by Ed James
‘How can I know I exist?’
‘Is it Matt?’
‘Matthew, yes. Matt. That’s me. That’s my name.’
‘Have you got a surname?’
Matt shut his eyes, his forehead screwed tight. ‘I’m Matt . . .’ He stared at Corcoran again. ‘Is it Christmas?’
‘Matt, it’s the eleventh of March.’
‘March?’ He huffed out a sigh and his head sank deep into the pillow. ‘How can it be March?’
‘What’s your surname, Matt?’
‘Gladwin. My name is Matt Gladwin and I exist!’
‘Okay, Matt.’ Corcoran let go of the bed and held out his hands. ‘It’s fine, Matt. We’re here to—’
‘You’ve put me in a cell!’ Matt swung up to sitting, fists clenched, teeth bared. ‘Why have you put me in a cell! Don’t drown me!’
‘He was like this last night.’ Jason was next to Corcoran, smiling at Matt. ‘All the same—’
‘Fuck you!’ Matt lashed out, swinging a fist at Jason, who ducked like a boxer. Corcoran stepped forward.
Jason shimmied past Matt’s windmilling fists and grabbing him in a half-nelson, then pushing him face first onto the bed. ‘Declan, I could do with your help here!’
The custody sergeant wasn’t so quick. He caught a kick from Matt in the knee and went down onto the floor. ‘Christ on a bike!’
Jason took Matt’s legs and stopped him donkey-kicking anyone else. The sergeant got in there and stood over Matt, holding him long enough to stop wriggling.
‘I exist! Don’t let me drown!’
Corcoran knew speaking to him wouldn’t yield much that was useful, so he walked over to the custody desk and noticed the computer was unlocked. He switched to the Police National Computer window and searched for Matt Gladwin. IC1, with an age range 25 to 40, though he looked early thirties.
The system thought about it for a few seconds.
Palmer was scribbling away.
The computer came back with a Missing Persons report.
Matt Gladwin. Thirty-two, father of one. Went missing from east London on the ninth of October.
Palmer gasped. ‘That’s five months.’
Twenty-seven
[10:08]
Corcoran swallowed hard. Three victims now, held in parallel for almost a fortnight. Two of them for over five weeks. The multiplying complexities, the preparation, the stress. Christ.
He broke free of his thoughts and returned to the desk. ‘Okay, can you get him taken to the Radcliffe in Oxford?’
‘Oxford?’ Declan frowned, exhaling slowly. ‘That’s hardly standard procedure. Can I ask why?’
‘We have specialists there and I’m thinking this is related to two other cases.’
‘Fine.’ Declan cheeked his computer. ‘I’ll get a transport to take him. Be there by lunchtime.’
‘Thanks. I’ll call ahead to DI Thompson to let her know to expect him.’ Corcoran focused on Palmer, scribbling furiously, then on Jason. ‘Okay, Constable, I need you to show me where this happened.’
[10:24]
Corcoran pulled up at the roundabout, indicating left, and waited for the traffic to clear. Up ahead, the pier glowed in the morning gloom, the Victorian-era clock out of place with the modern tat. The sea was a grey smudge, only differentiated from the sky by a thin line of blue on the horizon. Couldn’t be France, could it?
‘Five months . . .’ Palmer leaned back, her pen resting for over a minute now. ‘Can you imagine?’
‘Can’t even begin to. So, assuming Matt is a third known victim, he’s managed to hold three victims simultaneously for almost two weeks.’
‘That’s all I can think about. The sheer horror of what they’ve gone through, and for what?’ She looked round at him, eyes wide. ‘I can’t fathom a reason. In all this noise, I can start to see the how and the what, but I still don’t have a why. We’re still miles away from a victimology. And it terrifies me, Aidan, chilling me right down to the marrow. If I can get hold of a motive, we might be able to stop it, but there’s just too much I don’t know, too much I can’t grasp.’
Corcoran cut into the traffic and set off along Marine Parade. ‘It’s just an assumption, though. Until we—’
‘Come on, Aidan. He was held in a cell like the other two.’
She was right. Of course she was right. ‘But there were only three cells, right? That’s what Howard saw. Meaning they’re all empty.’
‘They might’ve been refilled.’ Palmer shut her eyes. ‘And he might have another site with more victims.’
Corcoran drove on, scanning the seafront bars and road signs. There. ‘Could it be related to the sea? Howard was taken from a beach, Matt returned to near one.’
‘It doesn’t seem important to me, aside from potentially connecting some dots.’
Corcoran took the left between an old hotel and a refurbished pub, then trundled up a narrow street, the wheels rattling over the cobbles. ‘But it could be, right?’
She went back to writing in her notebook. ‘I need more data to do a geographic profile.’
‘Assuming this is another case, is that enough of a pattern?’
‘Well, possibly. They’ve all been abducted from somewhere near their homes, and dumped . . . Well. Sarah was left somewhere quiet and remote, but the other two have been in towns. But even Sarah’s location wasn’t so remote that someone wouldn’t find her quickly enough to get medical attention or police assistance. The timings are all over the place, though. October, January, late February.’ She sighed. ‘Until Matt’s awake and I can talk to him without danger, we won’t be able to connect him definitely to the other two.’
‘But in your heart of hearts?’
‘Are you asking what my hunch is?’
Corcoran shrugged. ‘I get a feeling deep in my gut. Maybe it’s just Ockham’s razor, you know—’
‘“Entities should not be multiplied unnecessarily.”’ She gave him a thin smile. ‘That’s the original text from William of Ockham, a Franciscan monk. But you’re referring to “when presented with competing hypotheses that make the same predictions, one should select the solution with the fewest assumptions”. Or do you mean—’
‘You know exactly what I mean.’ Corcoran pulled up behind a squad car. ‘But either way, we’ve got way too many assumptions.’
‘Agreed.’ Palmer got out onto the street, still clutching her notebook.
Corcoran locked the car and followed her. ‘You getting much out of all that writing?’
She stopped outside a pub, eyebrows raised. ‘I’m capturing raw data. I’ll hopefully get some insights later.’
‘Can I add my hope to your bonfire?’
A squad car pulled up. ‘There you are.’ Jason hopped out onto the street. ‘This is my partner, yeah? Ali, this is DS Corcoran and Dr Palmer.’
A woman stood in the doorway of the Mucky Duck pub, wearing skin-tight jeans and a Public Enemy T-shirt. Her long hair hung loose. ‘PC Alison Davidson.’ She shook both of their hands, but looked as tired as the rest of them. ‘You think this is connected to that case up in Witney?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to ascertain.’ Corcoran gave her a shrug. ‘So, can you—’
‘Supposed to be my day off. That man last night . . . Hasn’t Jay told you?’
Corcoran saw some nerves in her eyes. ‘PC Wilkinson said that, before he took him down, this Matt was—’
‘Jay told you that?’ She laughed, then shook her head at Jason. ‘You’re a sweetheart, Jay, but you’re a lying git. I twatted the bloke with my baton. Poor Jay here got a face full of . . . Well.’
Jason was blushing. ‘They didn’t need to know that, Ali.’
But she was laughing, hand covering her face. ‘Should’ve seen his face. Geezer was naked as the day he was born.’ She giggled. Her face was red and her eyes were filled with sleep.
Corcoran exhaled slowly. ‘Did you hear him mention cages or cells?’
‘Right. Somethin
g about how he didn’t want to get put back in a cell. Stuff about drowning?’
‘Did it seem like he’d been in prison?’
‘No. It was like someone had trapped him.’
Jason was nodding. ‘That’s what I told them.’
‘And you’re not wrong.’ She yawned again. ‘I mean, the guy was in a state. No idea what the drowning was about, mind.’
‘What happened after that?’
She puffed out her rosy cheeks and stared back down the street towards the pier. ‘Well, we put him in the back of the car and Jay took him into custody.’ She waved at the pub. ‘I got a statement off some of the drinkers in there.’
‘They see what happened before?’
‘Never found the guy who called it in, if that’s what you’re getting at.’ She frowned at the pub over the road, on the corner with a main road. ‘The 999 call had someone outside for a smoke, saw this cab pull up. Then that naked geezer jumped up, got himself a knife from somewhere.’
‘Any idea where?’
Alison frowned. ‘Oh, wait a minute.’ She reached into her pocket for her flip-top notebook and scanned through it. ‘Far as I can make out, the geezer ran into that boozer there.’ She waved at the Blue Man pub over the road. ‘He ran around a bit, grabbed a bread knife off the counter where they, y’know, cut bread? Then he came back out before the bar staff could get at him. There was a taxi idling on the pavement there. Sounds like he tried to take the taxi, but the driver was having none of it.’
‘You spoke to the driver?’
‘Yeah, called him this morning, but he’s taking a family up to Gatwick. Be back about lunchtime.’ She frowned. ‘He did say he’d been waiting for a few minutes, usual story when a fare isn’t where they’re supposed to be when they’re supposed to be.’ Her frown deepened. ‘He said he saw a bloke lurking around the corner, like he was watching for someone. But he got into a big van and drove off.’
Palmer looked up, her eyes twitching.
Corcoran stepped close to her and spoke low. ‘Could that be our guy?’
‘I’m not sure.’ She went back to her notes. ‘But it’s someone we need to tie.’
‘To what?’
‘T-I-E. Trace, Interview, Eliminate.’
‘Right.’ Corcoran chuckled, then turned to Alison. ‘Are you back on duty?’
‘I’m off to bed. I mean, if you need me, give me a call . . .’
‘One of you.’ Corcoran held out a business card. ‘I need you to send me all of the CCTV from round here.’
Jason didn’t take it; he rolled his eyes instead. ‘Good luck with that.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Few weeks back, this bunch of bloody students – woke as hell, anarchists or whatever – dismantled all the security cameras round here. Pending trial, but that doesn’t help you, does it?’
Very fortunate. Or worse, that their guy knew and had used it to his advantage. ‘What about banks? ATM machines have cameras that—’
‘—have been hit with hammers every time they get fixed.’ Jason tugged at his stab-proof. ‘Ain’t recording nothing. It’s a bloody nightmare.’
‘Was this in the news?’
‘All over the local paper for days.’
Corcoran looked at Palmer. ‘He’s planned this. Knew there was a gap in the CCTV.’
Palmer nodded as she wrote. ‘It’s adding to the picture.’
Corcoran looked at Jason and Alison. Nothing more they knew, just needed to let them get on with their days until something else came up. ‘Okay, you’ve been a great help. I’ll be in touch.’ He handed a card to each of them. ‘And if you think of anything?’
‘Sure thing, mate.’ Jason pocketed it.
Alison shook her head at him as they walked off together.
Corcoran stared down the street towards the seafront. Cigarette smoke caught on the fresh breeze. ‘So what now?’
‘You’re asking me?’
‘This is your wheelhouse.’
Palmer smiled as she pocketed her notebook. ‘Well, we have a few options, but I think we should visit London and speak to Matt’s friends and family.’
Corcoran felt a jab in his hip, like it had just happened. The crunch and grind. The searing pain, the breath squeezed out of his lungs. ‘You don’t think we should focus our attention around here?’
She frowned. ‘Aidan, are you okay?’
‘Of course. I’m fine.’
‘Well, it’s just . . .’ She was frowning at him. ‘Aidan, we’ve got three possibly linked cases. Six sites. Three abductions, three releases. We’ve only seen five of them.’
He ran a hand down his face. ‘Do you want to drive?’
Twenty-eight
[Palmer, 11:31]
Palmer kept it an even seventy, nothing above or below. She touched the gearstick to check it was still in sixth. The giant screen hanging above the motorway read M25 1 mile. No traffic warning, which was a blessed relief. ‘Do I keep on the M23 or take the M25?’
No response.
She looked over at Corcoran, staring at his phone. ‘Aidan?’
‘A cold day in hell when you’d consider taking the M25.’ He pocketed his phone and looked out of the passenger window. ‘But that day is today. Three-car pile-up outside Croydon blocking the route north.’
‘Okay, thanks.’ She eased into the slip road for Heathrow.
‘Wrong lane.’ Corcoran waved ahead of them. ‘Take the Dartford route.’
She didn’t see any other lane until the road scissored and a second M25 lane appeared.
‘Not so much Driving Miss Daisy, as Miss Daisy driving . . .’
She looked over at him as she traversed the chevrons into the east-bound lane. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Corcoran let out a sigh and let go of the handle above the door. ‘I’m just a crap passenger, that’s all.’
‘Is this about London?’
He paused, his lips twitching. ‘Is what?’
‘You don’t want to go, do you?’ She slowed up as the slip road doubled up, but kept to the left lane and followed the curve round, the oncoming road bending to almost meet them. ‘As soon as we got the call about Rugby or Devon or even Brighton, you were off like a shot. Now it’s London and you’re very hesitant?’
He didn’t say anything.
She kept an eye on the left wing mirror as another lane swept in, and she let a pimped-up Mini get ahead of her. ‘Come on, what’s going on?’
He looked over, then away. ‘It might not be our Matt, that’s all.’
‘You’re right, it might not be.’ The three busy lanes of the M25 encroached on her view, a long red truck and a longer NHS lorry blocking her access to the road. She kicked down and hit eighty as she swept in ahead of the first, then let the engine slow them. ‘But we’ve been erring on the side of a connection.’
Corcoran sighed.
‘Aidan, something happened to you in London, didn’t it?’
He looked over at her, nostrils wide, eyes narrow. ‘Have you been checking up on me?’
‘I want to help. Something’s obviously bugging you.’
But he just shook his head and stared out of the window. ‘We should get something to eat soon.’
[12:40]
Palmer pulled up under the railway arches in east London. A train trundled east out to the Essex coast, another heading back into the city. She let her seatbelt ride up and looked over. ‘So this is your old stomping ground?’
Corcoran took the last bite of his sandwich and stuffed the wrapper into the bag. ‘You not hungry?’
‘I’ll have mine in a minute.’ She got out into the street and the stale London rain. ‘I did my undergraduate degree here. Well, other side of London was where I lived. White City, if you’re being generous, Shepherd’s Bush if you’re not.’
‘You know most people don’t add “undergraduate” to differentiate.’
‘Well, I do.’ She led the way down the street, bustling with pub
s, chain restaurants and upmarket shops. The old Spitalfields market on the right had been renovated, looking like it had been rebuilt from scratch. ‘So much change.’ She stopped outside the chip shop and soaked in the smell of vinegar and beef fat.
‘Oi oi!’ A squat man swaggered towards them, carrying the air of a Jack-the-lad, or at least someone who thought he was. A careful haircut, sharp suit and shiny shoes that had somehow avoided being splashed by rain. Might as well have had London cop tattooed to his forehead. ‘Corky, as I live and breathe. Surprised to see you again so soon, matey boy. How’s your bollocks?’
‘They’re both fine last I checked.’
‘Yeah, in the shower this morning, you filthy bastard.’ He held out a hand for Palmer, accompanied with a wink. ‘DS John Diamond. Real pleasure to meet you, darling.’
She shook it with a smile. ‘So you two know each other?’
‘We’ve had some dealings over the years, shall we say?’ Diamond smirked at Corcoran. ‘Yeah, let’s just say that.’
Corcoran gritted his teeth. ‘I just want to get down to basics, John. Find out what happened here.’
‘You seriously think this is related to that naked bird out near Oxford?’
‘Maybe.’ Corcoran sighed. ‘And that “bird” has a name. Sarah Langton.’
‘Still a touchy git, then.’ Diamond barked out a laugh. ‘Have you really found Matt Gladwin alive and well?’
‘We believe so. Turned up in Brighton, naked, trying to chop his arm off.’
‘Christ, Corky, you sure get all the shit luck with shit cases.’ Diamond sniffed and rubbed his nose. ‘Anyway, I reacquainted myself with the case. I mean, I got my extra stripe not long after.’
‘Congrats.’
‘Should’ve been a DS years ago, but some pillock kept blocking it, didn’t they?’ Another sniff. ‘Anyway, Matt’s a husband and father, lives way out west in Hammersmith. Partner in an estate agent over that way. Kid’s done well for himself. Plays Sunday league football with his old mates. His last known movement was leaving the pub. He’d played fives with the guys from the office one Wednesday night. Ninth of October. Third match back since his kid was born.’ He pointed at a bar down the street. ‘Few jars in there, then he called his wife on his way to the tube.’ He pointed in the opposite direction. ‘Only, she never heard from him again, did she? Called us.’ He set off. ‘Come on, mate, better if I show you.’
