‘What do you mean you’ve stopped seeing him? Since when?’
‘About seven weeks.’
‘For God’s sake. Why?’
‘You know why. Dr Afzal is too judgemental.’
‘You’re projecting.’
‘Whatever. I would have preferred you.’
‘And I’ve told you before that there’s a fundamental rule in therapy that there have to be appropriate boundaries between the therapist and the patient. You and I getting pissed in the Market Tavern would definitely cross that line.’
Henley smiled at the memory of the mini pub crawl that she and Mark had gone on after Abigail Burnley had been convicted of fifteen murders.
‘So, as a friend. Not a therapist, because that’s unethical,’ said Mark, ‘how have you found it being back?’
Henley leaned into the sofa and searched for the right words. She couldn’t tell him about the panic attack last night. She had already pushed that to the back of her mind.
‘Comfortable. It feels comfortable. And that’s wrong, isn’t it?’ Henley continued, looking out of the window behind Mark’s head. They were on the fourth floor with a view of the city skyline. ‘I shouldn’t be feeling comfortable among all of that.’
‘If I was your therapist, which I’m not, I would say that it’s not for me to say whether being comfortable is wrong or right. If that’s how you feel, then that’s how you feel.’
‘Safe.’
‘What?’ Mark raised his head.
‘Being out there, back on the street feels safe. Which is odd because the streets are anything but safe, whereas being stuck in that office…’ Henley paused, but Mark’s expression was encouraging, devoid of judgement, and she continued. ‘It felt as though I was being punished for something that wasn’t my fault. He punished me for a mistake that he made.’
‘He? You mean Pellacia?’
‘No.’ Henley put the tea down. Mark had forgotten to add sugar. ‘No. I mean him. Rhimes.’
‘You hardly talk about him, which, considering how close you were, is odd.’
‘There’s nothing to talk about. He’s dead. We have to get on with it.’
Mark opened his mouth to say something but then thought better of it.
‘He took the easy way out. Left us all in an absolute mess. I expected more from him.’
Henley wasn’t sure where all of this was coming from. She had resented therapy since she’d been ordered into weekly sessions with Dr Afzal. For the first six months, once she was able to leave the house, she sat rigid, hardly speaking. She didn’t like being forced to do anything and she especially didn’t like being forced to talk about something that had been done to her.
‘You’re still angry with him? With Rhimes?’ Mark asked. ‘It’s not uncommon to feel that way when someone close to you commits suicide.’
‘I’m not angry. It’s a waste of energy and my time.’
Henley wondered if Mark knew that she was lying. She was still angry with Rhimes. Every memory carried a jolt of pain. Her heart broke every time she thought about what Rhimes had done.
‘Have you told Rob that you’re back on the street?’ Mark asked.
‘Back on the street?’ Henley couldn’t help herself from laughing. ‘You make it sound like I’m a sex worker.’
‘I’m sorry. It’s been a long day, but you know what I mean.’
‘Yeah, I told him last night. He wasn’t exactly jumping up and down and wishing me well.’ Henley could feel the knots of tension in her shoulder as she thought back to Rob’s reaction. He’d accused Henley of lying to him; of putting her career before their marriage. Rob was still giving Henley the silent treatment when she’d left for work that morning.
‘You can’t really blame him,’ said Mark.
‘I know that I can’t, but listen, I didn’t come here to talk about me. It’s about this case.’ Henley told Mark about the investigation so far.
‘I haven’t heard anything in the news about this,’ said Mark.
‘We’re not releasing a press statement just yet. Bodies get pulled out of the Thames every day. That’s hardly news, but two dismembered bodies being found within a day of each other. Now that’s news and the last thing that we need is speculation.’
‘So, do you have any leads? Any suspects?’
‘We’ve got a couple of theories that we’re following. Revenge, possible ex-boyfriend or girlfriend—’
‘Even though dismemberment is about power and it’s a display of extreme hatred towards the victim, it’s not something that women typically do. Dismemberment is a psychological form of closure and gratification and it takes determination. Women, no offence to you, Anjelica, are more… emotional.’
‘No offence taken. So, what about revenge?’
‘Your murderer would be more focused if it was revenge. They would either kill the new girlfriend or boyfriend, but to kill both and then dismember… In my opinion, no.’
‘What about a copycat?’ Henley pulled up the photos on her phone, the symbols cut into Zoe’s skin.
‘Hold on a sec.’ Mark took off his glasses and cleaned the lenses with the end of his tie. ‘Is that a crescent and a double cross?’
Henley nodded.
‘The last time that I saw anything like this was back when Peter Olivier was on the loose. Was this carved on both bodies?’
‘Only on Zoe’s. Which meant that I had to see Peter Olivier this morning.’
‘Excuse me. You did what?’
‘You heard what I said, Mark.’
‘And you didn’t call me first. I could have talked you through it. Prepared you.’
‘You’re not my therapist, remember.’
‘But still… How was it? How was he?’
‘Frustrating. Unhelpful. I don’t want to talk about it,’ said Henley dismissively. ‘I need something from you. Would you be able to prepare a profile for me?’
‘Of course I can, but I’ll need the investigation report… Well, as much as you’re prepared to give me and all the information you have about the two victims.’
‘I’ve already got it for you.’ Henley handed over a memory stick.
‘Great. Give me a couple of days to put something together.’
A wave of nausea overtook Henley as she stood up. She placed a hand on the back of the chair to steady herself.
‘Hey, are you OK?’
‘I just got up too quickly. I’m fine.’
‘No. You’re not. Seeing Olivier would have triggered something in you. Anjelica, at some point you’re going to have to talk about what happened to you and not from the viewpoint as a detective but as a victim. A survivor of a horrific ordeal.’
‘Don’t call me that. Don’t call me a survivor. It makes me sound… Weak.’
‘How is being called a survivor a sign of weakness?’
‘I don’t want labels.’
‘PTSD doesn’t just go away. I know what you’re like, Anjelica. You’re very good at compartmentalising.’
‘It’s what makes me good at my job.’
‘Your job is one thing but compartmentalising your actual life. That’s different.’
‘It works for me.’
‘At some point, you’re going to overfill those compartments. You’ve been through a lot. You’re still processing things. It’s only been seven months since your mum died. I’m not even sure if you’ve properly grieved yet.’
‘It’s too late to grieve and you’re not supposed to be giving me therapy.’ Henley tried to smile but failed. She checked her watch. It was twenty past eight. She had already missed Emma’s bedtime and Rob would likely greet her with stony silence once she got home; not that she could blame him.
Mark walked over to his desk and opened a drawer. ‘If you’re not going to talk to Dr Afzal at least let me recommend someone to you.’
Henley took the business card from Mark’s hand. ‘Dr Isabelle Collins?’
‘She’s very good. Call her if you ever chang
e your mind about going back to therapy.’
‘I’m not promising anything.’ Henley’s phone began to vibrate in her pocket. She read the message from Ezra: Can U come back to SCU? V. imp info on Ladywell.
Henley wanted to reply No. She needed to be home and spend time with her own child, to watch Emma sleep, kiss her forehead. Be a mother.
‘Mark, something has come up. I’ve got to get back to the station,’ said Henley grudgingly. ‘Thank you for everything.’
‘Not a problem. Just remember, if this is a copycat and he’s following Olivier’s MO, there will be more bodies and probably a lot sooner than you think.’
Chapter 18
‘He’s a thieving little con artist.’
Those were the words Rhimes had used when Pellacia had told him of his bright idea to give Ezra Williams a job at the SCU, two weeks after Ezra had been released from Coldingly prison.
Ezra had replied, ‘It takes one to know one,’ as he peeled back the plastic film from the container of sweet curry sauce.
Rhimes had muttered something unintelligible as he bit into his quarter pounder and Ezra had said, ‘This is a breach of my human rights, bruv.’
Ezra had reluctantly turned up at the SCU with his laptop in his bag, an electronic tag on his ankle and to Rhimes’ unspoken delight, two bacon and Egg McMuffin breakfasts. He had spent two days sitting with a laptop in the corner of the incident room before demanding that he was moved to a room where he didn’t have to look at photos of dead bodies all day.
Ramouter walked into Ezra’s office.
‘Give me one sec,’ Ezra said as he tapped away at his keyboard. ‘Right, I’m done.’ He spun around dramatically on a large leather chair that wouldn’t look out of place on the Mastermind set. ‘So, the phone?’
‘Yeah, Kennedy’s phone and his tag. Henley said that you were done with it.’
‘They will never know that I’ve even been in it,’ Ezra said proudly as he stood up, stretched and walked over to the filing cabinet in the corner of the room. He opened a drawer and pulled out two sealed evidence bags.
‘So, did you find anything?’ Ramouter asked, taking the phones from Ezra’s hand.
Ezra folded his arms and cocked his head. ‘Are you seriously asking me if I found something?’
‘Well, I don’t know how good you are, so I have to ask.’
‘No, you don’t. I know that you’ve googled me. Probably tried to get into the system and dig up the case files about me. You probably did it at the same time as you were trying to retrieve the Olivier case files from Archives.’
‘How do you—’
‘Think of me as SCU’s gatekeeper.’
‘So, how can I get access to the case files?’
‘Mate, you need to learn a bit of patience. Have you tried meditation?’
‘What?’
‘A little bit of mindfulness will help you before you blow a fuse. I’ve already sorted out your access to the files. It connects to a secure server. Don’t like all this cloud business.’
‘You’ve got the actual files here?’
Ezra nodded. ‘In the basement. Anyway, Kennedy’s mobile phone. Brand new. Only three months old. The SIM in it is new too. Pay-as-you-go. Only a few numbers saved. His brother, probation officer and someone called Rinse. Sounds like a dealer, if you ask me.’
‘What about text messages? WhatsApp? Messenger?’
‘Nothing. The phone was wiped clean. Texts messages empty. WhatsApp chat cleared but that’s nothing. People are idiots. They think that just because you hit delete you’re in the clear.’
‘So, you found stuff?’
Ezra walked over to a small fridge and took out a bottle of luminescent green juice. ‘The WhatsApp account number wasn’t linked to that phone, or to be more accurate the SIM that you’ve got in your hand.’
‘What was it linked to?’
‘Bruv, another SIM, phone number and handset obviously.’
Ramouter was struggling to connect the dots. He was tired. He pulled up a chair and sat down.
‘Do you want some green juice?’ Ezra extended the bottle. ‘Spinach, kale, apple, a bit of lime and ginger. Perk you right up.’
‘Nah, I’m good. So, there’s another phone?’
‘OK. Don’t get offended, but I’m going to talk to you as if you’re my grandad who spends eighty per cent of our Skype conversations showing me the bloody ceiling.’
Ramouter laughed.
‘When you register for WhatsApp you have to enter a phone number. You’re then sent a verification code by text; you enter that and then you’re up and running. Got it?’
‘Aye, got it.’
‘Right, so imagine that you need a new phone. You get the new phone and a new SIM, but for some dodgy reason you still want people to contact you on WhatsApp, but you don’t want them to have your new number.’
Ramouter nodded. So far it was all making sense.
‘So, you download WhatsApp and they ask if you want to use an existing account. Got that?’
‘Yes. Do you have details for the old number?’
‘Of course. I retrieved the number and then I did my thing.’
‘What thing?’
‘That is something that you don’t need to know the details about. All I can tell you is that I found the phone provider and that phone was full and still active up until Tuesday morning.’
‘Tuesday? But Kennedy’s body was found on Monday morning.’
‘Curiouser and curiouser. Well, it’s one of two things. Someone nicked it and was still using it until it ran out of credit. Or whoever took him still has it.’
‘Shit. What about the tag?’ asked Ramouter.
‘Now the tag was even more interesting. He was given one of those fancy tags with GPS. Not the crappy, useless one that I had. Bad for him. Good for us. It tracks everything and he was always out. Solicitors in London Bridge, Camden, Upton Park? Couldn’t pay me enough to watch West Ham but anyway.’ Ezra paused and squinted his eyes. ‘Oh yeah, Blackfriars Crown Court, Lewisham Hospital and the local library. He was a busy man, but once the curfew kicked in, he stayed put. But that’s not to say that he was such a good boy before the tag was fitted.’
‘When did they fit it?’
‘The tag was activated on 29 August.’
‘Kennedy was granted bail on the 26th. When did the signal go dead?’
‘Sixth of September at 11.47 p.m. but he wasn’t at the hostel when it went dead.’
Ezra’s eyes flicked away from Ramouter’s to where Henley was standing in the doorway, holding a coffee cup with her name spelt incorrectly on the side.
‘All right, boss. Sorry to drag you back up here.’
‘Hey, Ezra. That’s all right. What do you mean he wasn’t at the hostel?’ asked Henley.
‘Like I said,’ Ezra continued. One of the mobile phones on the desk started to ring. ‘Kennedy wasn’t at the hostel when his tag went dead. He was in Ladywell Fields.’
Chapter 19
Henley couldn’t pull herself away from the photographs of Daniel Kennedy and Zoe Darego. Fated lovers. The pull to find their killer had grown stronger but it was the connection that she felt with Zoe that was driving her. Like Melissa, her story had been cut short. She had been a daughter, someone’s friend. A sister. From her nail polish and lipstick, the black and purple braids that looked to Henley freshly done, this was a woman who had cared about her appearance. But her fingernails, ragged and split, told a different story. Signs that she had tried to escape from somewhere. She had scratched and had clawed to get out, to get away, but away from where?
‘What do we know?’ Henley asked Ramouter.
They were sitting in a room two doors down from what Ezra called his laboratory. The room was quiet and cool but Ramouter was starting to look flustered. Henley knew that he wanted to question her about what Olivier had said to him earlier. She lifted up her shirt, just above the belly button.
‘Olivier stabbed me
when I tried to arrest him.’ She pointed to the scars on her stomach. ‘I spent a week in hospital, and he was charged with my attempted murder. Any questions?’
‘No. None at all.’
There were a few seconds of awkward silence as Henley tucked her shirt back in.
‘What do we know?’ she asked again. Ramouter consulted his notes.
‘Daniel Kennedy and Zoe Darego had been in a relationship for about two years, but they didn’t live together. Zoe worked at Lewisham Hospital.’
‘And Kennedy was in the park when his tag went dead, and Zoe was found in the park,’ said Henley.
‘There’s a gap of four days between Kennedy disappearing and his body being found, but the rest of Zoe was found after five days. Dr Choi says that her arm was cut off first and the rest of her was cut up one or two days later. So, what did our killer do? Keep Zoe around for a few days to watch her suffer before he finished her off? It’s sick.’
Ramouter leaned back in his chair.
‘We know that Kennedy was fully compliant with his bail conditions,’ said Henley. ‘He’s a creature of habit but something, not necessarily someone, forces him to remove his tag. Now, what would make you do something that you didn’t want to do?’
‘My sister-in-law.’
Henley couldn’t help herself. She almost smiled. ‘Someone other than your sister-in-law. Lesson number one, don’t jump ahead. Always listen to the question. The question is not who but what? What would make you do something that you didn’t want to?’
‘A threat. If someone was threatening me or someone close to me – but there is something else that’s bugging me. Kennedy’s tag. Why would he take the time to cut off his tag and break it if he believed that Zoe was in danger? If that was me, I wouldn’t bother. I would take my chances with the judge when they arrested me for breach of bail and the tag. The tag went dead in Ladywell Fields but we found it broken and under his bed. How did it get there?’
‘That’s good but we’re still missing answers to the where, who and why? Where were they killed, who killed them and why?’
‘The connection between Zoe and Kennedy isn’t enough, is it?’ said Ramouter.
The Jigsaw Man Page 9