Paul thought for a moment. Then shook his head. ‘No, not that I can recall.’
‘Please, think hard. It’s vital that you play back every minute of this afternoon in your mind. Try and remember every step you took as you left the flat. Perhaps you let someone in the communal entrance? Someone you didn’t know, but who claimed to be visiting a neighbour of yours. Perhaps you failed to close the door properly?’
Paul cupped his mug, his forehead knotting as he tried to think. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I really don’t remember seeing anyone or anything unusual. Whoever it was must have been watching in secret, waiting for me to leave before getting in. And I definitely closed the door. I always make a point of checking it’s locked.’
‘How the hell did he get in then?’ Maddy asked in exasperation. ‘Or know that Paul was going out?’
‘Ms Kramer …’ It amused Maddy the way Carver continued to address her with careful formality; it may have been standard police procedure, but somehow it felt like they’d crossed that stage, so much had happened. ‘… we know this killer is highly intelligent and technically proficient. Breaking into your home isn’t rocket science for someone like that.’
Maddy still wasn’t happy. ‘Okay, I get the breaking-in part. But was the killer just waiting around all day, hoping that Paul would go out at some point? If not, doesn’t that mean it’s someone we know? Someone familiar with our movements, who knows we live together, what we get up to?’
‘Mads,’ Paul cut in, ‘we’re young single people. The odds are pretty high that we’d both be out on a Friday night, particularly at this time of the year.’
Carver nodded. ‘He’s right, Ms Kramer.’
Maddy sagged back in her chair. ‘I suppose so,’ she grunted. But inside she wasn’t convinced.
Carver got up. ‘We’ll speak to your neighbours and check the CCTV for anything suspicious.’ He held Maddy’s gaze, and she saw the compassion in his eyes. It comforted her – marginally, at least. ‘For now, sit tight, and try and get some rest.’
‘Thanks, but I can’t see myself getting much rest.’
Paul wrapped his arm protectively around Maddy’s waist. ‘I’m nervous too, Mads. But at least we’ve got each other.’
***
Carver screeched to a halt at a red light. Watched a fox scamper across his line of vision, stopping to glance his way. It seemed to glower at him, opening its mouth wide to reveal razor-sharp teeth, its eyes glinting in the darkness, daring Carver to edge closer. Come on, come closer, I dare you. You’re no match for me, it seemed to be saying.
Carver turned to Drake in the passenger seat.
‘The killer’s taunting us, Drake. Wants us to feel like we’re making progress, only to shove it right back in our faces, the smug shit. Gets a kick out of it.’
‘I don’t think it can be the wife, sir, do you?’
‘No,’ Carver said as he pulled away and shifted into second from first. ‘The only explanation would be if she’s getting someone else to do the dirty work for her. But somehow I doubt it.’
‘And Stirling?’
‘That one continues to baffle me. I mean, we know he has a propensity to violence against women and was short on mummy love. Plus, he refused to tell us where he was the afternoon of Coleridge’s murder.’
‘But, sir?’
‘But, his criminal record is squeaky clean. The man’s in his forties, and we know from his wife that he’s been a womaniser since his Oxford days, most probably before. Why start killing now? Why risk everything he’s worked for? I mean, he could just be a very good actor, but he seems genuinely rattled. Most serial killers have the emotional age of an infant – incapable of connecting their crimes with the consequences, while some profess to have no memory at all of the murders. Something just doesn’t fit where Stirling’s concerned. The problem is, we have nothing else to go on.’
***
Saturday, 11 am. Maddy knew she shouldn’t be doing this, but she couldn’t help herself. The lack of progress frustrated her, while the break-in had been the last straw. Initially frightened by the killer’s message, now she was just plain furious. She needed to face Stirling herself. Look into his eyes and demand the truth.
She didn’t know if he’d be home. She just hoped that if he was, his wife wasn’t. She knew she could have waited; stormed his office first thing Monday morning. But she couldn’t hold off that long. She was too keyed up, despite barely getting any rest. It had gone 3 am by the time forensics had finished up at her flat. And even the four hours’ sleep she’d got after that had been scrappy.
She reached Stirling’s front door, inhaled deeply and rang the bell. She waited a couple of minutes, her insides churning as she hovered from one foot to the other, but there was no answer.
‘Damn,’ she muttered. She tried again. Still nothing. Pissed off that she’d clearly had a wasted journey and no doubt faced another sleepless night ahead of her, she was about to leave when the door opened. It was Stirling.
At first, he looked at her with a perplexed expression, as if trying to put a name to a face. Then, recognition hit. ‘I know you. You’re Madeline Kramer. I used to teach you.’
He was still attractive. But now there was also a haggard look about him.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘May I come in?’
Slight ambivalence, then, ‘Of course.’
The wife is out, she has to be. He led her through to the living room.
‘Please, take a seat. Can I get you something to drink?’
‘No, thank you. I shan’t be long.’
‘So, what can I do for you?’
Maddy got to the point. ‘Yesterday, my flat was turned upside down, while I was out.’ She studied his face for a reaction.
‘God, how terrible.’ To his credit, he appeared genuinely shocked. ‘Was much taken?’
‘No, it was The Scribe … the scumbag who’s been bumping off your ex-students. I’ve been helping DCI Carver with his investigation.’ Her eyes searched Stirling’s. She saw fear, rather than guilt.
‘How do you know it was him?’
‘He left me a message, warned me to stop helping the police. His second warning to me in fact. This is the first.’ She held out her copy of the killer’s letter to her. Stirling read it in silence, then looked up. He had the same look of fear.
‘How awful. You must be terrified.’
‘I was, at first. Now I’m just pissed off.’
Fear turned to discomfort. Stirling wriggled in his seat, still holding the letter. Maddy continued to glare at him. Then went for it.
‘Is it you? Did you write that letter, ransack my flat, kill those women? I need you to tell me the truth.’
Her heart was in her mouth as she asked the question. If it was him, she knew she might not walk out of there alive. And even if she did, her days would surely be numbered.
Stirling leaned towards her, making her jolt. He kept his eyes on her as he said, ‘No, it’s not me.’
She’d been granted a momentary reprieve. Could breathe again. ‘Why should I believe you?’
‘Because I’m not a murderer. I’m no angel, you know that. Hell, I’m not afraid to admit it. But I’m not capable of murder; I have no motive to murder. And you must know that I don’t resent you for turning me down that time when you were my student. But I don’t blame you for thinking that’s what the author of this letter is getting at. Somehow, I can’t for the life of me think how, he knows you turned me down.’ He paused, then said again, ‘I didn’t write this, and I didn’t murder those women.’
Maddy scanned the room. Saw the piano, the cello, the CD rack resting in the corner. He followed her gaze.
‘It’s not me,’ he repeated with imploring eyes. ‘Despite what little evidence they have may suggest.’ Maddy returned his gaze and nodded. She was pretty sure he was telling the truth. ‘Okay, thanks for seeing me.’
Stirling walked her to the front door. ‘I want the po
lice to find this maniac as much as you do.’
She smiled. ‘That’s good to hear.’
He opened the door, and she stepped outside.
‘Goodbye, Madeline, and say hello to Paul for me. He’s lucky to have a flatmate like you.’
He’d shut the door before Maddy had fully registered what he’d said. She stood stationary, his words ringing in her ears. Planting a seed of doubt.
How the hell did he know that she and Paul lived together?
***
‘Idiot!’ Stirling smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand as he lumbered upstairs.
He’d been doing so well. She’d believed him. He’d seen it in her eyes. And then he’d gone and ruined things. She was a smart girl, who didn’t miss a thing. She would immediately wonder how he knew she and Paul King lived together. It wasn’t something he’d have remembered from four years ago. And even if he had, which was a long shot, why would he have assumed they still lived together?
He’d slipped up and dug a hole for himself. The question was, how was he going to dig himself out of it?
***
‘You shouldn’t have put yourself in danger like that. It’s not your job to question Stirling, it’s mine.’ Her phone pressed against her ear as she walked home from the station, Maddy let Carver have his say. She knew he’d be riled by her visiting Stirling, but she didn’t want him hearing about it from Stirling himself. The last thing she wanted was to appear sneaky by going behind his back. She respected him, and she hoped the feeling was mutual.
‘I understand what you’re saying, but whether you like it or not, I’m in this. Deep. My best friend was murdered, and the same bastard ransacked my home and sent me two threatening messages. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. I had to see Stirling face-to-face. Ask him point blank.’
There was a pause, and she heard Carver sigh. Finally, he said more gently, ‘And what did you think?’
‘I had thought he was telling the truth.’
‘Had?’
Maddy explained Stirling’s parting comment. ‘How could he have known that we live together? Even if he did by some remote chance remember that we moved in together at the end of our first year, why would he presume that we’re still flatmates?’
‘People assume things all the time.’
‘Hmm, maybe.’ Maddy wasn’t sold. ‘Has your team come back with anything?’
‘I was actually about to pick up the phone to you on that. Unfortunately, nothing suspicious was caught on CCTV. There was also no sign of tampering with your phone, and no fingerprints or DNA found in the flat aside from yours and Paul’s.’
‘You’re kidding!’ Maddy stopped cold. It was frustrating beyond belief. How could that be?
‘I’m sorry not to have better news. I’m having your phone couriered over to you as we speak.’
‘Okay, thanks. Keep me posted.’
‘I will. And no more playing detective. Not without me by your side. Is that clear?’
Maddy couldn’t stop a smile from creeping up.
‘Ms Kramer, are you listening?’
‘Yes, yes, I’m listening. I promise.’
Thankfully for Maddy, but unfortunately for Carver, he couldn’t see that she’d crossed her fingers behind her back.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Christmas came and went with no more murders. It was now December 29th.
Carver waved and smiled at his son through his car window. Outwardly, he appeared serene. Inside, he was raging. Daniel had been staying over the last two days, and he’d just dropped him back at Rachel’s. She’d been remarkably civil on the phone when they’d spoken on Boxing Day and she’d agreed, to Carver’s surprise, that he could have Daniel for a couple of nights. They’d been to a West Ham game, made pizza, watched action movies back to back, kicked a ball around in the park. Carver had loved every second of it, and the tears in his son’s eyes as they’d hugged each other goodbye had told him he had too. It was the best feeling in the world.
The terms of the custody arrangement were that he could have Daniel for one night a week only. Even then, Rachel usually made a fuss about how unsettling it was for their son. He should have known she was up to something. And now he knew what.
Fucking Carl had only gone and proposed to Rachel on Christmas Eve under the sodding mistletoe. The cheesy bastard. Naturally, she’d said yes. And now Carl would have every right to insist on Daniel calling him “Dad”.
Rachel had dropped this bombshell as her ex was about to walk away from her doorstep, having instructed poor Daniel not to utter a word to his father while he was staying with him, because she had wanted to break the exciting news to him herself.
Carver drove away. His mind distracted, he nearly missed the lights turn red, and pulled up sharp. As he did, his phone rang inside his trouser pocket. With some effort, he extracted it and saw that it was the station. He quickly switched it to hands-free. ‘Yes?’ The lights changed, and he sped off.
‘Sir, it’s Drake.’
‘Yes?’ Carver repeated.
‘I’m on duty today, sir, and I noticed something interesting that came in for you this morning.’
‘What?’ Carver asked less brusquely, his interest piqued. He knew Drake wouldn’t be calling for nothing.
‘A brown manila envelope with a typed label.’
Without signalling, Carver pulled in quickly to the side of the road, inciting the wrath of the white van driver behind him who gave a protracted honk of his horn, before shooting Carver an angry glare and the V-sign as he drove past. Carver took no notice, his mind absorbed by the implications of what Drake had just said.
‘Open it,’ he ordered.
‘It’s on your desk in your office. I’m on my way now.’
Carver sat restlessly as he listened to the sound of Drake’s footsteps plod across the station floor, activity going on all around him. Then, sensing Drake had come to a standstill outside his office, he heard him open then close the door, blocking out the extraneous noise. This was followed by an envelope being opened, the rustle of paper being removed and unfolded.
And then the line went quiet. ‘What is it, Drake? Tell me, for Christ’s sake!’
‘I’ll read it to you, sir.’
Dear DCI Carver,
I trust you had a good Christmas and enjoyed spending some quality father and son time. There is nothing like the father-son bond, and I commend you for being such a devoted father, who clearly loves his son very much.
Carver froze. The killer had been watching him with Daniel and was now using this as ammunition – emotional blackmail to throw him off the scent, weaken his resolve.
I too have had time to rest and recuperate. And now that I am feeling refreshed, it is time to get back in the game. Are you ready to play, Chief Inspector? I hope so, because here’s another riddle for you to solve:
“Competition is warfare. Mostly it is played by prescribed rules – there is a sort of Geneva Convention for competition – but it’s thorough and often brutal.” (Andrew S. Grove, New Yorker, Oct, 1997)
A qualified legal trooper, she works amongst the canaries. Sees the office from her bedroom window.
Get a move on, Chief Inspector. New Year’s Eve is just around the corner. What better night than that to go out with a bang?
Silence.
‘Sir? You still there, sir?’
‘Still here, Drake. Canary Wharf?’
‘That was my thinking. Are you coming in?’
‘Yes. I’ll call Kramer on the way. Meantime, brief the team. We don’t have much time to figure this out.’
***
The killer gazed up at the second-floor decked balcony from the edge of the picturesque marina. It was a lovely spot, situated in a modern gated development in Limehouse, geared towards young, successful professionals wanting a convenient yet fashionable home to base themselves in.
It was amazing how anyone could just walk in, look around. It was going to be trickier getting into t
he block itself, but not insurmountable. It was astonishing how trusting neighbours could be; letting in strangers who claimed to be visiting friends without batting an eyelid. Especially at this time of the year, what with goodwill to all men and all that sugary crap.
And who wouldn’t trust the pleasant, respectable visitor standing by the waterside at that moment, holding a bouquet of flowers and wearing a friendly smile?
The target had momentarily appeared on the balcony, dressed in a powder-blue fleece dressing gown, cupping her hands around a mug, gazing out at the rows of pretty yachts resting peacefully on the water.
And then he had joined her. Surprised her from behind. Wrapped his arms around her waist, planted a warm kiss on her left cheek. And then she had turned around, wrapped her own arms around his neck, kissed him passionately on the mouth. And he had taken her hand, guided her back into the flat, before closing the sliding doors and shutting them away from the outside world.
The killer’s eyes narrowed with envy. Then, sickened by what they were clearly about to get up to, channelled the anger brewing inside for a higher purpose.
The girl had today off, but she’d be back in the office tomorrow. No one ever did much work between Christmas and the New Year. So, unless you had a family, it was a waste of holiday. Much better to go in and pretend to work, illicitly scrolling the online sales, watching the clock until home time, which was usually no later than 3 pm during the holiday season.
Like so many others, she’d be back home early on New Year’s Eve, the day after tomorrow, giving her plenty of time to get ready for the busiest party night of the year.
Only this year, she wouldn’t be partying.
Her partying days were over.
***
‘I knew it wouldn’t be long before you called.’ Maddy was lying on the sofa, feet dangling over the armrest, Atticus nestled in the small gap underneath. She muted the TV and sat up. Felt the tension, which had been simmering under a superficial veil of holiday cheer, return with a vengeance.
Just for a short time, she’d allowed herself to relax in the company of the two people she loved most – Paul and her grandmother – almost forgetting the darkness veiling her life. ‘Somehow, I’d managed to push all that’s happened to the back of my mind. I knew it was wishful thinking, though. The pattern is unfinished. There has to be more.’
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