Jacob's Ladder (Stone & Randall 1)

by Ellis, Tim

  ‘I wasn’t…’

  ‘It’s not a medical condition, you know. My mother took me to see specialists and they’d never seen anything like it. Wanted to photograph me and write it up in the medical journals, but my mum wouldn’t let them. You won’t believe it, but I can’t even dye it another colour – the dye won’t stick.’

  ‘It suits you.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ she said narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms.

  He’d forgotten how useless he was at talking to women. Conversations quickly spiralled away from him. He always felt as though he was trying to hold onto a jellied eel that had other ideas. ‘It means, I think it makes you look different…’ He saw the lines on her forehead deepen and he added, ‘Beautiful.’

  She smiled. ‘You found the right word eventually?’

  He laughed. He hadn’t laughed in so long his face felt strange. ‘I should never be allowed to talk to women,’ he said relaxing slightly. ‘I just get myself into a whole heap of trouble.’

  ‘Sit down, I’ll bring your tea over.’

  He was sitting in the same seat, which he now thought of as ‘his seat’, and watched the dark turn to light and the deserted King Street fill up with strangers. One of those strangers had killed nineteen people including his wife and children. If he was so sure it was Pike, what had gone wrong? He’d need to question the hooker, but even if she’d arrived and slept the whole night through how had Pike slipped out of his apartment without being seen. Maybe there was a secret passage. He’d get RHINO to download a copy of the property blueprints for him. It seemed a bit improbable, but then someone who killed whole families was improbable. He needed a couple of hour’s sleep then he’d let himself into Pike’s flat and take a look around. If there were something in there, it would be well hidden. Forensics hadn’t found anything, and Perkins was like a ferret in a rabbit hole.

  Kiri brought his meal. A potpourri of smells wafted up his nose, and he thought that there was nothing like the smell of an English breakfast. Each item on the plate had its own unique aroma, but when the bacon, eggs, beans, mushrooms, and tomatoes were jumbled up together, a chemical reaction took place that produced a fragrance only English people could appreciate because it was written into their DNA. If that fragrance were bottled, it could be used to lure diners into the café like the Siren’s song lured sailors onto the rocky shores of Anthemusa.

  The café had filled up and all Kiri had time to say was, ‘Enjoy.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He did enjoy it, and he wasn’t too concerned about saturated fats, cholesterol, or the heap of salt he sprinkled all over the food. He would be long gone by the time it all caught up with him.

  When he’d finished the meal he still felt hungry and wished he’d ordered a couple of pieces of toast. There was a syrupy mixture of juices from the beans, tomatoes, egg yolk, mushrooms, and grease left on the plate that he would liked to have soaked up with toast if he’d had any. He looked around, but Kiri appeared to be run off her feet and he decided not to bother with the toast.

  He finished his tea and left.

  ***

  After she’d dropped Randall off on King Street Molly drove back home. It was true that she didn’t want to look like a woman at work, but neither did she want to pass herself off as a bag lady. She needed another shower, a change of clothes and more caffeine before she started the day.

  She was so tired her brain wouldn’t work. Even after standing in a cold shower again, her head still felt as though it was stuffed with candyfloss. If Pike wasn’t the killer, who the hell was? She couldn’t make her brain go beyond that thought because she had convinced herself that he was the killer. What would Randall do? Or, more to the point, what is he going to do? She’d need to interview Pike, check out his alibi, she couldn’t take Randall’s word that Pike was in his flat with a hooker. None of the others knew about Randall, so she couldn’t say anything about Pike’s alibi. As far as everyone else was concerned, Pike was still the prime suspect.

  After making herself presentable, she drank another coffee, smoked another cigarette, and then drove to the station. It was still drizzling, but at least she had arrived early enough to find a parking space.

  Before going down to the observation room attached to Interview One she put her briefcase and jacket in her office. Frank was already in the observation room, and Pike was sitting in the interview room with a Constable guarding him. Recording was already in progress.

  ‘He doesn’t look happy,’ she said cocking her head towards Pike.

  ‘They dragged him out of bed apparently,’ Frank said. ‘We also have the woman he was in bed with in Interview Two.’

  ‘Should we?’ she said opening the door.

  ‘About bloody time,’ Pike said when they entered Interview One. He wore a beige linen suit, over a white linen shirt, his blonde hair had been finger-combed backwards, and patchy stubble sprouted on his face.

  Molly and Frank were sitting opposite Pike and put their elbows on the table, the Constable left.

  ‘Are you prepared to speak to us without your solicitor present, Mr Pike?’ Molly said.

  Pike was sitting sideways on the chair with his legs crossed and his hands in his lap. ‘Let’s just get it over with, shall we? I have a very important meeting first thing this morning. First of all, I’d like to know why I’ve been brought here? I went to bed with a woman at about ten-thirty, we had sex three times, and I’ve been asleep ever since.’

  ‘Another family have been murdered, Mr Pike,’ Molly said.

  ‘I should think it would be obvious to you by now, Inspector, that I’m not the killer. If one of my pubic hairs was found at the last crime scene, it was put there to implicate me in the murders.’

  ‘Do you think the killer might be someone you’ve swindled out of money, Mr Pike?’

  Pike’s mouth curled into a smile, but his eyes remained frozen and unblinking. ‘Very good, Inspector, but not everyone who deals in finance is a crook, you know. I’m involved in exchange rates, foreign investment, and international trade. My area of expertise is trading in futures, options, and currency swaps. Yes, I’ve made enemies, but I would find it difficult to believe any of them was a killer.’

  ‘If, as you say, you’re an innocent bystander in all this, why did the killer pick you?’

  ‘Because I’m rich and famous, because I’m single and good-looking, because… Pick a reason, Inspector. Isn’t it your job to find out?’

  Molly stood up. This was getting her nowhere. If Pike was in bed asleep with a woman at the time of the murders then he obviously couldn’t be the killer and she was wasting everybody’s time in keeping him here. She ended the interview. ‘I’m sorry to have bothered you, Mr Pike. You may go.’

  ‘Some sense at last,’ Pike said. ‘And… I can make myself available tonight if you’re interested, Molly?’

  ‘Why do you keep saying that, Mr Pike? You clearly have no respect for the law – or women – for that matter. I wouldn’t go out with you if you were the last man on earth. I find you extremely unpleasant, and I hope I never have to see you again.’

  ‘A man has to grasp opportunities when they’re presented, Molly, and I see your lonely existence as an opportunity.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘A beautiful lonely woman needs a man… I’m sure you can fill in the gaps.’

  ‘You know nothing about me, Mr Pike.’

  ‘I know everything about you, Molly Stone. I make it my business to find out about the people I’m involved with.’

  ‘You have a strange imagination, Mr Pike. We will never be "involved", goodbye.’ She left Interview One and went into Interview Two. A woman with long blonde hair, a mouth too small for her face and dilated pupils was sitting at the table.

  Molly sat opposite her and said, ‘You are…?’

  ‘Sandra,’ the woman replied with an East European accent.

  ‘Is that your real name?’

  ‘No… It is Olga Balanch
uk, I am from the Ukraine. Am I in trouble?’

  ‘Were you with Mr Pike last night?’

  ‘I was asleep, but yes, before that I was with him from about ten-thirty until I was woken up.’

  ‘You didn’t hear him leave the flat at all?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’re a prostitute?’

  Her eyes closed to slits. ‘No, I am an escort from the Blueberry Escort Agency.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a "yes" then. Thank you Miss Balanchuk, you can go.’

  Molly left the room and was heading for the stairs when Frank caught up with her. ‘Not much help, Gov.’

  She stopped and turned to face him. ‘We’re swimming in jelly, Frank. Thrashing about trying to find something to grab hold of. I’d very much like to give Pike a lethal injection, but if he didn’t leave his flat last night he can’t be our killer. What do we have left?’

  ‘Well…’

  ‘Nothing, Frank. We have no fucking suspects, no fucking leads, and no fucking idea.’ She jabbed Pike’s file into his chest. ‘Take this. I’m going for a fucking cigarette. I’ll see you upstairs in a minute.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Molly had left her jacket in her office. Now, standing in the car park in a thin cashmere top, she was freezing and her nipples were standing up like traffic cones on the M25.

  Her mobile activated.

  The display indicated that the time was 08:01, the battery was low, and that the Chief was calling her. ‘Morning Chief.’

  ‘Good morning, DI Stone. Another family murdered, I’m hearing on the news?’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

  ‘Mr Pike?’

  ‘Has an alibi unfortunately.’

  ‘You didn’t look your best this morning?’

  The Chief was obviously referring to her appearance on the news earlier. ‘I got caught in the rain, Ma’am.’

  ‘And those reporters seem to be getting the better of you at each encounter.’

  ‘It won’t happen again, Ma’am.’

  ‘I certainly hope not, Inspector. There’s talk filtering down from the Commissioner’s office that maybe you’re not up to the investigation, that maybe you should be replaced by a more senior officer.’

  ‘I’m up to it, Chief. You gave me until Thursday. I’ll have the killer in custody by then.’

  ‘That’s what I told the Commissioner. Don’t make me out to be a liar, Inspector.’

  ‘No, Ma’am.’

  The Chief disconnected the call.

  Molly decided to stay in the car park and smoke another cigarette. Her hands were shaking as she lit the tobacco, and she didn’t know whether it was the cold or the Chief’s phone call that caused the trembling.

  She wanted to laugh out loud. "I’ll have the killer in custody by Thursday." Who the hell was she kidding? She didn’t have a clue. Not one iota of a fucking clue. She’d put all her money on Pike, and now she had nothing left in her piggy bank. She was merely delaying the inevitable. What was she going to tell the team? Maybe one of them had come up with a lead, someone to investigate or pursue?

  A pain shot up the right side of her neck, swirled around the back of her skull, and took up residence above her left eye. Normal people would take time off work, lie in a darkened room, cry, or take prescribed medication, but she had to carry on. God, she thought, this is some crappy job I can’t live without.

  Feeling sick, she stubbed the cigarette out and ran up the stairs to the toilet. There was no time to shut and lock the cubicle door before she was puking brown liquid and retching up gastric juices. Vomiting had become a regular activity since she’d taken charge of this case. She would mention it to Dr Lytton when she saw him, but she knew what he’d say: "The migraines and the sickness are both early symptoms of schizophrenia." God, what am I going to do?

  Thankfully, no one entered the ladies to see her arse sticking out of the cubicle and her head down the toilet. After washing her face and swilling her mouth out, she went to the kitchen and made a strong black coffee to wash down the taste of vomit and the 50-milligram Imigran tablets.

  Abby came in to make a drink. ‘Morning, Gov. Christ, you look like shit.’

  ‘Morning, Abby. You’ve decided against a career in the police force then?’

  Abby smiled. ‘Sorry, Gov. I suppose I’d look like shit if I’d been up half the night as well.’

  ‘I’m going to give you that opportunity. You can take the next call out, let despatch know.’

  ‘I suppose I should have kept my mouth shut, huh?’

  ‘That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said since you came in here, Abby.’

  Molly walked towards the incident room with her coffee and swallowed the two white tablets along the way. She was pleased everyone had arrived on time even though it was a Saturday.

  When Abby had followed her in and sat down Molly said, ‘You take the lead, Frank?’

  Frank stood up. ‘There was another family murdered last night.’ He pointed to a fifth incident board he had erected at the end on the right with "Monroe" written at the top. ‘Gerald, Tabitha, twelve year-old Roland, and seven year-old Lucy Monroe were butchered at 24 Rylett Crescent in the early hours of this morning. Despatch received an anonymous call from a male at two forty-seven and they contacted me. The crime scene is the same as the others, but with one exception, there was a message written on the living room wall in blood, which read: This one’s for you, Molly.’

  ‘Christ, Gov,’ Tony said.

  Molly turned to looked at Tony and cast an eye over the others. ‘Remember, it’s not about me. He didn’t kill a whole fucking family for me. He killed them for himself, for whatever sick reason he’s doing this.’

  ‘It was Pike, wasn’t it?’ Abby said.

  Frank continued. ‘Our immediate thought was Pike as well. I sent a unit round to his flat to pick him up and bring him here. The Gov and I interviewed him and the woman he’d been sleeping with.’ He pointed to Olga Balanchuk’s photograph.

  Tony whistled.

  ‘She’s a hooker, Tony,’ Frank said.

  Tony stood up and peered more closely at the half-naked photograph of "Sandra" that Frank had obviously acquired from the escort agency’s website. ‘Still, you don’t get many of those to the pound,’ he said to a smattering of laughter.

  ‘You don’t mind if I continue, do you?’ Frank said.

  Grinning, Tony sat back down. ‘Carry on, Sarge.’

  ‘Malachi Pike has an alibi. He was in bed asleep with the beautiful Sandra from the Blueberry Escort Agency, and never left his flat.’

  ‘So, the pubic hair was a plant then?’ Paul said.

  ‘Was it?’ Molly replied.

  ‘If Pike has an alibi for the latest murders,’ Lucy said. ‘He can’t be the Butcher, can he?’

  Molly’s phone activated. The display said eight-thirty, and it was the Chief calling again.

  ‘Hello again, Chief?’

  ‘Turn the news on, Inspector.’ The phone went dead.

  ‘Switch the television on, Tony,’ she said.

  Tony walked over to the television by the window, picked up the remote, and pressed the "on" button. Malachi Pike was giving an interview:

  …twice I’ve been interviewed by DI Molly Stone and her cronies. I’ve had my flat searched, my privacy invaded, I feel as though I’m the subject of police harassment. First, they mistakenly arrest and convict one of their own, and now they’re setting their sights on a respectable international businessman who has alibis for the last two murders. I have every respect for the law, but DI Molly Stone is the wrong person in the wrong job. Today, my solicitor has been instructed to serve her with a restraining order…

  ‘Well,’ Frank said, ‘I guess we won’t be interviewing Mr Pike again.’

  ‘It’s all a bit odd, isn’t it?’ Molly said.

  They stared at her.

  ‘After the first interview we were convinced Pike was the killer. His behaviour and body language was
not that of an innocent man. He was cocky, smug. It was as if he knew the pubic hair meant nothing and we weren’t going to find any other evidence to connect him to the murders at his home or his office.’

  ‘He also had an alibi for that night, Gov?’ Frank reminded her.

  ‘I know, very convenient. Most people don’t have alibis.’

  ‘And he’s just told the world that he has an alibi for last night’s murders as well,’ Paul said.

  ‘Okay,’ Molly said. ‘Not that we have a choice, but let’s leave Malachi bloody Pike alone for the time being. Tony, did you compile a list of his property holdings?’

  ‘A fucking waste of time that was. We won’t be able to look in any of the buildings now that he’s going to slap a restraining order on us.’

  ‘Give me the list anyway, I’d like to take a look at it.’

  Tony passed her a manila folder.

  ‘Frank, any news from INTERPOL?’

  ‘Nothing yet, but you know what they’re like. It’ll be a Cold Case before we hear from them.’

  ‘Chase them up today, Frank, we don’t have the luxury of time. What about the witnesses from the previous murders?’

  ‘No change,’ Frank said. ‘Nobody saw or heard anything.’

  Molly pulled a face. ‘Isn’t it always the way. Lucy, have you had any luck?’

  ‘As you know, I carried out a database search for people in prison, secure hospitals, or abroad during the gaps between the murders and whether they were released or back in the UK when the murders took place. I included in that mix, Malachi Pike’s trips abroad. As I expected, there were some matches, but either they weren’t continuous, or the matches were inappropriate such as the man who’d had a stroke and couldn’t have done the murders.’

  ‘What about Pike?’ Molly said.

  ‘He was in the country for the second, fourth and fifth murders, but not the first and third.’

  ‘And he has alibis for the fourth and fifth murders,’ Frank reminded them.

  ‘Surely that rules out Pike,’ Paul said.