by Max Manning
Day shook his head in despair. This could have been avoided. “Was it you who called the helpline with the anonymous tip-off? I’m right, aren’t I?”
Shelton tried a rueful smile, but her lip split open again, leaking fresh blood. She took a tissue from her pocket and dabbed her mouth gently. “I just wanted him gone and thought you’d suspect he was here if he’d been seen nearby. It’s almost as if he’s got some kind of sixth sense about these things. I wish I could have been braver sooner. I wish I’d had the courage to speak out like the woman on the television.”
47
Fight
The Mastermind
Dusk fell like a gray mist, silhouetting east London’s jagged skyline. Above the city, threatening clouds scudded low. Driving west along Whitechapel Road, Norton passed the Victorian façade of the infamous Blind Beggar pub.
The van stank of cigarette smoke and stale sweat. Norton wound down his window and took a deep breath. The air wasn’t exactly fresh, but it was an improvement. He patted his jacket pocket, his fingers fondling the hilt of his knife.
He remembered the look of terror on the van owner’s face as he handed over the keys and smiled. The knife was like a magic wand. All he had to do was wave it around, shout “Jump!” and people jumped.
He’d stayed far too long in the hotel. The woman on reception had been all smiles during the first few days, but recently, he’d noticed her fiddling with her eyebrow piercing and pretending not to look at him whenever he passed by. It would only be a matter of time before she’d whisper her suspicions to her boss or call the confidential police hotline.
The traffic slowed to a crawl as Norton passed the gold dome of the East London Mosque. He looked at his watch, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Now that he’d set his mind on a course of action, he was eager to get on with it.
He had a feeling that the police were closing in. He’d been so active in that part of London, stuck his head so far above the parapet, it was bound to happen. It was time for him to move on, find another dark corner of the city to hide in.
But he wouldn’t be going meekly. That wasn’t his style. He had a score to settle, a troublemaker to silence, and he’d always had a special talent for that kind of mission.
Gem the Warrior
Gem pulled the hood of her coat over her head as the first fat drops of rain bounced on the sidewalk. The square clock tower of St. Leonard’s Church loomed in the half-light to her right. She veered onto Hackney Road and started to run, determined to get home before the clouds burst.
She’d almost made the front door when the deluge hit. By the time she slipped the key in the lock, she was drenched. She took off her coat and hung it on the rack in the hall.
The family liaison officer had been unsure when Gem had announced she was going out for a walk, but Gem had dismissed her concerns. Since her last interview with the Daily News reporter, she’d felt like she was making progress. Summoning up the strength to denounce Norton again, despite the silent calls, despite the stalking, despite Drew’s murder. She was proud of herself, and she hadn’t been able to say that for a long time.
Perhaps this was a turning point. She could make it so, couldn’t she? All she had to do was make that choice. If she could get back to her old self, be the woman who, before the night of the carjacking, felt capable of anything, then maybe she’d live up to the newspaper headlines and really be a warrior for women.
She walked into the kitchen where Carol was sitting at the table tapping away furiously at the keyboard of her laptop.
Carol looked up and smiled. “How was the walk?”
“It was good, but a little wet,” Gem said. “I’m off upstairs to get dry, then how about I make you a coffee?”
Carol nodded and returned her attention to her laptop.
Gem left her to it and went upstairs. She hadn’t had the chance to grieve properly, and grief couldn’t be avoided forever. She knew there were tough times ahead, not least the funeral, but she felt more optimistic than she had for weeks.
The Detective
“Norton’s surfaced,” Shields said, bursting into Day’s office. “It looks like he’s been staying at some dump of a hotel on the Mile End Road. About an hour ago, he checked out without paying his bill, driving off in a van he stole from the hotel parking lot.”
Day looked up from his desk, his mind whirring. “Are we certain it’s him?”
“Both the hotel manager and the owner of the van identified him from the e-fit and CCTV images.”
Day could feel his sergeant’s excitement but deliberately kept his voice calm, professional. “Get an automatic number-plate recognition trace on the van as soon as possible. There are plenty of cameras in this part of the city. Let’s see if we can find out what he’s up to.”
Shields moved to leave but hesitated at the door. “What about the Yard?” she said. “By rights, we should inform the Bentley murder squad about the sighting. If we don’t and things go wrong, there’s going to be a shitstorm.”
Day held up a hand. “I haven’t suggested we keep this to ourselves. But maybe we should give it an hour or so, wait until we have a better idea exactly what is going on. At this stage, we are only investigating the theft of a van, after all.”
Shields shot him a stern look before heading back to the squad room. Day sat back in his chair and sighed. He’d had to beg to stay in the force after being kicked out of the murder squad. One more strike and he’d be out on civvy street, but the opportunity to put Norton behind bars, to show Hardy exactly how it was done, was too tempting to resist.
48
Surrender
Gem the Victim
Gem sat at the kitchen table sipping her coffee, listening to the rain rattling against the window. She’d had a good day at the office. Melanie had asked her to take on two new product launches, and most of her colleagues had stopped treating her like someone likely to break down sobbing at any minute.
Keeping as busy as possible at work had helped her push thoughts of the future to one side. She knew she’d have to move on eventually, and she’d told herself that moment would come after Drew’s funeral. But who knew when that would be? The police had shown no sign of being prepared to release his body soon.
She put the coffee down, rested her elbows on the table, and cupped her chin on her hands. If Drew hadn’t been killed, would we still be together? she wondered. Probably not. No, definitely not. He’d been pressuring her into giving up her career so he could further his, lying to her, trying to manipulate her. She knew he was calculating, a little cold even, but what the police had told her about him needing a wife to become a partner at Stone and Maddox had shocked her to her core. She never would have forgiven him. She never would have tried.
On the journey back from the office, she’d found herself imagining moving out to a less expensive part of the city, allowed herself to think about her future without Drew.
She’d even thought about setting herself a career deadline: earn a promotion within twelve months or find herself a position with a bigger PR company. Her world had shifted on its axis, and she had to shift with it.
Norton would be caught soon. She had to believe that. He would stand trial and be locked up with no prospect of ever being released. Only then would it be over, and she would be ready to embrace life again, face it and all its uncertainties head-on.
When the taxi had dropped her home, she’d been relieved to see the police car already parked outside the house. She’d given PC Weaver a wave, and he’d responded by cheerfully tipping the peak of his cap.
It was reassuring to know that the police constable would be on duty throughout the night, but even so, Gem didn’t like the feeling of being in the house on her own. It was much too big for one person. She resolved to telephone her mother before going to bed in the hope of persuading her to return sooner than planned.
>
The thought made her smile to herself, because she knew that she wouldn’t have to do much persuading. If she asked the question, her mother would drop everything and come. She’d always been there when needed, and when she’d judged that Gem had grown into the strong and independent woman she’d wanted her to be, she’d been happy and proud to let her forge her own way in life.
Gem finished her coffee, walked into the living room, and pulled the curtains back a fraction. Darkness had fallen, and the shimmer of the streetlights reflected in the silvered puddles on the pavement.
Since she was a child, she’d always found the sound of raindrops drumming on a windowpane as soothing as a lullaby, especially when lying tucked up warm in her bed. She took a deep breath and promised herself that she would read that night, something she loved to do but hadn’t done since the parking lot attack. Nothing new. She’d reread one of her old favorites.
The rain fell harder, pummeling the roof of the police car. Gem could just make out the blurred silhouette of PC Weaver in the driver’s seat. She wondered how much a police constable would be paid and had a feeling it probably wasn’t enough.
49
Fight
Gem the Warrior
Gem took off her damp clothes and changed into a comfortable pair of blue tracksuit pants and a cream sweater. She sat on the edge of her bed, listening to the rain beating against the window. It was a sound she’d found comforting since she was a little girl.
She looked across the room at the silver framed photograph of her and Drew on their first holiday together. What would he think of me now? she wondered.
Gem stood up, walked over to Drew’s wardrobe. She smiled ruefully at his love of order and routine, even when it came to hanging up his clothes. He insisted on wearing a different suit for every working day of the week. She reached out and gently touched the only empty coat hanger. The suit he was wearing on the day he was killed was probably folded up and labeled inside a plastic evidence bag.
She closed the wardrobe door and went downstairs. Carol still sat at the kitchen table working on her laptop. She glanced up at Gem and smiled.
When she’d first introduced herself, Carol had explained that her role as a family liaison officer involved offering emotional support as well as acting as a link with the investigation team. More than anything, Gem was grateful for her company.
“I suppose you get used to dealing with people who have lost loved ones?” she said.
Carol shook her head, causing a lock of graying hair to fall over her right eye. She brushed it away with a flick of her finger. “I don’t think you ever get used to it, but you do learn how to handle difficult situations. The truth is, I love helping people. That’s why I volunteered to train for this role. You know you can ask me anything or tell me anything, don’t you?”
Gem could tell that Carol’s gentle manner was underpinned by a steely resolve to do good. She wanted to ask her if she’d ever been the victim of violent crime and if she had, how she had reacted, but decided against it. A question like that would be better left until they’d gotten to know each other a little better.
Gem glanced at her watch. “It’s nearly 9:00 p.m. How much longer are you staying for?”
Carol checked her watch and hurriedly switched her laptop off. “I’ve got to leave in a few minutes, actually. I’ve a partner and two young teenagers waiting for me at home.”
Gem tried to hide her disappointment but failed miserably.
Carol tucked the laptop under one arm and touched Gem gently on the elbow. “No need to worry,” she said. “Detective Sergeant Shields is doing everything she can to arrange for a patrol car to be stationed outside the house overnight. They’re all busy on calls right now, but I’m told that the first car that becomes available will be assigned to guard duty.”
Gem nodded. Thank God for Detective Shields, she thought as she led Carol down the hall. When the FLO stepped out into the rain, Gem slammed the door shut and drew back the security bolts.
50
Surrender
Gem the Victim
Gem sat on the sofa, a glass of white wine in one hand, Donna Tartt’s The Secret History in the other. She’d read the book so many times, it had become like an old friend. She always found something new that made her think, and tonight was no different. She read the sentence again. Psychology is only another word for what the ancients called fate.
As she carefully placed the wineglass on the coffee table, the doorbell chimed. She closed the book and put it down, trying to think who would be calling at that time of night. Whoever it was had made it past PC Weaver unless, of course, it was the police constable himself.
Gem walked over to the window and pulled back the curtain. The police car was there, the rain bouncing off its roof, but she couldn’t see any sign of PC Weaver inside. She let out a sigh of relief. He’s probably run out of hot coffee or just wants to check in, she thought. The doorbell chimed again, and then for a third time. Gem closed the curtains and hurried to the door. The poor man would be getting drenched.
As she reached for the security bolts, she hesitated and pressed an eye to the glass peephole. Her view of the figure standing side on to the door was distorted by the rain, but she could clearly see the shiny black peak of PC Weaver’s cap.
She slid back the bolts and opened the door. A sudden gust of wind sprayed rain in her face, and the curved blade of a hunting knife gleamed like silver.
51
Fight
The Mastermind
Norton braked and pulled up at the curb outside an Italian restaurant. Leaving the engine running and the headlights on, he climbed out of the van, crossed the busy road, and started walking back toward London Bridge Underground station.
He turned the collar of his jacket up and pulled the peak of his baseball cap down. It wouldn’t be long before the police received a call about the abandoned vehicle.
Some people might describe it as a diversion tactic. He’d say it was all part of the game. By the time the white van was identified as having been reported stolen, he’d be back north of the river making a special house call.
Standing outside the Tube station, Norton lifted his head to stare at the Shard, slicing into the dark sky as it towered above the Thames. The rain stung his face, but he kept his eyes on the skyscraper. To him, it was a symbol of ambition, a stark reminder of his failure to make a mark on the world.
He often wondered what someone with his talents might have achieved given the chance. It pained him to think about everything he’d missed out on. Most people clung to the idea that you get what you deserve. Norton knew that was far from true. But things were changing. He’d show everybody, all the ordinary people out there, exactly how extraordinary he could be. Let the world watch out.
He dragged his gaze away from the skyline, took a one-pound coin from his jacket pocket, and flipped it. As the coin descended, he caught it in his right palm and slapped it onto the back of his left hand.
52
Surrender
Gem the Victim
Gem lay curled up on her side, blinking in the darkness. Strips of gray duct tape sealed her mouth and bound her ankles and wrists.
The trunk of the patrol car smelled of sweat, fear, and fresh blood. As far as she could tell, she wasn’t injured. That meant PC Weaver must be bleeding. One of his knees dug painfully into her lower back. The other pressed against her left shoulder. He wasn’t moving at all, and she prayed that he was still alive.
Gem took a deep breath through her nose, determined to keep her lungs oxygenated. She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and used every ounce of strength she could muster to try to pull her wrists apart, but the tape held fast.
The patrol car slowed, veered left, then drew to a halt. Gem heard the crunch of the handbrake. The vehicle rocked to one side, and Gem heard the driver’s door slam shut wi
th a crunch.
The rain thrummed loudly on the bodywork of the car. Gem couldn’t hear Norton’s footsteps, but she knew he was coming for her. A siren wailed in the distance, and for a split second, she allowed herself to imagine that help was on its way.
The Detective
Shields turned in surprise at the clang of a trash can being kicked high into the air. It landed in the center of the squad room and spun like a top, spewing its crumpled contents across the gray carpet tiles.
“Golding’s been taken,” Day said, striding toward the map of the city on the wall next to Shields’s desk. “And the police constable guarding her house is missing too.”
Shields stood up and joined him. “What do you mean taken?”
Day shot her a withering look. He wasn’t going to waste time explaining the obvious. He picked up a marker pen and circled a spot on Hackney Road, Shoreditch. “She was snatched from her home about twenty minutes ago. When the uniform didn’t respond to a routine radio check, another patrol car was sent to the house. The front door was open, there was a puddle of rainwater on the floor, and there was no sign of Golding, PC Weaver, or the patrol car. I want as many officers as we can get knocking on neighbors’ doors. Someone must have seen something.”
Shields nodded. “If we think Norton’s got them, then we need to let the Yard know, Boss. We can’t do this on our own.”
“It’s Norton. It’s him all right. I’ve already informed the MIT, and every patrol car in London is going to be out looking for them.”
Day took a moment to think, his heart thudding against his ribs. It was easy to make bad decisions in the grip of an adrenaline high. He covered his face with his hands and massaged his temples. Where would Norton take his victim? If he was going to kill her, why didn’t he do it there and then on the doorstep of her home? Maybe he had a special location in mind. He fished his phone out of his jacket pocket, searched his contacts, and dialed. The call went to voicemail.
