The Jigsaw Man

by Nadine Matheson

‘Yeah, yeah, I get it.’

  Henley tried to organise her thoughts as she processed what Ramouter had just said. ‘Our killer has a vendetta,’ she said. ‘Each of our victims have been targeted for some reason. What did Zoe see, what did Kennedy say and what did Churchyard hear?’

  No one responded. The sound of early evening traffic, making its way through Greenwich, crept through the window. The sky was almost purple as though it were holding back a storm.

  ‘Three monkeys. Three victims. That should be it, right?’ asked Ramouter.

  Henley could sense the lack of conviction in Ramouter’s question. ‘There has to be a psychological motive,’ she said. ‘There’s a reason why they killed. We need to establish the reason.’

  Pellacia’s phone started ringing and he went to his office to answer it. Henley waited for him to return before she continued.

  ‘There is another thing,’ Henley said. ‘Ramouter, go ahead.’

  ‘Right,’ Ramouter cleared his throat, ‘it’s something that Olivier said to us when we saw him the other day. He claimed he didn’t get any visitors, just fan mail. But then he told us that he has had a few legal visits.’

  ‘So?’ said Pellacia.

  ‘So, while you were out, I asked the prison governor for a list. Olivier was lying about the legal visits but he did see someone on a social visit.’

  Ramouter explained his investigation into Chance Blaine.

  ‘Why on earth would a struck-off solicitor be visiting Olivier?’ asked Eastwood.

  ‘I have no idea, but there’s something dodgy going on. Firstly, Olivier lied about it and secondly the prison confirmed that Blaine had initially tried to book a visit after his own release from prison, in his original name, but he was on the prison’s blacklist. Four months later, he’s changed his name and has a new passport,’ said Ramouter.

  ‘And he’s booking visits and seeing Olivier,’ Henley concluded.

  ‘Olivier isn’t an idiot,’ said Eastwood. ‘He would have known that you would check the visits register and find out about Blaine.’

  ‘And that’s why we’re going back to see Olivier tomorrow,’ Henley said. ‘We’ve got three bodies lying in bits in a freezer down the road. I can’t have Olivier thinking that he can pull the strings in our investigation.’

  ‘This Blaine/McGrath geezer,’ said Stanford. ‘As part of his legal team, he would have known about the symbols that Olivier used. In fact, he would know everything.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Henley replied. She picked up a black marker and walked over to the whiteboard. She wrote the name Chance Blaine in the empty suspect box.

  Chapter 26

  Luna began barking and jumping before Henley had even stepped a foot into the house. It was after 7 p.m. when she’d finally left the SCU.

  ‘OK, OK. I know that I’m late,’ Henley said when Rob entered the hallway.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s fine. I understand that this case is important to you.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I thought that I would have been out by five, but… It’s been a hard day.’

  Henley held onto Luna, a barrier between her and Rob.

  ‘I thought that you weren’t talking to me,’ Henley said.

  ‘I’m sorry about that. I’ve barely seen you for most of the week and when you told me that you were working a case again, I should have done better. I was being immature and an idiot.’

  ‘You’re not an idiot.’

  ‘You didn’t deny that I was immature, though?’

  ‘How’s Emma?’ Henley finally let go of Luna and kicked her off her trainers. ‘Is she OK?’

  ‘She was a bit moody. Fighting sleep, asking for you.’

  ‘Don’t make me feel bad for not being here. Don’t you think that I feel like shit every time I leave her? I just need a bit of support from you. This isn’t easy for me. I’m trying to get it right but it’s hard.’ Henley’s shoulders sagged.

  ‘Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to sound like that.’ Rob’s face softened. ‘Come here.’ He pulled Henley towards him and held her. She breathed in the scent of him and buried her head into his neck.

  ‘I can’t ever pretend to know what you’re going through,’ Rob said. ‘Do you know how bad I felt knowing that I didn’t do my job as a husband?’

  ‘Sweetheart, I know that you want to protect me and I know that you sometimes think that I care more about the dead than you—’

  ‘Don’t even go there, Anj. I’ve never thought that. I would just like you to have a job where I didn’t worry that you may not come home one day.’

  ‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ Henley said, pulling herself away from him.

  ‘What’s happened? Rob asked quietly.

  ‘Nothing has happened. It’s just that… Tomorrow morning… This case. I have to see Olivier.’ She held back on saying the word ‘again’. She felt guilty but she needed Rob to be sympathetic.

  Rob didn’t say anything. The only sound came from the television. Henley sat down on the stairs and waited.

  ‘Breathe,’ Rob said as he sat next to Henley on the bed and gently massaged her shoulders. ‘You need to relax. You need to breathe.’

  ‘I can’t,’ Henley gasped. Her pulse quickened.

  ‘Come on. I’ll do it with you. In for three, hold and out for three.’

  Henley leaned into her husband as her breathing became softer, the ringing in her ears stopped and her pulse slowed down.

  ‘I don’t want you to see Olivier,’ Rob said as Henley lay down next to him. ‘I don’t want him to hurt you again.’

  ‘He can’t hurt me.’

  ‘No one will judge you for walking away.’

  You’re wrong, Henley said to herself. She moved her head onto Rob’s chest and listened to the calming rhythm of his heartbeat.

  ‘I can’t walk away,’ Henley whispered, the words lost in the soft cotton of Rob’s shirt.

  Chapter 27

  Chance Blaine looked miserable as he stood inside the estate agents on Sydenham Road, changing the available property posters. Despite his downtrodden face, he was dressed well in a charcoal grey suit and a light blue shirt. He noticed two people watching him through the window and opened the door.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Good morning, I’m DI Henley and this is TDC Ramouter. We need to have a chat with you.’

  Henley held out her warrant card, but Blaine didn’t take it. In fact, he didn’t look that surprised to see a couple of police officers turning up at his place of work.

  ‘Is this about the fraud we reported? It’s taken you long enough,’ he said as he remained standing in the doorway.

  ‘Mr Blaine, this isn’t about a fraud and I would prefer to discuss this inside. We did go to your flat first but it seems that you’re a bit of an early riser.’

  ‘You’ve been to my… what is this about?’ Blaine’s voice rose slightly.

  ‘Peter Olivier.’

  Henley and Ramouter entered the office, ignoring the stares from the other two estate agents at their desks. From the look of the place, Henley was convinced that the agency wasn’t totally legit.

  ‘Do you want a cup of tea or something?’ Blaine asked, pushing open a door to a small cramped office at the back. There were half-empty cups of day-old tea on the desk, resting on top of old copies of the local paper.

  ‘No, thank you.’ Henley took a look at the old chair in front of her and chose to remain standing. ‘A bit of a change for you, isn’t it? From criminal defence solicitor to estate agent.’

  ‘Didn’t have much of a choice,’ Blaine said bitterly. ‘It’s not easy getting a job after you’ve been in prison.’

  ‘I can imagine. Look, Mr Blaine, we’re conducting a murder investigation, and there are certain features of our new case that are similar to the murders that Peter Olivier committed.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with me?’

  ‘We know that you’ve been visiting Peter Olivier in prison.’
<
br />   ‘Last time I checked, that wasn’t illegal.’

  ‘No, it’s not, but we’ve also been to see Olivier,’ said Ramouter, sitting down on one of the chairs. ‘And he denied that he’s had any social visits. Didn’t mention you at all.’

  Henley caught it. The flash of hurt across Blaine’s face.

  ‘That’s understandable. Peter is a very private person.’

  ‘Well, private or not, there are some questions that we need to ask you.’

  Henley stepped back and let Ramouter continue. She had to admit that she was impressed with his authority.

  ‘As my boss said, we’re investigating a series of murders. Three people have been found dismembered and all three had these symbols carved onto their body.’ Ramouter reached for the pen on the table and drew the crescent and double cross on the back of a property leaflet. ‘Now, I’m sure that you recognise it. That was disclosed to you when you were part of Olivier’s legal team and called yourself Joseph McGrath.’

  ‘I can’t discuss anything with you about the case,’ Blaine said smugly. ‘Legal professional privilege. Anything that I discussed with Olivier is still confidential.’

  Henley shook her head in disbelief.

  ‘Mr Blaine, I wouldn’t expect you to breach the conduct rules for a second time, but your social visits aren’t covered by any sort of privilege and you’ve been seeing him every month since you changed your name. Why have you been seeing him?’

  ‘We became friends,’ Blaine said. ‘He felt bad about what happened to me. He said that he felt responsible.’

  ‘Did he tell you to pervert the course of justice? To bribe jurors?’ asked Henley.

  ‘Of course not. It was a stupid decision that I made. He doesn’t have anyone and we always got on when I was representing him.’

  ‘Even though you were struck off? And went to prison?’ Ramouter didn’t bother to mask the disbelief in his voice.

  ‘I’ve tried to move on since then,’ Blaine replied.

  ‘Mr Blaine, you knew about the symbols,’ Henley said impatiently. ‘Have you in the past few months disclosed that information to anyone? If you have, even in passing, then it’s important that you tell us.’

  ‘No, why should I?’ Blaine said. He looked convincingly baffled. ‘Look, if I’m honest, I try not to think about what happened in that case. It ruined my life.’

  ‘It ruined your life but you still keep in touch with Olivier?’

  ‘As a friend,’ Blaine said firmly. ‘He still needs friends.’

  ‘You want to be friends with a serial killer?’ Henley waited for Blaine to answer as she reconciled herself with the absurdity of his admission. He had the good sense not to try and explain himself.

  ‘We’ve identified two of the people who have been murdered,’ said Henley. ‘Daniel Kennedy and Uzomamaka Darego. Do those names mean anything to you?’

  ‘Never heard of them,’ he said quickly. ‘Is there anything else? I’ve got viewings starting at ten.’

  ‘Not just yet, but we’re going to need to confirm your whereabouts over the past week.’

  ‘Why? Am I a suspect? That’s ridiculous. I’m a bloody estate agent. I’m in debt up to my eyeballs. I’ve already been to prison once and I’ve got no intention of going again.’

  ‘In that case, you’ll have no problem with providing us with the information. You may not be a criminal solicitor anymore, but you know exactly how this works,’ Henley said. She threw her business card onto his desk.

  Blaine grabbed his jacket, which was hanging from a nail on the wall. ‘I’ll email you my work diary. Not that it’s very exciting. I’m working twelve hours a day, six days a week. A couple of nights a week I go to the gym and the rest of the time I’m with my girlfriend, Lorelei.’

  ‘We’ll need her details too.’

  ‘Fine.’

  Blaine felt sick as he waited for Henley and Ramouter to drive off. As they pulled away, he committed the car’s number plate to memory. Back in the office he ignored his colleagues’ questions, closed his office door, and pulled out a SIM card taped to the back of a loyalty card in his wallet. He swapped it with the SIM card in his phone, waited for the phone to connect to the network and then he sent a single text.

  You were right. They found me at work. Just left. Asked me about ‡☾. Don’t worry. Said nothing. xx

  Chapter 28

  ‘So, are we going to tell Olivier that we’ve just paid his mate a visit?’ asked Ramouter as they entered the legal visits room in Belmarsh prison.

  ‘No, not yet. To be fair, Olivier’s not stupid. He’s probably worked out that we would have been to see Blaine and that we know he lied.’

  ‘I don’t understand why he would do that. What’s he going to gain from it?’

  ‘Who knows? He probably needs a way to amuse himself.’

  Henley held her finger to her lips as she heard Olivier’s raspy voice down the hall as he talked to the prison officer.

  ‘Inspector Henley and TDC Ramouter. We meet again,’ said Olivier. He stopped at the door and waited for the officer to remove his cuffs. ‘Thank you very much, Paul.’

  ‘I’ll only be down the corridor,’ Paul said to Olivier. Henley was slightly amazed; was the prison officer warning her that he had Olivier’s back?

  ‘So, what’s happened, has another one turned up? In pieces, covered in noughts and crosses?’ Olivier took a seat. ‘I prefer this room. It’s a lot brighter and you can see people.’ He nodded at the female solicitor passing by the window. The woman paused, smiled hesitantly before walking off.

  ‘TDC Ramouter,’ Olivier held out his hand.

  ‘Yes?’ Ramouter shook his hand hesitantly.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about you. I was thinking about the letter “T”.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘It’s a new one, isn’t it? I was trying to work out what the “T” stood for and then it hit me. “T” for Trainee. So, you’re Inspector Henley’s trainee. Someone to look after. To groom. It made me wonder what happened to—’

  ‘Olivier!’ Henley said forcefully.

  ‘Pellacia,’ Olivier said. ‘The one who used to groom you. He told you to stop, but you didn’t. Pellacia.’

  He said the name with such force that Ramouter had to wipe away the traces of spittle that had landed on his face.

  ‘Pellacia. It’s Italian, isn’t it?’ said Olivier. ‘He was and probably still is a cunt.’

  Henley willed herself to remain calm. Olivier wasn’t prepared to be compliant. He wanted to play. She wasn’t going to let him.

  ‘A third body was found yesterday morning in a churchyard in Deptford,’ said Henley.

  Olivier raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s it? You’re not going to jump to your boyfriend’s defence?’

  ‘Shut up and listen.’

  Olivier smiled, his expression unreadable.

  ‘It’s been confirmed that all three had a double cross and a crescent cut into them,’ Henley continued. ‘That’s your MO. That’s what you like to do. Carve symbols into their skin. To claim ownership.’

  ‘I didn’t do anything,’ Olivier said, leaning across the table.

  ‘What do you mean you didn’t do anything?’ Ramouter asked.

  ‘What do I mean? Ten misinformed idiots believed that I killed seven people but I didn’t. I put my hand on the bible and I swore to my god that I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘You were found guilty.’

  ‘Found being the operative word,’ Olivier replied. He waved his hand in front of Ramouter’s face. ‘What exactly do you know, trainee? You come in here in your nice suit and hipster beard, acting like you know things about me. You know nothing.’ Olivier fixed his gaze onto Henley. ‘Why don’t you tell him, Inspector? Tell your trainee that I was found guilty. I didn’t plead guilty. I didn’t admit to anything because I didn’t do anything.’ Olivier sat back. ‘It was a miscarriage of justice.’

  ‘You know that the information about the bran
ding was never released, and now I’ve got someone on the streets doing a very poor imitation of your work. It’s a hatchet job.’

  ‘Poor choice of words.’ Olivier smirked.

  ‘Tool of your trade.’

  ‘Alleged work. As I said—’

  ‘I heard what you said,’ Henley snapped.

  ‘Be nice. I could have refused to come up here.’

  ‘Who did you tell?’

  ‘I didn’t do anything.’ Olivier sounded bored.

  ‘Well, let’s talk hypothetically then,’ Henley said. ‘If you had killed seven people and chopped up their bodies, would you have told anyone, not including your crap legal team, about cutting the symbols in their flesh?’

  The room went quiet. Henley held Olivier’s gaze, daring him to blink first. In the distance, a door slammed shut, a set of keys jangled. Paul the prison officer walked past the window, paused briefly, nodded at Olivier, and carried on walking.

  ‘Hypothetically speaking. No one. They remanded me and kept me on the segregation unit until my trial in that kangaroo court. I didn’t see anyone. I didn’t talk to anyone. Don’t get me wrong, I was asked about the bodies.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘The others in here. Bloody nosy lot those prison officers are. Wanting to know how I did it, why I did it. Did I enjoy it? Hypothetically, of course.’

  ‘And did you enjoy it?’

  Olivier laughed loudly. ‘Ramouter, did you hear her? Your boss thought that she was being clever.’

  ‘Did you tell them?’ Henley asked again.

  ‘Nothing to tell because I didn’t do anything. I can imagine that it would be quite messy though.’ Olivier’s voice was soft. ‘There would be a lot of blood. It would take a lot of work and patience to position the jigsaw just right. I would think that it’s the bone that would be the problem. It’s probably quite tough and if you haven’t got the right blade – well, you could easily go through a couple of blades before you perfected the technique, but once you got through the marrow, it would be soft, almost jelly-like.’

  The silence was heavy. ‘And the symbols?’ Henley forced herself to ask.

  ‘It would be my tag, my artist’s signature. Why would I want anyone to use my tag? I made you a present.’