The Tangled Lock (The National Crime Agency Series Book 3)

by Bill Rogers

  Max turned to look at the figure lying on the ground just yards away.

  ‘He’s alive, and conscious. He has a head wound, but it looks superficial. He’s showing signs of concussion, and cold water shock, and he’s hypothermic.’

  ‘A head wound? How the hell did that happen?’

  ‘That section of the roof is unlined,’ Max told her. ‘The rocks and stones are held in a cage. In places the cage is bowed and the contents protrude. There are traces of blood on the cage above where he went in. My guess is he hit his head, lost his balance, and fell over the railings. It’s a good job you’re not four inches taller, or the same could have happened to you.’

  Jo tried to stand up. Max gently eased her back into a sitting position.

  ‘We need to get him to hospital as soon as possible,’ Jo said.

  ‘Why do you think India 99 has just landed?’

  ‘What about the Helimed air ambulance at Barton?’

  ‘Civil Aviation Authority regulations only allow it to fly in daylight. You should know that, Jo. Are you sure you’re not concussed too?’

  One of the Tactical Aid officers walked up to them. He pointed to the helicopter, standing in a pool of light, rotors gently turning.

  ‘They’re ready for them both now,’ he said.

  ‘Good. Let’s go,’ Max replied.

  ‘Both?’ said Jo.

  ‘You’re going too,’ Max said. ‘Look at you. You’re shivering like mad, your teeth are chattering, and you’ve probably swallowed a lungful of crap.’

  He bent, hooked his arms under her shoulders, and lifted her gently to her feet. Two officers were strapping Beck on to a stretcher.

  Max shifted his grip, and swept Jo off her feet. ‘Bloody hell!’ he said. ‘You’re heavier than I thought.’

  ‘Put me down then.’

  ‘No,’ he retorted. ‘Put your arms around my neck, and shut up.’

  Jo was too exhausted, cold, and weak to protest.

  ‘Go on then,’ she said. ‘But if you drop me or a video of this turns up on YouTube, you’re dead!’

  The journey to Manchester Royal took less than ten minutes. Throughout the flight Beck lay beside her, handcuffed to a steel ring. Jo couldn’t tell if he was conscious, and didn’t care. She was desperate to sleep. Every time she began to nod off, the officer accompanying them gently shook her awake.

  The speed with which she was whisked from the helicopter straight on to a hospital trolley, and the hurry to pile blankets over her, and check her pulse and blood pressure, did nothing to ease her anxiety.

  Chapter 77

  MONDAY, 22ND MAY

  ‘You look like death warmed up.’

  ‘It’s how I feel. And you can wipe that grin from your face. It doesn’t exude concern.’

  Max fell into step beside Jo.

  ‘Should I be concerned? They only kept you in overnight.’

  ‘Have you any idea what I’ve been through?’ Jo said. ‘Not just cold water shock, and hypothermia, either of which could have killed me. They insisted on stomach-pumping me. Then this deceptively angelic nurse rammed a syringe full of anti-tetanus serum in my backside, even though I told her I’d had a booster. Not satisfied with that, they’ve put me on a course of antibiotics for Weil’s disease.’

  ‘I did tell you to wait,’ said Max. ‘What difference was thirty seconds going to make?’

  ‘Hindsight is a wonderful thing,’ she said. ‘What about Beck?’

  ‘They gave him the all-clear before you. He’s already been processed.’

  ‘We should be there.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he told her. ‘Nobody is going to interview him till we’re there. Gordon says he thinks it’s only fair the two of us should have first crack. I think it should be you and him.’

  He held open a fire door for her.

  ‘What about my car?’ she said.

  He reached into his pocket, withdrew a set of keys, and handed them to her.

  ‘I had it taken back to The Quays. I wasn’t sure if you’d be fit to drive. We can go to Central Park in mine.’

  ‘Quick as you can,’ Jo said.

  ‘They should have built an alternative route to the car park,’ Jo complained. ‘This is a nightmare.’

  It looked as though all the world’s TV and radio stations were represented. She could see CNN and CBS vans alongside the usual suspects. ‘All we need now is for Fox News to appear.’

  ‘What makes you think they’re not already here?’ Max said. ‘You do realise you’ve gone global?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Female Agent Saves Serial Killer from Watery Grave!’ he announced. ‘SI Stuart Risks Life So Killer Faces Music!’

  ‘Damned right,’ she said, hunkering down in her seat.

  ‘There’s a cap in the glove box,’ Max told her.

  She reached inside and pulled out a standard-issue navy-blue baseball cap with black-and-white-chequered sides and the POLICE logo. She pulled it on, and angled the peak low over her eyes.

  He laughed. ‘There’s some sunglasses in there too. But I think our undercover days are behind us, don’t you?’

  ‘What idiot said all publicity is good publicity?’ she moaned as cameras pressed against the windows, and filled the car with blinding flashes.

  ‘Oscar Wilde.’

  ‘And look how he ended up.’

  The route from the car park to the front doors was mercifully free from reporters, if not from zoom lenses. As they entered the incident room, everyone stopped what they were doing, and applauded.

  Jo felt herself blushing. ‘It’s not a done deal,’ she muttered. ‘Not until they’ve thrown away the key.’

  ‘DCI Holmes and DS Carter are waiting for you next door,’ Ged, the office manager, informed them. ‘And I’d like to add my congratulations, SI Stuart.’

  ‘Jo,’ she replied. ‘And thanks.’

  Gordon and Nick stood up as they entered the room. And Swift was also with them.

  ‘Thank God you’re alright,’ said Gordon. ‘That was spectacularly you, Jo. You don’t do things by half, do you?’

  ‘How are you, Jo?’ said Andy.

  ‘Fine,’ she replied. ‘And if it’s alright with everyone I’d rather we skipped the post-mortem.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Gordon.

  The five of them sat down.

  ‘Where are you up to?’ she asked.

  ‘I formally arrested him on suspicion an hour ago. Reminded him that he’s under caution, and asked the police surgeon to have a look at him. He’s fit to be interviewed.’

  ‘How did he react?’ Max asked.

  ‘Like a lamb. Said it was all a mistake and he couldn’t wait to sort it out. The only hiccup was when he was searched. He refused to remove a chain around his neck holding a gold locket. “It’s my mother’s,” he said.’

  ‘Is,’ Andy pointed out. ‘Not was. This is how he keeps the memory of her alive. He is unable to let her go. That’s something you can work on when you question him. When the custody sergeant opened the locket, there was a lock of hair inside. There will be a link from this to his motivation, if only we can get him to reveal it.’

  ‘Have they searched the boat yet?’ said Jo.

  ‘Inside and out,’ Nick replied. ‘The Underwater Search and Marine Unit have been inspecting the hull.’

  ‘Don’t keep us in suspense. What have they found?’

  Nick reeled them off from his list. ‘A mountain bike. Resealable plastic bags containing samples of hair behind wooden panels cladding the cabin. Ash and charred remains in the stove on the boat.’

  ‘CSI say it looks like human hair,’ said Gordon.

  ‘A black waterproof jogging top and jogging bottoms, and pair of running shoes,’ Nick continued. ‘And best of all, a waterproof bag hanging beneath the waterline containing a false GMP police ID.’ He paused. ‘And a pair of scissors.’

  Nick looked like the cat that got the cream. Full-fat Jersey cream.


  ‘That’s brilliant,’ said Jo. ‘But it’s all circumstantial unless we can match any of it to a victim or crime scene. We know the killer is forensically aware. That clothing, for example. Beck regularly used the laundry room in the Boater’s Hut at the marina.’

  ‘Obviously,’ said Gordon. ‘But with all this evidence, something is bound to turn up. No one is that lucky. The question is, when do we start to interview him? Straight away with what we have already? Or do we wait and see what Forensics turn up?’

  ‘Why don’t we prepare an interview strategy now?’ said Jo. ‘And tweak it if something does turn up.’

  ‘When something turns up,’ said Max.

  She stared at him. ‘Since when did you become an optimist?’

  ‘When you went in that canal,’ he said. ‘Otherwise I’d have pulled you out first.’

  They both began to laugh.

  ‘Am I missing something?’ said Andy.

  ‘A sense of humour,’ Max told him.

  ‘Enough,’ said Jo. ‘Is he going to have a brief with him?’

  ‘At first he refused legal representation,’ said Gordon, ‘but when we took that locket away he changed his mind. He’s with a duty solicitor.’

  ‘That’s because he needs an audience,’ said Andy. ‘At the same time he needs to make it hard for you. To prove his superior intelligence, his cunning. You need to get under his skin. Make him angry. One of the first things you’ll want to do is ask him why he ran. My hunch is he’ll have an answer ready and waiting.’

  ‘Such as?’ said Nick.

  ‘Because he’d been stealing samples of hair from his employers, and selling it on to clients. That’s what I’d say.’

  ‘It’s a good job it’s him we’re interviewing then,’ said Gordon, ‘and not you.’

  Chapter 78

  ‘Why did you run when you saw me talking to your employer, Mr Beck?’ said Jo.

  ‘Because I assumed you found out I was keeping back some of the stuff I was collecting from the salons.’

  ‘Some of the hair?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’

  ‘To sell it. You’d be surprised how much specialist wig makers will pay. It was stupid I know. I told myself I was just doing a bit of moonlighting.’ Beck smiled as he used the word.

  Jo imagined Andy Swift congratulating himself on his prediction.

  ‘So, who did you sell it to?’ Gordon asked.

  Beck shrugged.

  ‘I chickened out. I disposed of it.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I burned it.’

  He smiled again, and stared at Jo. ‘You have lovely hair, SI Stuart,’ he said. ‘It was the first thing I noticed about you. The shape, the texture, the colour of your hair. Like silk-smooth caramel. Have you ever smelled burnt hair? Of course you have. When you use your straighteners.’ He leaned forward. ‘You do use straighteners, don’t you?’ He leaned back again, and sniffed the air like a wolf. ‘That smell. Sulphur. It’s how Pompeii must have smelled when all that ash rained down. Burning flesh and burning hair. Charcoal and sulphur. Did you know that because the shells of tortoises contain keratin they smell like scorched hair when you burn them?’

  ‘Burned a lot of tortoises have you?’ said Gordon.

  ‘He’s playing games with you,’ Andy counselled. ‘Don’t give him the satisfaction of joining in.’

  ‘You’re clearly well read,’ said Jo. ‘And intelligent. Something you share with the man that we are seeking.’

  ‘Is that a question?’ asked Beck’s solicitor.

  ‘No, it’s an observation. I wondered if your client would agree, purely on the basis of what he’s read about these murders.’

  ‘You do not have to answer that,’ said his solicitor.

  Beck regarded Jo with what appeared to be a mixture of amusement and curiosity. ‘Based on what I’ve read,’ he replied, ‘I would say we have much in common.’

  The solicitor placed his hand on Beck’s arm. Beck pulled it free, and continued. ‘The killer appears to be a man of great ingenuity. Resourceful, adaptable, a master of both strategy and tactics.’

  ‘Is that how you see yourself, Bryan?’ Jo asked.

  Beck raised his eyebrows. ‘Bryan. Do you know that’s the first time you’ve called me Bryan? May I call you Joanne?’

  ‘No you may not!’ Gordon barked. ‘You’ll address her as SI Stuart or not at all.’

  Beck’s eyes slid lizard-like in Gordon’s direction and then back to Jo.

  ‘SI Stuart it is then,’ he said. ‘Gordon.’

  ‘I’m glad you agree about the killer,’ said Jo. ‘Which is why it is so hard to believe he could have been that careless.’

  Beck’s eyes narrowed. ‘Careless?’

  ‘Have you ever availed yourself of the services of a sex worker, Bryan?’ Jo asked.

  For the first time he looked confused, and uncertain. Then affronted by the question. ‘Certainly not. Have you, SI Stuart?’

  She didn’t need Andy to tell her to ignore the jibe.

  ‘Why so surprised?’ she said. ‘Eleven per cent of males in Britain have made use of these services. Why not you?’

  ‘Because I don’t need to.’

  Jo smiled. ‘You have a girlfriend then?’

  Beck looked distinctly uncomfortable. ‘No.’

  ‘In between girlfriends then?’

  ‘I don’t see—’ his solicitor began.

  ‘You will,’ Jo replied, cutting him off. ‘Bear with me.’

  ‘I’d prefer you to address me by my surname,’ Beck said.

  Jo smiled again. ‘Do you have an aversion to sex workers, Mr Beck?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So you wouldn’t have a problem speaking to a sex worker, for example.’

  She saw Beck’s solicitor about to make another objection, and stayed him with a raised hand.

  ‘No,’ Beck replied.

  ‘Have you ever approached sex workers, Bryan?’ she said. ‘On the street, for example.’

  His discomfort grew. He attempted to hide it by cradling his arms beneath his armpits.

  ‘I may have.’

  ‘That’s a yes then,’ said Gordon.

  Beck shrugged.

  ‘He knows you’ll have found his false ID by now,’ said Max’s voice in her ear.

  Jo nodded to Gordon. He opened a box file that lay on the table between them, selected two transparent evidence bags, and slid the first across the table.

  ‘What is this?’ demanded the solicitor. ‘These were not part of the pre-interview disclosure.’

  ‘We are disclosing them now,’ said Gordon.

  ‘For the record,’ said Jo, ‘DCI Holmes is showing Mr Beck Item of Evidence FT719/3. Namely a false Greater Manchester Police identification card in the name of Brendan Barnes, featuring a photograph which we believe to be of Mr Beck. And Item of Evidence FT719/4, a pair of scissors.’

  Gordon pushed the second bag across the table, but not far enough for Beck to reach it.

  ‘These items of evidence,’ Jo continued, ‘were discovered in a waterproof bag suspended beneath the hull of the boat on which Mr Beck was living at the time of his arrest.’

  ‘Do you agree they both belong to you?’ said Gordon. ‘And before you accuse us of having planted them too, you should know that the Forensics Branch retrieved from the surfaces of both items thumb and forefinger prints matching yours.’

  He shrugged. ‘Yes, they’re mine.’

  ‘And what are the scissors for exactly?’

  He held up his hands. ‘My fingernails. I’m very particular about my manicure.’

  ‘So why hide them?’

  ‘Because they’re precious to me, and there are a lot of bad people breaking into boats on the canal. You really should do something about that, Detective Inspector.’

  ‘And why would you need a false police ID?’ said Gordon.

  Beck yawned. Jo couldn’t decide if it was nervousness or feigned ind
ifference. ‘I’ve never used it for anything illegal,’ he said.

  ‘You used it to get close to street sex workers in Manchester,’ said Jo. ‘We have at least one witness that has positively identified you as having passed yourself off as a police officer using an ID identical to this.’

  ‘That’s a criminal offence in itself,’ added Gordon.

  Beck unfolded his arms, and leaned forward. He appeared to have regained his composure.

  ‘But I only used it with the best of intentions.’

  ‘To hand out cards warning them of the dangers of staying out on the streets with a serial killer at large?’ said Jo.

  He smiled, nodded, and sat back. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Or to gain their confidence so that when they next saw you they would allow you to come close enough to surprise, overpower, and kill them?’

  ‘That is pure conjecture!’ said his solicitor. ‘And wholly circumstantial. None of it places my client at any crime scenes.’

  Beck smiled serenely.

  ‘That is true,’ said Jo. ‘But taken together they do amount to an overwhelming weight of circumstantial evidence that in our opinion would only require some form of evidence that did place your client at the scene of one of the crimes to convince a jury of his guilt.’

  ‘Have you approached any of these sex workers recently?’ said Gordon.

  Beck shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘How about the evening of Sunday the 21st of May? Did you approach any women between 11pm and 1am on the night before last?’

  Beck didn’t need to think about it. ‘No.’

  ‘You’re certain of that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you know anyone by the name of Allochka Burgos?’ Jo asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where were you between 11pm and 1pm on Sunday last, Bryan?’

  ‘On my boat.’

  ‘Did you go out at all? For a run perhaps?’

  She could see him trying to gauge how much they knew. Had he been seen leaving the boat or returning to it? She decided to push him.

  ‘It’s a perfectly simple question. Did you or did you not leave the boat?’

  He folded his arms.

  ‘No.’

  Jo smiled. ‘Interesting,’ she said.

  Gordon retrieved the two evidence bags, and replaced them with two more from the box file.