by James Carol
‘It’s got to be him.’
‘It doesn’t matter how many times you say that, Hatcher, it won’t make it true. William Trent is not the unsub. Did you see how calm he was?’
‘So he’s a sociopath,’ said Hatcher.
‘He’s not a sociopath. He’s just a pervert with a couple of million in the bank. Big difference.’
‘I’m not convinced.’
‘Okay, where’s Rachel Morris?’
‘He’s got her hidden in a secret location. Hell, maybe he’s got a dozen places and he keeps moving her around to make it harder for us to find her. He’s got the money to do it.’
I shook my head. ‘You’re clutching at straws, Hatcher. This guy needs to keep his victims close by. He wants to keep them close. He wants to be able to go and have fun with them whenever the urge strikes him. That means his house. You’ve been through Trent’s house. Did you find a single trace of Rachel Morris?’
Hatcher shook his head. ‘That doesn’t mean it’s not him.’
‘Okay, here are two more reasons. First, his house was on the south bank of the Thames. The unsub lives north of the river.’
‘Come on, Winter, that’s pretty tenuous.’
‘Our guy lives north of the river,’ I repeated. ‘Second, did you notice Trent’s reaction when I showed him the photographs? He barely registered them.’
‘So he’d make a great poker player.’
‘I’ve used that trick dozens of times, Hatcher. It’s foolproof. Show a serial criminal pictures of their handiwork and you’re going to get a reaction. The reactions you get range from indignant denial all the way through to out-and-out bragging. You wouldn’t believe how proud some of these assholes are. This is their masterwork, the highlight of their miserable little lives, and they can’t wait to tell you all about it. The one reaction I have never seen is indifference. Read my lips, Hatcher: William Trent is not our guy.’
53
‘Hatcher’s furious,’ Templeton said as we rode the elevator down to Scotland Yard’s subterranean levels. ‘He’s crucifying people left, right and centre. I got away just in time. I reckon I was next in the firing line.’
‘Cut him some slack,’ I said. ‘Hatcher’s got a lot on his plate and now he’s got to deal with the fallout from William Trent shouting wrongful arrest at anyone who’ll listen. That’s one headache he could do without.’
‘I really thought Trent was our man.’
‘So did a lot of people.’
‘But not you.’
‘He looked good on paper.’
‘That’s an evasion, not an answer.’
‘When it comes to suspects, I never get too excited. I’ve been disappointed too many times. I like to sit down and talk to them before I make a final decision.’ I thought about the child-killer from Maine who’d chosen suicide by cop, then added, ‘That’s assuming they make it into custody.’
‘Are you telling me you can work out who’s guilty or innocent just by talking to them?’
‘I haven’t been wrong yet.’
Templeton laughed. ‘With a superpower like that, maybe we should get rid of the justice system altogether. Save ourselves a fortune.’
‘The justice system has nothing to do with guilt or innocence,’ I said. ‘You know that as much as I do. It’s all about which side can afford the best lawyers.’
The elevator bumped to a gentle stop, the doors concertinaed open, and we started along the corridor side by side.
‘If Trent’s not our guy, then that’s us back at square one again,’ said Templeton. ‘We need to go back and review everything. There must be something we’re missing.’
‘Agreed, but we also need to be careful that we’re not looking at the forest and seeing only trees,’ I said. ‘The best thing you can do is to try and let this go for now.’
‘Easier said than done.’
I cracked a smile. ‘Tell me about it.’
‘Okay, how about we meet up at your hotel this evening and throw some ideas around?’
‘Sounds like a plan. It would probably be best to meet in my room, though.’
Templeton gave me a look. Her left eyebrow was arched and she had a strange little half-smile on her face.
‘So we can spread our stuff out,’ I added quickly.
‘Okay, let’s say eight. That’ll give me time to shoot home and shower and get changed and feed my cat.’
‘You’ve got a cat?’
‘That surprises you?’
I thought about this then shook my head. ‘It makes sense. You’re not wearing a wedding ring, so chances are you’re not married. You work long hours and you’re ambitious, neither of which is conducive to a successful long-term relationship. My guess is you live alone, but like company, so it makes sense you’d have a pet. Dogs are high-maintenance and fish are boring. That leaves a cat. Cats are independent and low-maintenance. They’re practical pets, and you strike me as a practical person.’
Templeton laughed and shook her head. ‘They say men are from Mars and women are from Venus, but what the hell planet are you from, Winter?’
We reached the computer room and Templeton did a quick three-beat knock on the door then pushed it open. Sumati Chatterjee had her head buried in her monitors on one side of the narrow room while Alex Irvine was manning the workstation opposite her. They both looked up together, but this time Alex was a little ahead of Sumati. I tossed the flash drive to Sumati, who caught it two-handed. She looked surprised and shocked, like I’d tossed her a live grenade.
‘I need to see what’s on this,’ I said. ‘I don’t think it’s rigged to wipe itself clean, but be careful.’
‘I’m always careful.’
Sumati plugged the flash drive into a USB slot. She clicked and pointed with the mouse, then her fingers flew over the keyboard with precision and grace. Alex pushed away from his desk and rolled across the room to join us.
‘Okay, I’m in,’ said Sumati. ‘And I’m happy to report there were no viruses or any other nasty surprises.’
‘What have you got?’ asked Templeton.
‘Four pictures and a bunch of text documents, and that’s about it. What do you want first?’
‘It’s got to be the pictures,’ said Templeton.
‘While we look at the pictures can you print out the text files?’ I said to Alex.
‘Of course I can.’
Alex gave me a look like he couldn’t believe he’d been asked to do something so menial, then sighed. He held out his hand and made come on, come on gestures to hurry Sumati along. She quickly downloaded the pictures and gave him the flash drive. Alex pushed himself away from Sumati’s desk and scooted back across the room. I could hear his heavy fingers thrashing the keyboard, the heavy click of the mouse, the long sighs. The laser printer in the corner of the room made a rhythmic whirr-click sound as it spat out a steady stream of paper.
‘Okay, what have we got?’ asked Templeton.
The excitement in her voice was infectious. All three of us crowded in closer to the screens. Sumati clicked the mouse and the first photograph appeared on her left-hand screen. The picture showed Rachel Morris going into Springers. She was in profile, so we only got half her face, but we could see enough to be certain it was her. Templeton muttered a quiet ‘Jesus’ at my shoulder, one word that spoke volumes. I pictured the street Springers was on and worked through the angles in my head.
‘This wasn’t taken from Mulberry’s,’ said Templeton.
‘It wasn’t,’ I agreed. ‘There was a restaurant further up the street. A little Thai place called, funnily enough, The Little Thai Place. I’m betting he was there, because, one, the unsub had beat him to the best seat at Mulberry’s. Except at that point in time Stephens wouldn’t have known he was the unsub. Two, Stephens was multitasking and had decided to grab a bite to eat while he was watching Rachel Morris.’
‘And the third reason?’
‘He could charge the meal to Jamie Morris. Okay, what’s
interesting about this photograph? And I’m talking really interesting.’
Templeton shrugged.
‘Let me put it another way. How did Stephens know that Rachel Morris was going to be at Springers? He’s not following her. He’s got himself settled in all nice and comfortable in The Little Thai Place, and he’s waiting for her to show up.’
Templeton’s big blue eyes lit up a shade bluer. ‘Because he’s got a spyware program fitted to her computer.’
‘Alex,’ I called out, ‘I’m going to need those printouts ASAP.’
‘Working on it,’ he called back, prickly and annoyed.
The next photograph showed Rachel Morris leaving Springers. She was standing in the entrance, looking left up the street for her date. Even now she was still clinging to the hope that there was a good reason he hadn’t shown up. Stuck at work, stuck in traffic, struck down with amnesia following a nasty bang to the head. She was looking in the direction of The Little Thai Place and I could see her whole face. The definition wasn’t good enough to read her mood from her expression, but it was good enough to read her body language. She was experiencing a real mix of emotions. Wound up, angry, pissed off, not to mention feeling stupid.
The third photograph was just plain frustrating. It showed Rachel with the unsub, but they were walking away from the camera and all we could see were their backs. Stephens had obviously seen Rachel leave alone and thought he was done for the night. He’d paid his bill and reached the street in time to see Rachel wasn’t alone. The problem was that he was at the wrong end of the street to get a picture of their faces.
‘This is useless,’ said Templeton.
‘Not completely useless,’ I said. ‘Rachel is five-seven and the unsub is taller. I’d estimate five-ten. We can see that he’s medium build. So there’s two things we now know for definite.’
‘Give me a moment and I’ll give you a third thing,’ said Sumati. She clicked and typed and the photo slowly changed. Everything sharpened and got clearer. The colours became more defined. A final point with the mouse, a final click. ‘There you go. He’s got brown hair.’
The fourth picture was almost as frustrating as the third. It showed the back of a Porsche as it headed away from the camera, and the fact that Stephens had included this picture meant the car belonged to the unsub. It looked black, but it could have been dark red or dark green, any dark colour. It was definitely a Porsche, though. Porsches have their engines in the trunk, which gives them a very recognisable shape. This was good news since it tallied with what was on the parking ticket.
‘I can zoom in on the number plate,’ said Sumati.
‘No point,’ said Templeton. ‘We already ran it and it’s a false one. Are you able to do anything with the picture so we can find out what colour the car is?’
‘No problem.’ Sumati ran the photo through an enhancement program. She pointed and clicked and zoomed and had an answer in thirty seconds. ‘It’s black,’ she said.
Alex rolled over to join us. He handed me the printouts.
‘Nice wheels,’ said Alex.
‘I need you to narrow down the model and year of manufacture as best you can,’ I told him. ‘I want a list of everyone north of the Thames who owns one.’ I paused and thought about that red pin in St Albans. The anomaly. ‘Let’s go a little further. Expand the list so it takes in a ten-mile band around the outside of the M25.’
‘No problem.’ Alex rolled back across the room and went to work.
The first printout was a transcript of an IM conversation Rachel Morris had had with the unsub. It was dated three weeks ago and came from her work computer. Stephens had installed a program that monitored keystrokes so we only got Rachel’s side of the conversation. I could fill in the blanks, but what I filled them with were my own words and that didn’t give a true picture of the unsub. I moved on to the next sheet, then the next. It took less than a minute to go through all of them.
‘So what have we got?’ Templeton asked.
‘He’s good,’ I said. ‘He had Rachel Morris sharing all sorts of stuff with him, things she probably wouldn’t even tell her best friend. He knew how to push her buttons, when to dig deeper and when to hold back. He took his time and was careful, and only when the time was right did he reel her in. It’s a masterclass in grooming. The first mention of Springers was two days before he abducted her. He chose the venue. No surprises there. He would have checked the bar out. If we had a face shot, we could have run that against the footage from the security cameras and found out when. It would have been recent, so chances are one of the bar staff could have remembered him. Of course, the problem with that is we don’t have a face shot.’
‘He got lucky there, Winter. Admit it.’
‘Luck doesn’t come into it. This unsub is careful, organised and meticulous. Everything he does is done with two goals in mind. He wants to keep on doing what he’s doing, and he doesn’t want to get caught.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yeah. This one’s for Sumati.’ The computer wizard’s ears pricked up and she turned to look at me. ‘The website they were using was cheatinghusband.com. Cheatinghusband is all one word. A lot of these sites keep copies of their users’ conversations. See if this one does and if it does get hold of copies of Rachel Morris’s chats with the unsub. I’d really like to see his side of these conversations.’
Templeton shook her head. ‘It’s just so bloody frustrating. If Stephens had got a face shot we’d have Cutting Jack and his girlfriend in custody by morning.’
‘Why not just contact Stephens and ask him for a description?’ said Sumati.
‘Do you want to field this one?’ I asked Templeton.
‘Chances are he never saw his face because of the angles,’ said Templeton. ‘He followed Rachel Morris from the bar. At some point Cutting Jack fell in behind her. But Stephens would have been behind him, so he wouldn’t have seen his face.’
‘And even if he had seen his face,’ I added, ‘it probably wouldn’t have done any good. Eyewitnesses are completely unreliable. Ask a dozen witnesses to describe someone and they’ll tell you he’s short and tall, white and black, skinny and fat with blond hair that might have been black or brown or even grey. Hell, half of them will tell you that your he was a she.’
‘Ask a stupid question,’ Sumati said.
‘It wasn’t a stupid question. At this stage in the game there’s no such thing as a stupid question.’
‘On the bright side,’ said Templeton, ‘I guess we’re further ahead than we were.’
‘Not far enough for my liking.’ I turned back to Sumati and Alex. ‘As soon as you guys have got anything, anything at all, call me. I don’t care what time of the day or night it is.’
‘No problem,’ they said, almost in unison. Neither looked up. Their eyes were glued to their screens, their heads lost in cyberworld.
We left the computer room and took the elevator up to the fourth floor. My cellphone buzzed and Hatcher’s name lit up on the screen.
‘What have you got for me, Hatcher?’
‘You were right about the first victim. We drew a blank with the coroners so I got someone to pull the files on any unsolved murders that happened over the last couple of years. One stood out. Charles Brenner was a seventeen-year-old rent boy who worked out of the King’s Cross area. He was snatched eighteen months ago and killed with a hammer. Whoever did it really went to town. They smashed his head and face to a pulp.’
‘And the reason it stood out was because there were no obvious injuries to any other part of his body. At least none that could be tied to his murder.’
‘How did you know that?’
‘That’s what you’re paying me those big bucks for,’ I said. ‘Let me guess. Because of his profession it was written off as a sex attack. After all, there was plenty of evidence of sexual abuse to back that up. The police went through the motions but they didn’t try too hard. They had a body and they had a story that made sense. There was nobo
dy who missed Brenner enough to push for the killer to be found. If there was he wouldn’t have been turning tricks in King’s Cross. Where was his body dumped?’
‘Barking.’
‘Is that north of the river?’
‘It’s north of the river,’ said Hatcher. ‘I can’t say for sure if this is our guy, but it feels right.’
‘This is our guy, Hatcher. The timing works, and the geography works. What else have you got?’
‘Who says I’ve got anything else?’
‘You’ve still got that smile in your voice.’
‘Screw you, Winter.’
‘You’re still smiling.’
Hatcher laughed then said, ‘An orbitoclast was stolen from Glenside Museum in Bristol. It happened just before Sarah Flight was kidnapped. The bad news is that the police didn’t take the theft seriously. Nothing else was taken. They thought it was a student prank.’
‘How long would it take to get to Bristol?’
‘This time of day, you’re looking at a couple of hours, an hour and a half if you use the blue lights and put your foot down.’
That meant losing a total of five hours, and four hours of that would be spent in a car. We’d be lucky to get back by midnight. There were better things to do with our time. ‘I’m going to need a helicopter,’ I said.
‘And I need a McLaren F1.’
‘I’m serious, Hatcher.’
‘I can’t get you a helicopter, Winter.’
‘I only need to borrow it for a couple of hours. I promise I’ll give it back. Cross my heart et cetera, et cetera.’
‘I can’t get you a helicopter.’
‘Of course you can. You’re the boss. You’re the next-best thing we’ve got to God, remember. You can do whatever you want.’
‘For the third and final time, Winter, I can’t get you a helicopter.’
‘The signal’s breaking up. I can’t hear you.’ I ended the call and pushed my cell back into my pocket. ‘We’re going to Bristol,’ I said to Templeton. ‘By helicopter.’
‘Cool.’