by N. C. Lewis
"That's correct," Joy replied.
"And he'll strike again?"
"I believe so."
"An adult?"
"Absolutely."
"A woman?"
Joy understood his game now. He was tying her down, pushing her into a corner. He'd had years at this, but this was her first go round. And that look in his eyes was like a cat playing with a mouse, certain of the kill. How could she fight back?
Joy said, "Perkins thought Viv Gill was a schoolgirl, but she was an older woman." There'd be no emotional outburst this time. She'd put the bigot back in his box by being good at her job. The best. She'd worked with Hamilton Perkins for years, sensed what he would do. Her best suggestions, that's what she'd give them. Fate would take care of the rest. "Now that he has crossed the threshold into the adult world, he'll do what most wealthy men do."
Jeffery nodded. She understood.
Moss said, "And what's that, then?"
"Go for a younger woman," Joy said, like a teacher talking to a slow child. "Teen to early twenties with a schoolgirlish look."
Jeffery said, "The question is, where?"
Joy didn't miss a heartbeat; she was in her stride now. "These things can never be certain because we are dealing with the human mind. But there is a high chance he will go back to St Bees to finish the job he started."
"But how can you be so certain?" The question came from Moss.
"Perkins knows he made a mistake with Viv Gill and will want to correct that. It's a compulsion in him. He must have a perfect record."
"Okay," Moss said. "Only one more question—"
"I don't know," Joy said, before he had a chance to finish. "But he'll kill again soon."
They fell into silence. The radiator under the window grumbled. A cloud passed the window and cast the room into gloominess.
Moss said, "I've got a plan, ma'am."
"Go on," Jeffery replied.
"First, we put a tail on Mrs Pearl Smith. Two officers around the clock. One to watch the house, the other to follow her around the village. If she knows Perkins's whereabouts, it won't be long until we do too."
Jeffery leaned back in her chair, considering. Again the radiator gurgled. A wolfish twitch at the corner of her lips gave away the answer before the words tumbled out. "Not good enough, Moss," she said. "We have no evidence Mrs Pearl Smith knows his whereabouts, and she is in a relationship with another man, who happens to be a hound dog of a reporter by the name of Rodney Rawlings. If he gets a sniff, it will be all over the wires." She slammed her fist on the desk. "You are on the hook here, Moss. Another death, and there'll be hell to pay, not just from Carlisle but the press and the politicians too. What else do you have?"
It was suddenly quiet. Joy looked at her friend with admiration and understood why they called her Teflon Jeffery. Nothing stuck. She'd pointed the finger at Moss, made it his problem. If the crap hit the fan, the stink would land on him.
Moss licked his lips, beads of sweat shining on his forehead. Deep down, a sudden urge to cuddle and protect him surged in Joy. Was she warming to the man? It was the same feeling that drove her into psychology. A need to understand and help those who were not understood.
Moss smiled at Joy. "Dr Hall, at our first briefing, you put pins in the map of St Bees. What were you doing?"
Joy didn’t want to say, but Moss knew the answer, else he wouldn’t have asked. She said, "It was silly of me really. Just a stupid idea."
Moss said, "Why did you stick pins in the map?"
He'd put her on the spot again, backed her into another corner. The man terrified her; he was capable of anything. "I only used three pins."
"Why?"
"To work out where Perkins might strike..." Joy spoke in a quiet, flat tone. "If there was a second attack."
"What did you find?" Moss said. "Where will he kill again?"
"I can't be sure," Joy said. "I don't know."
"Tell us where you stuck the pins!" Moss was on his feet, shouting.
Joy yelled back, "You are putting me in an impossible position."
Jeffery eased the tension, her voice as soft as mist. "Tell him where you put the pins. You don't need to worry, just let us know, so we can decide what to do about it."
It was of no use; Joy had to tell them. If it didn't play out the way she hoped, it wasn't her fault. "I placed the first pin on the Pow Beck bridge."
"Come off it, Dr Hall," Moss yelled. "He won't return to the footbridge with all that police activity."
Joy exhaled a slow breath. "The first pin was for reference, to help me get my bearings. Mr Perkins will not return to the place of his kill; he never does."
"And the second pin?" Jeffery asked.
"At the train station. It's a quicker escape than driving along the narrow lanes. He'll have checked the timetable so he can slip away with speed. But again, it's only there as a reference, a possible route of escape."
Moss snorted, "And the third pin?"
"It marks the place where I believe he will kill." Joy let her words hang in the air, waiting for the inevitable question.
"And where might that be?" Jeffery got in ahead of Moss.
Joy said, "Almost all of Hamilton Perkins's victims were attacked on woodland paths. If he strikes again, it will be at night and under the cover of trees and bushes. The third pin I stuck in Hemlock Woods, eighty acres of woodland that backs on to Old Hen Lane."
Chapter thirty-four
It was 7:30 p.m. Moss stood at the front of the briefing room with his eyes fastened on PC Beth Finn. Fenella sat on the front row, tore open a bar of Cadbury's dark chocolate and tried to ignore the churn in her gut about the way Moss ran his show. The team wanted to go home, kick off their shoes, relax. It had been a long day. She wondered what was happening at home. Nan would make a hot cup of milk in an hour or so and sit by the stove with a book. She'd like to join her, knew it would not happen, and took a sharp bite from the chocolate bar.
Moss brought the team up to speed. The search of Seafields Bed & Breakfast turned up nothing new. The envelope from Mrs Pearl Smith was a dead end, or so he said, and the door-to-door inquiries in St Bees drew a big fat blank. No signs of a camp in the empty buildings either. He pointed a finger at PC Hoon. "In a village with so many windows and doors, how come no one saw a thing?"
PC Hoon said, "Some said it was too dark to go out the night Viv Gill was killed, sir." He paused. From the corner of her eye, Fenella thought she saw him smile, not broad and wide, just a slight twitch at the edge of the lips. "Others said the fog dampened all sound. A few old-timers, who like to talk, said they were sure it was King Arthur and the curse of Pow Beck that did in Viv Gill. I haven't followed up on those leads, though."
PC Finn jerked to her feet and walked to the back of the room. She sloshed tea into a cup. Moss tracked her like an owl peering down at a rodent. Dexter joined her, filled a cup, and the two spoke in an inaudible whisper.
"There'll be no whispering in my briefing," barked Moss.
Dexter turned and glared. Slowly he walked to the front of the room. He sat next to Fenella, all the while his eyes never leaving Moss. The room crackled like the dry air before a wildfire ignites.
Fenella let out a low sigh. Moss looked like a character from the Wizard of Oz, but she couldn’t make up her mind which one. What did he want from PC Finn? She knew he wanted something and silently saw him as the Tin Man—heartless.
That's when the briefing-room phone rang. A call to Moss from Jeffery.
Moss picked up, dropping his voice to a whisper. His body posture changed from the ridged form of the Tin Man to the soft curves of the Cowardly Lion. It seemed the press were on the prowl in the form of Rodney Rawlings. It was clear from the one-way chat, the boss blamed him for the leak.
But when Moss hung up, the Tin Man persona returned. "Which one of you buggers has been speaking to the press?" He jabbed a finger at Dexter. "You!"
Fenella grabbed Dexter's arm before he got to his feet.
He would make a swing for him if she didn’t watch out. The mood in the room turned down a handful of notches.
"Point at me again and see what happens," Dexter growled.
Moss took a step forward. "No leaks to the press! I hope I've made that clear?"
Fenella squeezed Dexter's arm. He continued to glare but kept his lips sealed. If she was in charge, she'd have called it a day and sent the team home. They'd need their rest for the long slog to come, but Moss was still speaking.
"I met with Superintendent Jeffery and Dr Joy Hall earlier." His eyes kept darting to PC Finn. There was a nervy glint to them. "We know Perkins was in the area and had been lying low in Port St Giles." Once again, he glanced at PC Finn. "That is where Operation Quick Net comes in. Top secret, of course. Details are to stay within the walls of this room."
Fenella took another sharp bite from the chocolate bar. It would be a late night now. There'd be no time for a hot milk with Nan or to chat with Eduardo about his day. She pulled out her notebook and pen then sat up straight, ready to listen.
The door opened. The smell of disinfectant wafted into the room, along with the high whine of a vacuum cleaner. A man peered in, gave a quick nod, and shut the door. Croft, the caretaker, had cleaned the room for years. He'll not be back, Fenella told herself. Even he knew when to go home to his family.
Moss said, "From here on in I need one hundred percent commitment from the team. PC Beth, are you all in?"
"Yes."
"And Jones?"
"Yup."
"What about you, PC Hoon?"
He nodded.
Moss turned to Fenella.
"Aye," she said.
At last, he pointed at Dexter. "What about you?"
"I was born all in, sir."
"Good." Moss flashed a self-satisfied smirk. "We believe Hamilton Perkins will return to St Bees for a fresh kill within days."
There was a murmur of disbelief. PC Hoon became very still. Dexter nodded slowly as he tapped a finger on his notebook, Jones crossed his arms, and PC Beth Finn stared. Fenella put down her pen and leaned forward.
Moss jabbed a finger at a large-scale map of St Bees pinned to the whiteboard. "Operation Quick Net, a night-time surveillance operation in Hemlock Woods. Locals walk their dogs on the trails. Lots of bushes, tall trees, cover for Perkins to pounce."
Fenella was on her feet; she had led surveillance operations and knew they'd need a lot of resources. "What is our head count?"
The room fell silent. A tuneful whistle sounded through the closed door. Croft always trilled out pop songs as he neared the end of his shift. The team stared at Moss and waited.
"We are it," Moss said.
That's when the thought struck Fenella. Moss wasn't the Tin Man or Cowardly Lion. He was the Scarecrow—he didn’t have a brain. She said, "Six isn't enough; we need more."
"The goal is to keep it low profile." Once again, Moss jabbed at the map. "Four uniforms will join our team. We'll have Team A hiding here, Team B there, a base camp on the east side with two patrol cars. Air cover from the St Bees Royal National Lifeboat Institution helicopter. They can be on-site inside four minutes. We've funding for five nights and begin tomorrow."
Fenella was still on her feet. Quick Net was a long shot. Too much of the plan depended on luck, which could go either way. "What is the plan? Are we supposed to hang around in the bushes and hope Perkins wanders by?"
Moss pursed his lips. "We'll have a tasty bit of fish bait for our man. A nubile, young woman decoy. PC Beth Finn, are you all in?"
Chapter thirty-five
It could not get any worse.
Or at least that's what Fenella thought.
Since 7:00 p.m. she had been in position, leaning against the rough bark of a gnarled oak tree, scanning the dirt trail that snaked through Hemlock Woods. The third night of Operation Quick Net. The previous two nights had been a long, drawn-out bust.
Moss had been his usual self, wolf whistling and making comments about women as they walked by. "Wouldn't mind her with a dab of mint sauce," or "Might be an old hen, but I bet she can cluck," or "The knacker's yard would be too good for her."
No sign of Hamilton Perkins either. Only a handful of people walking dogs on the trail after dark, and none between 9:00 p.m. and midnight, so Moss called off the watch at 12:15 a.m. each night, and the team drifted home.
Now it was 10:15 p.m., two hours left of the watch. A thin mist was drifting from the sea, not genuine fog yet, but clouds of ghostly swirls that hovered in the dark night seemed to twitch like spooks brought to life. The only sound out here was the low whoosh of the wind, shriek of an owl, or the moan from a tree. There was a bite to the night air which might've turned bitter if the wind picked up.
Suddenly Fenella had the feeling she was being watched. She glanced towards the distant clump of trees where Jones waited, then across to Dexter's spot. Both were well hidden, despite the bare trees, and couldn't be seen from the trail. No one had entered the area since 7:35 p.m.—a middle-aged couple with a pair of French bulldogs walked through the woods at the same time each night. Always for an hour and five minutes. Always along the same path. Anyone else in the area would have been spotted by the team, even though they were down to nine because of a uniform calling in sick. And once again, Dr Joy Hall had joined to help point out where they should stake their watch. There was no one about. No one watching. How could there be?
Again, Fenella scanned the trail, this time for PC Beth Finn. She spotted her rounding a sharp bend which disappeared behind a clump of dense trees. When she vanished out of sight, Fenella glanced at the tracker on her dimmed phone to locate PC Finn's exact spot. Jones would have sight of her now, then Dexter.
"Base to team," the voice of Moss hissed in her earpiece. "Dense fog rolling in from the sea. It has covered the cliffs and part of St Bees and is coming our way. No air cover tonight; the helicopter is grounded. PC Finn, head back to your car. Over."
Base camp was an unmarked van a stone's throw from the public toilets. The type of place where Perkins liked to clean up after the kill. A taunt to the police that he could take his time. No rush. No hurry. The dumb cops would not catch him.
A swirl of frigid night air whipped up a clump of dead leaves, scattering them in all directions. The temperature was definitely dropping now, cold enough to freeze bones. Fenella wondered if Dr Joy Hall was wrong. Maybe Perkins wouldn't strike again in St Bees. But Dr Hall had studied the man in prison. It was her job to know how his mind ticked. And Fenella had worked the case way back—knew Perkins liked to show off, outwit the police, got pleasure in that—a week ago from the night Viv Gill died.
Fenella was as convinced as Dr Joy Hall that he'd be back.
"PC Hoon to base. I've pulled onto the verge at the south end of Old Hen Lane, a flat tyre. Over."
"Bloody hell!" The earpiece crackled with Moss, this time an octave higher.
"No problem, sir. I'll get out, change it; quicker than calling for help. Over."
Moss cursed long and hard for a good thirty seconds, then the earpiece fell silent.
Again, Fenella had the unshakeable sense of being watched. With a slow 360 degree turn, she scanned the area for signs of movement. Shadows danced in the blue light of the moonless night. From some distant branch, an owl hooted. Other than that, there was nothing but the low hum of the trees and the distant rumble of sea against the shore. Still, a sense of unease sat with her like an unwelcome uncle at Christmas.
The wind yowled. Tree limbs creaked. The dimmed screen on Fenella's phone tracked PC Finn as she walked through dense overgrowth along the trail that led to her car. Jones or Dexter or a uniform would have her in their sight until she climbed in. Now, though, it was a strange quiet. The kind where Fenella sensed the wait was almost over, the action about to begin.
Mumbled voices fizzed in her earpiece. The words were not clear. One sounded like the angry bark of Moss, the other, a higher pitch. That had to be Dr Joy Hall. She was supposed
to stay in the unmarked van. What the hell was she doing out on the trail with Moss?
Shreds of thick fog billowed across the woods, a dark shroud that hung in the air and made the visible invisible to sight. Suddenly Fenella had a feeling that things were going to go wrong. Very wrong.
A scream echoed through the dark. Loud. Pitiful.
Fenella bolted from the oak tree, down the slope, and across a patch of grass. Black fog swirled and danced. There were shouts coming from the bushes. She clambered over a fence and scrambled along the dirt trail, cutting through the scrub to gain time. She could hear more excited voices and tore through a stand of silver birch trees and over a shorter fence. When she hit the car park, she stopped, doubled over with her hands on her knees, sucking in deep breaths. Jones, Dexter, and three uniforms stood in a semi-circle. Dexter half turned as if he sensed her approaching. Through the gap, she saw PC Finn, hands on her hips, in a posture that made it clear that she was baffled.
That's when the high-pitched wail of a police siren blasted through the night air, and moments later came the frantic voice of Moss through the earpiece.
"Jesus! Mr Shred has done in Dr Joy Hall. The blood. Oh Christ!"
Chapter thirty-six
When her phone buzzed at 6:00 a.m., it did not dawn on Fenella that a fresh wave of crap was flying at full speed towards the fan.
She sat at the kitchen table with a mug of black coffee. Each bitter sip eased the fog that swirled around her head. Only an hour's worth of sleep filled with restless dreams of the night before. Fenella thought out of all those jumbled visions heaped upon one another without cease, that something would worm itself to the surface, crystalise into a clue. For an instant she caught a glimpse, an image that nibbled and needled at the fringe of her brain. Then it moved into the distance to taunt and goad. What happened to Dr Joy Hall?
The phone continued to dance in violent bursts, but she did not answer at once. Now her mind searched once more for clues and found none. There'd been so much blood when she got to base camp, with fog so thick and the air so cold, it felt like shards of ice. Moss knelt at Dr Joy Hall's side, pale as fresh-drawn milk. He was out of his depth and no medical skills. Fenella did what little she could. The medics and more officers appeared in minutes, but there was no sign of Hamilton Perkins despite a hunt that went on through the night.