Mirror Man

by McIntosh, Fiona

  ‘What’s more, he’s in plain sight,’ he said, thinking aloud as his team waited, listening. ‘I’ve spoken with a criminal psychologist – an acquaintance,’ he said, avoiding glancing at Kate. ‘The advice that came back, based on nothing more than a few generalised remarks about our killer, is that whoever our guy is, he knows we don’t notice him. The five-minute profile I was given suggests he’s friendly, betrays no obvious signs of guilt or anxiety over the criminals he hunts. He’s confident in his disguise, which is right in front of us . . . so said the psych.’ Now he glanced at Kate and she gave him a knowing nod. ‘Brian Jarvis does fit the picture we’re building but I have to caution you that so does Martin Sharpe.’ That won a burst of gentle laughter. ‘Please don’t repeat that.’

  ‘What’s it worth?’ Joan asked; he hadn’t seen her arrive. ‘Has to be afternoon tea all round, right?’ Claps and whistles of appreciation followed. She grinned at Jack. ‘Leave that with me. You all need some sugar.’

  ‘All right, so while I am saying our killer could be the guy in the seat next to you on the bus or on the tube, I have to agree, he could also be Brian Jarvis . . . with the blue iPod being our most damning clue.’

  ‘Why don’t we get a search warrant?’ Ali asked.

  ‘He’ll have already got rid of it,’ Kate said, taking the words out of Jack’s mouth. ‘And we don’t want to give him any notice of our suspicions before we strike. If it is Jarvis, then we know this guy has rat cunning. Sarah, how did he react around the iPod thing?’

  Sarah blew out a breath, deliberately taking time to recall the exact moment in detail. ‘Casually dismissive. No overreaction at all. But I don’t know why people presume that those of us who wear glasses can’t see. I clearly saw the song on the screen, but I suspect he assumed that I’m somehow incapable of seeing anything small or distant. In terms of behaviour, he was his usual friendly self, entirely neutral in his tone, expressionless, relaxed. If it is him, he’s super controlled. He told me he’d just come in from seeing a friend but he could just as easily have been going out . . . he had his parka on.’

  ‘What colour?’ Kate asked.

  ‘Er . . . grey.’

  Jack frowned, a thought reaching towards him but remaining just out of range. ‘. . . might also be presuming that we don’t know about Brownlow’s iPod,’ Jack heard Mal remark, and it snapped him back to the conversation.

  ‘Doubtful,’ Jack said, softly. ‘No. Brian is wise enough to know that we will have done our homework, that we know about the missing iPod.’ He frowned into the distance.

  ‘Then why leave it out in the open?’ Kate asked, sounding lost.

  It was Sarah who made the best sense of it. ‘Because he wasn’t expecting me and so didn’t have to take that sort of precaution at home.’

  Jack pointed a finger of agreement her way. ‘It could be as simple as that. He planned to deal with it but there was no immediate rush.’

  ‘But he’s cautious – why would he hang on to it?’ Kate debated.

  Jack had no ready answer; it was Sarah who navigated the waters again.

  ‘Sir, if Brian Jarvis is Mirror Man, then presumably he’s used a car that he’s got in hiding to drive up to Yorkshire; he certainly had to transport Robbins to the field where the caravan was, and of course to travel to and from Portsmouth to kill Brownlow.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Jack agreed. ‘We believe it’s a Mazda hatchback.’

  ‘What if it’s simply that Robbins left his iPod in the car . . . it could have been dropped or slipped out of his pocket or his lap?’ Everyone was paying attention. ‘The killer isn’t aware that the iPod is so important to Robbins, so he didn’t know to look for it. He’s also not an iPod user, so he wouldn’t know that you can have the headphones without the iPod itself. The headphones were there in the backpack . . . I’m sure I’m not imagining that?’

  Kate flicked back through a notebook. ‘Yes, they were wound up neatly in a side zipper.’

  Jack smiled. ‘I doubt Davey Robbins was that neat. If this is Jarvis, then it does sound like something he’d do – that is, neatly wind up the messy headphones.’

  Sarah nodded. ‘He’s a very tidy man. In his haste at the scene, perhaps he presumed the player that they attach to was already in the backpack. Then he finds the iPod in his car, removes it, takes it home, knowing he must get rid of it properly. He flings it into the basket with his car keys to be dealt with in the next day or so.’

  ‘Not for a moment imagining that a sharp-eyed young detective might arrive unannounced so soon after,’ Jack said. ‘Yes, it works . . .’

  ‘How would he know about Paxton?’ Kate asked.

  Jack sighed. ‘If it is Jarvis, then we have Geoffrey Paxton’s death on our conscience because we spoke about him openly while Jarvis was here in our incident room a couple of days ago.’

  Sarah and Mal in particular looked shocked as they recalled the sequence of events.

  ‘I’m to blame,’ Jack assured them. ‘I even asked him about Paxton, you may remember.’

  ‘He recalled the courtroom, as well as Paxton’s offences and victims,’ Sarah said, sounding horrified.

  ‘He did,’ Jack said. ‘But as an official of the courts, he also has other means to find these details out – perhaps he’s regularly in touch with the prisons. This is circumstantial. We need evidence, everyone. We need any proof that puts Brian Jarvis in connection with any of our other suspicious deaths. With all the focus on Brownlow at present through the police network, lean on that one, as I imagine information is flowing fast.

  ‘One last thing. Having spoken with Amy Clarke, I’ve learned that Hugh Pettigrew was not available to clerk in Courtroom Eleven for the Davey Robbins trial. I’ll give you all one guess who did.’ There was a stunned silence. He didn’t wait for it to end. ‘So get to it, everyone. We now have a genuine suspect. I want to know where that car is, who rented that caravan in Yorkshire; I want CCTV of Brian Jarvis in Yorkshire if possible; I want to know whether he is a Spurs member and had access to the special edition holdall. If someone can get me a sample of his handwriting, I could compare it with a letter that Amy Clarke provided today, which I suspect was written by the killer of Davey Robbins. Then we’d have a very large piece of our jigsaw in place. We’ll reconvene at four today.’

  Everyone got busy. Kate followed Jack to the lift.

  ‘You’re headed out?’ he asked.

  ‘You asked me see Judge Leland,’ she said. ‘She’s a good place to start and I think I’d prefer a face-to-face.’

  ‘Jarvis made it clear to Sarah and me that the courtroom officials have nothing to do with the people in the gallery. They operate within a sort of bubble and the gallery is the fourth wall, which they never break. And yet, he all but gave us a small lecture on how Amy’s life has changed. Now I know that he was the clerk for that trial, it gives him even more cred as Mirror Man.’

  The lift sounded its arrival and the doors opened. The Deputy Assistant Commissioner was inside with a woman they didn’t recognise.

  ‘Morning, sir,’ they said together.

  ‘Hawksworth, good to see you. DI Carter.’

  ‘Ask her about Jarvis,’ he murmured to Kate. ‘Prod gently. We now know for a fact that he clerked in courtoom eleven with her at least once. She may paint us a picture of him.’

  She nodded as more people got in on the lower levels and they remained silent for the rest of the descent. As they parted at the main doors, she asked the question he knew she wouldn’t be able to resist. ‘Will you be gone long?’

  That was female code for where are you going, he was sure of it. ‘I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Our criminal psychologist might offer some fresh insight.’

  She nodded. ‘Good luck.’

  Mal called while Jack was in the taxi heading to Holloway.

  ‘News?’

  ‘Boss, I’ve just been speaking with the person who I believe might be supplying the propofol.’

  ‘Exc
ellent. Tell me.’

  ‘Describes the punter as unlikely. From what he would tell me, he thinks this guy used to buy heroin from some dealer around Barrowell Green.’

  ‘Barrowell Green?’ Jack couldn’t place it.

  ‘That’s not far from the North London Crown Court. It’s a residential street, sir, some shops nearby in a place called Firs Lane and a café. Perfect for our roadside chemist.’

  ‘Okay, go on.’

  ‘The punter apparently found using heroin cumbersome and when his dealer got banged up, he went looking for another. He found this guy, who suggested he could get him propofol and, as he put it, he made a killing from him.’

  ‘Prophetic choice of words.’

  ‘Yep. He reckons the punter bought his whole stash. Five hundred milligrams.’

  ‘How much is needed?’ Jack frowned.

  ‘We’re getting onto that now. Kate said she’d find out quickly.’

  ‘Okay, and did you get a description?’

  ‘Yes. Describes him as middle-aged, not at all the usual smack-head he deals with. Nervous, well spoken, cashed up. Refused to exchange on the street. Insisted he buy him a coffee in a local café and do it there like old friends. The dealer understandably thought he was being set up, but when the buyer offered to pay triple rate for what he was selling, he couldn’t resist. Never saw the guy again. Apparently, this man said he needed it to reset a poor sleep pattern after a shock bereavement.’

  ‘Okay, Mal, that sounds like Jarvis . . .’

  ‘Could be Mr Sharpe,’ Mal added.

  Jack gave a wry chuckle. ‘We really must never repeat that. I think you need to get a photo of Jarvis to this guy. In the meantime, let’s find out about the toxicity of this drug.’

  ‘One more thing, boss. The dealer said the guy’s likely a Spurs fan; was carrying a bag with an emblem on it.’

  Bingo! ‘Good work, Mal. We’ll talk later. Tell Ali to push hard on that Spurs list. I want to know as soon as she does whether Jarvis is on it.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Jack rang off. ‘Brian Jarvis,’ he whispered to himself with a low whistle. He wasn’t sure whether to feel impressed or consider the man a snake. Either way, with luck they’d have sufficient evidence to arrest the clerk of the court by tomorrow evening.

  27

  They were back in the open, airy room that doubled as a small library, and the conversation immediately felt easier for the space.

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m the same every day, Jack.’ Anne grinned, covering the truth, desperate to tell him how each time he visited it took all her willpower in this sad and dread place not to contemplate suicide. She was going to have to ask him to stop visiting. It felt counterintuitive because she loved looking at him, hearing his voice, reminding herself for the time he was with her that this man had once loved her so deeply; had wanted to spend a lifetime with her. Jack Hawksworth represented the future she could have had and yet she had ruthlessly turned away from him in order to pursue her dark revenge. ‘No complaints,’ she lied.

  The warmth in his smile hurt like a burn. He pushed over a small paper bag. ‘For your stocks. Everyone needs Munchies and KitKat at the ready,’ he said, like a conspirator. ‘But I do promise to get some more Thorntons coming your way.’

  ‘Oooh,’ she said, feigning excitement. ‘Thanks. You may need to get permission.’

  He waved away the caution. ‘They know me now and they know I will either bring or send chocolates.’ He hesitated only for a heartbeat. ‘Anne, on that other business . . . I’ve made some calls.’ He sounded matter-of-fact; she knew he took this professional approach in case anyone was eavesdropping.

  Anne nodded in a breezy fashion and that helped to disguise the horse kick of pain that even a reference to Samantha brought. ‘Great. Is that what you came to tell me?’

  ‘I wanted you to know I’m trying.’

  Try harder, Jack, she thought. Find her. Watch over her.

  ‘We’ve got some suspicions about someone in plain sight.’

  She nodded, immediately understanding. She waited.

  ‘Lots of circumstantial stuff, unfortunately, combined with strong instinct.’ He sighed.

  ‘Sounds as though he’s too clever to leave evidence,’ she remarked.

  ‘I believe so. One step ahead.’

  ‘Are you onto someone, Jack?’

  ‘We’ve got a sniff.’

  She grinned. ‘I think you’re underplaying it.’

  ‘Nothing concrete. Lots of hunches and some very strong circumstantial evidence, but it’s not enough to convict.’

  ‘Okay. If you’ve got your sniff, hunt him and corner him. Mirror Man is not infallible. Remember that. He covers his tracks well, but he’s human, with all the same drive, motivation and desire to leave his private mark. He’s not doing this for kicks. This person is workmanlike in his endeavour.’

  ‘That’s a good way of putting it. He brings lives to an end, lives that he believes were not worth being allowed to run their natural course.’

  ‘There you are. There’s arrogance in that alone – that he’s somehow judge and executioner – and where there’s arrogance, there are cracks that can be exploited.’

  He glanced away, exhaling softly as if considering this. Judge and executioner. It was a perfect summary. ‘How would we have exploited you?’

  ‘I would have been harder, because only I knew my prey.’

  ‘But he’s easier because we know them?’

  She shrugged. ‘Exactly! You know which court, which trials, which prisoners. He waits for any one of them to be given their early release, presumably, and that person becomes his next target. That’s what you exploit. You could even set a trap.’ Anne gave him a crooked sort of smile and shrugged again. ‘Why not?’

  Jack regarded her and she found his searching gaze far too confronting.

  ‘Jack, I can’t see you again.’

  He cocked his head, studying her.

  ‘Can this be the last time, please?’

  He looked immediately bruised from the remark, but she knew he would grasp why without her explanation. ‘Well . . .’ He searched for something to say and then gave a sigh. ‘I would probably need to see you once more in order to keep a promise.’

  She nodded. One more time to have the sensation of her heart being cut out of her body, carved up and presented to her. ‘See you one final time, then.’

  ‘May I still send you chocolates from time to time?’

  She nodded with an affectionate smile.

  ‘Anne, how obvious a trap?’

  She was grateful his thoughts had returned to his case. ‘As invisible as you dare. This is a subtle man, Jack; he’s not laughing at you, he’s not attempting to lure you, he’s not interested in having his name carved in stone or up in lights. I’d go so far as to suggest that if he died without anyone knowing he was the murderer of all these victims, it wouldn’t trouble him in the slightest.’

  ‘But why? He doesn’t fit the psychopath profile, does he?’

  She laughed. ‘That’s because he isn’t one.’

  Jack waited.

  ‘Not all psychopaths are killers. The true definition is someone with absolute disregard for others or how their actions affect others. There’s usually a pattern of lying and indeed lying to themselves . . . a lack of remorse. These people move around the workplace – they’re the office bully, the high-handed surgeon, the arrogant CEO, the cruel teacher who everyone despises. But he may not fit this mould at all. He might just be a man in pain for whatever reason. He is driven by his own mission and rationale – whatever they are. He has a specific target and he feels nothing for them except contempt that they cheated the system, which he perhaps respects. They’re making a mockery of justice, and so he’s going to judge them and he’s going to sentence them his way.’ She waited. ‘Does your fellow fit this?’

  Jack nodded warily. ‘I believe he does . . . rather neatly, actually.’ He sigh
ed.

  ‘Then go get him, Jack, although I secretly hope the bad guy gets away.’

  ‘I suspect you’re not alone in that. I feel slightly ambivalent myself but, as I did with you, I have to do my job.’

  Their gazes locked in sad admission.

  She held up a finger. ‘One more time.’

  He nodded and she knew he understood why.

  Outside the prison and feeling a sense of surprised release, Jack paused to call Lauren to set up a time for a proper date.

  ‘So where are you now?’ he asked, smiling, hoping she’d tease him and say she was taking a long bath or something along those lines.

  ‘I’m at North London Crown Court.’

  ‘Whatever for? I mean, who are you interviewing?’

  ‘Well, if you must know, it’s one of the clerks of the court. I had hoped to see a Mr Pettigrew, whose quaint name I rather like, but I’m seeing a Mr Jarvis instead.’

  Jack was sure the tingler had moved from his spine into his belly and was curling up tight inside there instead. ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh, do you know him?’

  ‘We’ve spoken to Jarvis a few times,’ he said, not revealing any concern.

  ‘Well, I’ve already met with the judge who presided over the cases I know about.’ Jack couldn’t help but be impressed by how deep Lauren had travelled alone into the same territory as he and his team. The newspaper group was lucky to have a talented investigative reporter like her coming into its fold. ‘What’s Jarvis like?’

  ‘You’ll find him extremely helpful,’ Jack said. ‘Um, Lauren,’ he added, an idea occurring. ‘Can you do me a favour?’

  ‘I’m sure it’s the least I can do for you, given you’re cooking for me tonight, not to mention all the rest,’ she said. He could hear the smile in her voice.

  ‘Listen, I can trust you to do this because I know how perceptive you are.’

  ‘Such high praise, Detective Superintendent – I have many other skills too,’ she teased.