by Diane Saxon
‘Excellent. Tell me…’ He leaned forward across the table, not even attempting to disguise the manic glint of fanaticism which swirled through his expression. ‘How was it for you?’
Unable to resist, she raised her head, so her gaze clashed with his. Jenna scratched her nose. He hadn’t engaged Mason at all, despite her silence, he was focused entirely on her.
Dark eyes pierced into her soul, sending sharp icicles through her veins to compel her to answer.
‘A little sad, but I have my job to carry out.’
Dammit, but she hadn’t meant to engage him. That was the deal, but how was she supposed to get information from him when he virtually ignored Mason and centred all his efforts on her?
‘Sad? You found it sad?’ His lips pulled up in an ugly sneer as he leaned back in his seat, raised his arms and scraped his over-long fingernails across the shiny baldness of his scalp, jerking the guard closer without even noticing. ‘I’d say it’s fucking delicious.’
Ripples of dark fear coursed through Jenna’s veins. She’d come across levels of evil in her career, but the deep psychotic darkness of this man’s soul hit a note so visceral, her fight/flight response kicked, until every nerve ending vibrated with tension.
She clenched her jaw so hard, she heard the crackle and punch of it in her ears.
Through gritted teeth, Jenna spoke directly to McCambridge. ‘A woman was murdered the night before last, Mr McCambridge. Would you like to tell me how you got your information about this crime?’
McCambridge grinned, lowering his bald head as he leaned closer across the table, the puff of his warm breath stroking her cheek. A mock whisper edged his gravelly voice. ‘Press released it an hour ago, pig. The guards told me you were on your way. I put two and two together.’
Not possible. It was too much of a stab in the dark and the press had no in-depth details, barely skimming the surface of information.
She narrowed her eyes at McCambridge. He knew more than he’d revealed, but there was no way she was about to divulge anything to him.
With a casualness she didn’t feel, she leaned back in her chair, as far away from him as possible, the acrid stench of his breath too much to bear. She took a calming breath and glanced at Mason, hoping her silent message that she would take over was received and understood. At the vague rise of his eyebrow, Jenna took a long breath. The interview had taken a turn neither of them had expected.
She welcomed the ice that froze her feelings, effectively locking McCambridge out so she could achieve what she’d come to do. Interview him. The change in direction may have taken her by surprise, but they needed every piece of information he could give them.
She stared at his name where she’d written it on her pad. That’s all she had, the only lead. When she was ready, she raised her head.
‘Mac.’ His eyes gave an unnatural glow the moment she spoke. ‘As you’ve raised the subject, can you tell me if you have any information regarding the murder of a young woman in Telford the night before last?’
‘No.’ The manic grin he shot her squeezed at her control. ‘And if I had, I’d not tell you pigs a fucking thing. Can’t get me on that one. I’m covered. I’ve got a great alibi.’ He leaned back and punched Harper’s shoulder, almost shoving him off the chair.
Harper shuffled himself back on the chair and ran his fingers through thick blond hair as he concentrated on a spot on the table in front of him.
From the frenzied gleam of interest, though, McCambridge was engaged. He knew something. They’d been right. It was a copycat killing and pride bounced off him as though he’d committed the murder himself.
If she could feed that ego, she may get more from him.
She slid the manila file she’d brought with her into the middle of the desk and turned it around so anything she showed him would be facing him. She flicked it open, turning over the first couple of sheets of paper to a photograph in full colour. She ignored the shocked intake of breath from Harper while she waited for McCambridge’s response.
‘Hmmm.’ He angled his head to better study the photo. ‘One of mine, I believe. Number four, if I’m right.’ The gleam of excitement flushed his ruddy skin. Jenna’s stomach clenched in a hard spasm, but she kept her features composed and tapped the page.
‘Yes, one of yours.’
‘How disappointing.’ He exposed his teeth in a feral grin. ‘I hoped this was going to be a case of I show you mine, you show me yours.’ He pulled air in through his bared teeth to make a soft whistling sound and Jenna’s flesh broke out in tiny goose bumps.
She forced a smile and concentrated on the image between them. ‘I think we could manage that. I’ve shown you yours from years ago, what can you show me?’
As though to demonstrate his power, he raised his arm to scratch his head and yanked his wrist closer, so the guard emitted a deep, pained grunt as his smaller frame was almost hauled across the table.
‘Shame on you, Detective Sergeant Morgan, I would have enjoyed seeing that. I’d like to see the job they’ve carried out. Judge their… effectiveness, so to speak.’ He stretched his arm towards her and came up short once more against the restraint linking him to the prison guard at his side, who managed to anchor himself this time and barely budged. Irritation streaked over McCambridge’s features before he dropped his hand back onto the table close by his body, allowing the guard to fall back. His thick brows lowered over darkened eyes.
She wasn’t sure she’d get anything further from him by being polite and professional.
She touched the tip of her finger to the image and traced the line of the body posed there, appreciating the intense scrutiny from McCambridge.
‘I can’t show you anything from this most recent case. It wouldn’t be allowed. You know that.’ As she stroked her finger back up the page, she swirled her fingernail over the thick wash of auburn hair on the photograph. ‘There are similarities, but there are many inconsistencies.’
His lips tightened, the heavier bottom one plumping out in a petulant pout, and Jenna knew exactly how to work him to gain information. ‘It took you until the fourth victim to achieve any kind of finesse, Mac.’ She narrowed her eyes to watch closely as his eyes opened wide enough to pop out of his head, the manic glint of anger a glowing ember.
‘I was good straight away. There’s no one better than me.’
Jenna resisted the urge to grin, put the palm of her hand over the photograph, obscuring it from his view, and scraped it back over the table towards her. She closed the file and laid both hands on top of it.
‘What can I say? You had a lot of practice before you managed to achieve what you wanted. And then you were caught. And you have to spend the rest of your life here, behind bars.’ She clucked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. ‘Clumsy.’ She let out a derogatory snigger. ‘The one time you got it right, you mucked up, Mac. Isn’t that right?’
She held her hand out for the second file Mason had. As he placed it in her hand, she never took her gaze from McCambridge’s flushed face, his shiny pate turned a florid red.
‘Four goes and you slipped up. Got caught. How was it they managed to get you?’ She tapped her forefinger against her lips in an over-exaggeration of her thought process. ‘Oh yeah, you didn’t do your research properly on victim four and her boyfriend let himself in the front door in the middle of your clean-up. DNA all over the place. Ha, yes. And beaten to shit by the military boyfriend whose fiancée you’d just killed.’ She trailed her gaze over his scarred face and rested her hands on the table either side of the folder to keep his attention on it. ‘Messy. Very messy, Mac. I wouldn’t have expected that from you.’
As the fury boiled in his eyes, she tapped the manila file with the tip of her finger. ‘This one achieved in one go what you had to practise…’ she stabbed her finger on the file for emphasis, ‘… time after time to achieve.’
In a move that whipped the breath from her lungs, McCambridge surged to his feet, an animalistic growl of
rage bursting from a throat stretched so taut, she thought the veins lacing it might burst.
Before she had a chance to react, he dived over the small table at her, his clenched fist flew towards her face. A spike of fear dashed through her as he pulled up short with the resistance of the prison officer tethered to his wrist. With a snarl of pure fury, McCambridge wrenched the prison officer from his feet and slammed him onto the table on his face with such force, the table upended and skimmed halfway across the room, together with the files that spewed their contents across the dull grey tiles.
The hot spurt of adrenaline drove Jenna to her feet at the same time Mason, in a burst of movement, leapt up and sent his chair crashing backwards. The screech of the alarm filled her head above McCambridge’s wild roar as Harper punched the panic button on the wall.
‘Give it to me, bitch!’ McCambridge’s furious howl filled her ears. ‘I want to see it. Give it to me!’
Manic gaze centred on her, McCambridge took another lunge at her, barely restrained by the injured prison guard, who flopped around at the end of McCambridge’s wrist, emitting feeble little squeaks.
With no other option Jenna could see, she raised her fists and stood her ground. Concentration centred entirely on one man, she readied herself for his onslaught. McCambridge surged forward, yanking the guard behind him and headed straight for her, a crazed bear in full attack mode.
Her veins turned to ice as she faced him head-on.
In the blink of an eye, Mason stepped into her line of sight and ploughed his fist into McCambridge’s face. The man’s head whipped to one side with the force of the punch. Blood exploded in a wide arc, spraying the prison officer and Harper with bright crimson flecks across their faces and chests.
Revulsion flashed over Harper’s face as he raised his hand to his cheek and spun away.
A brief flash of surprise lit McCambridge’s eyes before they glazed over and he dropped to his knees in front of Jenna, then toppled forward onto his face, dragging the prison officer onto the floor alongside him.
In an explosion of activity, the outer door burst open and four prison officers in full riot gear surged in. They leapt on top of the stunned McCambridge and dragged him to his feet. The attached guard was flung back and forward like a rag doll until one of the others managed to unshackle him from McCambridge’s wrist.
Adrenaline pumping, Jenna unfurled her fists, stepped to one side and waited for the furore to settle as they contained McCambridge. Heart exploding in her chest, she panted out the fear while she waited, a mask of absolute stillness painted on her face. Determined not to show any weakness, she braced herself.
She forced her gaze to stay flat and emotionless while the tremor inside threatened to burst out of her chest as she hauled in her composure.
Suspended between two prison guards, McCambridge raised his head to glare at her. Blood dripped from a nose twisted even more than before by the break Mason’s blow had caused. McCambridge drew his lips back in a feral snarl, blood and spittle flew from his mouth as he slavered over his words.
‘I guess that’s us done for the day, Detective Sergeant Bitch. But you can bet your sweet life we’ll meet again. You may not be my type, but the next time I see you, I’m going to rip your throat out and feed off your blood.’ He gobbed a mouthful of saliva and blood and spat it at her. In a fast move, she took a step back and it fell just short of his target to land on the toe of her boot.
Manic laughter followed McCambridge from the room as the prison officers dragged him out, leaving the injured guard on his hands and knees on the floor.
The man leaned back on his haunches and swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His breathing came in shallow, thin snatches. ‘The governor’s going to have your badge for this.’ Eyes filled with disapproval, he gazed up at her and shook his head. ‘Do you have any idea how much time McCambridge has spent in counselling to get him to integrate?’ He staggered to his feet. ‘He’s a vicious bastard and you’ve just set him back years. I can’t fucking believe it. Wait until I speak to the governor.’
With quiet dignity, Harper stepped in between Jenna and the guard, bent and gathered the scattered paperwork she’d almost forgotten about. As he shuffled the pages into the file, Harper narrowed his eyes. ‘Thank you, Elks.’ He addressed the guard and then turned to Jenna and Mason, face wreathed with concern. ‘Don’t worry about Mac. We’ll calm him down. It’s a setback, but we’ve learned to roll with them. I’m sorry, I had no idea what the subject of your visit was about, I thought it was to ask him about past cases.’ His expression turned to stone as he directed his next comment to the guard. ‘Perhaps, knowing the inflammatory circumstances, we should have had him better accompanied.’
The guard opened his mouth to reply, then shook his head. He spun on his heel and made for the door, weaving across the room in a drunken stagger before he slammed through it without looking back.
Harper took hold of Jenna’s arm with gentle deference. ‘Are you okay?’
Falling apart inside, there was no way she was about to allow Mason and Harper to see how much the incident had affected her. She’d wanted to get a rise out of the man; she’d never expected a full frontal psychotic attack. Fear had ripped through her at the demonic glow of his eyes.
She blew out a breath and accepted the file back from Harper. ‘I’m fine. I hadn’t quite expected such an explosive reaction.’
‘If they’d allowed a little more time, like we requested, we would have been able to better control the situation. I’m not being sexist when I say, we probably would have recommended not sending a female officer to question him. He’d consider it most inflammatory. He has a deep, abiding hatred of all women. I’m sorry you had to witness it first hand.’
Steadier, Jenna forced a smile. ‘We needed to interview him, and it’s my case, my questioning.’
He shrugged as he led her to the door, skirting around the upturned table and chairs. ‘I’m sorry you never got what you wanted.’
16
Wednesday 5 February, 15:20 hrs
Jenna lowered her head to the steering wheel, her mind gyrating in ever-decreasing circles as the shudder inside threatened to break her apart and the breath she tried to draw in stuck in a painful lump in her chest.
‘Fuck me, you got what you wanted and some…’
Jenna tilted her head to stare as Mason flopped back in the passenger seat, rocking the whole car with his weight, and shot her a sideways grin, his face filled with blatant admiration. ‘You outmanoeuvred him like a master puppeteer.’
She snorted out a laugh while she held back the hysteria. Mason amazed her. Oblivious to her not-so-subtle nuances of vibrating stress, he would never be the type to fall foul of depression. The man was too thick skinned to notice. Maybe he was the right man for her sister. Maybe not. But something about his obliviousness centred her. Brought her back down to earth.
His dark blue eyes softened as he met her gaze. ‘You want me to drive?’
She slanted him another look. Was it deliberate? A contrived obtuseness because he was completely aware of the fact that she was on the edge, about to topple over. Was he that intelligent? She narrowed her eyes, regarded him steadily for a long moment before she sat upright and turned the key, revving the engine a touch too enthusiastically. ‘No, I’m good, thanks.’ The adrenaline crash left her weak enough to cry. But not in front of Mason. Or anyone, for that matter.
She glanced over her shoulder and pulled the car out onto the main drag and headed for Telford. She should have let Mason drive, but she’d never admit to the rawness that scraped at her since the disappearance of Fliss. Her heart had become more tender, her nerves buckled.
‘We’re so in trouble.’
A wicked chuckle came from deep down in his belly. ‘Yep, we’re in the shit. Right up to our arses.’
As she hit the motorway, Jenna floored the accelerator and kicked the speed up to just under 10 per cent over the limit, playing Russian roulette
with the speed cameras again.
She squinted into the distance, ready to go home. It had been another long day, but it wasn’t over yet. ‘I should never have provoked him. I knew what I was doing. Who’d have thought McCambridge’s reaction would be quite so explosive?’
‘Who’d have thought he’d run into my fist?’ He flexed his right hand and shot her a grin.
‘I could have defended myself.’ She needed him to understand she wasn’t weak.
‘You could have. But he never saw it coming from me. He was ready for you, he wanted it. Mean bastard. He’s an absolute woman-hater. We established that. It may have been hinted at on paper, but I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed such hostility. It vibrated through the room.’
Astounded once again by his perceptiveness, Jenna kept her eyes on the road ahead. Mason got it. Got everything.
‘More to the point, how the hell does he know about the murder? What exactly does he know? We’re going to have to speak with DI Evans when we get back. Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed so hard. I expected a forceful reaction, but he took me by surprise. The speed and violence of it.’
Mason rubbed at his knuckles. ‘The guy was a fucking bull. Why would you allow someone that big to work out and make themselves more than the killing machine they already are?’
‘I guess it’s in the prison’s best interest to keep their prisoners healthy.’
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. ‘Healthy is one thing, but muscle tone like that doesn’t come for free.’
Jenna mumbled her agreement and leaned forward to turn on some music and allow Mason to recharge his batteries in his own way. Sleep would have been her way too, but she’d put herself in the driver’s seat.
She turned off the motorway and decelerated. The push of power for an hour had settled her again. She flicked a quick glance at the time and flexed her shoulders. Another shift almost finished. She could go home and Fliss would be there. If she was lucky, dinner ready, although it was always hit-and-miss with Fliss: one night it would be turkey drummers and chips from the freezer, the next it may be pain au chocolat, all depending on which way the meal train wind blew with her sister. Junk food was very much her preferred method of cooking.