by Michael Kerr
Ryan took the call, to be given the details of what had gone down in Croydon. He felt a coldness grip him. He no longer wanted to arrest Tyler, he wanted to kill him, and would do so, if given half a chance to.
“We have to go, now.” he said to Julie. “Come on.”
“What was the call about?” Julie asked after they had left Gemma’s flat.
“Croydon,” Ryan said. “The house was hit.”
“Angie?” Julie said.
Ryan shook his head. “She didn’t make it. Neither did Ruby Tyler. Give Eddie a bell and tell him what’s happened. He can attend the scene here and tie things up.”
Ryan drove fast. Didn’t say a word. He was in a different zone. Tyler had just made it even more personal. Angie Duke had been a good cop, and more importantly, a member of his team. He didn’t know how Tyler had got in and taken her by surprise. He refused to believe that she had become complacent.
Ryan’s mobile rang as they passed through Streatham. He answered it on the move.
“Ryan.”
“Hi, Frank. You at Snaresbrook?” Andy said.
“I called by and saw what you did to Gorchev’s boys. I’m on my way to Croydon now.”
“Bad news travels fast, eh?”
“I want you to know that when we catch up with you, I’m going to kill you, Tyler.”
“Big words, cop. I wish you could have been there to see the lovely Angie die. She went really hard, kicking and writhing around like an eel in a bucket. Cling film is so versatile. You really are a bunch of amateurs, Ryan. My mother always left a key under the planter out back. I just let myself in and did the business. You should make a note to always check where any spare keys are kept. As for threatening me, you have to be joking. If Gorchev and Savino can’t do the job, then you haven’t got a hope in hell of finding me. And if by some miracle you did, then you wouldn’t survive the meeting.
“And tell Julie that I was lying when I said that killing was becoming tedious. I still have a few loose ends to tie up before I vanish for keeps.”
Ryan ended the call. He had nothing more to say to Tyler.
“What did he want?” Julie said.
“To blow his own trumpet,” Ryan said. “Called us amateurs, and the bastard is right. Nobody thought to ask Ruby Tyler about a bloody spare key. Overlooking and underthinking has cost Angie her life. We should have moved Ruby to a safe house and let Witness Protection do their thing. Instead, we played right into his hands.”
“Who would have thought it was a probability he would risk going for his mother?”
“We should have known that he’s totally unpredictable, Julie. Maybe even he doesn’t know what his next move will be.”
They arrived at the second scene, where police cars were gathered after the event. Went inside and looked in dismay at Angie’s corpse. Mounted the stairs to see the remains of Ruby Tyler. Her scarred face was grey where blood did not coat it, and her eyes had rolled back to show the whites. Ryan found it difficult to comprehend how a son could coldly place the muzzle of a gun under his own mother’s chin and pull the trigger. A sudden fear ripped through him. He realised that his own mother was in grave danger. Tyler considered him an enemy, and would take great pleasure in murdering anyone close to him, and phoning him again to gloat. He had threatened Tyler, and in effect had thrown down the gauntlet.
“I’ve got a bad feeling, Julie,” he said. “I need to move my mother to somewhere safe. Will you hang on here?”
“Yes. Be careful, Ryan. He’s better than we even thought he might be. And he knows all about us.”
“When you’ve finished up here, go back to the Yard, Julie. I’ll see you there. Home is no longer a safe place to be.”
Jessica was already up when Ryan phoned. She seemed to need less and less sleep as she got older. She was listening to the World Service and enjoying a cup of tea when the phone rang. The harsh clarion sound jarred her nerves. She answered it hoping that it would be a wrong number. No one that she knew would call her at six in the morning, unless they had bad news to impart. She picked up. “Hello.”
“It’s me, Mum. I take it you were already up and drinking tea?”
“What’s wrong, Francis?”
“Not a lot. I’m almost at the house. I just wanted to let you know that I’m on my way. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
“Why are―?”
“I’ll tell you when I get there.” He disconnected. He was not prepared to go into detail over the phone, while she was alone. He had arranged for a patrol car to park outside the house, just in case Tyler got it into his head to strike while he was on a roll.
“Thanks guys,” Ryan said to the two uniforms that got out of the car and approached him when he climbed out of the Vitari.
One of the PCs recognised him. “No problem, guv. You want us to hang around?”
“No. Take a coffee break, and then get back to whatever they pulled you off.”
He stared at the dark shape of the garage as he crunched up the drive. A part of his brain immediately formed the image of his father hanging in it. It was like some psychiatrist’s association game; showing abstract pictures to a patient and asking him what they brought to mind. Or did they just have cards with weird-shaped ink blots on: the Rorschach test? He wondered what the name was for a fear or aversion to garages? Garaphobia? Bollocks! He was sick of letting the distant past haunt him. His father had bottled out, committed a selfish act, and left him and his mother to deal with the trauma. It was just a fucking garage. Bricks and mortar. He was through with letting it hurt him. He reached the front door and pressed the bell. A lamp was on in the hall, backlighting the stained glass galleon.
His mother came to the door. “Is that you, Francis?” she said.
“Yeah, Mum.”
She let him in. He hugged her and kissed her on the cheek: “I know, Mum, I need a shave,” he said, pre-empting her before she could make the observation.
She gave him a worried smile. He locked the door behind them and put the bolt on. They went through to the kitchen and Jessica poured him a cup of the fresh coffee she had brewed after he’d called her.
“Spit it out, son. You don’t do house calls at this time in the morning, unless it’s at a crime scene,” Jessica said, settling in a chair and clasping her hands together on top of the pine table.
“What do you want first, the good news or the―”
“Cut the crap, Francis. You’re beginning to annoy me. Just tell it how it is.”
Ryan grinned. She could be ascorbic, and turn the air blue if something really got her riled. “Okay, Mum. I need for us to take some precautionary measures. There’s no need to get alarmed. Thing is, we need for you to move out of the house for a few days.”
“You’re joking. Why?”
“Because a headcase might try to hurt me by hurting you.”
“If you expect me to go anywhere on the strength of that, then you’re going to be sadly disappointed. Give me the full story.”
“Have you caught any of the news on a wanted murderer called Tyler?”
“The so-called Hitman?”
“Not so-called, Mum. He’s a ruthless contract killer, who also murders anyone who he has an issue with. We’re talking about a guy who is out of his tree, and is capable of anything. I’ve just come from his mother’s house. He shot her, after first suffocating one of my officers with cling film.”
“My God, Francis. Why would he kill his own mother?”
“Because she was assisting us. When he shot some schoolgirls, she gave up on him. Saw him for the raving psychopath he is and decided to cooperate with us.”
Jessica had complete faith in her son. Knew that he was not prone to overreact in any given situation. If he was concerned, then there was good reason for him to be.
“And you’ve given him cause to take umbrage?”
“Yes. He knows that I’m working the case. He calls me up to brag about his sick exploits, and I give him a hard time. I t
hink I’m off his Christmas card list.”
“Is he so clever that you can’t find him, even though you know who he is?”
“He changes his name and appearance at will. This is a highly intelligent madman, who also happens to be a computer expert. He knows how we work, and is extremely capable of avoiding detection.”
“What if you don’t find him, Francis? Do you expect me to hide for the rest of my life on the off chance that he might target me?”
“Yes. If you saw the post-mortem photographs of what he has done to some of his victims, then you’d be packing as we speak.”
Jessica felt the depth of his anxiety coming off him in waves.
“I go on my painting holiday soon. I’ll stay in some nice hotel that you can pay for until then. Okay?”
“Five star, Mum. Now let me help you pack a case.”
“You in a hurry?”
“Not really.” He was.
“Then have another cup of coffee and tell me the good news.”
“What good news?”
“You started to ask me whether I wanted the good or bad news first. I take it that we’ve just covered the bad news. If not, I’m in more trouble than I thought.”
“I might be...er, falling in love,” he said, and felt himself start to colour up.
“And who might you be falling in love with? And don’t say ‘a woman’. I want a proper answer.”
“My boss. It complicates things. She’s the new Detective Chief Inspector of the SCU.”
“And does she love you, Francis?”
He hiked his shoulders. “I reckon.”
“Does she have a name?”
“Julie Brannigan.”
“She looks nice, but very serious.”
“How would you know?”
“I saw her doing a press thing on the TV. She seemed very capable.”
“She is.”
“And she was taunting your mystery killer. Does that put her at risk as well?”
“ ‘Fraid so. It’s like a game to him. He’s the same as a dysfunctional school kid always looking to pick a fight. He has a problem with the world, and solves it with violence.”
“Then make sure that...Julie doesn’t go home. Or you. If I have to lay low, then so do you two.”
Ryan nodded. She was right. Tyler had them all running scared. He had a power over them that could only be broken by his being captured, or preferably ending up on Mack the Knife’s steel table, with a label tied to his big toe.
Chapter THIRTY-ONE
The dawn sky was pewter-grey and threatening rain by the time Vinnie Gomez arrived to tail Ryan from his mother’s house, to make sure that no one else was following them.
The Bonhomie Hotel stood in mature grounds off Prince Albert Road in St John’s Wood. As the name advertised, it was a genial establishment, committed to providing friendly, first-class service to its guests.
Ryan knew Henry Dollary, the proprietor, and was able to move his mother into a small suite that cost a fortune, even with the generous discount that Henry gave him.
“This is very nice, Francis,” Jessica said. “But don’t just dump me here and vanish into the sunset. Bring Julie round tonight. We can have a meal and get to know each other.”
“We already know each other, Mum. I don’t need for you to quiz Julie, or tell her stories of when I was a little boy and peed the bed, or cried for days when my budgie died. And it’s no big thing, yet. It probably won’t go anywhere.”
“Humour me, Francis. I’ve moved out of my home on your say so. The least you can do is bring your lady friend round for a couple of hours. Is that asking too much?”
“Okay, okay, you win! Tomorrow evening about eight, if we can get away.”
“Call me if you decide to cancel and make an old woman very unhappy.”
“You’re not an old woman, Mum. Just middle-aged and manipulative.”
Vinnie had prowled the area, certain that no one had followed them. He was being ultra-cautious. He appreciated just how ingenious and capable Tyler could be. If anything were to happen to Ryan’s mother, then he would blame himself. He parked across the street from the entrance gates of the hotel, in the only vacant space available, and was as satisfied as he could be that no one could know where Mrs. Ryan was ensconced. He had also checked that Ryan’s Vitari was not bugged before they had left the house.
David Wilde placed his hands on the littered desktop and tented his fingers. Ryan noticed that the hands were bony and heavily veined, with thin fingers that were swollen at the joints, suggesting that the doctor suffered from arthritis.
David noticed both Ryan and Julie staring at his hands. He placed them flat on the top of a blue manila document wallet. His middle finger drummed, in the way that the middle finger of almost every snooker players’ bridge hand did on the green baize. Was it a nervous contraction of muscles; a tic? Wilde did not appear to be the nervous type. But who knew what went on behind anyone’s skin-deep facade.
“He is obviously becoming less cohesive,” David said. “His personality is undergoing a radical modification. I sense his emotional reactivity has altered. Cognitively, he seems to be coming apart; or maybe he has become more focused on his obsession to kill. His actions lead me to consider that increased emotional stress has exacerbated his need to lash out at society, or at least at individuals within it who have antagonised him.”
“Whoa, Doc,” Ryan said. “I don’t have a Ph.D. Use terminology that doesn’t go over my head. Are you saying that Tyler is losing his own warped plot?”
David put a hand to his chin and stroked his beard. “Yes. That he has now murdered his mother is significant. I would hypothesise that her betrayal affected him very deeply. She had always been there, a constant in his life; the one person who he would have regarded as non threatening to him. It might have had the same effect as a prefrontal-lobe assault.”
“Brain damage?”
“Not in the pathological sense. I’m not a neuropsychologist. I’m not talking about a post concussive syndrome brought about by injury. But I see a personality shift. You have to remember that we know hardly anything about the human brain. When Andy Tyler was a little boy, at his most impressionable, he was caught up in a world of domestic violence and abuse. The effects of having to contend with constant fear, pain and misery can lead to a damaged psyche. Had he received support therapy at that time, then he may have recovered from the emotional damage.”
“How do you explain his apparent attraction to Gemma Rutledge? She found him a caring and affectionate man,” Julie said.
“He has a complex and bifurcated personality. I don’t mean that he has a split personality, because that is a highly speculative and unproven condition. He is a Jeckyll and Hyde, but is fully aware of the diversity of his nature. We all have the ability to compartmentalise. As cops, you know that. In the line of duty you might have to face danger and even on occasion be brutal in word or deed. But off duty you are able to be gentle and compassionate. We are by nature a composite animal, able to adapt and meet new challenges and overcome much adversity. It is our sense of personal identity that separates us from lesser species. We are aware of life and death, and of the unmerciful passage of time between cradle and grave. Somehow, the majority of us can assimilate and live with the knowledge that we are an impermanent feature; fragile and highly perishable.
“I was wrong in my original profile of Tyler. He has become more than a standard mix ‘n’ match of personality types and associated disorders. The man has evolved. You are dealing with a killing machine that has displayed the ability to change direction and broaden his horizons. The escalation is a concern. In layman’s terms, I think his wiring is fucked. He is going for broke, and might not even realise it. The main problem is, that he is a professional. Self-preservation has been a characteristic of his activities. Should he choose to, I have no doubt that he has the ability to drop out of sight under another assumed identity and evade your best efforts to apprehend him.�
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“You believe he might do that?” Ryan said.
David closed his eyes and lowered his head. Ryan knew that he was trying to connect; to in some unfathomable way do his Spock-style version of a Vulcan mind-link, without the laying on of hands.
After a long minute, the psychologist’s eyes snapped open and he looked up to face Ryan. He absently rubbed the gold stud in his earlobe, as if it was a worry bead.
“No,” David said after another pregnant pause. “I think that he needs to kill, and has a rapacious appetite for it. Whatever hunger drives him to do it is a fundamental trait that he is powerless to negotiate with. His only weakness is that he is not able to contemplate capture. He is consumed by arrogance, and an irrational sense of self belief. In his eyes, everyone is inferior to him.”
“Have you any thoughts on what he might do next?” Julie said.
“He will obviously establish a new identity, then pick off anyone on his ‘list’. Savino sent someone to kill him, and after the failed attempt, Tyler murdered the man’s daughter, because he could not get to Savino in prison. Now, Gorchev has also made the mistake of not getting the job done. I believe he will be next. Ruby Tyler has paid for her breach of faith. And he has intimated that you are both at risk. Take it very seriously. He does not see you as any more or less than prospective prey. That you are armed police officers will not daunt him. Your DC at his mother’s house was armed. He is probably devoid of fear.”
“Any suggestions, Doc?” Ryan said as he poured the three of them coffee.
“Yes, Ryan. One, stop calling me Doc. And secondly, stay on Gorchev night and day. Tyler will find a way to get to him, of that I’m certain.”
“Thanks, Do...David,” Ryan said. “You paint a clear if gloomy picture.”
“Good. You need to know what you’re up against. Did you ever see that Schwarzenegger movie, Predator?”
Both Ryan and Julie nodded.