Your Life or Mine

by Vicki Bradley

  ‘Maybe.’ Loxton remembered she’d gone looking for Kowalski, leaving the office empty. Harding could have put the tracker in her coat then.

  ‘He’s ex-military. He’s taken his tag off and evaded the surveillance team. Winter got some more on his service record. He worked in the SAS all right – in their intelligence unit. He was one of their best, but he lost the plot. On the field and back at home with his girlfriend. They had to reluctantly let him go. The army doctors thought he had severe PTSD, but Harding wouldn’t accept it. That’s as much as Winter could get from his old mates back in the military. Harding is our man. We’ve just got to keep you safe from him. Even if it takes an army, we’ll do it.’ Kowalski reached across the table and gave her hand a squeeze. ‘I promise you.’

  ‘I know you will,’ she said, but it was more to reassure him than because she actually believed it.

  Loxton had changed into her spare suit and ankle boots before walking into Walworth CID. She was momentarily stopped by the complete chaos, and it reminded her of the morning when she’d found out Emma was missing. There was the same nervous energy and feeling of dread. The universe had shifted and was out of kilter.

  The whole room hushed, and Winter, who had been leaning at a computer, stood up straight, staring at her as if she were a mirage. Then he strode across the office and hugged her tightly. ‘Thank God,’ he said, holding her at arm’s length, as if checking again that she was real. He released her and led her towards his office.

  It seemed to break the silence, and officers called out to her, grateful that she was all right. Patel was smiling at her. It felt surreal as she stumbled after Winter. Kowalski hovered on the periphery and Winter beckoned him into the office. Kowalski closed the door on their small party.

  ‘Alana, I’m so sorry,’ Winter said. ‘You could have died.’

  ‘Philip did die,’ she said. ‘Sir, none of this is your fault. This is like nothing we’ve ever dealt with before.’

  He nodded. ‘DI Meyer wants you straight back into police protection.’

  ‘I’m not going into police protection again,’ she said. ‘I need to be here.’

  Winter closed his eyes briefly. ‘Against all my better judgement, I agree with you. I’d rather you were here helping us catch this bastard than a sitting target somewhere. We can’t trust special protection; they’ve been compromised.’

  Kowalski nodded. ‘Alana’s better here with us. I won’t let her out of my sight.’

  ‘At this point the fewer people we trust the better,’ Winter said. ‘Let’s decide where Loxton goes and keep it between the three of us. Not on police records, not written down anywhere. Just us three know. Verbal communications only.’ Winter pulled out three burner phones from his drawer and handed one to Kowalski and then Loxton, keeping one for himself. ‘I thought these might come in handy. They’ve got each other’s numbers pre-programmed in.’

  Kowalski looked relieved. ‘We’ll get you in a hotel under a different name, Alana. I’ll stay with you. Let’s just keep where you’re staying off the record. Then Harding won’t be able to find you.’

  Winter looked thoughtful. ‘It might work. Obviously I’ll deny all knowledge, say you’ve gone AWOL.’

  ‘Of course, sir,’ Kowalski said.

  ‘Did you see who attacked you?’ Winter asked Loxton.

  ‘No.’ She felt useless, not even being able to identify Philip’s killer. ‘There was a fire. We went outside and it was dark. There was smoke everywhere. Then they started throwing knives from the treeline. Philip had a gun but he didn’t stand a chance. He drew them off while I got in the armoured car.’

  ‘Knives?’ Winter shook his head. ‘They went up against an armed officer with knives? Was there more than one person?’

  ‘I don’t know but they must have known it was just Philip there. I don’t understand why they didn’t just slit my throat if they got into the cottage to start the fire.’

  ‘They didn’t get in the house,’ Kowalski said. ‘They disabled the alarms and then climbed onto the roof and poured petrol down the chimney stack and then threw down a bag of lit firelighters. The blaze took hold in minutes. You were lucky to get out alive. That’s what the fire brigade in Kent said.’

  ‘Kent want you to call them back via video call,’ Winter said. ‘Summarize what happened at the safe house to assist their forensic examination. And then we’re going to need to take your full statement. I know you must be exhausted, but we need it now. An officer was murdered and you’re the only witness.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, although she felt her mind drifting in and out of focus. All she could think about was Philip’s kind eyes and the smell of cooked breakfast. His family would have been told what had happened by now, and she closed her eyes for a moment, the grief too much.

  Winter’s radio crackled into life.

  ‘Calling DCI Winter,’ said a male’s voice.

  Winter picked it up. ‘Winter here, go ahead.’

  ‘DCI Winter, it’s PC Nicholson here. Another body’s been reported. It’s a female. We’re with the body now. It’s on Thurlow Avenue, not far from the nick.’

  ‘Another body?’ She felt her stomach clench in grief. Who was it? She shook her head, willing the tears not to come as her eyes welled up anyway.

  ‘Repeat, Thurlow Avenue, halfway down the road,’ the young officer’s voice said.

  ‘What number?’ Winter asked.

  ‘The body’s on the street, sir. There is no number. It’s just halfway down, by the communal bins – dumped there.’ The officer sounded defeated and Loxton felt a vast emptiness opening up inside her. For a moment she felt dizzy.

  ‘We’ll head over now,’ Winter said. ‘You’ve set the cordon up? I want fifty metres at least.’

  ‘We’re trying, sir, but there are only a couple of us here.’

  ‘Well get more of you there!’ Winter’s voice was raised and angry. ‘I want that scene closed down.’

  Loxton had never seen him shout on the radio before; he was always so calm. DI Meyer came into the office. ‘Have you heard?’ He saw Winter’s face and nodded as if to answer his own question.

  ‘You’re to stay here, Loxton,’ DI Meyer said before glancing behind him and spotting Lena, who had followed him in.

  ‘Alana, you’re all right,’ Lena said, relief flooding her face. ‘I thought you might be hurt.’

  ‘The profiler will stay here with you, DC Loxton,’ DI Meyer said.

  Lena pulled a confused face. ‘Sarge, if a protection officer couldn’t keep her safe then how do you think I’m going to manage it?’ Lena asked, not even trying to hide the sarcasm in her voice. ‘I don’t even have a gun; we’d be dead in about ten seconds.’

  ‘She’s right, it’s best DC Loxton comes with us for now,’ DCI Winter said. ‘Most of the station will be at the crime scene. She’s safer that way.’

  DI Meyer shook his head. ‘It’s against protocol.’

  ‘We’re way beyond protocol,’ Winter said. ‘Loxton, you’re in my car. No arguments. Kowalski, you go with Lena. And Kowalski, remember what we talked about. I want you to make sure that action happens.’

  ‘Will do, sir,’ Kowalski said, dropping his burner phone into his pocket. Loxton nodded at Winter too as he rushed to the door.

  ‘Come on,’ DI Meyer called to one of his detectives who was sat in the office. ‘We don’t want them messing up our scene. Winter, I’m in charge, remember.’

  ‘If you say so,’ Winter said as he strode out of the CID office first not looking back at Meyer.

  Chapter 40

  Saturday 5 February, 08:10

  Thurlow Avenue was chaos. Police officers were shouting at one another, the panic beneath the surface palpable. Winter pulled up and his mobile rang. ‘It’s the borough commander,’ he said. ‘Just what I don’t need. Lena and Kowalski are just up ahead.’ He pointed them out to her.

  ‘Thanks for sticking up for me back there.’

  ‘I’ll
be watching you from the car,’ Winter said. ‘I won’t be long.’

  She nodded. There were about twenty uniformed officers and several detectives that she knew, all turning up now, making the chaos seem larger.

  She reached the police officer on the external cordon. ‘You need to widen the perimeter,’ she said to him. ‘This is too small. DCI Winter wanted at least fifty metres.’ It was easier to work through this, to push her feelings downwards, to put on her police mask.

  ‘We’re trying to widen it,’ the officer said, getting on the radio to advise his supervisor. She showed him her warrant card and he jotted her name down on the scene log and let her through.

  Loxton expected it to be a similar scenario to Emma and Sarah. The victim killed somewhere else. Transported here in some sort of vehicle. No forensic evidence left. But she couldn’t take the chance. Maybe he’d brought her here on foot. And once the scene was closed, the police wouldn’t come back; any evidence missed would be lost forever. She wanted the net as wide as possible. She didn’t want to miss a thing.

  All they needed was for the killer to make one tiny mistake, as small as a head hair left behind, and then they would be able to identify him. She couldn’t believe this person wasn’t in the system for something.

  As she moved from the outside to the inner cordon, she saw a young woman being dragged back by officers. She was shocked when she recognized who it was.

  ‘Rosa, you can’t be here.’ Loxton tried to hold her back, helping the other officers. Rosa flayed her arms at them, striking out and catching Loxton on the cheekbone.

  ‘She’s my sister!’ Rosa was screaming at them, straining to get past Loxton and the other officers. ‘I need to see her!’

  Kowalski joined Loxton, his face full of confusion. ‘Rosa, what are you doing here?’

  ‘I want to see her.’ Tears ran down Rosa’s face. She covered her eyes with her hands.

  ‘You can’t, not yet. Not like this,’ Kowalski said. ‘We don’t even know if it’s her.’

  Kowalski wrapped his arms around her. ‘I’m so sorry, but you’ll have to wait, Rosa.’ Loxton felt like her heart was breaking, watching Rosa fall apart. She caught Lena watching carefully as well, her face for a fraction of a second looking darker – concern etched in her eyes. Lena didn’t know that Kowalski had dated Gabriella. She thought he was being inappropriate. Their eyes met for a second and Loxton looked away from Lena. She should have told her about Kowalski’s involvement with the murdered detectives. She would tell her later, when she got a chance.

  Rosa was crying heavily into Kowalski’s shoulder. ‘Come on, I’ll get someone to take you somewhere safe, kiddo.’

  ‘Gabriella.’ Rosa’s voice broke as she whispered her sister’s name.

  Loxton heard the faint crackle of voices from a police radio coming from Rosa’s bag. ‘Rosa, what’s in your bag?’

  Rosa handed it to her, her eyes staring blankly through Loxton. ‘Here, I don’t need it anymore.’

  Loxton looked inside Rosa’s bag. There was a police radio inside with a sticker on the back which had ‘Gabriella Caselli’ written across it. That’s how she’d known about the body. She’d been listening to the police channel, probably ever since Gabriella had gone missing.

  Kowalski led her away. ‘I’ll take her to my car and get her into police protection.’ His face looked strained. ‘Can you both handle things here? Lena, don’t let Alana out of your sight.’

  ‘Not a chance,’ Lena said.

  Loxton nodded and tried to hold back the tears as she watched Rosa being walked away. The crime scene had frozen, forensic officers in their white garb stood staring at Rosa as if she was from another planet. Something that definitely shouldn’t be here. Something they didn’t want to have to see. Loxton understood why. It was hard enough to deal with the dead without the living reminding you of everything the dead had lost. The wreckage that their passing had left behind. There was no pretending with this one. The pain was palpable, and they couldn’t unsee it. It made the work unbearable.

  With Rosa gone, the crime scene’s rhythm started up again and Loxton could lose herself in its morbid harmony. Lena led Loxton to the forensic tent, which was erected next to the communal bins. Inside that tent was her old friend.

  Lena handed her a forensic suit and began garbing up herself. Loxton silently pulled hers on, then the gloves and finally affixed the mask, covering her face. She glanced at Lena’s grey eyes. Lena seemed to pull a pained face, but for all Loxton knew she could be smiling under the mask.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Lena said. ‘I can’t imagine how hard this is for you. If you want, you can stay out here? There are plenty of officers here; you’ll be safe.’

  ‘I need to see.’ Loxton couldn’t explain it any more than that. There were other people who could do the work instead of her, but none of that mattered. She needed to see for herself, otherwise she wouldn’t be able to think like the killer. And she needed to know how this killer’s mind worked.

  Loxton pulled the tent flap back and stepped inside. The crime scene manager was crouched by the naked body and looked up at her. She could only see his eyes. His face was covered with the mask, the hood obscuring as much of his face as hers. There was horror in his eyes, not the calm, detached expression she had come to expect. Horror in her colleagues’ faces was becoming all too familiar.

  She looked down slowly at the body. It was Gabriella Caselli all right, her face contorted in agony. Her naked body was a red mess, ripped to pieces as if by a wild animal. Loxton’s stomach tightened and she tried to steady her breathing, burning acid rising up her throat. She looked back at the crime scene manager’s eyes.

  ‘It’s bad.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s the most violent murder I’ve ever dealt with.’

  She crouched down next to her friend’s body. The viciousness of the attack was staggering. As was the sheer energy and force that would have been required to carry it out. Lena stood beside her, briefly putting her hand on Loxton’s shoulder and squeezing. Then she too crouched down next to Gabriella.

  Lena tilted her head to the side to study the body. ‘Frenzied yet controlled.’

  ‘Controlled?’ Loxton frowned; she couldn’t see it herself.

  The crime scene manager leaned backwards for a moment. ‘I see what you mean. The stab wounds are all hitting the major organs. It’s hard to see because there are so many of them. But you’re right; it doesn’t look like they’ve missed the target once. And there’s not much blood, which suggests they were inflicted after death, unless he cleaned her afterwards.’

  Lena nodded and Loxton forced herself to look at her friend’s body again. There must be thirty stab wounds, but they were all targeting some vital part of the body – the heart, lungs, liver, stomach, uterus… None were wasted. There were no blows glancing off the rib cage; no cuts to the side of the body where the knife had missed its target. Gabriella’s legs and arms were untouched. Likewise, her face and neck had not been stabbed. It was like nothing she’d ever seen. The image of the throwing knife piercing Philip’s jugular flashed into her mind. The precision.

  ‘I’m not sure it’s the person who killed Emma and Sarah,’ the crime scene manager said.

  Loxton forced the emotive side of herself to shut down. Instead, she leaned towards Gabriella’s neck, gently feeling the windpipe, and then stared into Gabriella’s opened eyes. ‘The strangulation is consistent with Emma and Sarah’s murders. The windpipe’s crushed, with more bruising on the left side again. I’d say it is the same killer. See the rope marks on the wrists and ankles? It’s the same patterning. We’ll have to see if the pathologist agrees once the post-mortem’s completed.’

  ‘Perhaps there was someone else assisting this time?’ the CSI asked. ‘To account for the amount of stab wounds and the escalation in violence?’

  ‘I don’t think this killer plays well with others.’ Lena threw a nervous glance at Loxton. Satisfied by Loxton’s nod of her head to go on, Lena
continued. ‘I doubt he’s been able to find himself a new replacement so quickly after failing to get Barratt out. This feels like he’s trying to up the ante of each killing. As if he’s working himself up to a grand finale. The stab marks are rage-fuelled, but also measured. He feels like he’s justified because he’s dishing out a deserved punishment. The crime that he believes these women have committed, well, it makes him furious, but he’s a man who’s used to exacting his revenge carefully. He takes his time. He doesn’t want to risk making mistakes. It’s a cold fury. Calculated. He obviously didn’t rape and kill her here. We need to look at the victims again. Try to work out why the violence is intensifying. Whether there’s a pattern we can see. It could be he’s sending a message to us.’ Lena stared at Loxton, willing her to decipher it.

  Loxton closed her eyes briefly, trying to control her rapid breathing. She forced her eyes open and stared at Gabriella again. It looked like he’d raped and strangled her first, crushing her windpipe, then inflicted the stab wounds. Loxton prayed the CSI was right and that was the case. If the stab wounds had come first, before the crushed windpipe, Loxton shuddered at the prolonged agony her friend would have suffered in death.

  She found it hard to see the message as she looked at her friend’s wrecked body. But she needed to see it to decipher who was sending it.

  Gabriella had been instrumental in putting Barratt behind bars. Was this why the violence had increased to such a level? It was Gabriella who had linked the Barratt murders together to make them into a linked series. Jane had spoken to the sex workers who knew the victims, trying to identify how he was choosing targets. She had recognized a type, which was circulated through the media. But it was Loxton herself who had been the one to nail Barratt. He’d been careless at one of the murder scenes, disturbed by a pimp who was keeping an eye on his workers, worried about the recent spate of killings.

  Loxton had walked the victim’s route and found a stray hair off the path that came back to Barratt. One discarded hair that had linked him to the crime scene. The rest had been sheer hard work. A team effort.