Bye Bye Baby

by McIntosh, Fiona

  Jack kept his face deliberately impassive, but inside he was thinking about Sophie Fenton and how the actions not just of Garvan Flynn but of his extended and very selfish family had shaped a serial killer.

  Clare sniffed again. ‘He left his job, he stopped fishing, gave up smoking and drinking. He stopped being an angry man. Everything changed. We were happy again.’ She looked up, her red weepy eyes defiant. ‘He is not a bad man. He has been nothing but an attentive and loving father, a good husband.’

  ‘That may be, Mrs Flynn, but we believe your husband was also responsible for serious criminal offences during his late twenties, and his actions then might have prompted what is occurring now with the serial killer we’re hunting.’

  She shook her head vehemently. ‘I can’t believe that, Mr Hawksworth. I can’t.’

  Jack sat forward. He was worried that Clare Flynn, already pale and trembling, might collapse if he pushed her too hard, but time had run out for them. He covered her hand with his. ‘Think, Mrs Flynn, please. Where could Garvan be now?’

  The house phone rang.

  43

  As Jack was questioning Mrs Flynn, her adopted son was looking with wonder around the ruin that was the West Pier concert hall.

  Anne noted his interest. ‘This used to be like a fairytale palace in its heyday. During the 1920s, amazing musicals and events were held here, including open-air dancing.’

  ‘It’s so sad to see it in such a state,’ Peter agreed, ‘but why have you brought me here?’

  Anne sat down on a rickety old workbench and unscrewed the top of a bottle of spring water she’d pulled from her backpack. ‘Drink, Peter?’ She watched him hesitate. ‘It’s okay, I brought another one for myself,’ she said, drinking thirstily from the other bottle she’d carefully marked. ‘Sit down, I’ll tell you everything,’ she said, passing him the water.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said and lowered himself gingerly to avoid dirtying his pants too much. He took a long draught from the bottle.

  Anne sighed. It had begun.

  * * *

  Garvan Flynn banged again on the door of Peter’s flat, an empty gesture born of frustration. He knew his son wasn’t hiding from him or ignoring him — he simply wasn’t there.

  He pulled out the mobile phone Clare didn’t know he owned and reluctantly dialled home. His wife answered, her voice shaky, as if she’d been crying.

  ‘It’s me, what’s wrong?’ he said and was bombarded by a torrent of weepy information. He could barely make out her words but understood enough to know that his past had finally caught up with him.

  A man’s voice suddenly spoke. ‘Garvan Flynn?’

  Flynn remained silent, frozen to the spot.

  ‘Mr Flynn, this is DCI Jack Hawksworth from Scotland Yard. We need to speak with you in connection with —’

  Garvan clicked off without thinking, terror flooding his veins. They couldn’t trace him, surely. And his wife didn’t know his number, didn’t even know he had this phone. He leaned against Peter’s door, his heart pounding so hard in his chest he was sure he could hear it.

  Peter. He had to talk to Peter.

  His son’s was the only number he kept in the address book of his phone. He found it and hit the automatic dial button, desperate to get to his boy before anyone else told Peter anything about the past. If Peter’s phone was on, he’d answer. He would never ignore his father calling from his rarely used mobile.

  ‘Hello, Pierrot,’ a woman’s voice said. Garvan’s shock was complete. He slid down the door to the ground, his legs buckling with fright.

  ‘Who is this?’ he said in a hissed whisper, his eyes wide with fear. His mind had already computed that only one female in the whole world knew to call him by that name.

  ‘I’m offended you don’t remember the mother of your son. And he’s such a handsome fellow — much taller and gentler than you.’

  Garvan’s eyes widened further. ‘You’ve seen him?’ he croaked.

  ‘Seen him?’ She laughed, a cruel sound. ‘I’m with him.’

  ‘With him?’ Garvan nearly choked on the words.

  ‘He’s not feeling terribly well, Pierrot, but then you only have yourself to blame for that.’

  Rage of the kind Flynn hadn’t felt in almost thirty years coursed through him. ‘Don’t you dare touch a hair on his head,’ he began, his voice laced with menace.

  Anne matched him. ‘Or what? You know what I’ve already done to your precious Jesters Club. They’re all dead, Pierrot — every one of them except you. They all died weeping, begging for forgiveness, as is right. If you want to save your son, Pierrot, you know where to find me. Just think back to where his life began.’

  The line went dead in his ear and Flynn screamed with impotent fury.

  Clare Flynn was no longer making sense. She’d disintegrated into a wailing heap and Jack realised there would be little information from her in the foreseeable future. He left Kate to organise a family member to come and sit with her, and to contact the local police. He stepped outside to drag in some fresh air and to calm himself.

  His gut was screaming at him that not only had Clare Flynn been right about her son being here this morning, but that Anne McEvoy had got to the house before they had and persuaded Peter Flynn to accompany her.

  He sat on the stoop and tried to clear his mind and allow his thoughts to organise themselves into a logical pattern. Anne was obviously making her play for Garvan Flynn, her final target, but he couldn’t second-guess her plan. He could understand her need to see her son, but entangling him at this stage didn’t make sense. Unless, of course, Peter was the lure. She had been helpless with Peter as a baby, but now he was an adult and she was the aggressor, baiting a loving father to come and rescue his son. She would have Pierrot in her trap, could make him bargain his own life for his son’s. Yes, that had symmetry and meaning. But where was she?

  His phone rang. It was Sharpe and there were no salutations. ‘Deegan wants to launch the investigation tomorrow morning. I don’t have to tell you what that’s going to mean.’

  Jack closed his eyes. ‘We’re so close, sir. You have to stall him. You can’t shut me down. If they pull me off now, the investigation goes to hell. I’m the only one who’s seen Anne McEvoy.’

  It was a desperate pitch; a very thin premise for the Ghost Squad to cut him any slack.

  ‘I’ll do what I can,’ Sharpe said wearily. ‘Deegan’s not telling me what he’s got on you, Jack, but I sure hope he’s rattling a chain that’s not attached to anything.’

  ‘I presume he’s going to try and blame me for Paul Conway’s death somehow, sir.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly.’

  ‘I’ve got nothing to hide, sir. I only wish I knew why Conway’s death means so much to Deegan that he’d chase it so hard after all these years.’

  He heard his Super sigh. ‘I agree. I’ll hold them off, but I don’t think we’ll have more than twenty-four hours, Jack. You know how Ghost Squad works.’ Sharpe sounded suddenly older. ‘So tell me some good news.’

  Jack told him everything that had happened this afternoon.

  ‘You spoke to him?’ Sharpe repeated, incredulous.

  ‘Kate’s having the call traced but we already know it was Flynn. Wherever he was when he called home, he won’t be calling from there again. Tracing that location is pointless.’

  ‘Find that woman, Jack. This time tomorrow you’re likely to be suspended.’

  Jack didn’t even bother to say goodbye. There was nothing more to be said. He rang the ops room and was promptly put through to Sarah, who had more news.

  ‘The van’s been found at Gatwick Airport, sir.’

  ‘Have you checked if she’s rented a car?’

  ‘Yes, but no Anne McEvoy or Sophie Fenton on the records. However, the girl who was on early this morning is being contacted at home. We’re hoping she may remember a woman from the early hours. Perhaps another name was used.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, happ
y that Sarah was such a stickler for detail.

  ‘In the meantime, we’re going through the motions of checking rail, bus and so on. But she seems to be cashed up, so tracing her via credit card doesn’t strike me as an option.’

  ‘She could have hitched a ride back to Brighton, for all we know,’ Jack said helplessly. ‘How are you holding up?’

  ‘I’m fine, sir. What else can I do to help? I spoke to Kate about ten minutes ago and she’s briefed me on where you’re at down there.’

  ‘Nothing. Just back up Kate with whatever she needs and keep Swamp and Brodie appraised.’

  ‘What about you, chief? What are you going to do now?’

  ‘Rack my brains to think where Anne McEvoy might be luring her prey to.’

  ‘If she stays true to her previous MO, sir, it’ll be another location that’s meaningful to her past.’

  ‘But we know she killed her victims somewhere safe before dumping the bodies in that meaningful place. She could be anywhere in Brighton or Hove.’

  ‘She had the van to do her gruesome work before,’ Sarah mused. ‘She doesn’t have it any more. And she knows we’re close now. Perhaps she’ll risk it. If she’s using their son as her bargaining power, perhaps she’ll force Flynn to meet her.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Jack said, frowning. ‘I need some time to think. Get on to Tandy, see if he has any ideas. Try the others and get back to me if anyone has any inspiration.’

  Jack rubbed his face, trying to clear his mind. Kate opened the door and came out onto the step.

  ‘She’s in the bathroom trying to get herself together,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t trust her. I made that mistake with Phil Bowles.’

  Kate nodded. ‘Her cousin, Sheila, is on her way over. Should be here very soon, but I think we should call a doctor.’

  Jack quickly brought Kate up to speed on Sarah’s news.

  ‘She won’t hurt her son,’ Kate reassured. ‘It’s his father she wants.’

  ‘I’ll try the boy’s phone again,’ Jack said, standing. ‘Perhaps he’ll answer this time. Keep an eye on Mrs Flynn.’

  44

  Anne looked down at Peter’s face. In repose it reminded her strongly of her father’s and she felt an intense love for this young man she’d been denied access to. And, in equal measure, she felt fury towards the rapist who had sired and then stolen him.

  The drug had worked quickly on Peter and he was now asleep, bound, his mouth gagged with duct tape. She hated to do this to him but she had no choice. It was crucial that Pierrot believed she would hurt their son in her madness if she chose to.

  She smiled sadly. Hurt Peter? All she wanted to do was hug him. But she wasn’t even going to get that pleasure. She’d felt only despair when she saw him realise he’d been drugged, saw him lose control of his movements and heard his voice slurring. She watched the disbelief and fear register in his eyes as she gave him a potted history of his conception and his birth.

  How sad that it had come to this. But he was her precious ace, the card that had turned up at just the right time in the deck. It was despicable to use Peter in this manner, but Pierrot had to pay.

  Flynn would be here soon — she was sure of it. And he wouldn’t call the police and he wouldn’t tell the boy’s stepmother. He would be trying to cover his tracks, still vainly hoping that no one ever need know of his sins of the past. She had news for him.

  Anne stroked Peter’s hair, then pulled her hand away as the emotion released by this simple act threatened to undo her. She briefly flirted with the notion that she could convince Peter to come away with her. There was still time. They’d be starting their relationship twenty-nine years later, but it was better than nothing, surely?

  The lone voice that offered up this utopian notion was howled down by all the demons in her mind. She was definitely deluded if she believed Peter would want to set eyes on her again after she’d done this to him. And he didn’t need another mother. He had one. One he loved. Anne was a complication he’d prefer not to know about. They were strangers. He wasn’t going to run away with her. No, she’d had her precious moments with her son and they would have to be enough to sustain her for however long she had left on this earth.

  Ensuring Pierrot’s punishment was a far more realistic option than hoping she might be permitted some new and wonderful relationship with her son. She needed to be strong now. Facing Pierrot again wasn’t going to be easy.

  Casting a final soft glance towards her sleeping son, Anne walked carefully around the ruin of the concert hall, ensuring everything was set, then headed out onto the decaying boards of the pier. She checked for the final time that what she needed was there, wondering whether her luck would hold for this last part of her revenge.

  Peter’s phone erupted into song and she saw Home flash up on the screen. She wondered whether Flynn had gone back to the house in Rottingdean and was trying Peter once again from the landline. She decided to risk it, knowing she could hang up before Jack’s team could trace their location.

  ‘Why are you at home, Garvan, and not here bargaining for the life of your son?’

  The silence at the other end instantly told her this wasn’t Flynn. Perhaps it was the woman who had happily accepted the stolen child and raised it as her own. What she didn’t expect was the voice that did speak.

  ‘It’s me.’

  She tripped and fell against the wall of the concert hall, upsetting the roosting starlings who took off as one into the darkening sky. Anne staggered back inside, her knee momentarily numbed.

  ‘Jack, what a surprise. I’m impressed you’ve made it this far, but you really must leave well alone now.’

  ‘There’s nothing to be gained by this,’ he urged. ‘I have enough on Garvan Flynn to put him away for the rest of his life. Please, don’t do whatever it is you have in mind.’

  ‘Why? Are you trying to save me? It’s pointless. I’ve killed three men, Jack. What’s one more?’

  ‘Where are you?’ he begged and she could hear the desperation in his voice. ‘Let me come there.’

  ‘You still see Sophie, don’t you? Let me be, Jack. I’m Anne now, and she has unfinished business with Garvan Flynn.’

  She hung up and went outdoors again, tossed Peter’s mobile phone into the churning sea below. The water had turned charcoal, matching the sky. It was freezing but Anne didn’t care. She wanted the dark to wrap itself fully around her.

  ‘We didn’t get a trace,’ Kate said, obviously preferring to deliver the bad news without any sweetening.

  ‘She’s too clever for that,’ Jack said, running his fingers through his hair, his expression one of deep frustration. ‘How much longer for the cousin to arrive?’

  ‘She said fifteen minutes, so she must be almost here,’ Kate replied, glancing at her watch. ‘Clare’s taken two tablets. She should be asleep soon.’

  ‘Did you tape the conversation?’

  Kate nodded. ‘Here, I’ll play it back.’

  They both listened intently as Anne McEvoy’s voice warned Jack to leave her be.

  ‘She was outside,’ Kate said. ‘You can hear the seagulls in the background.’

  Jack’s eyes had been closed as he listened, praying for a clue. Now they flew open, his mouth agape.

  ‘What?’ Kate said, startled.

  He shook his head, looked for the car keys. ‘I know where she is. Oh god, I’ve known all along. We all have!’ He was babbling. ‘Where are the fucking keys?’

  ‘Here,’ Kate said, digging them from her pocket and throwing them over. ‘What do you mean, you knew all along?’

  Jack gave a short, harsh laugh. ‘She even told me,’ he said, his voice distressed. ‘She said to think of her when I looked at her photographs.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘The missing photos in her flat — that’s why she took them. She didn’t want us to work it out too soon. They were all of the same place!’

  ‘Where, Jack?’

  ‘The
starlings, Kate. Didn’t you hear them suddenly above the seagulls? There’s only one place in Brighton I know of where starlings roost in those numbers. It’s famous for them. I remember now my grandparents telling me about them when I was about four. She’s at the West Pier!’

  Kate opened her mouth but nothing came out. Jack was already running, calling behind him. ‘Get a squad car down there immediately! They are not to move in, I repeat, not to move in without my signal. Tell them to wait until they hear from me. If Brodie’s still around, tell him to meet me at West Pier. I’m putting my phone on silent. Let ops know.’

  He was in the car now.

  ‘Let me come with you,’ she said, looking around desperately for the car that would bring Clare’s cousin.

  ‘You can’t, you have to wait here until help arrives.’

  He gunned the engine and gave her a final glance of sympathy. He knew she resented it, but there was no time to worry about hurting people’s feelings. He had to get to the pier before this whole sorry mess unfolded.

  45

  Flynn arrived alone, as she’d known he would. She could hear him coming along the temporary walkway. Anne had already called The Rock Shop, explained to the woman there that she and her son were just watching night come in and that they’d called a friend to pick them up because they were too upset to drive home.

  ‘I’m locking up now. You’ll have to hurry,’ the woman had said, a note of exasperation creeping into her voice.

  ‘Can I slide the key under the door?’ Anne had offered, ‘along with my thanks for your trouble?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ the woman had asked.

  ‘My son and I would like to leave you a gift. We’ve put two hundred pounds in an envelope and we’re going to return the key in that envelope too, if it’s okay with you?’