-built man in his early fifties lying on top of the bed, still wearing his own blood-spattered clothes, looked up at her with sharp grey eyes, although they were slightly bloodshot and tired.
‘Yes,’ he told her in a stronger voice than she’d expected, his well-spoken accent matching his square jaw and straight nose. ‘I’m Jeremy Goldsboro.’ Despite his pallor and dishevelled appearance, Sally could imagine that on any other day he would be handsome and healthy looking.
‘We’re from the police,’ she told him, moving deeper into the cubicle with Sean following her in. She pointed at herself. ‘Detective Sergeant Sally Jones and this is Detective Inspector Corrigan from the Special Investigations Unit. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?’
Goldsboro looked at Sean. ‘DI Corrigan. That name rings a bell.’
‘Coincidence,’ Sean suggested.
‘I don’t think so,’ Goldsboro replied, before wincing with pain and holding his heavily bandaged hand across his chest. ‘Ah yes. I remember now. You’re in charge of catching the man who did this to me, aren’t you?’ It almost sounded like an accusation.
‘I am,’ Sean admitted.
‘Pity for me you didn’t catch him sooner,’ Goldsboro added.
‘I’m sorry,’ was all Sean could say.
‘Don’t be,’ Goldsboro told him and sounded like he meant it. ‘If you could have, I’m sure you would have.’ He winced again. ‘Please – ask your questions – anything you like if it’ll help catch the bastard. Damn animal cut my bloody finger off, for Christ’s sake.’
‘I know,’ Sean answered. ‘I’m sorry for what you’ve been through.’
‘What’s happened, happened. It’s over now and I’m still alive where others are not. I won’t let this ruin my life.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Sally told him, ‘but sometimes the worst effects of what we’ve been through don’t manifest themselves until days, even weeks later. If you begin to feel a little … down, don’t wait. Get help straight away.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ he assured her. ‘Once I get home and things settle down, I’ll be fine.’
‘We need to know where you were abducted from,’ Sean changed the subject, keen to press on, ‘and how it happened.’
Goldsboro took a breath and tried to sit more upright until the pain seemed to stop him. ‘I was just coming to the end of my evening stroll in Holland Park – it’s right next to where I live – and was crossing the small car park there when he stepped out from behind a tree and pointed a shotgun at me. He was already wearing the ski-mask pulled over his face and spoke through the voice-altering thing he had across his mouth.’
‘What happened next?’ Sean asked.
‘I’m trying to remember,’ Goldsboro told him, looking more confused now. ‘It’s more difficult than you’d think.’
‘Take your time,’ Sally encouraged him. ‘It’ll come.’
‘He threw me a hood,’ Goldsboro continued, ‘and told me to put it over my head and face. I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen – just kept pointing that damn shotgun at my head and telling me he’d blow my head off if I didn’t hurry. Needless to say, I put the hood on. Next thing I’m being pushed across the car park – can’t see a bloody thing. I hear a car or more likely a van door slide open, definitely a sliding sound, and he pushes me inside. He strapped my ankles and wrists to some sort of leather-bound restraints and pulled the hood off. My first thought was that he wanted me to see that he was going to kill me, but instead he slapped a piece of sticky tape over my mouth and pulled the hood back on. Then we drove for what seemed like hours before we stopped. He took me out of the van and frogmarched me into some kind of building. It was cold inside and smelt of damp, like it had been long since abandoned. We went up some stairs and he pushed me into a chair and taped me to it. I didn’t hear the tape being ripped, so I guessed he’d already prepared it. He left the hood on me and the tape across my mouth. I guess he didn’t want me to see or say anything, but I could hear sounds like
he was turning on electrical equipment that made the sort of whirring sound computers and digital cameras make when they’re warming up. A few seconds later he started going on about greedy, criminal bankers and how we’ve been stealing from “the people” and all that nonsense. Then the bastard grabbed me by the arm and demanded I hold my fingers out. I thought maybe he was going to start breaking them or pull my fingernails out, but then I felt the cold metal closing around my finger and … well, you know what happened next.’ He looked down at his bandaged hand. ‘At least he strapped a basic bandage around it before taking me back to the van.’
‘He strapped it?’ Sean asked.
‘Yeah,’ Goldsboro confirmed. ‘Not properly, but enough to stem the bleeding.’
‘Then what?’
‘Back on with the hood and back out to the van. Again we drove for what seemed like forever, a motorway or dual carriageway at first, and then the traffic got slower and heavier, so I guessed we were somewhere in town. Eventually I heard him get out and slide the door open. He undid my wrists, but then taped them behind my back before releasing my ankles and removing the hood. Christ, I thought I was going to suffocate in that damn hood. Once my eyes adjusted to the streetlights I saw I was in some residential street. He gave me a shove and I kept walking in that direction while he got back in his van and drove off in the other. I was confused and disorientated. I guess I wandered about until somebody found me and called the police. It was only later I realized I should have just called at the nearest house.’
‘That’s understandable,’ Sean reassured him before quickly following it with another question. ‘When you were in the van, could you tell if he was separated from you?’
‘He definitely was,’ Goldsboro answered without hesitation. ‘The driver’s cabin was cut off from the rest of the van by what looked like wooden boarding and the section I was in looked and felt like it had been padded.’
‘Soundproofed,’ Sean spoke to himself.
‘Could have been,’ Goldsboro agreed.
‘Was there anything about him that looked … familiar?’ Sean asked.
