Jack nodded, appreciative of the man’s commitment, and moved quickly to his office. ‘Kate?’
‘Sir?’ she said, strained.
‘Listen in.’
Surprised, she nodded.
Jack picked up his phone and pressed line two. ‘This is DCI Hawksworth, Mr Bowles. Thank you for calling back and for your patience.’
A nervous voice responded. ‘Are you the person in charge of the serial killings?’
‘I’m in charge of the murder investigation of the similar recent deaths in Lincoln and London. Are those the killings you refer to, Mr Bowles?’
‘I . . . I think so. Mikey and Clive, right?’
Jack felt his pulse surge. ‘Michael Sheriff and Clive Farrow were the victims, yes. Do you have some information that can help us?’
Bowles’s voice turned panicky. ‘You’ve got to give me some protection. I know I’m next.’
‘Next?’
‘Two of us are already dead.’
‘Us? Mr Bowles . . . may I call you Phil?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who are “us”?’ Jack heard a long sigh and a silence followed. He waited through it until he realised nothing was forthcoming. ‘I want to help you, Phil, but I need to know more. As you can imagine, we get a lot of —’
‘He called us the Jesters Club,’ Bowles blurted.
Jack held his breath and glanced over at Kate. He saw Brodie was still there. The detective turned a finger in the air to signal they were recording the conversation.
‘The Jesters Club?’ Jack repeated carefully.
‘You know, like clowns.’
Jack felt his heart leap, and knew Kate and Brodie would be feeling the same. ‘Why were you called that?’ he said.
‘He made us wear masks, probably because he did. It was pointless. I mean, she knew who we were. It was only his face that could be kept secret.’
Jack closed his eyes, felt the tingle of relief move through him. Kate’s hunch had been on the mark, and his determination to follow it through looked like it was about to be justified.
‘Phil, may I ask where you’re calling from?’
‘My home in Hove.’
‘Alright, Phil, I’m going to organise for Sussex Police to come to your home. I can be in Hove myself in about ninety minutes. Is that okay?’
‘Hurry, please.’
‘Let me take your address.’ He looked up and nodded for Kate to write it down. After Phil had stammered out his street address, Jack silently signalled to Brodie to get the Sussex squad car moving immediately. ‘Okay, Phil, it’s all in motion and I think it’s best if we save the rest of this conversation for when I can see you face to face. Have you any family considerations?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Wife or children that we need to help take care of?’
‘Er, no. Just me. So you want me to wait here, right?’
‘Right. Don’t move. I’m on my way. A squad car will be parked right outside your door very shortly.’
‘Thank you.’
‘That’s alright. Now let me give you my mobile number. You can call it any time between now and when we meet. Have you got a pen and paper handy?’
‘Yes.’
Jack recited the number. ‘Do you want to read that back to me, Phil?’ The man did as asked. ‘Okay, good. I’m leaving right now and I’ll see you shortly.’
‘Hurry. He’s sure to have me on his list next.’
‘He? Wait, Phil, you said “he”?’
‘Yeah, Pierrot. He’s obviously coming after us.’
Jack frowned. ‘Who is Pierrot?’
‘I never knew his real name. That’s all we ever called him.’
‘Pierrot is one of the oldest clowns in history. Was he one of your gang?’
‘Our gang? We had no gang. We were just four dopey teenage losers who went along with his plan because we were too stupid to begin with and then we were in too deep to do anything but keep quiet. No, Pierrot wasn’t one of us. He was the one who did all the harm.’
Jack wished he wasn’t so far from Bowles at this point. ‘And you think Pierrot is hunting you down?’
‘Who else could it be?’ Phil’s voice rose with fresh panic. ‘We know his dirty secret and so he’s decided to kill us, one by one.’
‘Okay, Phil. Hold tight.’ He looked up and saw Brodie stick a thumb in the air. ‘I’m on my way and the local police should be with you in a couple of minutes. Just stay put and don’t answer the door, unless it’s our people.’
He put the phone down. ‘Brodie, feel like a run down to Brighton?’
The detective’s tired eyes lit up. ‘You’re on. Have I got time to grab something at the cafeteria?’
‘Make it quick. I’ll buy you a proper slap-up breakfast somewhere afterwards. See you in the car park. Kate?’
‘Sir?’ she said, not looking up, her tone short.
‘Will you hold the fort?’
‘Of course.’ She looked at him now and he could see her frustration but ignored it. She threw him a set of keys. ‘Pool car. I’m assuming you didn’t bring yours in.’
He caught them deftly and kept moving. ‘Thanks. We have to find William Fletcher. Stay on it. Where’s Sarah? She can help you. In fact, call in everyone you can. We need all hands on deck.’
27
Anne reversed the white transit van out of Mrs Shannon’s garage and within half an hour was on the road to Brighton. She had plenty of time — Billy wasn’t expecting to meet her until this evening — but she found his name in her mobile list. She pressed the call button, putting the earpiece in so she could speak hands-free. He answered after only a couple of rings. It seemed Billy went nowhere without his mobile at hand.
‘Edward Fletcher.’
‘Hello, it’s Anne . . . Anne McEvoy.’
‘Oh hi, Anne, I’ve been waiting for your call.’
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to make you sweat on it.’
‘Are you still sure about this?’
‘It’s only dinner.’
‘I know but —’
‘But nothing. Do you want to have dinner with me tonight or not?’ She kept her tone light, playful.
‘Of course I do, but, Anne, I have to tell you that I still feel awkward, what with the history between us.’
‘Listen, please, raking up the past will do me no good at all. I’m not saying it’s water under the bridge — it happened, I can’t undo it — but it was a long time ago.’ She sensed his uncertainty and crafted a fresh lie. ‘I rang my old therapist in London yesterday to tell her I’d met you.’
‘And?’
‘Well, I haven’t seen her in years,’ she lied, ‘but she said meeting with you would be a huge step forward in my complete recovery.’
‘I feel a bit odd about it all, Anne, I have to be honest. I mean, I didn’t physically do anything to you, but I was there and too stupid and drunk to stop what happened.’
‘Look, I don’t mean to upset you, so why don’t we leave it?’ Anne said, holding her breath. When he didn’t answer immediately she knew he was about to take the exit she was offering. She hurriedly added, ‘Listen, I have an idea. If dinner’s a bit too intimate, how about a drink? I’ve got some friends in town — we could hook up with them and you can stay for as little or as long as you like — no strings attached.’ She heard the hesitation again. ‘Come on, it’ll be fun. We won’t even discuss anything outside of school. Remember old Fanny Sexypants? She’s still standing. I ran into her last year.’ More lies.
‘No!’ he said, and she heard his curiosity. ‘Did she ever marry Mr Mitchell?’
Anne gave a burst of laughter. ‘I have all the dirt. And you’ll be pleased to hear old Wallace got his comeuppance. How many times did he wallop your arse, Fletcher?’
‘That bloody black plimsoll. I’d like to meet him now.’
‘I even know what happened to Mr Pearce.’
‘Good grief. I’d nearly forgotten him. How do you kn
ow all this?’ he asked, clearly impressed. ‘A drink does sound a lot easier.’
‘Good. You’ll like my friends too. One’s in small hotels as well, so perhaps you’ll have something in common,’ she said, the lies coming easily to her as she reeled Billy in again.
‘Alright, where?’
‘Do you know the Citrus Wine Bar?’
‘Um, no, where is it?’
‘Just off Norfolk Gardens in Western Road. But they’re kicking off at the Rotunda, which is at St Ann’s Well Gardens. Is that familiar?’
‘Vaguely. I mean, I know where the gardens are but I didn’t know there was a bar there.’
‘The bar opened only last year, I think. Bit cold, I’ll grant you, but it’s a beautiful spot and they light up the gardens with lanterns. I went there with a client once and was most impressed. Want to give it a go? The others are meeting early, around six-thirty.’
‘Sounds terrific.’
‘Okay, meet me at the Royce Street entrance. Better chance of parking there. I’ll see you then.’
‘Looking forward to it,’ Billy said.
Anne smiled grimly as she hung up. ‘So am I, Billy, so am I,’ she murmured.
It was nearing two in the afternoon before Hawksworth and Brodie parked near the terraced house at Wilbury Road. Jack was relieved to see three police cars — one marked and two unmarked — strategically positioned.
Brodie immediately moved over to talk to their colleagues, thank them for the swift action, while Jack took the short flight of stairs and rang the bell. He saw a movement at the lace curtain in the bay window, raised a hand in a friendly gesture in order not to panic the already frightened Phillip Bowles.
‘Is that Scotland Yard?’ a muffled voice asked through the door.
‘It’s DCI Jack Hawksworth, from New Scotland Yard, Mr Bowles.’
The door opened slightly and Jack showed the short, round-faced man staring through the gap his warrant card. ‘It’s alright, you’re safe with us, Phil.’
Bowles opened the door, stepping behind it as though expecting a bullet at any moment. Jack wanted to tell him that neither victim had died by gunfire but the man was clearly spooked enough already without the mention of knives or death.
‘Thank you,’ he said, entering the musty-smelling house.
‘Thank you for coming,’ the little man said, nervously closing and bolting the door. ‘I’ve been so worried. Er, can I get you a drink?’ he said, leading Jack into an old-fashioned sitting room.
‘No, really, I’m fine.’ Jack needed to calm the man’s immediate fears. ‘This is a nice house, Phil, quiet area.’
‘My grandparents left it to me,’ Bowles replied. ‘I haven’t changed much.’
Jack could see that. He also noticed the balding man was wringing his hands. There would be no calming down for now. Best to get on with it.
‘I need to tape our conversation, okay?’ Phil nodded, wide-eyed. Jack set up the digital recorder, saw Brodie coming up the stairs. ‘I’ll just let my colleague in, Phil. I won’t be a moment.’ He didn’t wait for Bowles to answer.
Brodie followed Jack into the sitting room. ‘Phil, this is Detective Inspector Cameron Brodie from our team at Scotland Yard. He’s working very closely on this case with me.’
‘Detective Brodie,’ Phil said, raising himself from the dusty armchair to shake hands.
‘Call me Cam,’ Brodie replied, obviously sensing the anxiety in the man.
‘If Kate or Sarah phone with Fletcher’s whereabouts, get the details to the Super,’ Jack said in a quiet aside. ‘He’ll put out a message via the media if he needs to flush him out.’
Cam nodded as Jack pulled off his coat and sat on the chair opposite Bowles, the recorder between them on the coffee table. Jack gave Phil an encouraging smile, depressed the button and gave the required formal introduction to advise the time, date, case, location and people present before saying: ‘Mr Bowles has been advised that the interview is being taped and was asked if he wanted a legal representative or an independent witness present, which he declined.’
Jack sat back. ‘Alright, Phil, I’m going to ask you some questions now relating to how you knew Michael Sheriff and Clive Farrow, when you last saw them or had contact with them, whether there was anything out of the ordinary that occurred last time you met with them, and whether there is anything — no matter how small or trivial it may seem — that you think might be able to assist us. Is that alright?’
‘Yes,’ Phil said softly.
‘Don’t be scared. And you’ll need to speak up, Phil. So let’s begin. Tell me about your relationship with Sheriff and Farrow.’
As Bowles began to speak, Brodie felt his phone vibrate. He stepped outside the room, not wishing to interrupt the little man’s outpouring. ‘Yeah, Kate?’ he answered softly.
‘Hi Cam — is Jack there? I can’t reach him on his phone.’
‘He’s on silent. He’s just this second begun the interview. He’s recording — I don’t want to interrupt him or this guy . . . it sounds promising.’
‘Okay, thanks.’
‘Can I help?’
‘No. Just tell him that we’ve finally got an address for William Fletcher. It’s taken this long because we’ve only just discovered he changed his name by deed poll. Goes by Edward Fletcher these days.’
‘I’ll let the chief know. He did say if you came through with this that I’d have to let Superintendent Sharpe know. Apparently he’ll put out the word to the media if needs be. Hopefully we can reach Fletcher before the killer marks him. Give me the address you have.’ She recited it. ‘Okay, can you get on to Lewes and have them dispatch a squad car to that address? Call me when you know anything.’
‘Right,’ Kate said, coldly.
Kate hung up on Brodie, annoyed. She didn’t mind working alongside him but the tone in his voice suddenly sounded authoritarian. She had no intention of taking orders from her equal. She’d wanted to give her boss the news herself, earn back some brownie points, hear his voice congratulate her, give the next instructions. It wasn’t going to be easy to earn back his trust but she needed to start somewhere. She couldn’t blame Dan alone for the damage. He’d done plenty, but she hadn’t helped herself at all by her unforgivable comment in the lift.
She forced herself to focus and dialled Sussex Police to follow through on Brodie’s request. When it was done, she sent Brodie a text to say a squad car had been dispatched and they would call her as soon as they’d reached Fletcher’s place.
She looked across at Sarah, who had already run all four boys through HOLMES but had drawn a blank. None had a previous record or conviction. Not satisfied, Sarah had also rung Lewes Police and double-checked there was nothing on file against any of them and again came up blank. Kate watched her now talking to the former Sergeant Moss, locking down every possible avenue for information on these boys. She wished she had something useful to do.
She wandered into Jack’s office and made out she was reading a file, but really she was staring into space, not even seeing the mesmerising skyline of London city, lost in her thoughts about how spectacularly embarrassing this morning had been. She thought of Dan lurking around Hawksworth’s apartment building and felt further shamed that they’d brought their problems so close to her boss’s private life. Despite her best attempts to stop, she couldn’t help but imagine the romantic night Hawksworth must have spent with Sophie — the woman he couldn’t stop thinking about. She recalled how Jack had described her — incredibly gorgeous — and remembered how thick his voice had become when he talked about her. It made her feel ill. She also remembered how confused their chief had sounded when Dan had muddled the mansion’s occupants; how persistent he’d been about the woman coming down from his girlfriend’s floor.
Her gaze drifted back to his desk. His diary was open and she noticed the doodles at the top of the page. Hawksworth’s doodles were well known amongst the senior police who had worked with him. If he was on the phone or
listening to a conversation between people, he doodled. When she’d first seen him in action three years ago she’d done some research on the net to find out what it all might mean and had been surprised to learn that people’s doodlings were apparently a portal into their very souls.
The stars and strong arrows Jack habitually drew, all linked with what looked like curling ribbon, were distinctive and surprisingly easily explained. She’d discovered that his star doodles revealed him to be optimistic but with a need to prove himself. The arrows suggested his amibitious nature and those ribbons — the almost feminine curves that she liked so much — were apparently indicative of his deeply sentimental nature.
But there were two new doodles here that she didn’t remember from her last operation with Jack: a noughts and crosses motif, which meant nothing to her, and a tiny heart. She didn’t need anyone to explain that symbol to her. Jack believed himself in love . . . or was at least in an amorous state of mind. She grimaced again as the phone rang, hating Sophie even though she’d never met the woman.
‘It’s Hawk’s line,’ Sarah sang out.
‘I’ll get it,’ Kate called back. She signed into the phone with her five-digit number. Hawk? she repeated in her mind. Since when did Sarah get so familiar? ‘Operation Danube. Carter here.’
‘I’ve got someone on the line looking for DCI Hawksworth,’ the operator said. ‘He hasn’t signed in but I was wondering if he’s around?’
‘He’s not. I can take a message if you want. Who is it?’
‘Member of the public, I gather. Seems to know your boss, though. Thanks, luv. I’ll put them through.’
Kate waited, heard the click. ‘Operation Danube.’
‘Hello. I’m looking for Jack Hawksworth if he’s available.’
Kate recognised the voice. ‘Is that you, Sophie?’ she asked brightly, hating how two-faced she’d suddenly become. What had happened to her proud traits of directness, honesty? She reminded herself she had no right to be honest about her feelings for Hawksworth . . . and certainly not with his present girlfriend. She stared at the heart doodle and was tempted to colour it green.
Bye Bye Baby Page 29