POETIC JUSTICE & A KILLER IS CALLING: The DCS Palmer and the Serial Murder Squad series, cases 3 & 4.

by B. L. Faulkner

  Gheeta wondered where on earth the conversation was going now. What had a hot tub to do with Donnello’s murder?

  ‘I live on the fifth-floor, guv.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  Palmer dropped the subject as they pulled up outside the very opulent Majestic Hotel, Park Lane. Palmer was impressed.

  ‘I don’t think Donnello’s royalties would go very far in this place.’

  They left the police car and fought through a melee of press people, helped by the sharp elbows of the commissionaire and Palmer’s size elevens ‘accidentally’ tapping a few ankles on the way. Once inside the manager introduced himself and took them by lift to the third floor and Donnello’s suite. The West End Central CID was working inside with Forensics. The local Detective Sergeant stepped forward as they entered.

  ‘DS Lydbrook, sir, West End Central.’

  Palmer introduced Sergeant Singh and took a look at the body lying beside the bed. The telltale trail of blood from the right ear had dried in place, looking like a narrow scar. He straightened up.

  ‘Okay Sergeant, bring us up to date.’

  Lydbrook cleared his throat as though about to deliver a long speech. Palmer anticipated it.

  ‘Short and concise please Sergeant, if you would. Time is of the essence.’

  ‘Well sir, the hotel housemaid found the body when she came in to do the daily clean at about ten this morning. Local doctor was called and pronounced the lad dead, and he called us in as he was suspicious about the blood from the ear and thought it might be drug related.’

  ‘Really?’ Palmer said, sounding surprised. ‘I thought you shoved charlie up your nose, not in your ear?’

  Gheeta had to turn away, stifling a smile. She knew this was Palmer having a kick at present day doctors, most of whom he felt the cash-strapped NHS ferried in from India, with fake diplomas to cover up their shortcomings in training up local people. Lydbrook thankfully ignored the remark and carried on.

  ‘The room’s clear; no weapons, no syringe, no pills, nothing. The local beat man called it in to the station, which is when the front desk recognised it fitted your flyer about corpses with blood around the ear. And that’s about where we are at, sir.’

  Gheeta was looking at the body from all angles.

  ‘Where’s his mobile? Has it been bagged?’

  Lydbrook shook his head.

  ‘No, nothing’s been touched or removed.’

  ‘So he hasn’t got one?’

  ‘If he has, we haven’t found it yet.’

  Palmer was following Gheeta’s train of thought; no mobile, so the death call must have come on the landline. He turned to the manager.

  ‘Did you put the phone receiver back on the hook?’

  The manager was unaware of the significance of his answer.

  ‘Of course, it was hanging and buzzing.’

  Palmer understood why he would have replaced it, not being aware of the phone’s part in the murder. He motioned Gheeta to the window out of earshot of the others.

  ‘We have two possible scenarios as I see it; either an outside call coming in, or an in-house call from another hotel room. Could North kill with his machine by putting it through on an internal phone?’

  ‘Yes, it’s the sound frequency that’s the weapon, and that can be delivered to the ear through the digital chip on any phone. They use the same chips for internal and external phones.’

  Palmer was worried.

  ‘Better get down to the hotel switchboard and see if the last call into this room was internal or from outside. If it was internal, then North either came in and made it from a phone in the foyer or lounge or some other public area in the hotel, or he’s booked a room. He’s upping the ante; he’s twisting the Mayor’s arm a bit harder by killing a ‘name’. I bet he waited for a high-profile victim to check in, probably by sitting in the foyer, noted their room number and bingo! He made the call.’

  Gheeta nodded.

  ‘I’ll check it; and I’ll check the hotel CCTV too, if they’ve got one.’

  Her mobile rang. They looked at each other.

  ‘I’m almost afraid to answer it.’

  The screen showed it was Claire calling.

  ‘It’s okay it’s Claire.’

  She took the call, while Palmer wandered back over to the manager who was visibly shocked.

  ‘My Sergeant is going to check your phone records and see who rang Mr Donnello from outside and inside the hotel,’ he said, and smiled one of his reassuring smiles at the manager. ‘Don’t worry, it’s just normal procedure. By the way, how did the press get on this story so fast? We had to fight our way through them to get in.’

  The manager replied in a shaky voice.

  ‘Probably from one of our staff, Superintendent. I’m afraid we get a lot of celebrities staying here; to be honest I don’t agree with it, but the policy is to offer the big agencies a very good deal so we get their ‘name’ clients. It’s good for business, but the downside is that the tabloids and celebrity magazines will offer staff a good cash incentive to leak any tasty stories.’

  ‘It’s Chief Superintendent. What are tasty stories?’

  ‘Oh, sorry. You know the type – who’s visiting who and staying all night, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  He noticed Sergeant Singh beckoning him back.

  ‘Excuse me a moment,’ he said, and crossed over to her.

  ‘The Mayor’s office has had another call,’ Gheeta said quietly. ‘Donnello’s name was given and the money has gone up a million, with the threat of further big name victims to come if it isn’t paid. The Mayor’s got the jitters and wants to pay, and the Yard’s press office are fielding calls from just about every media company in England about Donnello’s ‘mysterious’ death, and the rumours about a serial killer on the loose in London.’

  ‘Oh shit!’

  Palmer took a big breath.

  ‘It’s North; he’s breaking the story so the Mayor panics and pays.’

  Palmer thought for a few moments.

  ‘I’ll go and have a word with the Mayor; we need him to stall for a while. I’ll get him to give the impression he’s going to pay up, and that it will take a little time – red tape, Treasury blocking it or some such excuse. Should give us some precious time.’

  Gheeta nodded.

  ‘I’ll go and check the phone calls and CCTV. I think I’d better take the manager with me and get him a strong cup of tea; he looks like he’s about to collapse into a quivering wreck.’

  Palmer cast a glance the manager’s way.

  ‘I think he’s probably more worried that the only phone calls he’s going to get are room cancellations. Can’t see anybody wanting to book in here now, can you? Tomorrows headlines should just about kill his business – “Murder at the Majestic!” Read all about it!’

  Gheeta smiled.

  ‘I’ll see if the doctor’s got a sedative I can slip in his tea.’

  Chapter 19

  ‘Peru?’

  It was the next morning, and the Serial Murder Squad team room was buzzing. Palmer’s officers were sifting through anything they could find on North and going out in pairs to check it; it was a hard task, as this man was a loner with a high security ID, and was positioned a long way beneath the radar. But, as usual, ‘JCB’ Claire had managed to dig up one surprising fact for the team.

  Palmer repeated the word.

  ‘Peru? He’s been to Peru four times in the last six months? Are you sure?’

  Claire nodded.

  ‘Positive’

  Sergeant Singh entered with a hand full of papers and photos. They exchanged pleasantries.

  ‘Claire reckons North has visited Peru a few times lately.’

  ‘Has he?’ Gheeta asked Claire.

  ‘Four times.’

  Palmer was inquisitive.

  ‘How do you know?’

  Claire threw a ‘shall I tell him?’ look at Gheeta. Palmer understood that look.


  ‘Oh, I see – one of Sergeant Singh’s little programmes, eh?’

  He was well aware that Singh had hacked into just about every database and government department back office system that the team could ever want to glean information from, whether they had restricted access or not.

  ‘Border Control Main Frame database, sir,’ Gheeta explained. ‘It lists all UK incoming and outgoing people from their passport numbers. Government uses it to massage the immigration figures. What they do is –’

  Palmer cut her short.

  ‘I don’t want to know. I take it we are not supposed to have access to it?’

  Gheeta struck an over-the-top innocent expression.

  ‘I couldn’t possibly comment, sir.’

  ‘Okay, carry on Claire. What have you got?’

  Claire smiled at Gheeta and continued.

  ‘North has flown out to Peru from four different UK airports, which was a bit silly really because if he did that to try and hide the flights it had the opposite effect, because it was his name making unusual detours to get to Peru that flagged him up. Each time he’s been there just a few days and then come back.’

  ‘Well,’ Palmer said, raising his eyebrows. ‘So that’s where our serial killer is making his nest, eh? Get Interpol in Peru to see if they can quietly see what he’s been up to; I’ll lay money that he’s bought a place and set up a bank account in one of those ‘ask no questions’ banks. And put a ‘person of interest’ flag on his passport with Border Control – if he tries to leave the UK they are to detain him and notify us immediately.’

  ‘There is one other thing, sir. He’s got a flight booked from Heathrow next Thursday.’

  ‘Oh Christ! So that means he thinks he’s going to have the money wired out and everything settled by then.’

  Palmer rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  ‘Sir,’ Gheeta said, sounding worried. ‘If he’s not paid off by then, he’s going to try the big kill.’

  Palmer nodded.

  ‘You bet he will; and if he gets an idea that the Mayor is stalling he’s likely, probably more than likely, to arrange more demonstrations of his little box’s power.’

  ‘We do have one glimmer of hope, sir.’

  She looked at one of the papers she was carrying.

  ‘The call made to Donnello was an internal one from the hotel lobby. It’s not much, but it’s something.’

  Palmer shrugged.

  ‘So, either North was staying there, or came off the street to make the call; the only way he’d know Donnello’s room number was if he overheard it at reception, or followed him up to the room.’

  ‘He followed him up in the lift.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  She passed a clutch of photo prints over to Palmer.

  ‘Prints of stills taken off the hotel CCTV. They show North getting into the same lift as Donnello and his agent and getting out on the same floor, then walking a few yards behind the pair of them as they went to his room. He’s then picked up on the foyer camera sitting reading a paper until the agent left and then he goes out of shot, presumably to make the killer call.’

  ‘I reckon he was staying there, you know,’ Palmer said, leafing through the stills. ‘I can’t see the hotel staff not picking up on a bloke who’s not a guest or resident wandering around, going up and down in the lift, and sitting in the foyer. Security in a posh hotel like that would be all over him in no time.’

  Gheeta took the stills back and put them into her shoulder bag.

  ‘I’ll get over there and show these around, see if anybody recognises him. It could be he’s still there. That’d make our job easier wouldn’t it, eh?’

  Palmer waved a finger at her.

  ‘Well, if he is don’t do anything silly. Get back to me. I’m going to go see the Mayor again and keep him under control; make sure he plays ball.’

  The Mayor didn’t want to play ball.

  ‘Justin, I’ve had my secretary killed when it could easily have been me; three of my constituents are dead, and now a pop singer is dead – and all for the sake of a few million quid. The media are onto it, and if I don’t pay up can you imagine what will happen if he did manage to kill a few thousand? Can you? Pandemonium, Justin; and one head on the block… mine.’

  Palmer nodded sympathetically.

  ‘I fully understand that, Mr. Mayor; I’m not saying don’t pay him. Although if you do, as I’ve said before, what’s to stop him coming back for more at a later date?’

  The Mayor laughed.

  ‘I would have thought eleven million from me and ten million from each of the three networks would be enough to set him up for life, wouldn’t you? I can’t see that he’d ever need to come back for more.’

  ‘I’m just covering all the bases. Anyway, I haven’t said don’t pay him. All I’ve said is to stall paying him for as long as you can. Believe me, we are getting very close to him now; and with the networks on board with their ability to be able to switch the power off, we can neutralise his actions.’

  ‘Only if you know when and where he’s going to send that damn signal out. How will you know that, eh?’

  ‘I don’t know that; not yet, anyway. But I do know that as long as he thinks all that cash is coming his way fairly soon, he won’t jeopardise that pay day. Just stall him – tell him the Council’s broke, and you’ve got to arrange a loan from some Monetary Fund or the Bank of England. Tell him he must understand that you can’t tell them what the money is for, as government policy is not to pay ransoms to terrorists – which is what he is, after all – so you’re finding it difficult.’

  The Mayor let out a long sigh.

  ‘Okay, but one more death because of the stalling, Justin, and I’ll pay him.’

  Chapter 20

  Commander Layne was waiting outside a large solid steel rear gate on a narrow back lane into Gatwick Airport when Palmer’s plain squad car pulled up. Palmer lowered his passenger side window as the Commander approached.

  ‘Don’t blame us if we are a bit late, Harry. I never knew there were so many little lanes and tracks out here; we’ve been going up and down them like a ferret up a drain pipe. Sat nav has stopped working, which didn’t help.’

  ‘I know, that’s us – we block out all communication signals around here except our own. No Sat.Nav. and your phone won’t work either.’

  Commander Layne smiled and pointed to a dark car pulled up, lights off, further back along the lane.

  ‘We wouldn’t let you get lost, Justin. We’ve been watching you.’

  He made a signal and the car moved past them and away. The gates swung open.

  ‘Go through and park on the right by the hangar.’

  Palmer’s driver edged through the gates, which closed behind them. Palmer noted civilian armed personnel either side in the shadows. His driver pulled the car to a halt beside a long unlit single-storey building. Layne opened Palmer’s door; he had a military uniformed person with him.

  ‘Justin, you and I will go inside, and my Corporal will take your driver for some refreshments.’

  ‘I’m okay, sir. Got a flask with me, thank you,’ the driver explained.

  Palmer leant towards him.

  ‘I don’t think that was an offer you can refuse. Better go with the Corporal.’

  They left the car and Layne took Palmer through a side door into a very large open plan hangar. But instead of an aeroplane inside which he had expected to see, the place was full of camouflaged tanks and two matt black unmarked helicopters. Layne was aware of Palmer’s surprise.

  ‘First law of warfare, Justin – control the skies. And to control the skies, you need control of the airport.’

  ‘Are we at war?’

  ‘No, but being ready for war is the second law.’

  They walked around the perimeter of the floor space.

  ‘We have one of these units at every strategic UK airport, Justin. All terribly ‘hush-hush’, but very useful.’

  ‘Useful?’


  ‘Can’t render a hooded and shackled terrorist off to a friendly Arab state for questioning through the public departure lounge can we, eh? If the government needs to get somebody out on the quiet, this is a very secure way of facilitating it.’

  ‘Why you ? You’re Navy, not RAF?’

  ‘N14, actually.’

  ‘Say no more,’ said Palmer. He knew any questions about N14 wouldn’t get an answer.

  At the end of the hangar was a guarded lift door. The guard nodded to Layne as they entered the lift; Palmer noted it had four floor buttons, and they were at the fourth floor. Down they went to floor two, and when the door opened and they stepped out it was like entering a modern hotel reception area, the difference being that the staff wore military uniforms and a bank of CCTV screens filled one wall. Layne led Palmer past the desk and down a corridor of what Palmer took to be cell doors. At the end they entered a small viewing gallery, and through the one-way glass Palmer could see Mark Randall sat at a table, both wrists shackled to it and two guards standing behind him.

  Layne pointed through the glass.

  ‘He’s not talking. That’s the trouble. These chaps are trained to withstand rough interrogation, and of course we can’t go down that route; Geneva Convention and all that. No water-boarding allowed here.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  Layne smiled.

  ‘So, we just fly them out to Saudi or Kuwait and do it there.’

  ‘Do you sleep at night, Harry?’

  ‘I do, but I wouldn’t if I didn’t have units like this one watching out for us. Think of it that way.’

  ‘I can see your point. Could you do it in a hot tub?’

  Layne looked mystified.

  ‘Do what, water-boarding?’

  ‘Sorry, don’t know why I said that. Right then, where do we go from here with Mr Randall? We need to find North pretty quickly now; the Mayor’s going to stall him, but how long he’ll keep that up, and how long North will wait until he realises it’s a stall and presses the button is anybody’s guess.’

  ‘Right, let me fill you in on Mr Randall. As I told you in our private café meeting, we cottoned onto Randall being in cahoots with North a few weeks ago, and we know he’s been feeding North information so that he keeps one step ahead of us. I decided to let Randall run with it, but when you told me about the Peru thing I thought it best to bring him in, as we don’t want the pair of them fleeing with the money if it all goes wrong. No extradition treaty with Peru.’