Lost Souls

by Chris Merritt

  They hadn’t spoken since she’d walked out of his apartment last night. He had left her a half-dozen missed calls, but she hadn’t replied yet. She was still mad at him for hiding his habit from her. She knew they needed to talk, to see where they went from here. But she was sure that she couldn’t date a drug user – no matter what their excuses for it were – especially not after what had happened to her brother. Maybe this was the beginning of the end for her and Tim. Lexi wondered about calling him briefly before she went in to see Dan, to fix a time to talk properly, but then she remembered that Tim had said he had plans this evening. She’d call him later. Frankly, right now, she had more important stuff to do.

  It was a little after five thirty when Lexi arrived at Jubilee House. She was pretty gassed from the ride and the rapid bursts of her breaths turned to steam in the air around her. Almost as soon as she’d stopped cycling, she felt herself starting to shiver. She quickly chained her bicycle to the rack on the sidewalk outside the building. She knew that she needed to put all her personal shit to one side and get her game face on if she wanted to help the MIT, and Dan.

  She shut her eyes for a few seconds, focused her mind, and walked towards the doors of Jubilee House.

  Eighty-Three

  Most of the MIT was assembled in front of the Op Paxford whiteboards. Everyone was on their feet and it felt to Smith as though the air was charged with energy. Like they were right on this bastard’s heels, almost close enough to reach out and take him down.

  She took a marker pen and wrote the title and initial on the central board: ‘Mr M’. Then she drew a line from the cryptic name to the low-quality image of a man in a large jacket, flat cap and face mask, recorded two weeks ago by CCTV at the restaurant in Putney.

  ‘We’re confident that mystery flat-cap man is Mr M,’ she explained. ‘Charley Mullins’s phone has a calendar entry for ‘Mr M’ at 7.30 p.m. on Thursday, the seventh of January. When she enters Pete’s restaurant at 7.36 p.m. that same night, she makes a call lasting four seconds to an unregistered pay-as-you-go phone. That number is listed in her mobile contacts as Mr M. And we know from staff at Pete’s that Charley had dinner with an older man in a flat cap. With me so far?’

  ‘Sounds good,’ said Lockhart. The others nodded their agreement.

  ‘Charley is seen here for the last time the following night,’ continued Smith, pointing to a spot on the map where she’d marked The Beacon. ‘She tells her mate Becky she’s meeting her new man-friend. Then her phone travels quickly in this direction, towards Barnes railway station, until it’s most likely thrown out of a vehicle into the undergrowth at the roadside.’

  ‘Where you found it.’ Lockhart folded his arms. ‘It’s bloody good work, Max. OK, we reckon that Mr M picks Charley up in a vehicle, maybe a van, drives her out through Barnes, and kills her that night. He then prepares her body over the weekend – cleaning her and dressing her in new clothes, maybe even inside the van – before transporting her to the church on Sunday night and posing her at the altar.’

  ‘That’s about right, guv.’ Smith fought back a new wave of hatred towards the killer; it wasn’t useful at this moment.

  He picked up a pen and took the cap off it. ‘So, the next question is, who’s this Mr M?’

  ‘It’s gotta be Meade, right, boss?’ Khan’s jaws were working hard at a piece of gum.

  ‘Makes sense,’ added Parsons. ‘He worked with Charley and Donovan at the charity, and he’d created their records at Richmond Social Services, as well as Jordan’s.’

  A few others concurred. Lockhart drew a dotted line from the words Mr M to the photograph of Kieran Meade, in the centre of their board. Then the guvnor’s mobile buzzed and he took it out, tapped and checked a message.

  ‘Dr Green’s here. Mo, can you head down to reception and bring her up?’

  ‘Sure thing.’ Khan set off towards the doors.

  ‘You’ve only drawn a dotted line, Dan.’ Berry gestured to the whiteboard. ‘You’re not convinced it’s him?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Lockhart chewed his lip briefly, staring at the images and connections. ‘It’s just the way she’s written it. Mr M. Like it’s more formal or something.’

  Guptill’s phone rang. She glanced at the screen then said, ‘Sorry, I need to take this.’ She moved away from the group and answered the call, keeping her voice low. ‘Hello… yes, this is DC Guptill…’

  Smith returned her attention to the board. ‘More formal, guv?’

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Lockhart. ‘Like you’d call a teacher, maybe.’ He drew a dotted line from Mr M to the portrait of Dr Lexi Green’s boyfriend, Tim McKay.

  ‘Or perhaps an older man in a position of authority.’ Smith added a third tentative line from Mr M to the man who’d set her copper’s nose twitching the moment she’d laid eyes on him. ‘Neil Morgan.’

  ‘Morgan?’ Lockhart inclined his head.

  ‘Both Charley and Jordan were under his care at The Beacon,’ she pointed out. ‘And all of his referrals came from Social Services. He would’ve had plenty of information to target vulnerable children.’

  Lockhart pointed his pen at the small image of the children’s home director. ‘Morgan’s wife alibi’d him for the nights in question.’

  ‘Come on, guv,’ said Smith. ‘You’ve seen them together. It’s like she barely even speaks without his say-so. He could’ve just told her to say that.’

  ‘Hm. Maybe.’ Lockhart was staring at Morgan’s photo now, rubbing his chin, following the links. ‘You think we need to bring him in?’

  Before Smith could reply, Guptill rushed back over. She was still clutching her phone.

  ‘That was Katie Watkins,’ she said. ‘She’s the teacher at Richmond Park Academy who worked with all three victims.’

  ‘OK.’ Lockhart turned away from the boards to face her.

  ‘Well, she says it’s probably nothing, but she wanted to let us know, after everything that’s happened.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A girl from the school has gone missing.’

  Eighty-Four

  As Lexi walked into the office ahead of Mo, she could see a large group of the MIT gathered around Dan at a set of whiteboards. A young detective whom Lexi recognised but didn’t know by name was standing beside them, clutching a cellphone. She was talking to Dan. Lexi couldn’t make out what she’d said but, as she and Mo crossed the room, she caught part of the conversation.

  Dan had his back to Lexi. She heard him say, ‘Missing? When?’

  ‘Literally just now,’ replied the young detective. ‘She’s called Paige Bradley. Eleven years old, in year seven. Watkins says she was meant to be at hockey from three fifteen to four fifteen, but when she hadn’t come home an hour later, her mum called the school. And they said she hadn’t been at hockey.’

  ‘Shit.’ He ran a hand over his head. ‘Is she vulnerable?’

  ‘Watkins wasn’t sure.’

  Dan asked Lucy Berry to check Social Services records on the girl. She hurried over to her computer. Lexi was close enough to the boards to read the writing on them, but no one seemed to have noticed her yet.

  ‘That’s not all,’ the young detective continued. ‘There were supposed to be two teachers coaching the hockey session. But one of them didn’t turn up.’ She pointed to the board. ‘Tim McKay.’

  Lexi’s adrenalin spiked at the mention of Tim’s name. Was he still a part of their investigation?

  ‘McKay,’ repeated Dan. He wrote the name Paige Bradley on their board and the word missing? below it. Lexi watched as he drew a line from the girl’s name to a photograph of Tim. Dan circled his name and photograph with the marker pen.

  ‘What’s going on, Dan?’

  Everyone turned to face her. As the group opened up, Lexi could see more of the board. Her eyes flicked between Dan and the picture of her boyfriend that he’d just highlighted with a link to a missing girl.

  ‘Lexi…’ he began.

  ‘You told me Tim was
n’t a suspect,’ she stated. Her heart was thumping in her chest.

  ‘I… we’ve just had some new information.’

  ‘What new information?’ she demanded.

  Before Dan could reply, Lucy called out from her desk. ‘She’s on Social Services’ list.’

  ‘Then she could be at risk,’ Dan said. ‘We need to find her. And we need to find McKay.’

  ‘What the hell is happening?’ cried Lexi. She lurched towards the board, desperate to know more. Her gaze darted between the suspects and persons of interest, but there were too many details to take everything in at once.

  ‘Sorry, Lexi.’ He stepped between her and the board, held out his arms, and tried to usher her backwards. But she wasn’t backing down.

  ‘You lied to me, Dan!’ She pushed forward and craned her neck to see around him.

  ‘Listen to me, Lexi.’ He spoke calmly but firmly.

  ‘I wanna know what he’s done, goddammit.’ Lexi sidestepped to see more, and Dan moved with her.

  ‘This is my fault,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have invited you in while there was still a chance that…’

  ‘Wait a second!’

  ‘What?’

  Lexi brushed away his raised arms and pointed to the boards. But this time, she wasn’t looking at Tim.

  ‘I know that guy,’ she said.

  ‘Which guy?’

  ‘Him.’ She moved quickly to one of the two smaller boards. ‘And that’s not his name. Or, at least, it’s not the name I know him by.’

  ‘What? How do you know him?’ asked Dan.

  Lexi took a final look, just to be sure, before she turned to Dan. ‘Because he’s my patient.’

  Eighty-Five

  ‘His name’s Gabriel Sweeney,’ said Lockhart. ‘But he also uses the name Ben Morris.’

  Behind her large desk, DSI Burrows sat impassively, her fingers steepled and resting on her chin. She closed her eyes and gave a long breath out through her nose. Lockhart didn’t have time for this deliberation. In his mind, the course of action was obvious, the urgency clear.

  ‘Take me through it again,’ she said. ‘What leads you to think this Sweeney, or Morris character is your suspect? Until ten minutes ago, he’d hardly registered in your operation.’

  Lockhart flexed his hands. ‘Respectfully, ma’am, we need to get out there and start looking for Paige Bradley. We can’t wait for—’

  ‘I will not authorise anything I’m not convinced by,’ replied Burrows slowly. ‘And I certainly won’t be pressured into a decision by a colleague under my command.’ She stared at Lockhart for a few seconds. ‘So, explain to me, again, the case against Sweeney, Morris, whoever he is.’

  Lockhart sighed. He had to do it this way, for now. ‘Shortly after Donovan Blair was murdered,’ he began, ‘we spoke to an individual who we believed to be called Ben Morris. He taught an after-school sports club in Wandsworth which Donovan attended. But he also told me he worked as a supply teacher at Donovan’s school, Richmond Park Academy. We—’ he paused to correct himself, ‘I didn’t pay attention to that detail at the time because I didn’t realise that the school would be significant.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘So, by the time we’d linked the victims via the school, we were focused on a full-time teacher there, Tim McKay, as well as Eric Cooper, before Kieran Meade took over as our key suspect. Morris stayed off the radar. Even when I found him training at the same boxing gym which Jordan Hennessey attended and I had a second chance to link him to Paxford. It was my error. Maybe his military past stopped me seeing… something, digging deeper, I don’t know.’

  Burrows nodded. ‘We can examine that particular failure in slower time,’ she said sternly. ‘So, what changed?’

  ‘Dr Green,’ he replied. ‘She visited the office for a briefing, in her capacity as a clinical psychologist consulting on—’

  ‘I know what she does, Dan,’ interjected Burrows. ‘My question is, why did you bring her into the team base and let her see an operations board with her partner on it?’

  ‘I made the call to—’

  Burrows held up a palm to indicate she hadn’t finished. ‘Especially when I made it very clear to you that no further operational detail was to be shared with her, once we discovered her connection to Mr McKay.’

  Lockhart shifted his weight from one foot to the other. ‘At the time I invited her, Mr McKay wasn’t a person of interest.’

  ‘But he was still on the board. And you disobeyed my instructions.’ She slapped her hand on the desk. ‘It’s not good enough, Dan.’

  Lockhart knew he couldn’t argue against that simple fact. ‘I made a mistake there, ma’am. And I apologise for that. But it was her sight of the board that identified Ben Morris.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She’s been treating him as a patient at her trauma clinic for the past few months. He’s been using his previous name with her – Gabriel Sweeney. His history of trauma, abuse in care, life on the streets, drug use and exposure to violence all fit her offender profile.’

  ‘Is that all you have on him?’

  ‘No, ma’am. As Ben Morris, working at Richmond Park Academy, he would have access to the personal details of all of our victims, and could’ve seen their records of contact with services and protected details on their personal issues. But he didn’t come up in the school’s own checks because he’s a supply teacher, not a permanent member of staff.’

  Burrows pursed her lips. She was obviously fuming at his disregard for procedure, but she couldn’t ignore the facts.

  ‘And he would be known to Charley Mullins as Mr Morris,’ Lockhart continued, ‘or “Mr M”, the entry in her phone that corresponds to the man we believe abducted her, or lured her away, the day after they met.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘We’ve just done a PNC check. Sweeney is the registered owner of a dark grey Peugeot Boxer van, which is the type of vehicle seen by the eyewitness in Mortlake when we believe Donovan’s body was placed in the church. We’re running ANPR checks on it now.’

  ‘Right.’ The DSI exhaled sharply and nodded. ‘See what you find on Sweeney, Morris. An arrest warrant sounds sensible, considering the evidence.’

  Lockhart wasn’t finished. ‘Ma’am, I believe another child could be in danger. A girl called Paige Bradley hasn’t returned home from Richmond Park school today.’

  ‘In danger? How long’s she been missing?’

  ‘An hour or two.’

  ‘That’s quite a jump.’ Burrows raised her eyebrows. ‘From being late home to being abducted by a serial murderer.’ She picked up a pen and tapped it on her desk. ‘How do we know she isn’t walking back as we speak?’

  Lockhart’s frustration rose. ‘I don’t think we can take that chance. We’ve had three victims so far, and I believe Morris will kill again if we don’t find him. If there’s even the smallest possibility that he might’ve abducted Paige Bradley, we need every resource we can muster out there looking for her.’

  She stared at him. Took a deep breath. She looked sceptical.

  ‘I want every member of our team who’s in the office on the ground, backup from Richmond and Wandsworth patrol cars, and I think we should get The Bird up in the air, too.’

  Lockhart was referring to one of the H145 helicopters, based at Redhill in Surrey, to which The Met had access through the National Police Air Service. In Lockhart’s military days, the support of an airframe would’ve been standard for his unit’s operations if they needed it. But, in the cash-strapped police, top brass baulked at the cost: it was over a thousand pounds an hour to keep The Bird airborne. That’s why it was also known as the budget-buster.

  Burrows shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Dan. I accept your argument about Morris, and I concur with you that he should become a main suspect in Op Paxford, until he can be located and prove himself not to be connected to these deaths. You can look for him at whatever locations you can link to him. Home, work, sports cl
ub, wherever else. But you don’t need to divert local units to look for the girl, and you’re certainly not having a helicopter.’

  ‘Paige Bradley fits Dr Green’s victim profile,’ he blurted. ‘She ticks every box.’

  ‘Maybe,’ replied Burrows. ‘But I’m still not convinced there’s sufficient risk to life. Do you know how many children go missing every day in London? We can’t just send helicopters up to search for them on a whim.’

  ‘It’s not a whim,’ Lockhart growled. ‘We believe Morris takes his victims to, or through, an area of commons land near Barnes railway station. There’s a square kilometre of scrub and trees. It’s the area where Charley Mullins’s phone was found.’

  ‘I know it,’ Burrows acknowledged.

  ‘We can’t search it from the ground. It’s too dense, too dark. We need a thermal imaging camera in the sky to guide us.’

  ‘Impossible. I can’t justify the cost.’ Burrows held her palms up as if the decision was out of her hands. ‘The threat to life isn’t clear and immediate.’

  Lockhart couldn’t contain himself any longer. ‘This is bullshit. A young girl is missing, and we need aerial support to find her. Morris doesn’t hold on to his victims. He takes them away in his van to a private place, probably those woods around Barnes, and he strangles them.’

  He was breathing hard. Burrows said nothing.

  ‘And I’m going to do everything I can to make sure that doesn’t happen again tonight,’ he jabbed a finger in the air. ‘With or without support.’

  He turned to leave.

  ‘Listen to me, Dan.’ Burrows’s voice froze him in the doorway. ‘Look for Morris,’ she said. ‘But don’t do anything you’ll regret later. You’ve already made mistakes on this case that will need to be documented and thoroughly examined once this is all over. Don’t disregard my orders a second time.’

  Lockhart didn’t reply. He marched back to the office. If he had anything to do with it, this would be all over tonight.

  Whatever that took.