The Victim

by Max Manning

After ten minutes and several smug looks from the receptionist, Gem reached the conclusion that she was wasting her time. She was about to leave when the elevator doors slid open with a ping and a man in a light-blue linen suit stepped out. As he approached the sofa, he grinned and held out a hand. “Hi there, I’m Matt Revell, a reporter on the Daily News. I hear you might have something interesting for us,” he said.

  Gem stood and shook the reporter’s hand, his grip warm and firm. His clear blue eyes flicked down at the cast on her wrist, but he made no comment.

  “I hope you will find what I’ve got to say worth writing about. I’ve thought long and hard about whether to go public on this and now feel it is the right thing.”

  Revell nodded. “Let’s take a seat, shall we? Then you can tell me your name and explain why you’re here.”

  Gem sat beside him on the sofa, took a deep breath, and sighed, relieved that on first impression, he seemed to be a genuine and down to earth guy. More than a few of the journalists she’d had to deal with for work had been too impressed with their own importance.

  “My name is Gem Golding, and I was recently the victim of a carjacking. I was assaulted and mown down with my own car.”

  Revell cut in before she could go on. “Of course, that’s it. I remember that,” he said. “I thought the name sounded familiar. The bastard broke your arm.” He paused for a moment, brushing his floppy bangs to one side with a sweep of his hand. “What happened to your boyfriend, that was tragic. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.”

  Gem could tell he’d had plenty of experience talking to people gripped by grief and read the look in his eyes as genuine compassion. Compassion she could handle. Pity was her weak point. It hollowed her out every time.

  She sat up straight, stiffening her back. “I want the man who attacked me caught and am prepared to talk to you about what happened. Nothing is off-limits in the hope that someone might come forward with information.”

  Revell squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. “The problem is that we have already covered the carjacking. I’m sure you know they happen fairly regularly in this city. I don’t think my news editor is going to want to go over the same ground again. Of course, if and when someone is arrested and charged, we’d report that, and after the court case and sentencing, an interview with you would certainly add a bit of color.”

  Gem didn’t even attempt to hide her disappointment. She dropped her chin to her chest and shook her head slowly. She needed to do something positive to fill the gaping hole in her heart.

  “The last thing I want to do is make a tragic situation worse for you,” Revell said. “But maybe there is a way we could move the story forward. If you were willing to talk to me about your boyfriend’s death, then…”

  Gem lifted her head. The pain behind her eyes made the reporter falter.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I was only trying to think of a way that we could do this. Forget I even mentioned it.”

  Gem blinked hard and held his gaze. “That’s all right. It’s not that,” she said. “The thing is I don’t think…in fact, I’m pretty sure that Drew didn’t jump in front of the Tube train. He was pushed by the same man who attacked me and stole my car.”

  Revell’s eyebrows disappeared under his bangs. “You’re telling me that your boyfriend was murdered?”

  “That’s what I believe.”

  “But what about the police? What do they think? I’m sure the last press release I saw said that the death wasn’t being treated as suspicious.”

  Gem hesitated. She wondered why Detective Inspector Day hadn’t gone public with the CCTV image of the carjacker on the escalator. It had been obvious that he and Shields had serious doubts about Drew’s death being suicide. The last thing she wanted to do was jeopardize the investigation, but she’d gone too far to back down now.

  “If they truly believe that Drew’s death wasn’t suspicious, then they’re making a huge mistake. He had no reason to kill himself. Everything was going so well for him career wise, and he often talked about our future, about me giving up work to have a baby. Does that sound like someone who was contemplating suicide?”

  Revell shrugged. “I’m no expert, but I don’t think there always has to be a reason for someone to be depressed, and many people are good at concealing the way they’re really feeling.”

  “I wouldn’t be here if I thought there was the tiniest of chances that Drew killed himself. If you are not interested in what I am telling you, then maybe I should speak to another newspaper.”

  Revell put up both hands. “I haven’t said I’m not interested, have I? I’m just trying to think this whole thing through.”

  Gem realized she’d hit a nerve and decided to press harder. “I do understand that, but maybe I need a reporter who isn’t so busy.” She stood up, and Revell did the same.

  “I tell you what,” he said. “Give me a couple of minutes to nip back up to the newsroom, would you? I’ll put in a call to the Metropolitan Police Service’s press office to double-check what the official line is on your boyfriend’s death. After that, we can walk around the corner to my favorite coffee shop, and you can tell me in detail why you think he was killed by the man who attacked you.”

  Gem gave a curt nod and sat back down on the sofa. She took a long, slow breath as she watched the reporter dash to the elevator. Drew would have been impressed with the way she’d handled that.

  The Detective

  Day drained his coffee and tossed the empty paper cup into the trash can next to his desk. It was his second shot of caffeine since arriving at the station at 6:00 a.m., and he’d need several more to keep him going as the day wore on. The thought that they were so close to hauling Connor Norton into an interview room had kept him awake most of the night.

  They’d have no trouble nailing him for the carjacking. Getting enough evidence to charge him with the murder of Drew Bentley was another matter. The CCTV proved that he was on the escalator at Liverpool Street Tube station shortly after the lawyer’s death, but the platform footage was less conclusive.

  They needed evidence to connect the cases. They were clearly linked because of the pro bono appointment Norton had with Bentley before attacking the lawyer’s girlfriend. But they needed facts that would stand up in court.

  Day stood up, pulled his jacket off the back of the chair, and slipped it on before striding out of his office into the noisy squad room. He nodded at Shields, who was standing by a large whiteboard on which was written a list of addresses including postal codes. Spread around the room, some on chairs, others perched on desks, were eight detective constables. Half of them had been brought in from other east London stations for the operation.

  “Right then,” Shields said, raising a hand. “Listen up, everybody.” The room hushed, and all heads turned to face the detective sergeant. “It turns out there are nineteen takeouts that sell kebabs in the Stratford area, but only seven of those have apartments above them. You all know where you are going, and each team has been assigned three uniforms. It’s still pretty early, so hopefully we’ll catch the suspect in bed. I know I don’t need to tell you this, but I will anyway. Whichever team hits the jackpot and makes the arrest needs to seal the property off until the crime scene investigators arrive. We don’t want contamination of evidence to wreck the case.”

  A stocky, middle-aged detective standing at the back of the room, his arms folded across his barrel chest, grunted loudly. Dan Bridger had been seconded from Mile End station and clearly resented having to give up sleeping in. Shields had worked with him before her promotion to detective sergeant and regarded him as a smart operator.

  “You got a question for me, Dan?”

  He grunted again. “Yeah, I do. We’re going to all this effort to arrest a suspected carjacker, right? Or is there something you’re not telling us?”

  Shields opened her mouth, but Day ju
mped in before she could answer. “Since when has carjacking been considered a minor crime? Don’t forget this man viciously assaulted the victim, throttled her, then ran her down before driving off.”

  Bridger uncrossed his arms and hitched the waistband of his trousers over his sizeable gut. He wasn’t convinced but was wise enough not to argue further.

  Day stepped across to join Shields in front of the whiteboard. “You’ve all been fully briefed, so let’s get going. Don’t forget what I said. This suspect is potentially extremely dangerous, so don’t take any risks. Get him handcuffed, read him his rights, and get him back here for an interview as soon as possible.”

  29

  Fight

  The Detective

  Day shunted forward to the edge of his chair as Shields’s eyelids flickered open. He looked down at her and smiled.

  “You’re in the hospital,” he said. “You’re going to be fine.”

  “How long have you been watching me?” she asked.

  “Not long. You’ve just come out of surgery. Apparently, the wound in your thigh is small but dangerously deep. They needed to put you under to stitch it up securely.”

  Day stood up, picked up a glass of water from the bedside table, and offered it to her. When she didn’t react, he put it back down.

  “Fortunately, the guy who runs the tire-fitting outfit likes an early start. He found you handcuffed to the gate and rang for an ambulance. You were semiconscious by then. Probably a combination of blood loss from the thigh wound and shock.”

  Shields looked away and stared at the ceiling. “I’m so sorry, Boss,” she said.

  Day stepped closer and rested his fingertips on the crisp bedsheet. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Cat. You’ll need to be interviewed in detail about what happened, but not right now. Maybe in a day or so.”

  Shields blinked several times. For a moment, Day thought she was on the brink of tears, but her eyes stayed dry.

  “I could have taken him,” she said. “At least I should have tried. The opportunity was there. I can’t explain what happened. I can’t believe I didn’t go for it when I had the chance.”

  Day backed away from the bed and sat down. “You don’t need to think about this right now,” he said. “You got a good look at him anyway. You’d have no trouble identifying him, would you?”

  Shields frowned and rolled her head from side to side on the pillow as if struggling to retrieve a memory. “I did get a good look at his face, and the scary thing is he didn’t look evil. I think most people would describe him as good looking. A good-looking monster.” Her frown deepened, and she pushed herself up onto her elbows.

  Day jumped to his feet. “What’s the matter?” he said. “Are you in pain?”

  “The camera,” Shields said, struggling to catch her breath. “There was a security camera near the light by the gate. If it was working, then everything will be on there.”

  Day lifted a hand and waved in an effort to get her to calm down. “Don’t worry, we know all about the camera. It was working, and we’ve got the footage. We’ll go through it together in a day or so when you’re out of here. Now lie down and rest, will you?”

  He’d already seen it several times and wasn’t looking forward to watching it with his sergeant. It made disturbing viewing.

  “You’ve already had a look at it, haven’t you?” Shields asked.

  Day chose not to answer the question, aware that her humiliation would take longer to heal than the wound on her leg.

  “We’ll analyze it together when you’re feeling better. Right now, I want you to rest so you can get out of here as soon as possible. I need my best investigator back on the job.”

  Shields went back to staring at the ceiling. “Your best investigator? What a joke. Why didn’t I fight back when I had the chance, Boss? I’m a detective. A bloody good one, or so I thought. I was always so confident that I’d be strong in that situation, but I did nothing. When he dropped the knife, I froze. Compared to Gem Golding, I…well, I…I did nothing. She took the bastard on and won, while I, despite years of service as a police officer, reacted like a frightened child.”

  “You’re being too hard on yourself,” Day said. “He had a knife, he’s a dangerous individual, and he’d already come close to slicing through your thigh. You’re alive, and maybe that shows that your decision not to take him on was the right one. Maybe instinct kicked in and saved your life.”

  Shields shook her head. “I didn’t make a decision. That’s what I’m trying to say. I froze. You know, if I’m honest, I’ve always felt a tiny bit of contempt for victims of violent crime who meekly raise their hands and give their attacker total control. I’ve got no reason to feel smug now.”

  Day walked around to the end of the bed to give himself time to think about his response. “Nobody’s judging you, Cat. Certainly not me. He obviously carefully planned this thing out in great detail. We’ve got good-quality CCTV film of the incident, and when we catch the bastard, he will be going down for a very long time.”

  Shields sighed. “He knew exactly where he wanted to take me,” she said. “He must have checked the spot out, so he’d have known all about the security camera, yet he made no attempt to put it out of action. He’s not stupid, far from it. I can vouch for that. He knew exactly what he was doing. He’d clearly planned the whole thing in meticulous detail. Looking back, I’m sure the handcuffs thing, getting me to put them on, then take them off, was to firmly establish that he was in control, part of a mind game designed to demoralize and disempower me. What I don’t get is why on earth he would take me to a place he knew was covered by a working security camera?”

  Day said nothing, although he knew the answer. Shields would work it out once the fog had cleared from her mind. The suspect took her to that particular spot precisely because the camera was there. He wanted the whole thing captured on film. He was toying with Shields, taunting the police, and he wanted everyone to see.

  30

  Surrender

  The Mastermind

  It took Norton one hour and twenty minutes to walk east from Shoreditch through Bethnal Green and across the Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park. Yesterday had started with a shock so big, it had almost made him lose faith in his mission. Almost.

  He’d followed Gem to the offices of the Daily News and watched her emerge with a young man in a linen suit. You didn’t need to be a genius to work out that he was a reporter. Norton had used the hour they’d spent in a coffee shop trying to understand what was going on.

  At first, he couldn’t believe that his Gem would betray him. Then he realized the press would be sniffing around for one reason only. An interview about the carjacking and the death of her scumbag boyfriend.

  He had to admit, he’d almost lost it. The bond he had with Gem, though unspoken, was so special. He knew it, and so did she. That’s why it had been almost impossible to come up with a reason why she would ruin everything.

  It had come to him before the hour was up, five minutes before Gem and the snake of a reporter had walked out of the coffee shop and parted ways. Another one of those moments of revelation. The answer was so simple, it made him laugh out loud.

  Her head had been turned. The reporter and the police had joined forces to talk her into going public. He was sure of it. She’d resisted the pressures to speak out, to speak ill of him for so long, but in the end, the whisperers, the truth twisters had done their job.

  She was going along with this charade, but Norton knew that she was really fooling them, not betraying him. The best thing was, she would know full well that he would have worked this out.

  Satisfied that he’d solved the mystery, he’d followed her home and watched over her until morning. It had been a long, cold night, but far from being tired, he was feeling energized.

  Norton strode briskly past Stratford Underground station toward High St
reet, then turned left, heading north onto Broadway. The sun hadn’t been up long, but the center of Stratford was already clogged with traffic, and the sidewalks were crowded with commuters.

  He was about one hundred yards away from the narrow passageway leading to the rear of the kebab shop and the stairway to the entrance to his apartment when a car pulled up at the curb.

  He stopped, dodged into the doorway of a greeting card store, and watched. One man and a younger woman in plain clothes got out of the car, followed by two uniformed police officers. One of the police constables carried what looked like a metal battering ram.

  All four officers ran down the passageway. Norton stepped out onto the sidewalk, turned back the way he’d come, and started walking. He’d taken a few steps when he heard the sound of splintering wood.

  That had been close, he told himself, wondering how they’d found his apartment. He allowed himself a smile at the thought of the police kicking themselves when they discovered the place was empty. He needed to find somewhere else to shelter, but that wouldn’t be a problem. Fortunately, he always carried his money with him, and he still had plenty left.

  As he approached the Underground station, he had to slow down because the sidewalk was jammed with commuters funneling toward the entrance, walking three or four abreast. All around him, London buzzed with life. Car engines revved, doors banged, and on the other side of the street, raised voices shouted insults. In the distance, a siren wailed.

  This was what Norton loved about the city: its vastness. He suddenly stopped walking, causing pedestrians behind him to swear and swerve. He savored the chaos, the belief that everybody except him led pointless lives, spinning around and around like hamsters running in wheels. He stood as still as he could, holding his breath to emphasize his motionlessness. This is the best feeling in the world, he thought. Absolute control.

  He filled his lungs and started walking again. For Norton, control was the key to everything. As a young child, he’d been under the control of a mother who didn’t want him. At the children’s home, he was controlled by rules and regulations. He had no say, was allowed no opinion. He was dehumanized. Cared for without care.