by Val McDermid
‘You don’t seriously think he’s going to roll over?’
Tony shook his head. ‘I think if he’s alone, he’ll try to kill me. And that’s where you come in like the cavalry, leaping tall buildings with one mighty bound.’ His words were light, but his tone was sombre. They looked bleakly at each other.
‘So let’s do it,’ Chris said. ‘Let’s nail the fucker to a tree.’
* * *
It had taken them less than ten minutes to discover it was impossible to stake out Jacko Vance’s converted chapel without being as obvious as a wolfhound in a flock of sheep. ‘Fuck,’ Leon said.
‘I don’t think he picked somewhere like this by chance,’ Simon said, looking around at the bleak hillside opposite the hideaway. On either side of the gravel circle in front of the tall narrow building were fields of sheep held at bay by wire fences. Even in the thickening dusk, it was obvious there was neither human being nor habitation within sight.
‘It’s funny,’ Kay mused. ‘Normally, celebs like a bit of privacy. Gates, walls, high hedges. But you must be able to see this place for miles if you walked over the moors.’
‘Cuts both ways, man,’ Leon said. ‘They can see you, but you get plenty of warning when anybody approaches you. Look at that road. Them fucking Romans didn’t mess about, did they? Any Picts came looking for trouble, you’d see them soon as they hit the horizon.’
‘He likes the kind of privacy where you can’t be spied on,’ Simon said. ‘I reckon that means he’s got a lot more to hide than some starlet sucking his toes.’
‘And I reckon we ought to check out what it is,’ Leon said.
They looked at each other for a long moment. Kay shook her head. Simon said, ‘There is no way I’m going to be party to kicking Jacko Vance’s door in.’
‘Who said anything about kicking his door in?’ Leon said. ‘Kay, you talked to the guy that put the roof on this place. He say anything about locals that work here? Gardener, cleaner, cook? Anything like that?’
‘Oh, yeah, like he’s going to have a cleaner in premises where he’s stashing murder victims,’ Simon scoffed scornfully.
‘This guy loves the double bluff,’ Leon said. ‘He loves putting one over on the stupid old plod. There’s nothing would appeal to him more than having some old dear polishing the secret panel when he’s got some kid chained up behind it. What did the guy say, Kay?’
‘He didn’t say anything,’ she said. ‘But if anybody knows that, chances are it’s the nearest neighbour.’
‘So who does the best Geordie accent?’ Leon demanded, pointing directly at Simon.
‘This is not a good idea,’ he protested. Ten minutes later, he was knocking at the door of the first dwelling they came to, a large square farmhouse that faced out over the moorland towards Hadrian’s Wall less than a mile away. He shifted from one foot to the other.
‘Calm down,’ Kay said. ‘Just flash the warrant card dead fast. They’ll never examine it closely.’
‘We’re going to lose our careers over this,’ Simon muttered through clenched teeth.
‘I’d rather chance that than let Shaz’s killer walk.’ Kay’s frown changed to a radiant smile as the door opened on a small dark scowling man. It wasn’t hard to imagine his Pictish ancestors making Roman lives a misery.
‘Aye? What is it?’
They flipped their warrant cards open and closed in unison. The man looked momentarily confused, then resumed his glower. ‘DC McNeill from Northumbria Police,’ Simon gabbled. ‘We’ve had a report of intruders at Mr Vance’s place down the road. We can’t obtain entry to the property, and we wondered whether you knew if there was a local keyholder?’
‘Did the local man not tell you?’ he demanded in an accent Kay found almost incomprehensible.
‘Why no,’ Simon said, laying on the Newcastle accent. ‘We cannot get hold of him, with it being Sunday, like.’
‘You want Doreen Elliott. Back down the road past Vance’s place, gan down the first turning on the left and her cottage is down the dip. She keeps an eye on the place for him.’ The door began to close.
‘Thanks,’ Simon said weakly.
‘Aye,’ the man said, shutting the door firmly in their faces.
Half an hour later, they had the keys to Jacko Vance’s pied-à-terre in their possession. Unfortunately for them, they also had Mrs Doreen Elliott in the passenger seat of Kay’s car, determined to make sure Jacko’s precious property didn’t come to harm in the clumsy hands of the police. Kay could only hope for the older woman’s sake that they didn’t find what she feared behind Jacko Vance’s heavy wooden front door.
* * *
The gate had been released at the mention of his name and Tony walked up the drive, with each step becoming more immersed in the persona he had chosen for the encounter. He wanted Vance to think he was uncertain and capable of being outwitted. He would take control by appearing to be the weaker of the two. It was a risky strategy, but one he felt confident he could handle.
Vance had opened the door wreathed in smiles, greeting him by his first name. Tony could only allow himself to be swept inside, assuming a faintly confused look. ‘I’m so sorry, you’ve missed Micky,’ Vance said. ‘She’s spending the weekend with some friends in the country. But I didn’t want you to go off without taking the opportunity to meet you face to face,’ he continued as he ushered Tony in. ‘Of course, I saw you on my wife’s programme the other day, but I’ve been noticing you at all my events lately. You should have come over and introduced yourself, we could have had a chat before now, saved you coming all the way to London.’ He was the model of charm and suavity, his words flowing calm and mollifying.
‘Actually, it wasn’t Micky I came to see. I wanted to talk to you about Shaz Bowman,’ Tony said, trying to appear stiff and awkward.
A momentary look of puzzlement. Then Vance said, ‘Ah, yes, the detective who was killed so tragically. Right. I had it in mind that it was something altogether other that you wanted to … Are you actually working with the police on the case, then?’
‘As you’ll recall from the interview I did with your wife, I was in charge of the unit Shaz was on attachment to. So, naturally, I have taken a role in the investigation,’ Tony said. Hiding behind formality would make Vance feel he was uncomfortable.
Vance’s eyebrows rose, his dancing blue eyes teasing as they always seemed to on TV. ‘I heard your role in the investigation was on the opposite side of the fence,’ he said mildly. ‘That you were answering questions rather than asking.’
Vance’s inside information, however gleaned, could be turned to his own advantage, Tony realized. In a way, it actually played into the strategy he’d outlined to Chris. ‘You have good sources,’ he said, trying to sound grudging. ‘But I can assure you that although I’m working independently of the police, the evidence I have uncovered will be placed in their hands at the appropriate time.’ That planted the idea he was working solo.
‘And what has all of this to do with me?’ Vance leaned casually against the newel post of the staircase that curved upwards.
‘I have some video footage that I think you might be able to cast some light on,’ Tony said, patting his jacket pocket.
For the first time since his greeting, Vance looked slightly disconcerted. His face cleared momentarily and the golden boy smile was back. ‘Then I suggest you come upstairs with me. I have a room on the top floor that I use for screenings for small and select audiences.’ He stepped to one side and with a graceful sweep of his real arm indicated that Tony should climb ahead of him.
Tony mounted the stairs. He told himself it didn’t matter which room they were in; Chris could still hear him, and if things turned dangerous, she’d have time enough to mount a rescue. He hoped.
He paused at the landing, but Vance silently directed him up the next flight. ‘First door on the right,’ he said as they emerged on the top landing, an astonishingly bright area lit by a four-sided pyramid skylight.
&n
bsp; The room Tony entered was long and narrow. The far wall was mostly occupied by a video screen. To his left, bolted to the floor, was a tall trolley holding a video recorder and a film projector. Behind it, shelves built round an editing desk were crammed with video tapes and film canisters. A cluster of comfy-looking leather slings on wooden frames completed the furnishings.
The window was what should have made Tony’s heart sink. Although it was transparent, it had clearly had some sort of coating applied to it. Had he paid the same attention to his surroundings as he did to their occupants, he’d have noticed the precaution previously in government buildings where things went on that officials didn’t want to become common knowledge. The coating made the windows impervious to radio signals, preventing electronic eavesdropping. This, added to the baffles that covered the walls, ensured that the room was to all intents and purposes sealed to the outside world. He could scream all he liked. Chris Devine would no longer be able to hear him.
* * *
Chris stared at the Holland Park mansion, wondering what the hell to do. Tony and Vance’s voices had been coming through loud and clear then suddenly, nothing. The last thing she’d heard had been Vance saying, ‘First door on the right.’ It wasn’t even enough information to work out which room they were in, since she had no idea which way the staircase turned.
At first, she’d thought there was something wrong with the equipment – a loose wire, a dislodged battery. Terrible seconds raced past as Chris quickly checked what she could. But the reels of tape were still turning, although nothing was coming through on the receiver. She clutched her forehead, trying to figure out what was happening. Certainly there had been no sound of a struggle, no indication that the transmitter had been spotted. It could even be that Tony had turned it off. If, for example, he’d found himself in the kind of environment where electronic feedback might betray him. Vance had spoken of a special viewing room, the kind of place that might just house that sort of sensitive electronic gear.
She could feel herself dithering and hated herself for it. Anything could be happening to Tony. He was in a house with a killer, a man he fully expected to try to murder him.
She could, she supposed, try his mobile. They had agreed she would only use the phone as a last resort. Well, there was nothing else she could attempt in the face of radio silence. She hit the memory button that summoned his number and hit ‘send’. Moments of nothing then the familiar three tones followed by the infuriatingly calm female voice intoning, ‘I’m sorry. The Vodaphone you are calling has not responded. Please try later.’
‘Shit, shit, shit,’ Chris hissed. There was nothing else for it. She might blow Tony out of the water, but better that than cost him his life by wavering like this. Chris jumped out of her car and ran up the road towards the Vance mansion.
* * *
Oblivious to the danger he had walked into, Tony turned to face Vance. ‘Smart set-up,’ he said.
Vance couldn’t help preening. ‘The best money can buy. So, what was it you wanted me to look at?’
Tony handed him the video cassette and watched him slot it into the machine, noticing that here on his home ground Vance’s handicap was almost unnoticeable. A jury might find it hard to believe that he could be as awkward as he appeared when filling Shaz Bowman’s car with petrol. Tony made a mental note to suggest a restaging of the event for the court’s benefit.
‘Grab a seat,’ Vance said.
Tony chose a chair where he could just see Vance in his peripheral vision. As the tape started to play, Vance used a remote control to dim the lights. Tony readied himself for the next stage of the confrontation. The first section showed the unenhanced sequence of the disguised Vance at the motorway filling station. Barely thirty seconds into the film, Vance made a low sound in the bottom of his throat, almost a growl. As it continued to play, the sound grew in volume and rose in pitch. Tony realized the man was laughing. ‘Is that meant to be me?’ he eventually squeezed out between laughter, turning his grinning face to Tony.
‘It is you. You know it, I know it. And soon the rest of the world will know it,’ Tony hoped he’d struck the right note, somewhere between bravado and whingeing. As long as Vance was confident he was in control, there was the chance he might make a mistake.
Vance’s eyes flicked past him to the screen. In slo-mo, the enhanced video was playing. To anyone who knew who they were looking for, it was hard to resist the resemblance between the man on the video and the one with the remote control. ‘Dear, oh dear,’ he said sardonically. ‘You think anyone’s going to build a case on something as obviously doctored as that?’
‘There’s not just that,’ Tony said mildly. ‘Keep watching. I like the footage of you arriving back in Leeds to finish the job off.’
Ignoring him, Vance hit the button that stopped the tape. He flipped it out of the player and tossed it back to Tony, all with single-handed smoothness. ‘I don’t move like that,’ he said contemptuously. ‘I’d be ashamed of myself if I’d adapted that poorly to my disability.’
‘It was an unfamiliar car, a strange situation.’
‘You’ll have to do better than that.’
Tony threw a copy of his report at Vance. His left hand shot out in a trained reflex and caught it. He opened it at the first page and glanced at it. For a moment, the skin round his mouth and eyes tightened. Tony could sense the sheer force of will that stopped him from a more powerful reaction. ‘It’s all there,’ Tony said. ‘A selection of your victims. Photographs of you with them. Their astonishing resemblance to Jillie. The mutilation of Barbara Fenwick. It’s all tied in to you.’
Vance lifted his handsome face and shook his head pityingly. ‘You haven’t got a hope,’ he said contemptuously. ‘Circumstantial trash. A load of doctored photographs. Have you any idea how many people have their photographs taken with me in a year? The only surprising thing in statistical terms is that more of them don’t end up murdered. You’re wasting your time, Dr Hill. Just like DC Bowman before you.’
‘You can’t talk your way out of this, Vance,’ Tony said. ‘This goes way beyond coincidence. There isn’t a jury in the land will fall for that.’
‘There isn’t a jury in the land that won’t contain half a dozen of my fans. If they’re told this is a witch-hunt, they’ll believe me. If I hear another word of this, I will not only set my lawyers on you but I will also go to the press and tell them about this sad little man who works for the Home Office and is obsessed with my wife. He’s deluded, of course, just like all the sad little men who fall in love with an image on the TV screen. He thinks just because she had dinner with him that she’d fall into his arms if I was out of the picture. So he’s trying to frame me for a bunch of non-existent serial killings. Let’s see who ends up looking like a fool then, Dr Hill.’ Gripping the folder under his right upper arm, Vance ripped it across.
‘You killed Shaz Bowman,’ Tony said. ‘You’ve killed a lot of other girls, but you killed Shaz Bowman and you are not going to walk away from that. You can tear up my report as many times as you like, but we are going to get you.’
‘I don’t think so. If there was anything like evidence in this folder, there would be a team of senior police officers here. This is fantasy, Dr Hill. You need help.’
Before Tony could respond, a green light started flashing on the wall near the door. Vance strode over and picked up a handset. ‘Who is it?’ He listened for a moment. ‘There’s no need for you to come in, Detective. Dr Hill is just leaving.’ He replaced the receiver and gave Tony a measured look. ‘Well, Dr Hill? Are you? Or do I have to call police officers who will be rather more rational on the subject of DC Bowman than Sergeant Devine?’
Tony got to his feet. ‘I’m not giving up on this,’ he said.
Vance gave a shout of laughter. ‘And my friends at the Home Office thought you had such a promising career. Take my advice, Dr Hill. Go on holiday. Forget about Bowman. Get a life. You’ve obviously been working too hard.’ But his e
yes were not laughing. In spite of his experience at presenting a facade for the world, even Jacko Vance could not prevent apprehension leaking out from behind his genial expression.
Tony resisted the impulse to show the jubilation he felt and began to descend the stairs with the air of a man drowned in defeat. He’d achieved almost exactly what he’d expected. It wasn’t quite the same goal as he’d revealed to Chris Devine, since he hadn’t been sure he could carry it off. Well satisfied, Tony plodded down the hall and through Jacko Vance’s front door.
* * *
The chapel had been built for a small but passionately devout congregation. It was simple but genuinely beautiful in its proportions, Kay thought as she stood in the doorway. The conversion to living space had been done tastefully, retaining the sense of airiness. Vance had chosen furnishings with simple, uncluttered lines, the only ornamentation a series of bright gabbeh rugs scattered over the stone flags of the floor. The single room had a galley kitchen, a small dining area and a sitting space with a couple of sofas angled round a big low slate table. At the far end, a raised sleeping gallery had been built. Underneath was what looked like a workbench fitted out with tools. Kay felt the clench of excitement in her stomach as she watched Simon and Leon range through the room, ostensibly looking for signs of the fictitious intruder.
By her side, Doreen Elliott stood foursquare and firm, a squat blunt obelisk of a woman in her fifties with a face as impassive as the massive stones of Hadrian’s Wall itself. ‘Who did you say reported the intruder?’ she demanded, jealously guarding her rights as custodian of Jacko Vance’s privacy.
‘I don’t know exactly,’ Kay said. ‘I think the call came from a car phone. Someone driving past saw a flickering light inside, like a torch.’
‘Must be a quiet night for three of you to come out on something like this.’ Her acerbic tone indicated that the local police generally failed to meet her exacting standards.
