The Falcon Tattoo (The National Crime Agency Series Book 2)

by Bill Rogers

  Before she could ask Max what he meant, Hill pushed back his chair and stood up. He turned towards them, clutching several sheets torn from the pad. He saw them holding the books and smiled smugly.

  ‘Who’d have thought you guys had a literary bent?’

  He handed Jo the sheets. ‘Here you go. I can’t account for two of those time slots because I was, as predicted, tucked up in bed. But I’m in the clear for the other three.’

  He stood there, leaning against one of the bookcases while Jo read his notes and then handed them to Max.

  ‘As you can see,’ Hill said, ‘on the second of those dates I was at the Cheltenham Literature Festival. I was carousing until the early hours in the bar of the Cheltenham Regency Hotel. I can recommend it,’ he smiled knowingly. ‘You two would love it.’

  He pointed to his notes.

  ‘You’ve got the contact details of two of the guys with whom I chewed the cud that night. Same for the other two in Lancaster, and right here in good old Manchester. Folks will be only too happy to swear that we went from the restaurant to a pub, and then back to my hotel for a nightcap and a very long comparative critique of modern English and American literature, culture and morals.’

  Max handed the notes back to Jo. Their eyes met. His nod was barely perceptible.

  ‘So that’s it then?’ said Hill, looking from one to the other, trying in vain to interpret their expressions. ‘You check ’em out, I’m in the clear?’

  ‘Do you drive a vehicle here in England?’ Jo asked.

  He looked confused.

  ‘A car,’ she said. ‘Do you drive a car in the UK, Mr Hill?’

  ‘Oh, right,’ he said. ‘A car. Actually, no, I don’t. I use a pushbike to get around campus. I use public transport if I’m going any distance. And I bum lifts from my colleagues where possible.’

  The two investigators looked at each other and then back at him.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked. ‘Something I said?’

  ‘One of those allegations of which you have only recently been apprised by the university,’ Jo said, ‘includes a statement that you offered a student a lift in a car. A car that you were driving?’

  For the first time, he looked visibly shaken.

  ‘Oh, right – that car, Arthur’s car.’ He sounded flustered.

  ‘Arthur?’ said Max.

  Hill pushed himself away from the bookcase, thrust his hands in the pockets of his chinos and attempted to appear relaxed.

  ‘Arthur Bartholomew, also from the States. He teaches at the Centre for New Writing right here in Manchester. We know each other from way back. He lets me drive his car from time to time.’

  ‘You’ve just stated that you don’t drive a car in the UK.’

  ‘Jeez, I thought you meant my own car, you know, or a hire car. This thing with Arthur, it’s random, occasional, not a regular arrangement. Nothing like that.’

  Jo pointed to the pad on his desk.

  ‘We’ll need the licence number of Mr Bartholomew’s car, Mr Hill. And his telephone number and email address.’

  He looked as though he was going to object, thought better of it, scribbled a note, and handed it to Jo.

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘For the time being,’ she told him, ‘at least as far as our investigation is concerned. However, you should expect a visit from Greater Manchester Police officers with regard to those allegations.’ She smiled thinly. ‘Don’t leave town.’

  She turned to go.

  ‘I have no reason to, Detective,’ he said, ‘since my conscience is clear.’

  Max pointed to the coffee table.

  ‘What did happen to Fenella Goodyear? Nothing bad, I hope?’

  Hill studied his face for a moment expecting irony, and found only the inscrutable countenance of a seasoned investigator. He picked the book up and handed it to Max.

  ‘You’ll have to read it to find out. Let me know what you think.’

  Max accepted the book. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I may just do that.’

  Hill opened the door for them. Max paused in the doorway. ‘Incidentally,’ he said, ‘would it surprise you to learn, Professor, that we also engage in deconstruction?’

  Hill raised his eyebrows. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. To the extent that meaning includes not only the content of a discourse, but what is left out, ignored or suppressed by it.’

  Before the stunned academic had a chance to reply, Max turned and followed his colleague out into the corridor, and through the fire doors towards the stairwell.

  ‘I didn’t know you’d studied literary deconstruction, Max,’ Jo said as they exited the building.

  He grinned.

  ‘I didn’t. It’s something one of the trainers chucked in on a Met advanced investigative interviewing course.’

  Jo smiled. Max actually had a sense of humour.

  ‘Well, you certainly shut him up,’ she said.

  Chapter 25

  ‘So that was Harrison Hill,’ said Jo.

  The team were assembled in the incident room. They’d all come in, even though it was Saturday, including Dorsey Zephaniah. Jo and Max had finished reporting back on their visit to the university.

  ‘Where does that leave him?’ asked Andy.

  ‘A less likely suspect for Operation Juniper,’ said Max. ‘But right up there as far as the other allegations are concerned.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Jo. ‘Three separate allegations, together with him lying about having access to a car. Operation Talon are going to have a field day when they go calling.’

  ‘Plus he came across as exactly the kind of sleazeball you’d expect,’ said Max. ‘Look at the way he stroked you with his thumb when you shook hands, Jo. And you must have noticed how he kept looking at you?’

  She nodded. ‘Until I put him under pressure, and he had something other than lechery to worry about. I’m going to have those alibis checked out, and an ANPR data mine on the licence number he gave us for the relevant dates and times. But I doubt that he’s our unsub.’

  ‘Assuming the other allegations are sustained, what do you think will happen to him?’

  ‘My understanding is that none of them went beyond inappropriate propositioning,’ she said. ‘Not that I’m minimising the impact of that. He’ll probably receive a warning and an injunction to stay away from them. I can’t speak for the universities, but my guess is that he won’t see out his sabbatical year as a Visiting Fellow. What do you think, Max?’

  ‘The same as you. In my view he’ll be getting off lightly, especially if it’s true he was dangling better grades in exchange for sex. Were he a permanent employee of one of our universities, they’d have him for gross misconduct, and terminate his contract.’

  Max scratched his cheek. ‘If it was my daughter, I’d be happy to terminate him.’ It didn’t sound as though he was joking.

  ‘Moving on,’ Jo said hurriedly, ‘Ram, where are you up to on that background check you were running on Sam Malacott?’

  Ram handed round a two-page report. ‘I started with the Police National Computer, the Disclosure and Barring Service, and HOLMES2,’ he said. ‘I know that’s overkill, but in my experience it pays to cross-check. He came back clean. Then I checked his education, training and employment records. They’re exactly as described in his various autobiographical accounts. Importantly, there were no unexplained gaps. HMRC confirmed that he pays his taxes. No nasty little tax avoidance or tax evasion schemes associated with his company.’

  He paused and looked up.

  ‘Although that’s so rare that I’d have thought it was suspicious in its own right.’

  They laughed on cue.

  ‘Then I double-checked his birth certificate, NHS number and passport details. He is who he says he is. But I’ll tell you one thing that is rare for a man approaching forty: he’s never been married and describes himself as single.’

  ‘I agree that’s unusual,’ said Andy, ‘though not suspicious i
n its own right.’

  ‘What about Malacott’s concern for the sexual victimisation of women,’ Jo asked, ‘and his work as a Say No And Stay Safe trainer? Did you get any sense of where that came from?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Ram, his eyes lighting up. ‘Now that is interesting. As far as I can make out, this obsession with serious sexual assaults on females is the result of a family member having been a victim of rape.’

  ‘How did you find that out?’ Andy asked.

  ‘He mentioned it in response to a question in an interview with a women’s magazine, Millennium Woman.’

  ‘What’s a Millennium woman?’ Jo wondered.

  Ram consulted his notes. ‘Women who are concerned with values rather than materialism, and esteem ability and authenticity over celebrity and artifice. They’re powerful, confident, sexy and self-reliant.’

  ‘Post-post-modern then,’ said Andy.

  ‘Sounds like pretentious claptrap to me,’ said Max.

  Jo was sorry she’d set this particular hare running.

  ‘Did it say which member of his family?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t think so, or I’d have written it down. I’ll see if they’ll send me a copy of the interview if you like?’

  ‘Do that,’ she said.

  ‘What if they ask why we want it?’

  ‘Don’t tell them. In fact, there’s no need for you to mention the NCA at all. The article has already been in the public domain so it’s hardly a secret.’

  ‘What if they insist on knowing why I want it?’

  ‘Then you’d better come clean. Say it’s in relation to an investigation that does not involve Millennium Woman. Just background context. And warn them not to let Malacott know we’ve asked for it.’

  ‘Human nature being what it is, the more secretive you make it sound, the more chance someone will tell him,’ Andy cautioned.

  Jo thought about it. He was right. And even if they did alert Malacott, she was hardly going to charge the magazine editor with obstructing the police. A hollow threat was no threat at all.

  ‘I take your point,’ she said. ‘Forget about warning them, Ram. Just make sure we get the article. While you’re at it, get on to the National Archives. Give them Malacott’s details and get them to provide you with details of his immediate female relatives. Then you can use that to see if any of them actually reported a rape.’

  ‘Where are you going with this, Jo?’ asked Max.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she admitted. ‘Just flying a kite, I guess. Malacott is almost certainly the upstanding altruistic person he appears to be. I just don’t like loose ends. He was on our list for a reason. The sooner Ram can eliminate him from our enquiries the better.’

  She noticed that Ram seemed preoccupied. He was slumped in his chair, staring at his hands. She wondered if he’d heard a word she’d said.

  ‘Is that okay with you, Ram?’ she asked.

  It made him start, and sit up.

  ‘Ah . . . yes, Boss.’

  ‘Yes what, Ram?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll get that article. In the meantime I’ll get the sister’s details, and then find out if she ever reported having been raped.’

  ‘Good.’

  Jo checked her action list.

  ‘DI Sarsfield has logged a dozen stops by the ANPR cars in and around the university towns and cities we’re targeting. None of them have raised red flags, but they’re all being followed up. I suggest that Max and I have a look at the rest of that list of persons regularly moving between those universities, and decide if any of them are worth interviewing. Unless, that is, any of you can suggest more urgent priorities?’

  The three of them looked at each other, and shook their heads. She could tell that they were as disappointed as her that there had still not been a major development in the investigation.

  ‘Let’s stay positive,’ she told them. ‘Sometimes we simply have to grind it out, you know that. A breakthrough will come when we least expect it.’

  Max and Andy muttered their agreement. Ram was busy collecting his papers together.

  ‘Are you okay, Ram?’ Jo asked. ‘Only you seem distracted.’

  ‘Not your usual bubbly self,’ added Max.

  Ram smiled thinly and shrugged. ‘Sorry guys, you got me. It’s my maataaji. She’s been visiting family in Mauritius. She’s flying back for Christmas. Coming straight up here to see me.’

  ‘Your mother?’ said Jo. ‘I’d have thought you’d be glad to see her?’

  He shook his head. It was the first time that Jo had seen him look and sound so miserable.

  ‘She’s on a mission. Been on it for the past five years. Only now she’s ramped up the pressure. Wants me to get married.’

  ‘Don’t all mothers?’ said Max. ‘And in your case I’d have thought it was about time?’ He grimaced. ‘Not that I’d wish marriage on anyone.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ said Ram. ‘I’m not against marriage, eventually. But my mother’s a traditionalist. She’s pushing for an arranged marriage. To a woman I’ve never even met.’

  ‘What does your father say?’ said Jo.

  Ram smiled wryly.

  ‘I get the impression he’s on my side, but he’s never going to tell my mother that.’

  ‘You could do worse than an arranged marriage,’ said Max. ‘It’s a lottery whatever way you do it. I thought arranged marriages were supposed to shorten the odds?’

  ‘Don’t listen to him, Ram,’ said Andy. ‘Marriage is like any relationship. In my experience, you get out what you put in. Love grows if you cultivate it. If you don’t, it withers and dies.’

  Ram shook his head.

  ‘I don’t disagree. But I’m a modern Asian man. I value freedom, independence and choice over tradition.’

  ‘I think you’ll find that’s post-modern,’ said Andy.

  ‘I doubt your mother will care,’ Max told him. ‘You’ll have to come up with something better than that.’

  Jo picked up her tablet and slipped out of the room. She regretted having pressed Ram to reveal the reason for his unhappiness. The team’s exchanges had left her with uncomfortable questions. Did I neglect my relationship with Abbie? she wondered. Did I let it wither? More importantly, am I prepared to let it die?

  Chapter 26

  Jo found nothing in the list of names to excite her interest sufficiently to pursue them personally. She made the decision to leave it to DI Sarsfield’s foot soldiers. She was about to check how Max was getting on when Dorsey Zephaniah stood up, and waved, pointing at the phone pressed against her ear. Jo told her to put it through. It was DI Sarsfield.

  ‘Gerry,’ she said, ‘I was just about to call you.’

  ‘There’s been a development,’ he said. ‘Another rape.’

  ‘Is it him? Our unsub?’ Her pulse began to race as anger and excitement competed for attention.

  ‘We don’t know yet. I’ve just been told that she’s at St Mary’s. Been there for a couple of hours. Walked in off the street apparently.’

  ‘The Hospital or the Sexual Assault Referral Centre?’

  ‘The latter.’

  ‘She’s a student?’

  ‘Living in a rented house off Platt Lane.’

  ‘Was she abducted?’

  ‘No, but she’s blonde and there’s a tattoo. Of a bird of prey.’

  ‘When does she say she was assaulted?’

  ‘Last night, I think, early hours of this morning.’

  ‘Why has she only just reported it?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, Jo. She hasn’t been interviewed yet. They’ve only just finished the medical tests.’

  ‘Who’s dealing from your end?’

  ‘DS Watts, one of the Talon team trained officers. I’ve told her to hold off until you get there.’

  ‘Tell her to expect me, Gerry,’ she said. ‘And thanks.’

  It took twenty minutes for Jo to reach St Mary’s. She’d had plenty of occasion to visit the facility before. It was the first e
ver such medical centre in the UK, before the Serious Sexual Offences Unit took over all of the rape cases, including Operation Talon.

  By the time she got there, some nagging doubts had started to form. There was the fact that she had not been abducted. That was completely out of character. On the other hand, there was her hair colour and the tattoo. Of course some serial predators were known to vary their modus operandi. Refining their methods as they went along, or simply adapting to circumstances.

  A detective was waiting for her in one of the medical offices. She stood as Jo entered the room.

  ‘Ma’am,’ she said, ‘I’m DS Watts. This is Dr Hollis. She examined the victim.’

  They shook hands.

  ‘Please, it’s Jo,’ she told them. ‘I’m not officially part of GMP and I’m not really comfortable with Investigator. Maybe it’ll grow on me.’

  ‘I’m Millie,’ said DS Watts.

  ‘And I’m Carol,’ said the medic, ‘although Doc, or Doctor, will do fine.’

  ‘I don’t think our paths have ever crossed, Jo,’ said DS Watts, ‘but your reputation goes before you.’

  ‘Shame we had to meet like this,’ said Jo.

  ‘I’ve only just started explaining where we’re up to,’ said Dr Hollis. ‘Is that okay?’

  ‘That would be really helpful,’ said Jo.

  The doctor picked up an envelope from her desk. ‘This is the standard package: a brief account of what I was told by the patient about the circumstances of the assault, a summary of my findings, and an outline body diagram.’

  Unsure which of them to hand it to, she held it out between them.

  Jo nodded to DS Watts. The Talon officer accepted the envelope.

  ‘If you could spare us a few minutes, Dr Hollis,’ said Jo, ‘I’d really appreciate it if you could take us through your notes? You see, this may be part of a much larger investigation involving a number of young women. The smallest detail could prove crucial.’

  The doctor frowned. ‘This is most irregular.’

  ‘I realise that,’ said Jo.

  She decided not to push it. That would be unfair, and Dr Hollis was right. She was under no obligation to cooperate further, and Jo did not want to compromise her in any way. The silence stretched out. Finally, the doctor relented.