by Jay Gill
“Glad you could make it,” she said as I climbed into the passenger seat. “Let’s go for a little drive.”
“What’s this all about?”
“It’s better I show you,” she said, pulling away from the kerb. “But let’s just say, after I interviewed her and took her statement, your girl Anya and I got chatting. At the time I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something just didn’t sit right with me. Since then, the whole thing has been nagging away at me. Something just didn’t feel right. Whether it was the way she too easily agreed to help – I don’t know. At the time, I wanted Foster so badly I was just happy she volunteered. But after the raid, I couldn’t stop thinking about all the pieces. You know how it is; it’s what makes a detective a detective, I suppose. We just never know when to let go.”
“Osborne told me she volunteered,” I said. “To be honest, I didn’t believe him. The Anya I was told about was scared and on the run.”
“She did volunteer, and she came through, effortlessly. She delivered Foster. You nailed Vlad. It was all so neat and tidy, it almost had a silk bow on top.”
I looked at her and thought how neat and tidy wouldn’t exactly be the way I would describe the events that day.
“What are you getting at?”
“I did some follow-up work,” said Barnes.
“Really? What sort of follow-up work?” I asked.
“I know you’ve been helping her get settled, and I can only assume you have questions, even if you’re not sure what they are. I’m pretty sure you don’t stay in touch with every witness on a case. I also know you’re too decent to be hanging around her because she’s hot.”
I ignored the last part. “How about you get to the point. What are you suggesting? Do you have a question? If you do, just come right out and ask it.” I wasn’t sure where Barnes was going with this and now felt I was being scrutinised.
“I’m not suggesting anything, and I didn’t mean to deflate your male ego.” She paused, indicated, and pulled over. “Here we are. We’ll park here and walk the rest of the way.”
We got out of the car and headed to Knightsbridge, where we crossed the street and stood opposite Harrods. Barnes’s phone rang. She talked loudly. “Yep. Okay. Okay. We’re right across the street. We’ll head around the side.”
She turned to me and nodded towards the side street. “Perfect timing. They’re on their way out,” she said.
“What are we supposed to be looking at?” I demanded impatiently. Barnes looked at me and smiled playfully. I wasn’t happy about being kept in the dark but played along. We crossed the road and stood alongside a row of luxury cars, all parked and waiting for the millionaire shoppers to return.
Barnes nudged me. “Keep watching.” After a few minutes of people coming and going, the doors opened and Barnes indicated this was what we had been waiting for. Out stepped a finely dressed young woman who was smiling and laughing. She was arm in arm with a much older man who was carrying several Harrods bags. I recognised him instantly: it was Papa. He wore a tailored suit and looked ten years younger. He turned his head and the couple kissed; Papa then opened the door to a shiny white Range Rover and the young woman started to get in. As she did so, she looked left and right. Looking my way, she paused and then looked again. She lowered her sunglasses and then took them off to get a better look at me.
“Anya?” I said to Barnes. I watched in disbelief as she got into the Range Rover and then leaned over and gave Papa another kiss.
“Yep,” I heard Barnes say beside me. “We can’t prove it, but I guess she struck a deal with Papa. Papa clearly had a plan to use us to remove Foster and Vlad. Anya was his way of making sure he had the right information to make that happen. Smart, huh?”
I took a step forward and felt Barnes’s hand on my shoulder. “Your girl Anya is doing just fine. She’s landed well and truly on her feet. From what I understand, she is now living the millionaire lifestyle. This is just a little shopping trip before she and Papa, who’s like a new man I might add, jet off for a few weeks on his yacht in the Mediterranean.”
I watched as the Range Rover approached, but I couldn’t see past the tinted windows. I wondered whether Anya was watching me as the vehicle passed us.
“Sometimes,” said Barnes, “we get the result we want, but not in the way we want it. In my book, it’s still a good result.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
I was owed some leave, and Chief Superintendent Webster had insisted I take some now that Vlad’s investigation was wrapped up.
“I don’t care what you do so long as it’s not working on any investigations. Now get out of here. I don’t want to see you for at least a week, preferably two,” said Webster with the best of intentions.
With no contact from the Gallery Killer for months now and no firm evidence implicating Simon Baker, now seemed the right time to move my little family back into our home. Mum and Dad had been amazing, as always, but I felt like we all needed some day-to-day normality back in our lives. Whatever that was.
I was spending precious time with Alice and Faith, and I was loving it. I didn’t see how it could be done, but it got me wondering whether I could find a way to have a better work–life balance.
A few days into my leave, we were returning from Windsor and a day at Legoland. Monica was going out with girlfriends that evening, so I called home to let her know I hadn’t forgotten and I was on my way. I then called Rayner, and he decided he’d come over around nine, after the girls were in bed, for a beer and to keep me in the loop about ongoing investigations. There was a lot happening and things were moving fast, so he was happy to keep me up to date with the direction the investigations were taking, so long as I was recuperating.
The girls were in their pyjamas and were excitedly telling Monica about their busy day at Legoland. I herded them upstairs to read stories and talk, giving Monica space to bathe and get ready for her night out. The girls couldn’t resist running back and forth between rooms to see what Monica was wearing, offer advice and makeup tips, and try on a little makeup themselves. Eventually the girls settled down and after some prayers for Mummy, we turned out the lights and I went downstairs.
Monica was in the kitchen. She was all dressed up for the evening and checking her phone for messages. She looked beautiful. Heels, a tight-fitting black dress, hair up and just a little makeup.
“Wow, you look great. Are you sure you’re not going on a date? Come on, who’s the lucky guy?” I said.
“Now that, Detective, would be telling.”
“Well, enjoy yourself. Relax. Have fun. Be good. Don’t drink too much. Stay safe.”
“You sound like my dad.”
I thought I might as well lay it on thick. “To be on the safe side, I’d like the names of everyone you’re going out with tonight. I’d like their mobile numbers, their home addresses and home telephone numbers. Who is the designated driver? Is your phone fully charged? Do you have your pepper spray? You know, I may even have a spare taser in the back of my car. Shall I get it?”
I guess Monica could see I was exhausted, despite my effort to stay upbeat and my teasing. “Are you sure you’re okay with me going out tonight? I don’t need to go. I can go another time. It really doesn’t matter.”
“You’re kidding, right? I’m fine. You’re not to worry about me. You have your own life, and the last thing I want to do is get in the way of you rebuilding it. Anyway, Rayner’s coming over for a beer. I’ll be fine.”
There was a knock at the front door. “I guess that’s my ride,” said Monica.
“You have a great time. It’s not too late for me to find that taser.”
“You really are a bundle of fun,” said Monica, laughing.
“I’m just saying you can never have enough self-defence tools when you look as good as you do.”
I opened the front door to two of Monica’s girlfriends. Another two were in the car waving to me. I waved back. They were all laughing and already having a good
time.
“Good evening, Detective Inspector,” said the two women on the doorstep. They were giggling, and clearly I was missing a joke. I recognised them as Sam and Ali. I was pretty sure they’d already had a glass of wine (or two or three) and their girls’ night had started some time earlier.
“Good evening, Samantha. Good evening, Alison.”
“We were wondering,” said Samantha, trying hard to suppress her laughter, “is it only the constables, or are detectives like yourself also equipped with a big truncheon?” Beside her, Ali let out a snort and covered her mouth with her hands.
Monica gathered her two friends and whisked them off the doorstep, giving me a backwards wave as she herded them down the walk. I watched the three of them laugh and giggle like teenagers down to the car and then I waved as they drove off.
I closed the door behind me, and the house felt quiet and empty. I could still hear the laughter of the women ringing in my ears and it felt good. It brought back memories. Happy memories. I grabbed a cold bottle of beer from the fridge and checked my watch. Rayner would be here soon. I took the opportunity to check on the girls before he arrived. They were fine. Fast asleep. They’d crawled into bed together, as they often did. How there was enough room in the bed for the two of them with all Faith’s soft toys piled in as well I wasn’t sure, but they managed it.
I went back downstairs in time to come face to face with Rayner, who was at the back door holding up a case of beer and an arm full of reports.
Here’s my date for the night, I thought, and ushered him in.
Chapter Sixty-Five
I groped about in the darkness and found my phone.
“Hullo?” I said, trying to sound awake.
“Is that you, Hardy?” asked a voice that sounded way too perky for this time of day.
“Who is this?” I asked. I must have sounded angry.
“Sorry to call you so early, but this just couldn’t wait. Not one moment longer. I’m so pleased you and your family are back. I’ve been waiting very patiently.”
My head was still foggy as I sat up and turned on the bedside light. “Who is this?”
“Very kind of you to ask. It’s me. I thought perhaps we might pray together. In light of recent events.”
“Baker?” My eyes widened. I was fully awake now.
“Just like that. You are as sharp as they say. I feel so blessed; of all the detectives at Scotland Yard, I got you. The Yard’s brightest. Now, enough of that. I am going to keep this short and sweet, because we are both busy, busy boys with so many commitments to keep.”
I interrupted in an effort to avoid Baker taking control of the situation. “How about you and I meet. There’s a lot we can talk about. You can share what’s on your mind, and I can give you my full attention.”
“Well, that’s rather rude. I’m hoping you’ll give me your full attention right now.”
I pressed back. “Why not give me some time to wake up, and we’ll meet somewhere with great coffee.”
“That is rather clumsy of you, Detective. But I am in a very forgiving mood, as I have been working through my list and I’m feeling rather chipper. There’s a word that isn’t used often enough these days: chip-perrr! Redemption is so rewarding. It does take a little work, mind you. You definitely get out what you put in. Now, I really would rather you didn’t interrupt me, as this is an important day and there is lots we have to get done. Both of us. There are people who will be relying on you being the superhero ‘Hardyman’ today. I’ve decided to head to a favourite retreat for a while, but don’t worry. I’ll be back once I’ve had a little R and R.”
It was a risk, but I needed to try to get this conversation back on my terms. “Why?” I asked.
There was silence from Baker.
“Why?” I repeated. “Why are you murdering innocent people like some mindless psychopath?”
More silence. I could hear his breathing become heavier and more rapid. “I am not insane, you know. You can’t force me to feel remorseful with your petty insults. Please don’t pretend you don’t understand why I am punishing them. And you certainly aren’t going to spoil our little game today.”
“Perhaps you think you’re some sort of god-made flesh who can hand down his own form of justice. You’re nothing but a pathetic little man who murders, in a cowardly way, unsuspecting and innocent people.” I hung up the phone before he could reply. I felt confident he’d call back. He’d called me for a reason, and I hadn’t given him a chance yet to give me that reason. His ego meant he had to call back. Baker needed an audience; he needed me to be a part of his game. He would call back. He needed recognition and maybe some understanding of what he wanted to achieve. In his fantasies, I’m sure he imagined I understood his reasoning and felt sympathy for his cause.
I grabbed my clothes and put them on, all the time looking at the phone. I suspected he was really confused now: this turn of events wasn’t what he had imagined. He would have prepared this conversation in his head. Gone over it, time and time again. Probably imagined me a little in awe of his ruthlessness and the way he meted out justice.
I slipped on my shoes. The phone rang as I began to tie the laces. I finished the second bow and answered the phone.
“You interrupted me again,” Baker said stiffly. “That is very, very rude. Do that again and I will ensure the next on my list suffers more than all the others combined. And I will tell them and their family why. Then I will come after your little princesses. See, now you’ve turned me into a monster on our special day. Let’s begin again, shall we?”
Baker loved the sound of his own voice, and I was wondering whether this was all an act or whether he really was this delusional. Without waiting for my reply, Baker continued.
“Now that little charade is over, I want us to be honest with each other. I’ll start.
“At first, this was about payback. As time has gone on, I’ve realised that this role I have is so much more than that. There are so many nuances to what I am a part of. It took me a while to understand but once I took the time to stand back, I could see the big picture. I realised then just how remarkable the whole thing is. It’s almost like there is an industry relying on murder. You know what I mean, right? There’s you, me, the press, the whole legal system, prisons and parole boards. So many people rely on what we do. There’s the research, the tools needed to fulfil our roles, and on and on. So many people are relying on me and you.
“Eventually, of course, Simon Baker will become a brand name. Like Ted Bundy, Jack the Ripper, etcetera. So I’ve decided that once I have completed my current list, I will write a new one. And I wanted you to be the first to know. It’s true I stumbled on this path. I’ll admit, I can’t take credit for that. But we never know the intended path of our lives. It finds us.”
I let Baker talk. All this was being recorded on my phone, and although I wouldn’t be able to necessarily locate him, the information would be valuable for psychological analysis. And while he was talking, he wasn’t killing. Perhaps I could also build some trust and get something out of him to help me track him down.
“You know those men you mentioned – Ted Bundy, Jack the Ripper?” I said. “They couldn’t stop. But as you said, you’re not insane. You can stop. How remarkable would that be? That would be really something. You could be unique in the way that you chose to stop. That would truly be a story – the story of how serial killer Simon Baker handed himself in. Imagine the press coverage that would generate.”
Baker sniffed. “Enough. I thought you’d be a better listener. I thought you’d hear me. I thought you’d understand. You’re supposed to be something special. They told me I was lucky I had you. They were wrong. You’re not special: you’re clumsy. The Mentor told me I had to watch out for you; she said you had a unique understanding. But you don’t. Enough. I’ve had enough.” Baker went quiet again. I could hear his rapid breathing, hear him seething, his anger and exasperation. I was getting to him.
“The Ment
or?” I asked. He’d said more than he wanted to. “Who’s that? And who did you mean by they? Are there others like you? Where? Who?”
The line went dead. Baker was gone. This was still Baker’s game we were playing, but at least I now had a better understanding of his rules. He wasn’t fulfilling his sick fantasies alone.
A few seconds later a text message came through on my phone. Baker hadn’t finished with me just yet.
Chapter Sixty-Six
The text message from Baker made me go cold. It was short and sinister:
GO C MY MOTHER. LEFT U A GIFT – WIFE’S BITCH LAWYER. HURRY. EXPIRES SOON. BYE 4 NOW XXX
Was this a trap? I wondered. Had Baker become more sophisticated? Perhaps he’d developed a taste for traps, encouraged and emboldened by his psycho friends or The Mentor, whoever that might be. I felt sure he was angry. The coolness he’d displayed during our meeting at the school had quickly evaporated once he felt off balance. On the phone he’d made mistakes, given me too much. He’d betrayed The Mentor and the others he’d spoken of just by mentioning them. He’d broken their trust. That would have set off all sort of emotions for him.
I knew from experience that his sense of superiority would temporarily feel diminished, thanks to his having made mistakes. I’d seen it before in other cases, and I knew it wouldn’t last long. He’d adapt and learn, just like with anything we are driven to do. And Baker was driven. He now had a taste for what he was doing; he’d said as much by admitting he was writing a new list of targets. I also knew he wouldn’t stop unless I stopped him.
Today he wanted to play a new game, one that had probably been planned for weeks, maybe even months, and his phone call this morning had been to make sure I was on board.
I called the Yard and spoke to Rayner, who arrived at Baker’s home a few minutes after me. We both chose to wear Kevlar as we headed to the front of 232 Crescent Drive. We checked our weapons in silence. The chief had been right: under these circumstances I certainly felt more comfortable carrying a firearm. Only Baker knew what was waiting for us inside, and that filled me with dread. My firearm meant the odds were a little more evenly balanced.
