Perfect Crime

by Helen Fields

  ‘You’re pretending there’s someone here? Oh, darling, don’t lie to me. It’s beneath you. But I understand, this is a shock. You never did like being taken by surprise. Why don’t you get us coffee and we’ll make small talk while you get used to having me around again.’

  Callanach glanced across to his neighbour’s door. He could raise his voice, make a fuss, wake her up, but Astrid – this new Astrid – was an unknown quantity. Dragging anyone else into his mess was unacceptable. He had to handle it himself.

  ‘It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with you. In fact, I’ve been wondering where you were and how you were doing. I’m glad we left the past behind us and moved on. You look great, by the way. Your hair’s shorter.’

  Astrid touched it then flicked it slightly, a smile flitting across her face.

  ‘It’s just that I have to be up early to go into work,’ he added.

  ‘Really? Only you haven’t been into the station for a while. Why is that?’

  ‘I’ve been off sick,’ he lied. ‘Stomach flu.’

  ‘And yet you’ve managed several trips to the gym.’

  Callanach decided against asking just how much time she’d spent watching him. What mattered now was her motive for revealing herself.

  ‘If I’d known you were outside, I’d have invited you in before now. You should have let me know. There’s no reason for us not to be friends any more.’

  ‘I’m glad you think so. I felt that between us. It’s why I came back. I always knew we’d get past that misunderstanding before. You’re looking good yourself.’ Astrid let her gaze meander down his torso and Callanach wished he’d taken the time to put a T-shirt on. ‘Listen, Luc, I know it’s late, but I really do need to come in. We have to figure out what we’re going to do about this situation we’ve found ourselves in.’

  ‘Situation?’ Callanach asked.

  ‘A certain pair of enemies of ours? The lovely Bruce and Gilroy. Probably best not to talk where anyone could overhear me saying their names,’ she whispered with a conspiratorial smile.

  Callanach thrust his hands into his pockets, keeping it casual, feeling his blood pressure rising. Enemies of ours. So that was it. It wouldn’t have been a problem, only he’d lied in his statement to Pax Graham about his reason for visiting Jenson and at best he’d withheld information relating to Gilroy Western. The fact that Astrid had physically killed the two men was irrelevant if she planned on saying he’d asked her to do it on his behalf. That lie alone would be enough to end his career and might well be sufficient to put him at the centre of a double murder trial. He couldn’t let her inside his flat. The presence of her DNA would only add to claims of a criminal conspiracy. If she wasn’t going to leave the easy way, there was no option except the hard way.

  ‘I’m sorry, Astrid, but we can’t discuss that here. Whatever information you have, you should give to the police, anyone except me. I don’t know anything about their deaths but I’m a potential witness, so I can’t talk to you about their cases. You should probably go now.’

  ‘At last!’ she grinned. ‘Some reality. Look, I didn’t expect this to be plain sailing. We always have to get through a certain amount of bullshit with each other, don’t we? At least this time we kept it brief. You have to let me in, Luc. There’s really no choice.’

  ‘There’s always a choice, Astrid. Like I said, you can leave me your number, if you like, and we’ll find another time to talk. I’m going to shut the door now. Goodbye.’ He took a step back and began closing up.

  Her foot intruded, which he’d been expecting. He was ready to use force to get rid of her if he had to. He had too much to lose to be gentle.

  Astrid withdrew a hand from the generous pocket of her hoodie, her fist wrapped around something the size of an apple.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I can’t. I wish I could, but you did this to us, Luc. You called out to me. You gave me a cause. You knew I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from helping you. Now, I need you to show your appreciation. We have to agree on our next steps. There are lots of options. I know people who’ll give us alibis. Or we could simply disappear together. You’re not happy here. I read your emails to your mother. She really shouldn’t have used your name and year of birth as her password. The emails nearly broke my heart …’

  ‘What’s in your hand?’ he asked, wondering why his heart was thumping so hard when his brain was still insisting that he was simply imagining the worst.

  ‘You were an Interpol agent. You know what this is. How many arms dealers did you bring down? More than half a dozen, if memory serves me right.’

  She opened her hand and pushed it forwards into the light. In her palm sat grey-green death, her thumb through the circle of the pin. While her thumb was there, any attempt by Callanach to grab it from her would have only one result. It would be the end for both of them without a shadow of a doubt and perhaps the start of a fire, which would also kill anyone else sleeping in the apartments.

  ‘You’d better come in,’ he said, stepping aside.

  She pocketed the hand grenade once more, keeping her hand in there with it, and kissed him on the cheek as she walked past. Callanach shut the door behind them and wondered how long he had left.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  18 March

  The Crow stared down at the two bodies on the floor. It was a mess, both literally and metaphorically. He knew who the male was now. Lance Proudfoot, journalist. Leech. Anyone who made a living out of reporting other people’s misery deserved to die. Even if it had been outside the boundaries of his plan, he didn’t need to feel guilty about ending the journalist’s life. If Proudfoot walked free, he would go straight to the police and The Crow had no desire to be incarcerated. Some deaths were simply necessary. Janet, though, had taken him by surprise. He’d checked the entire flat. There was no evidence that she was a police officer, nor that the Max she’d texted was in fact Max Tripp, detective sergeant. But she’d known his name and that The Crow had met him previously.

  He refused to believe he’d fallen for such a dramatic ploy. The woman had been on the roof for hours and The Crow had spoken to the attending counsellor about it at length. Charlie Packham had formed the opinion that the attempt was absolutely genuine and that without intervention, there would have been a life lost. If The Crow had made a mistake, it was relying on the skills and expertise of a colleague. Apparently, not everyone shared his ability to sniff out a lie when they were fed one. Yet here he was, in a flat with two unconscious people, either of whom could identify him if left alive. He’d had a plan. All he had to do was adapt it for two.

  The punishment still had to fit the crime. Learning to appreciate the gift of life was the point of the deaths he inflicted. It was unthinkable that he could be so crass, so base, as to kill without purpose. He still had time, he told himself. He was a predator. Swift, decisive, almost supernaturally deft. He’d been given an opportunity to face adversity and come out stronger.

  Reaching for his bag, he pulled out a knife, cutting the rope in half. It would serve his purpose to have it shorter now that he had to accommodate two rather than one. Lance Proudfoot was starting to groan and twitch his fingers. He wouldn’t be unconscious much longer. He lay them both flat on their backs, the tops of their heads almost touching, feet at opposite diagonals of the lounge walls, as if he’d drawn a straight line with their bodies across the room. From his pocket he withdrew two cable ties, securing their wrists over their stomachs.

  Now for the trickier part. The only heavy item of furniture in the room was an old sofa. That would do for one of them, but not both. He dealt with Lance first, wrapping a section of rope around his ankles then knotting it tightly multiple times around the distant legs of the sofa, lifting the old leather monstrosity to make sure there was no way the journalist was getting his legs free.

  The window provided the other essential tether point. He knotted the rope to provide a large clump, which he could be sure wouldn’t pull free, and
wedged it through the top of the window – banal health and safety regulations meant it didn’t open from the bottom upwards – before shutting it up tight. The other end he wrapped around Janet’s ankles, congratulating himself for thinking to put her trainers on her to ensure she couldn’t simply slip her feet free.

  Both tied by the ankles, hands bound, they lay with their heads about two feet apart. He wished there’d been more space between them, but as improvisation went, it was impressive.

  Lance woke, blinking wildly and shaking this head. A couple of strips of gaffer tape took care of any noise he was about to start making. Clumsy but necessary. From his bag, The Crow took the last item he needed. The length of bungee rope was professional grade – the sort used for thrill-seeking idiots to jump from bridges over rivers and pretend they could fly. Flight was reserved for the truly evolved. Such gifts could only be earned, not bought.

  He measured the correct length of bungee cord and tied a hangman’s noose at each end before casting a brief glance out of the window. No lights. Few vehicles. Crucially, no sirens. Vicki’s friend, RJ, would be in custody by now. Ava Turner would be busy trying to trip him up in interview. He allowed himself a moment to enjoy the irony of it all.

  ‘One for you,’ he said as he slipped the first noose over Lance’s head, ignoring the wild dance of his eyes as he began to struggle. ‘If you do that, you’re only going to kill poor Janet even faster. Best to lie still,’ he cautioned. ‘And one for you.’ He put the second noose over Janet’s head with an iron effort.

  The bungee cord took all his strength to pull between their two necks, constricting as he let it go, pitting one against the other as the weight of their bodies strained against the rope on their legs. The industrial-grade elastic pulled their necks together and tightened both nooses at the same time. Janet’s eyes flashed open, nostrils flaring as she tried – and failed – to draw a full breath. Both their hands went above their heads immediately, grabbing at the bungee cord and trying to pull it down to slacken the noose around their own neck.

  ‘Now you want to live,’ The Crow preached. ‘Which of you is willing to kill the other to survive? Pull hard enough and your noose will slacken, but you’ll speed up the other’s death. Breathe slowly is my advice, try not to struggle. Thrashing your legs won’t help.’

  He looked at his watch. He’d already been longer than he’d intended. If the police were on their way, and he didn’t think they really were, but if so, then now was the time to get out.

  He picked up his bag, tempted to take a photo of his creation but knowing it was only vanity. Janet was blowing blood out of her nose again with every puffed breath. Lance’s face was turning an unnatural colour. To their credit, they were doing a remarkable job of keeping their legs still while they tried to slacken the bungee that was cutting off their oxygen supply. It wouldn’t last long. As they became more and more oxygen-starved, they’d each lose control. They’d kick, squirm, wriggle and finally thrash, each strangling the other. Then they’d know what a gift life was. They’d learn gratitude with regret.

  Rune Maclure scattered a handful of feathers over the two of them, enjoying their glorious struggle, then slung his bag over his shoulder, gun in hand, as he reached for the flat door.

  Chapter Forty

  18 March

  Tripp took the stairs up to Janet’s flat at a fast jog next to Ava.

  ‘We’ve had confirmation from Maclure’s co-worker that Maclure would have had access to records for anyone helped by the Reach You charity, not just to those patients he personally counselled,’ Tripp told her as he got off his mobile.

  ‘So he just chose a victim, studied their files, or felt a particular connection to them and struck when he felt the time was right? That doesn’t explain the sudden spate of deaths. Something must have happened to have triggered it.’

  ‘Not necessarily. One of Maclure’s co-worker’s concerns was how far back this went. Dr Lambert noticed a fraction of a boot mark on Stephen Berry’s finger, indicating that he might have been stamped on to release his grip up at Tantallon Castle, but that was maybe a lucky find. Who’s to say Stephen Berry wasn’t just one of many?’

  They rounded the corridor, where a line of officers was waiting silently for Ava to arrive and the operation to start.

  ‘How many years has he been a counsellor there?’ Ava asked.

  ‘Several,’ Tripp confirmed. ‘But he’s also done counselling stints at local hospitals, hospices, even schools. His access to the clinically depressed, suicidal and suffering people of Scotland is probably not accurately quantifiable at this stage.’

  ‘That explains opportunity but not motive,’ Ava said as she nodded greetings to the officers waiting for her. ‘Any theories on that?’

  ‘Only that at one stage he was found to be self-medicating. He admitted it to a colleague, got help, took voluntary blood tests to show he was clean. It’s quite common among therapists, apparently, to suffer depression at some stage. I guess when you spend your day listening to other people’s problems, it’s hard to go home feeling happy.’

  ‘How long ago?’ Ava asked.

  ‘Six or seven months,’ Tripp said, strapping on the protective vest he was handed.

  ‘Did the co-worker say what drug he was taking?’ Ava asked.

  ‘Clozapine. I’ve not heard of it,’ Tripp said.

  ‘Ma’am, are we good to go?’ the armed unit leader whispered to her.

  ‘Sure,’ she confirmed. ‘Any noise from inside the flat?’

  ‘Some movement, no voices. It’s definitely occupied.’

  ‘Right. Weapons lowered. If there’s a situation in progress, he may well use Janet Monroe as a shield. I don’t want any weapons going off unless there’s a clean, clear shot. Otherwise, we’re negotiating for as long as it takes. We don’t need to announce our presence. Janet isn’t going to complain that we didn’t give her a warning to open up. Just get that door …’

  It opened. For a split second, twenty police officers froze. Rune Maclure didn’t. His eyes met Ava’s fleetingly as he stepped backwards and slammed the door.

  ‘Rune,’ Ava shouted through the wood. ‘You’ve seen the force we have out here. Open the door – last opportunity – or we’ll have to break it down.’

  The response was a single gunshot that hit the door from inside the flat, hard enough for the impression to be seen from the corridor side, even if the bullet didn’t quite make it through. Ava jumped clear of the door panel, one hand pressed to her stomach where the bullet would have entered had it got past the wood. Shaken, she mentally chalked off another one of her lives.

  ‘You’ve made your point,’ Ava said. ‘Just let me in to make sure Janet’s okay. If you can reassure me of that, you’ve bought yourself some time.’

  An inhuman noise came from within the flat – a half-screeching, abrasive call. No words.

  ‘Break it down,’ Ava ordered. ‘Right now.’

  She stepped back as the door took a hammering, splintering before it slammed inwards to reveal not the one body they’d been expecting to see, but two.

  Ava stepped through, backed up by half a dozen rifles pointed at the floor just behind her feet.

  Rune Maclure had a gun and was aiming it at the top of Janet’s head as she tried feebly to pull some slack into the rope around her neck.

  ‘Put the gun down,’ Ava instructed. ‘This is the only way out. Whatever happens to Janet and …’ She half recognised the other man’s face, purple and swollen as it was, but couldn’t place him immediately. ‘… this other man, you can’t get out of here.’

  ‘I wanted you,’ Maclure said. ‘I offered you the chance to know me. To truly know me. Perhaps if you’d taken it, this could have been avoided. No more silly traps and lies.’

  ‘I’ll give the instruction to shoot,’ Ava said. ‘Three seconds. Lower your weapon.’

  ‘Shoot me and I’ll shoot her. You know my muscles’ll spasm. I won’t be able to help it.’

>   ‘Then let me untie them,’ Ava said, ‘and we’ll talk.’

  ‘I can help you with that,’ Maclure smiled.

  Ava looked down at the two bodies, fighting the pressure around their necks less now, each barely breathing. The man’s fingers had given up their purchase on the rope between them and were twitching on his chest.

  ‘If I open the window, the rope will release. It may be too late, but it’s worth a try. Tell your men to move away from the door.’

  ‘I’m not negotiating at this point,’ Ava said, taking a step further towards Maclure.

  ‘Then they both die in front of you,’ he smiled.

  ‘Fuck,’ Ava muttered. She didn’t have the time or luxury of playing hardball when two lives were being lost right in front of her. ‘Move back. Everyone up the corridor now. Guns down.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Maclure said, pulling the window down from the top to its lowest setting, leaving the upper half open to the elements.

  The rope that had been wrapped around Janet Monroe’s feet flew into the room and became a benign snake on the floor. Immediately, Janet was pulled towards the other man, neither of them moving, the nooses around their necks too tight for any quick relief.

  ‘Let me help them,’ Ava said. ‘Lower your gun while I do that. Please.’

  ‘Do whatever you want,’ Maclure said. ‘I don’t need their deaths. I’m strong enough. I’ve already become. I was simply waiting for a sign. This is it.’

  Ava glared at him. ‘What’s Clozapine?’ she demanded, edging closer to Janet.

  Maclure cocked his head to one side. ‘A distraction,’ he said. ‘It was an attempt to deny my true self.’