by Conrad Jones
“Tapas!” the waiter announced his arrival. He placed an oval plate with a selection of savoury smelling tasters on to the table in front of him and put his lager onto the beer mat. “Enjoy!” Tod grinned and picked up a small black pudding. He bit it in half and swallowed it and then washed it down with a mouth full of ice cold beer. The waiter returned his smile and moved on to the next table. When he stepped aside, Tod noticed that the lone male had taken a seat at a table opposite him. It was almost impossible not to look directly at him and every time he did, the man was staring back but would look away immediately. He wasn’t sure why but the man’s presence made him feel uneasy. Very uneasy indeed.
CHAPTER 16
Detective Superintendent Alec Ramsay put the phone down and sighed. He hated dealing with the Government. Junior ministers tended to be over zealous, under informed and tenaciously interfering. The Major Investigation Team were handpicked detectives. They were the cream of the force and more than equipped to run the investigation into the murders and resulting explosion. The problem with an explosion is that everyone automatically assumes that an extremist cell is to blame. MI5 talk to Special Branch, they talk to the local police hierarchy and report back to Westminster. Westminster automatically assume that the local force is run by incompetents and cover their backsides by pestering the most senior officers involved in the case at source. They always tried to bypass the Secret Service to get to the information first. It was all about point scoring. Junior Ministers climbed the ladder quickly if they had the ability to capture information by whatever means necessary. However bullying a senior police officer wasn’t easy especially one hardened by working in the inner cities for decades. Alec had told Donald Roebothan to go forth and multiply in the most polite way that he could without putting his pension in jeopardy. There was absolutely no suspicion of terrorism at all. None. Alec had suggested that whoever had informed him that they hadn’t ruled it out was an idiot and a liar and they certainly hadn’t spoken to himself or DI Annie Jones. It would relieve the pressure momentarily but it would return with a vengeance if the team didn’t make progress quickly. Very quickly.
He stood up, looked out of the window and exhaled slowly, calming himself. The view of the Albert Docks and the huge Ferris wheel always made him feel better. The waters of the River Mersey looked like liquid metal today, reflecting the grey clouds above. A majestic cruise ship was docked at the Pier Head begging the question how something so big could float. Its modern curves set it in stark contrast to the historic riverside buildings. Alec felt his karma restored and turned to head for the MIT section. He could hear the noise from their offices long before he reached them. The tension in the atmosphere was almost electric like the moments before a thunder storm begins. He opened the door and paused, allowing the ambiance to wash over him. The excitement of an investigation was something that never lessened no matter how many he had been involved in. It had been enough to keep him focused on the job for over twenty years at the expense of his marriage to his departed wife. Her death had opened his eyes to how much he had neglected her but it was too late to put things right. She had had a knack of making him feel guilty when she was alive and she was still doing it from the grave except now it was far more intense and it didn’t ease when he arrived home. In the dark hours their empty house seemed to echo with her voice. Her essence was gone from their home leaving it void of life. It had been void of love for years but when Gail was alive, it still felt like home. Now it was an empty shell. Bricks and mortar, nothing more. It had no soul. He tried to shift her from his thoughts whenever he stepped inside.
The DI was addressing the troops using a bank of screens to display various images related to their case. She caught sight of him and paused, “Guv,” she nodded.
“Please carry on where you left off,” he said apologetically.
“How did the call from London go?” she asked.
“If idiots could fly, Westminster would be an airport!” a ripple of laughter spread through the room. “Please carry on.”
“This is the CCTV footage from the nightclub,” she said pointing to a screen. “Jayne Windsor can be seen leaving with this man.” Annie held up a photocopy of the suspect, which Coco had printed off. A female detective handed Alec a copy. He studied the face but didn’t recognise the man.
“She looks out of it,” Sterling said, “but she doesn’t drink. He’s almost dragging her along there. The head doorman informed me that Jayne and Jackie were regulars at the club and that he has never seen Jayne leave with a man.”
“Rohypnol?” Alec asked.
Stirling nodded. “We think so, Guv.”
“Here is the footage of her being bundled into her car,” Annie continued. “The same man puts her into the front seat of her BMW and then he returns to the stairwell and returns with Jackie Web. We can only assume that she left the club via one of the fire exits earlier in the evening as there is no record of her leaving through the front door. He throws her into the back of the car and then drives it out of the car park. CCTV footage from a wine bar further up Brownlow Hill, shows the vehicle stopping outside but we can’t see what happens.”
“So he drugged both women before taking them in the BMW?” Alec asked. “Isn’t it more likely that he had an accomplice? Was Jackie with anyone in the club?”
“She was with this guy,” Stirling pointed to another screen. “She danced with him most of the evening but at this point here,” he paused and pointed to a still from the CCTV, “our suspect returns from the bar with three drinks. He could have spiked both women on his own. Jackie Web is last filmed walking into the toilets but we never see her coming out. She may have left the club another way, felt ill and returned to the car park. We have the other man leaving via the front entrance alone.”
“Maybe she passed out on the stairwell?” Alec nodded.
“Maybe the suspect got lucky.”
“Or maybe it was planned,” Alec wasn’t convinced. “You have to keep your minds open to an accomplice.”
“Realistically, yes, although we can’t assume that there was one at this stage.” Annie said thoughtfully. “My problem with the entire case is the incendiary that he rigged up.” Nodding heads around the room agreed with her. “Did he set that incendiary device to kill or maim the responding officers?”
“Good question. Did he?” Alec shrugged. His forehead wrinkled. Deep lines creased his skin. “Or did he set it to destroy evidence? He knew that at some stage the attic would be searched but how could he know exactly who would lift that hatch?”
“Fact is that he couldn’t know but I think the whole scene was set to confuse the investigation. He murders the women in each other’s home and makes the identification of the first victim difficult enough for us to assume that it was Jayne. Her mother was devastated when the body was found in her daughter’s house, then she finds out that it might not be her daughter only to be devastated a second time when we discover the second body.”
“So is he trying to cause as much emotional turmoil for the families or is it for our benefit?” Alec asked.
“The text carved into Jackie Webb is personal,” Google pitched in. “Maybe causing the families distress is part of his game.”
“Game?” Alec thought it was an odd description.
“Yes, game,” Google blushed. He removed his glasses and wiped them on his tie. “He has planned this in meticulous detail. The Rohypnol, the car, the empty houses, the use of the text,” Google rubbed his eyes, “there’s no way that he could have become fluent enough in Glagolitic to create all this,” he said holding up a crime scene photo. “He must have had reference material with him.”
“He could have had a tablet or simply used his mobile,” Annie said.
“Agreed,” Google nodded. “But the planning involved is meticulous. Switching the victims to confuse us, the booby-trap, everything about it has been designed to taunt both us and the families.” He cleared his throat nervously. “That’s just my opin
ion, obviously.”
“Why go to so much trouble though?” Alec asked. “Isn’t it just as likely that the killer went looking for a victim with the Rohypnol in his pocket, stumbles across Jayne Windsor and then runs with the situation improvising along the way?” the room was silent as the scenarios were analysed mentally by each detective. “Once he realised the victims had an empty house, he indulged himself.”
“Why take Jayne to Jackie’s apartment unless it was part of a complex plan?” Google countered.
“Time,” Alec replied ruffling his sandy hair, “he had finished with the first victim and wanted to spend time with the second victim. The longer he stayed at the first crime scene the more likely it was that someone would call at the house,” he smiled thinly, “he sets the incendiary to confuse the respondents giving him more time with the second victim. It could simply be a case of making the most of the opportunity. Don’t get me wrong, he is one sick bastard but be careful that you don’t gift him with a level of cunning which might not be there.” Alec walked to the window and looked outside. “There are too many variables that could have gone wrong on the night. Even the most detailed plan could have gone tits up that night. I mean, what if Jayne Windsor had decided not to go out at all? She was the driver. That would have left Jackie Webb stranded at home.” He shrugged. “Would she have gone out alone?”
Google looked wounded, “I concede that there are many possible answers to this conundrum but my gut tells me that our killer is too smart to be an opportunist.” He paused. “I’ll grant you that it may be random but,” he nervously cleaned his glasses again despite the fact that they were spotless, “the incendiary wasn’t constructed on a whim. It was designed and built to be triggered by moving the loft hatch. He had to have bought the individual components and experimented with them before even contemplating the murders. That couldn’t possibly be random.”
“It was a simple device,” Alec shrugged, “how long would it have taken you to put together if you had to?”
Google tilted his head and smiled nervously, “Twenty minutes or so if I had the components to hand.”
“I think you could do it in ten,” Alec pointed his finger at him. “Let’s assume that he intended to use the device to destroy the evidence at a crime scene at some point in his future. It would fit into a suitcase and could have been primed and ready to use for months couldn’t it?”
“It could have been, Guv,” Stirling tried to take the focus from Google. He was too smart for his own good sometimes. “We have found instructions for several similar devices on the net. I am with you that we need to keep an open mind as to the motive. Catching the bastard is all that counts.”
“Agreed,” Annie said relieved that the debate was smothered. “The facts are that we have a perfect mug-shot of the suspect. We have their whereabouts on the evening in question and CSI is testing DNA from both scenes. It is a matter of time before we identify him. I was going to ask for your input at this juncture, Guv.”
“How can I help?”
“I want to go national with this mug-shot.”
“National?”
“Yes,” she paused and looked at Stirling.
He nodded in agreement. “We want to broadcast his mug-shot and share the MO with the other divisions.
“There’s no way this is his first time, Guv.” Annie flicked images from the first crime scene. Alec nodded as a picture of the Cyrillic script etched into pale skin appeared. “He has done this before. I think we should cast the net widely and see what we catch.”
“I agree,” Alec said rubbing his hands together. “I’ll set up a press conference for first thing in the morning. I’m owed a few favours. It might be time to cash them in.”
“Thanks, Guv.” She turned to the room. “In the meantime I want everything that we can find on the victims especially Jackie Webb. I want motive.” Heads nodded as the room went back to work. “Jim, find out what you can on Jayne Windsor. It might be worth a trip to Halewood station. Speak to her DI in person but tread carefully.”
CHAPTER 17
Todd Harris wolfed three plates of tapas and only stopped eating when he could smell garlic on his own breath. The tables around him emptied as diners finished eating and then moved off onto different bars. He swilled four beers with his meal and felt relaxed if not a little bloated. The noisy English women made to leave; their language was spiralling towards the gutter. Louder and more coarse. When the waiter arrived to take their payment, one of them grabbed his crotch, much to the amusement of the others. Their hysterical cackling laughter drew withering looks from the remaining diners and passersby but they were oblivious. Todd laughed to himself as the red faced waiter scurried back inside the bar.
Their chairs scraped on the cobbles as they stood to leave. A brunette staggered backwards and clattered into a nearby table. Luckily it was empty. She shrieked loudly and blushed. She turned and looked at Tod, giggling like a schoolgirl, shrugged her shoulders and staggered off. The lone male appeared from inside the bar. Tod hadn’t noticed him leaving the table that he was sitting at. There was something shifty about the man, something about the way his eyes darted around. Tod returned his attention to the English women. He studied them as they teetered on their heels and headed down the lane. Any one of them would be an easy lay with or without Rohypnol. Wine or vodka would do the trick. They were up for it anyway although only one of them really interested him. She was curvy and her blond hair was made longer and thicker by extensions. Her black Lycra dress hugged her in the right places. His imagination played images of her in his mind, moaning, writhing, sweating, urging him to go faster, harder but then the images darkened to sobbing, screaming, struggling against him and then there was blood. Why did his thoughts always have to turn dark? He felt his stomach tightening as he watched her. It dawned on him that he might be staring at the woman a little too hard. Looking, staring, leering.
He looked away quickly and blushed. He caught the lone male studying him. As soon as their eyes met, the man dropped his gaze. An elderly couple on the far table caught his eye too. They were whispering and looking in his direction. He turned to look behind him and saw that one of the English women had tripped and fallen. Were they looking at her or him? Was it guilt that made him feel that they were staring at him or was it just natural? Was paranoia natural? It is when you were on the run. It had to be. The women screeched with laughter and dragged their friend to her feet before staggering on their way once more.
When his attention returned to bar, he noticed that the elderly couple were attempting to pay but the old man couldn’t find his wallet. He checked and rechecked his pockets half a dozen times without joy. His wife sat tightlipped shaking her head embarrassed by her husband’s forgetfulness. She tutted and rolled her eyes skyward before taking her purse from her handbag and handing the waiter enough money to cover the bill. They stood and walked slowly past his table arm in arm. The old man was mumbling about how certain he was that he had brought his wallet out and the old woman was equally as convinced that he couldn’t remember his own name some days.
Tod caught the waiter’s attention and slipped three ten Euro notes onto the table. That would cover the bill and leave a decent tip. He glanced at the lone male and walked across the cobbles in the direction that the women had taken. A cool breeze touched his skin. The scent of perfume carried to him. Armani, D&G, Diesel and Chanel mingled. He knew his perfumes; that was for sure. He prided himself on being able to identify a fragrance although that particular talent didn’t always impress the ladies. They were suspicious by nature. Identifying the brand of their perfume provoked images of previous female conquests in their warped minds. They were all warped. All of them. Black Widows spinning their webs to ensnare the male of the species. They were nest builders, pretending to be ‘just having fun’ but in reality they were all looking for that elusive man. The one that they deemed could be a potential partner for life. They were as much predators as men were but in their case, they w
ere playing for keeps. Venus fly traps offering the sweetness they had within, then once you liked the taste, snap! The trap was closed, the ring was on their finger, a mortgage acquired, the nursery was decorated and welcome to the rest of your life spent at the bequest of her demands. Her aspirations were now yours to achieve, her dreams yours to deliver. They pretended to be complex delicate creatures but Tod understood the simple reality. He knew the truth and they couldn’t fool him.
The women had reached a crossroads and chose to turn right, heading down towards the promenade where the lively bars were situated. They were linked arm around shoulder like a line of chorus girls, forming a rolling roadblock that locals and other tourists had to manoeuvre around. The blond was on the far right of the line. His thoughts turned to a wildlife documentary where hunting lionesses would stalk the prey at the edge of the herd. The thought tickled him. He imagined the faces of startled onlookers as he pounced on her and brought her down in the street. He would be locked away in a padded cell but then maybe that’s where he belonged.
The lane was busier as he neared the junction. The crowds were thickening but he could still see the women a hundred metres ahead of him. They had stopped outside a bar deciding whether or not to go in. A tout was chatting to them, more than likely offering free shots to entice them in. A child cried out and he stumbled.
“Watch where you’re going, idiot!” A woman with a London accent snarled at him. Her daughter clutched at her foot and began to cry.
“My toes!” she moaned.
“I’m so sorry,” Tod said genuinely. “I didn’t see her down there.”
“Sorry?” the mother shouted. “Are you blind?”
“I am really sorry.”
“What’s going on?” a deep voice growled. Tod turned to see a big male approaching. He was fat, tattooed, and his head was shaved and he looked angry.
“This clumsy idiot stamped on our Madonna’s toes,” the mother goaded him.
