by Joy Ellis
* * *
Following yet another inconclusive interview, they were just about to return to the station when Max asked Robbie if they could call into Rosie’s house, just to check on her. Robbie was fine with it, and in a few minutes they were pulling up outside a neat terraced house in Kiln Lane.
‘You go in, Max. I’ll wait in the car. Give her my best, won’t you?’
As his colleague disappeared into the house, Robbie settled back and tried to decide if any of the people they had spoken to could have been a convincing liar. He was sure that they hadn’t yet come face to face with the killer.
So who could he be? From several sources, including the CCTV footage and a photo of “Richard” given by his headmaster, IT had produced a passable likeness. No one they had interviewed looked even remotely like it.
Robbie shifted in his seat. He, Jackman and Marie had all agreed that there was something about that image, coupled with Jackman’s nephew’s drawing of the Bad Man, that rang a bell.
Robbie’s thoughts drifted to Marie again. He pushed them away. And yet . . . And yet he decided to speak to Max about cheering up his flat. If anyone could make it work, trendy Max Cohen would.
Ten minutes later, Max heaved himself into the vehicle. His face was drawn. ‘Shit! Oh, what am I going to do?’
‘Is she no better, mate?’
‘No way. Worse, if anything. I’m worried sick about her, Rob.’ Max gave a long sigh. ‘I should take some time off, be with her. But—’
‘Then take it, man! Jackman will understand. We’re all really concerned about her, including him.’
Max looked at him. ‘What? With a maniac on our bleedin’ doorstep? I can’t let the team down.’
‘But aren’t you letting Rosie down? Who’s most important?’
‘That’s not fair,’ Max said.
‘It is. You told me you love that girl. I think she needs you right now, don’t you?’
Max was silent for a while. ‘You’re right, Robbo. Priorities and all that. I’ll talk to the boss as soon as we get back.’
They were about half a mile from the station when the call came in.
Max put the phone on loudspeaker for Robbie to hear. ‘DC Cohen. Would you and DC Melton proceed immediately to number Four, Bell Chime Buildings, Belmont Road. PC Stoner is in attendance. We have a report of a suspicious death.’
Robbie swung the car round. ‘Reckon it’s another one?’
‘We’ll soon know, won’t we, mate?’ Max sounded about as miserable as it was possible to be.
Poor sod, thought Robbie. This could well put paid to his request for leave. ‘Let’s pray it’s just a natural sudden death. It could be nothing to do with our Bad Man.’
Neither of them believed that for a minute.
* * *
‘Can we come over and talk to you, Jackman?’
Laura sounded slightly on edge. ‘We?’ Jackman asked.
‘Sam’s with me. We’ve been reviewing what we know about your Bad Man.’
‘Then come now. We’ve just had a heads up about another death. Robbie and Max are on their way to evaluate the scene, and if it’s our killer, I might have to go out quite soon.’ Jackman was still trying to get over his brother’s tearful phone call. It had made him appreciate the mental turmoil that James was in. His mother had been right, he needed to give James time.
And now this, another death.
Seated with Laura in his office, Sam sounded more serious than usual. ‘This will probably sound strange, Jackman, but we have an idea about how your man operates. We are very concerned that he seems to be fixated on you, your family, and those around you.’
Laura looked intently at Jackman, her eyes glistening with anxiety. ‘We believe that his game is reaching its climax. One more death, perhaps, and then his long-running production will be complete. Our concern is that he’ll find it impossible to give up killing. His self-belief is most likely increasing, and by now he probably thinks he is omnipotent.’
‘And so,’ continued Sam, ‘he’ll need a new cause, a new raison d’être.’
‘Me.’ Jackman looked at the two of them.
Laura nodded. ‘It seems that way. We know how well this man is able to prey on his victims’ vulnerabilities, so we think you should identify your Achilles heel, and that of everyone around you.’
‘We rather knew this, didn’t we?’ Jackman said. ‘From the way he destroyed Sarah and Suri.’
‘True,’ said Sam. ‘But, as you know, serial killers develop in different ways. Some progress and become even more organised, whereas others unravel, become disorganised and finally make terrible mistakes. Whatever the case, they do change with every new killing.’
‘And our man?’ asked Jackman tentatively.
‘This is conjecture, based on case histories, but we think he’ll abandon the method of making the target take their own life.’ Laura was as serious as Jackman had ever seen her. ‘We think he’ll continue to identify those closest to the principal victim, and then make the victim watch them suffer.’
‘I’m not sure I understand you,’ Jackman said. ‘You mean, for example, sit my mother down and make her watch as he burns down her stables with the horses inside?’
Sam nodded slowly. ‘Exactly. So you really need to identify all the things that you and yours really treasure, and do it quickly, because unless you catch this man soon, he could start to stage some very nasty scenarios.’
Jackman sank back in his chair. ‘Marie was right then. I said he was driven by hate, but she said no, it was love that motivated him.’
‘More a case of how to manipulate that love,’ Sam said. ‘But yes, that’s quite correct.’
While his imagination took flight, the phone rang. ‘Yes? Jackman here.’
It was Robbie. ‘I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but you really have to come and see this.’
‘He’s killed again.’ It wasn’t a question.
Robbie hesitated. ‘Yes, sir, but it’s different from the other deaths, and this time he’s left you a personal account of exactly why he did it.’
‘I’m on my way.’
Laura and Sam were staring at him. ‘Are you up to coming with me?’ he asked. ‘I warn you, it won’t be pleasant.’
They nodded. ‘Maybe it’s time we see for ourselves just what this man is capable of.’
Jackman wasn’t so certain, but he needed their help. He needed all the help he could get.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
‘What is this place?’ asked Laura in a low voice.
Jackman looked through the car window at the decrepit building’s ornate façade. A “For Sale” sign hung drunkenly from a wooden post at the entrance. ‘It’s the old auction house. It’s been on the market for a long time. I’m surprised developers haven’t snapped it up by now.’
Robbie was beckoning to him from the doorway. He was already wearing a protective coverall, and around him, police constables had set up a perimeter and were rolling out blue-and-white cordoning tape.
‘Uniform are underway, sir. They’ve set up a log, but you are the first here.’ He glanced anxiously to Laura and Sam, waiting in the background. ‘Not sure that’s a good idea.’ He paused. ‘With respect, sir.’
‘We need them, Robbie. We really do need their professional opinion.’
Robbie shrugged. ‘It’s pretty awful in there.’
Then Jackman saw Max waiting by the entrance. His face was drawn and pale and his shoulders drooped. Jackman couldn’t recall seeing the usually enthusiastic young detective look so withdrawn and miserable.
He exhaled. ‘Okay, Robbie. Tell me what’s occurred.’ Maybe he should take a look before he allowed the other two in.
‘A hanging, sir. They’re never pretty, are they?’
Hangings were horrible, especially if not carried out correctly. Few were. ‘And?’
‘It’s difficult to work the scene out, sir. We only had a brief look, because we didn’t want to compromise it
, but he has set up the old auction floor like a courtroom. It looks as though the dead man has been tried, found guilty and then executed.’
Jackman turned to Laura and Sam. ‘Wait here for a moment. I need to see how we tackle this.’
Sam looked at him. ‘You don’t have to spare us, Jackman. We’ve both seen some pretty horrific things in our time.’
‘Fair enough, but I’ll still need to check that we won’t be contaminating the scene. Meanwhile, you can get suited up. Uniform have brought protective overalls.’
Jackman took one from a pile by the entrance door and pulled it on. Max still hadn’t spoken.
‘You okay, my friend?’ Jackman asked.
Max gave a feeble nod. ‘I just wish it was all over, boss. This maniac is tearing us to bits.’
Jackman guessed he was thinking of Rosie. ‘Then we need to get him, don’t we? Robbie said he left something for me. Hopefully, if he’s getting cocky he may have given something away.’ He touched the young man’s arm. ‘Are you up to going back in?’
Max seemed to rally. ‘Of course, sir.’ He turned and led the way.
What struck him immediately was how “staged” the scene was. Jackman remembered the headmaster saying that Alistair Ashcroft was happiest when acting in school productions.
‘Have forensics given us an ETA, Max?’
Max glanced at his watch. ‘Should be here shortly, boss.’ He looked around the big room. ‘This psycho is really something, isn’t he, sir?’
Jackman nodded. ‘I’ll say.’
The judge’s bench was placed on the old auctioneer’s platform. Behind it, the killer had placed a high-backed carved chair and on the bench rested a gavel, a curled powdered wig and a square of black material. ‘The black cap,’ whispered Jackman. ‘The judge used to place it over his wig to pronounce the death sentence.’
Max grunted.
Jackman turned slowly, noting that the killer had formed a “dock” for his prisoner, out of three heavy bookcases. One formed the front of the dock, and the others formed the sides. In the middle, was a chair with straps over the arms where the accused man would have sat.
Two tables sat on either side of the well of the room, one for the prosecuting team and one for the defence. Each had a neat pile of papers on it. Finally, in the centre were a chair and a smaller table, no doubt for the clerk of the court.
Off to the left of the “courtroom,” an area had been curtained off with two tall room dividers and some heavy drapes. It was open at the front, but inside it was shadowy, almost cell-like, which was most likely the intention. Behind this was a flight of stairs leading to a viewing gallery. It was from here that the man had been pushed, so as to drop down into his darkened death chamber.
Jackman steeled himself to look. He noted that the man had been executed without the customary use of a hood, his hands tied behind his back and his ankles bound together. The original design of the auction house had contributed greatly to the assembly of a very simple and effective “gallows.” Running the length of the high roof was a series of criss-cross beams and old timber trusses. Alistair had said he had patience, and he hadn’t been lying. It must have taken forever to find the perfect place for his trial and execution.
‘Who found him, Max?’
‘The estate agent who’s dealing with the sale of this dump. Poor bloke. Uniform have got him outside in one of their cars. He was shaking like a leaf.’
‘Was it a routine property check, do you know?’
‘No, boss, someone made an anonymous call saying they thought squatters had got in.’
‘Our man, I should think, drawing attention to his handiwork.’
He dragged his eyes back to the dead man.
It was hard to gauge much about him. His mousey hair was almost shoulder length, and the pale face was distorted by the thick purple tongue protruding from his mouth. Jackman stared at his orange clothing.
‘Fancy dress hire. Convict costume,’ Max said flatly. ‘He thought of everything.’
‘I wonder.’ Jackman was thinking of court records. ‘We’d better leave it all for forensics. I should think the photographer will have a field day with this particular crime scene.’ He thought of Ella. Rory had often commented that Ella had a natural talent for picking out tiny details. ‘I wonder if he’s known to us.’
‘Not really looking his best, but I can’t say I’ve seen him around, boss.’ Max gave a weak smile. ‘But you needn’t fret over his identity. The killer left full details of who, how, and why. Robbie and I had a brief look at the papers on the desks over there. He’s been preparing this for years, I’d say.’
‘Wonderful!’ Jackman shook his head. ‘I can’t wait to get my eyes on that.’
‘What about your two psychological profilers, boss? Are you going to let them in?’
‘As far as Rory will allow, until the scene has been forensically swept. They’ve seen bad stuff before.’
With a last look at the hanging man, Jackman went to find Sam and Laura.
* * *
Rory Wilkinson spent some thirty minutes in the ersatz courtroom, and almost as long with the dead man. Finally he walked back to the waiting Jackman.
‘Remarkable! The attention to detail is quite astounding. If he wasn’t an arch criminal, I’d love a long natter over a G&T.’ He looked at Jackman’s stony expression, and added, ‘hypothetically, of course.’
‘Sorry, Rory, but after what he’s done, I couldn’t even imagine meeting him socially,’ Jackman said.
‘No, it’s me that should apologise. That was thoughtless. David is always telling me that I should learn to think before I open my mouth.’
Jackman smiled. Rory looked exactly like his mother’s Labrador when he’d been caught chewing a slipper. ‘I’m not usually this touchy, but this guy has me wound up tight as a drum.’
‘Hardly surprising, is it? But joking apart, the amount of thought that went into this little pantomime is quite amazing. He even tied the perfect hangman’s knot, and positioned it in exactly the right place. He managed to successfully fracture the second cervical vertebra, something that is very uncommon indeed, other than in judicial hanging. Plus, he had to calculate the distance of the drop, and to do that he needed the victim’s height and weight.’ Rory let out a long breath. ‘Get it wrong, with too little drop and your condemned man strangles. Too far, and decapitation has been recorded. His preparation was textbook.’
‘Some small mercy for the deceased, I suppose.’ Jackman said.
‘And I’m certain he was sedated. There are needle marks on his right wrist. I’m thinking that was simply to facilitate getting him up the stairs, from where he could be pushed. Prior to that, I’m sure he was very much aware of exactly what was going on.’
Jackman nodded. ‘Alistair Ashcroft has clearly waited a long time for this moment, and taken an extraordinary amount of care in its preparation. He is hardly likely to make things easy for his victim. What I want to know is, who is the hanged man? And what did he do to deserve execution?’
Rory glanced at the “prosecutor’s” table. ‘I’m sure you know already that all those details have been provided for you, by way of some pseudo-legal documents. Not only that, your killer seems to have made a recording, hopefully of the “trial.”’
Jackman breathed a sigh of relief. That was exactly what he wanted to know. ‘You can guess what I’m going to ask now, can’t you?’
Rory smiled. ‘The photographer has completed his work, and my team are ready to start bagging the evidence. But if you would like to have a brief glance at the documents? And, although this is very unorthodox, for the sake of your investigation, I’m going to let you listen to the recording before it gets bagged and tagged for continuity. It’s evidence, and the killer had to touch it to use it, so we have to follow protocol with this one.’
‘You’re a diamond, Rory Wilkinson.’
‘I’m forgiven?’
‘Totally. I’d have you and your runawa
y mouth no other way. You are priceless.’
‘Could I have that in writing for David?’
‘My pleasure. Now . . .’ He looked around. ‘I see Marie has just arrived. I’ll get her and the others to listen in, if that’s okay?’
‘Of course, but just you and Marie in the room, if you don’t mind. You guys know the drill — gloves and touch as little as possible. The others can wait where they are, and I’ll turn the recording on when you are ready.’ Rory held up a hand. ‘But first I need to get that poor man down from the gibbet.’
Jackman went over to Marie, who was standing looking around in shocked disbelief.
‘And now we are going to hear what all this is about?’ she asked.
‘Just as soon as Rory has dealt with the deceased.’
Marie pulled out her smartphone. ‘I’m asking you not to look, if I just happen to accidentally record what we’re going to hear.’
Jackman turned away. ‘I didn’t hear that.’
They didn’t have long to wait.
Jackman and Marie went to the prosecutor’s table and looked at the top sheet of paper. It read, “The Crown versus Blake.” Beneath it were several typed sheets that appeared to be the prosecution’s opening statement, and beneath that, a long witness testimony.
Marie then looked at the papers on the defence’s table and let out a small ‘oh.’
All the papers were blank, and there were no names under the heading “witnesses for the defence.” Jackman shook his head. ‘Somewhat biased in the favour of the prosecution, wouldn’t you say?’
Rory switched on the recording.
A clear, well-educated voice, obviously that of the “clerk of the court” announced, “All rise. This court is now in session, the Honourable Judge Ashcroft presiding. Your Honour, today’s case is the Crown versus Blake.”
Marie looked at Jackman and raised her eyebrows.
The “clerk” then asked, “Can you confirm that your name is John Edward Blake?”
There was a scuffling sound but no answer. The clerk repeated the question, and finally a shaky voice mumbled, “Yes.”