Hawksworth and Brodie jumped at the sound of the ringing phone. This was the third call to Bowles’s home; the first two from men. Brodie had pretended to be a friend of Phil’s and said that Phil had just gone to the corner shop. Neither man had left a message. Now Jack alerted his colleagues outside to another call.
‘Do I use the same line if it’s her?’ Cam said.
‘Absolutely. Play it safe, just stick to the story. She’ll decide when to let you know that it’s her.’
Cam picked up the phone. ‘Hello?’
‘Is that Phil Bowles?’
Even though Jack wanted it to be her, it still gave him a shock that she’d come into their web with such ease. He stuck his thumb in the air at Cam. No one could know how hearing that voice made him feel weak with despair inside.
‘Yes. Who is this?’
‘Phil, I hope you’re going to remember me. It’s Anne McEvoy here.’
Cam had rehearsed his response to this situation over and over again. And now he replayed it precisely how he and Jack had practised. First he hesitated, then he repeated the name, remembering the quiet way in which Bowles spoke and how he tended to lick his lips when he was thinking. ‘Anne McEvoy?’
‘Yes, Anne . . . from Russell Secondary School.’
Now he deliberately fell silent but breathed a little more loudly.
‘Phil? Phil, are you there?’
‘I’m here,’ he said softly. ‘Why . . . why are you calling me?’
‘Phil, you sound scared. Don’t be.’
Cam remained silent and forced Anne to talk. Meanwhile, Jack had set in motion the check through British Telecom, using a secure line via the Met, as to where this call was coming from. The operater told him it would take a couple of minutes.
He returned his attention to the landline Cam was talking to Anne on and realised it had gone dead. They looked at each other, shocked.
‘She can’t be on to us,’ Cam said.
‘Fuck!’ Jack slammed down his mobile. He quickly dialled the Yard again, apologised, reorganised a secure line.
‘What happened?’ It was Kate, crackling over the walkie-talkie.
Jack grabbed the handset. ‘It was her but the line — hang on.’ The phone had begun ringing again. He pressed the button on the walkie-talkie. ‘She’s back. Hold the silence.’ Once again he asked the operator to contact BT to trace the call.
Cam answered again. ‘Hello?’
‘Sorry, Phil, this is a dodgy phone, I don’t know what happened there.’
‘Where are you calling from?’
‘Hove.’
‘No, I mean why a phone box?’ He was trying to keep her on the line as long as possible so Jack could trace her.
‘I’m having some work done at home, so there’s nothing but hammering and men talking, and to make matters worse I’ve mislaid my mobile. Murphy’s law, right?’
‘Yeah,’ Cam said, remembering to lower his voice and speak a little more haltingly. ‘Why are you calling out of the blue? You’re not collecting money for some cause, are you?’
She laughed and Jack was again struck by despair that this was Sophie on the other end of the line. He simply couldn’t put it together that she was also the ruthless serial killer that had the whole of Britain talking.
‘No, no, I’m not collecting money. I’m actually ringing because I have something you may want.’
‘Oh?’
‘Do you still collect Biggles books?’
Cam looked to Jack for guidance. His boss nodded.
‘Yeah, of course. Once a Biggles fan, always one.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. Now, I know this must feel strange to suddenly hear from me but as I say, I’m having a lot of work done at my place and I’m clearing out a pile of stuff. I came across this box of my dad’s books and there are about fourteen Biggles novels. They’re in such amazingly perfect condition that I didn’t have the heart to take them to the charity shop. And then, a blast from the past, I suddenly remembered how much you loved reading this stuff. I know it sounds crazy but I thought I’d try and find you — I think also for old times’ sake. I must admit I didn’t imagine it would be so easy.’
Cam paused, rather too dramatically, Jack thought. He’d heard from the BT operation that this was a phone box in Patcham — he had the number and street it was on. He knew there was no point in dispatching a car — he didn’t anticipate that she would be on the line long enough — but at least he knew now that she was definitely in the Brighton area and accessible. He listened to Cam.
‘But, Anne, why after all these years would you remember me?’
‘I can hardly forget you, Phil.’ Her voice took on a slightly harder edge and Cam sensibly waited for the silence to feel awkward.
‘I don’t really want to talk about that time,’ he said.
‘Neither do I. I was just trying to do something kind. Don’t you find yourself reminiscing now that you’re in your forties? I know I do. I’ve been thinking a great deal about all those people we went to school with. But look, if you don’t want these books . . .’
‘I do, really,’ Cam spluttered, breathing heavily. ‘But this is so strange, you must admit.’
‘Yes, it is.’
Cam continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘I mean, what with the deaths of Mikey and Clive, I’m just a little shak—’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Haven’t you heard about them?’
‘Who?’
‘Michael Sheriff and Clive Farrow. They’re dead.’
Cam and Jack listened to the long silence that followed before their caller said softly, ‘Dead?’ She made a sound of regret. ‘I . . . no, I’ve been living overseas, I haven’t heard anything. How can they both be dead?’
‘Not just dead, Anne, but murdered.’
The woman Jack had so recently thought he could fall in love with inhaled sharply, as if slapped. ‘Murdered?’ she whispered. Then conveniently made the connection: ‘Not Pierrot?’
Cam was ready. ‘Who else?’ he said. ‘I’m scared, I have to tell you. I only heard about them myself a week ago. I’m changing my phone numbers and having a new alarm fitted and fresh security around all the windows. Then I’m going away for a while, I think, until the police catch him.’
‘Wow, what a shock,’ Anne said. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
Cam gave Jack a wry glance.
‘Anne, I have to tell you I’m not terribly comfortable about you calling. But at the same time, I’ve longed to talk to you for years and tell you how sorry I am about what happened.’
Both men waited. They heard a sigh.
‘Phil, I think I knew that if you’d had a choice, you wouldn’t have gone along with what happened. I used to be really angry about it, but although I won’t say I’m over it, I have put it firmly in my past. I can’t fix what happened, or bring my son back. I thought at least a million times about killing myself but never had the courage, so I’ve worked hard to make the best of my life. I never blamed you, Phil, but I do blame that bastard Pierrot, or whatever his real name is. I never went to the police because I didn’t know who he was, and after it all happened I was totally spaced out, you know . . . so completely confused. I just ran away. And then it was too late to start making accusations — I was too young to know what to do, who to turn to. I let it be. As I say, I wasn’t going to get my life back, no matter what I did. I honestly don’t think about 1974 very much at all.’
‘Don’t you? I think about it all the time. And I’m deeply, deeply sorry on behalf of all of us. You know that none of us boys ever touched you, Anne, don’t you? It was him. He did all the bad stuff. I wish I could make amends but I know I can’t.’
‘No, you can’t, Phil. Perhaps I should just leave these books somewhere for you? I’m happy to drop them on your doorstep.’
‘Oh, that wouldn’t be fair. Let’s at least say hello, no matter how awkward it is for both of us.’
‘Well, th
at’s nice. Seems you’ve certainly changed from the Phil Bowles I recall.’
‘Really?’
‘Definitely,’ she said. ‘Do you still live in your grandparents’ place?’
‘How do you know that?’ Cam asked, unsure of how to play this now.
‘You’ve forgotten that we were once friends in primary school, Phil. I came to your birthday party — those were the days when you used to like pretending to be a dog. Odd but funny.’
Cam wheezed a laugh.
‘Do you remember that?’ she prompted.
‘I do actually. How embarrassing.’
‘No, it was sweet. Like my dog — you liked him, didn’t you?’
‘Sure. He was cute.’
‘Do you remember his name, Phil?’
Cam looked wildly at Jack, who shook his head. ‘I don’t think I can, Anne. It was so long ago.’
‘Oh, come on, you loved him.’
‘That’s right, I did. Tell me his name again, Anne, or it will bug me all day.’
‘It was Buster,’ she said.
‘Buster! Of course. He was such a lovely fellow.’
Anne hung up.
Cam looked over at Jack, said the obvious. ‘She’s gone.’
Jack had no expletives left in his arsenal of curses. He banged his fist down on the table instead. His phone began to ring and he assumed it was Kate. He didn’t even look at the screen.
‘Yes!’ he barked.
‘You should give me more credit, Jack.’
The shock hit him like a punch. ‘Sophie. I —’
‘What were you planning to do? Did you imagine I’d be oblivious to how smart a detective you are? I knew you were on to me, Jack, I just didn’t know how close you were. Now I do.’
‘I suppose I should call you Anne,’ he said coldly, fighting the urge to ask her all the questions that were burning between them.
‘I suppose you should, although I’ll always treasure my time with you as Sophie,’ she said, and he hated to hear that softness in her voice and feel how her words could generate such empathy within him. He was not over Sophie, but he had to fight her.
‘Meet me, Anne. We’ll talk, no other police, I promise.’
‘Meet? Talk? What about? The body count maybe? Or perhaps you want to get more deep and meaningful, understand why I’ve killed. No, Jack. There’s nothing else to say. I’ve done my talking through my actions. Where’s Phil Bowles?’
There was no point in hiding it now. ‘He’s dead. He killed himself yesterday when he learned you were alive.’
‘Ah, I see. Well, Phil saved himself an uglier end. Clever move, Jack. You nearly had me. Who was I speaking to?’
‘DI Cam Brodie.’
Brodie shook his head. He picked up the walkie-talkie and stepped out of the room so he could let Kate and Swamp know the sting had failed.
‘Well, tell Cam from me he did a good job with replicating Phil’s manner, but he has a far nicer voice than Phil ever did and, try though he might, he can’t fully cover that Scottish accent. I heard it peep through towards the end.’
‘We’ll watch that next time,’ Jack said evenly. ‘Bowles suicided and it was through remorse, not fear.’
‘It doesn’t matter. He’s dead and I can’t say I’ll mourn him.’
‘What now, Anne?’
‘Time to go. I’m sure you’ve traced the call. Have you sent a car?’
‘No.’
‘Not sure I can trust you.’
‘I’ve never lied to you.’
‘That’s probably true but there’s always a first time. I must head off now.’
‘After Pierrot, you mean?’ He heard the hesitation. ‘Is he next?’
‘Goodbye, Jack. For what it’s worth, for all my anger, all my ruthlessness, the cynical way I entered your life, all the lies and deception, you should know that everything that happened between us was real. I think you’ll have guessed already that I prepared meticulously to rid the world of these criminals, but I wasn’t prepared for you, Jack. You were meant to be something to use and cast aside. I wasn’t ready for you to be so special, so easy to be with . . . such a good fit. In another lifetime, who knows what could have been . . .’
As she trailed off, Jack was reminded of his conversation with Kate, when he’d offered her a similar platitude.
‘Is that meant to comfort me?’
‘No. It’s simply my way of letting you know that although I didn’t think I could ever respond to another living soul after all that’s happened, I was surprised by you. And it was a delicious surprise. Perhaps if we’d met before I set all this in motion, I might never have gone down this path.’
‘Then stop, Sophie!’ He hadn’t meant to call her that again.
He could sense her smile of regret. ‘I can’t. The worst of them is yet to meet his fate.’
‘When I find him, I intend to put him behind bars for life. I promise you, he will never see the light of day.’
‘I can promise you the same but it will be infinitely more final.’ She gave a sad laugh. ‘No, I think I’ll go out swinging, Jack. Festering in a jail isn’t for me and you can’t protect me from that. And I want Pierrot to pay. He’s really the person responsible for the deaths of all these men, and certainly for the ruination of my life. Justice won’t be served unless I mete it.’
‘Please let me —’
‘Take care of yourself, Jack. All of my stuff is yours — it will look lovely in your apartment, I’m sure. You could even sell up and move into mine! By the way, I’ve mailed you the address where you can pick up the photographic series you liked so much, in case the Yard won’t let you keep my things. I have no one else to give them to. Think of me when you look at them.’
‘Sophie!’
The line went dead in his ear. Jack yelled and hurled his mobile phone across the musty-smelling sitting room.
39
Superintendent Martin Sharpe glared at his visitor as he reluctantly welcomed him into the office. He had already asked Helen not to offer coffee.
‘So, this sounded pretty urgent, DCI Deegan. How can I help you?’
‘Straight to the point, as I like it, sir,’ Deegan began.
‘We are balanced rather precariously on the edge of a major operation here. Holding meetings about my staff is not my highest priority right now. We need to make this brief.’
‘I understand completely, sir, I’ll take no more of your time than I have to. I’ve called this meeting about DCI Jack Hawksworth because I’m recommending a formal internal investigation surrounding Operation Blackbird during 1997.’
‘I presume this is connected with the death of DS Paul Conway?’
‘It is, sir, yes.’
‘My understanding is that all staff involved in that operation were interviewed and no case was brought to bear on anyone. Conway’s death was pronounced an accident.’
‘Yes, but there is now more information coming to light.’
‘What new information?’ Sharpe demanded, angry now.
‘Well, sir, it seems that the information DCI Hawksworth originally gave about where he was on the evening in question may not be accurate. I’d like to reopen the inquiry and make it a formal internal investigation.’
Sharpe took a breath. He depressed a button on his intercom. ‘Helen?’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Hold all calls,’ he requested, knowing this would cancel his original instructions to Helen to interrupt him if this meeting stretched beyond ten minutes. ‘Now, Deegan, start from the beginning, please.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Deegan oozed sincerity. ‘I’ll keep it brief.’
Anne sat in her rental car feeling sick. Hearing Jack’s voice had unnerved her, made her feel distracted and sad when she needed to find the anger again. Garvan Flynn was still out there, probably smiling to himself that he’d got away with all that he had while she’d dealt with those who might point the finger at him. They were all gone now — Billy, Clive, Mikey an
d Phil. Only she was left. Her voice alone could accuse him of a range of crimes that any judge would happily put him behind bars for. She couldn’t walk away, not now. She was a serial killer. She would be hunted down. What would one more death by her hand mean . . . life in prison was life in prison. You couldn’t serve it over and over.
No. Garvan needed to pay — with his blood.
She had no more time to think on this. Jack and his team were close enough to smell her perfume. And if Phil Bowles had given them Pierrot’s name before he died then all was lost. Anne suspected this hadn’t happened though, because Jack would have already got to Flynn if he knew who or where he was. He wouldn’t have wasted time on the ruse at Bowles’s house with the remaining target still in a position to be saved.
She shook her head. Scotland Yard had no idea who Pierrot was. They were waiting for her to lead them there.
She needed to throw away her mobile and leave Patcham quickly, she decided, turning the key in the ignition. She had to buy a new phone, and there were some important arrangements still to make if she was going to pull off what she hoped.
She stared at the number in her notepad. She would wait until she was at Rottingdean a few miles out of Brighton proper, before she rang. First, she had to get to the seafront.
Kate and Brodie sat in the pub silently, uncomfortably, watching Jack as he stared forlornly at his battered phone. Swamp had left to make some calls. Around them, people were enjoying leisurely post-Sunday-lunch drinks. Their own table held the debris of their lunches, waiting to be cleared. They had no more leads to follow, and no one was sure whether to head back to London or stick around in Brighton. Jack didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave and it was getting close to three.
Bye Bye Baby Page 41