The Jigsaw Man

by Nadine Matheson

  ‘Losing again, are you?’ Henley picked up the Xbox control pad from the sofa. She knew Pellacia wouldn’t want to talk anymore about his mum.

  ‘Yeah. Playing against my nephew in Melbourne,’ Pellacia said. He was still standing in the doorway. ‘The jammy little bastard.’

  I shouldn’t be here. We’re acting like kids, Henley thought to herself. She tried to think of something to fill the awkward silence.

  ‘I’m not staying,’ she said, unpausing the game.

  ‘Course you’re not.’

  ‘He’s going to know it wasn’t me that beat him.’ Laughing, Pellacia turned off the Xbox and switched the TV to the news.

  ‘You can give him my username if he wants to play a proper gamer again.’

  They said nothing for a while, just watched the news with the subtitles on. No one but close family and friends knew that Pellacia had only partial hearing in his left ear. They were sitting close together, but not too close. There was still space between them, but not enough space to stop his arm from occasionally brushing against Henley’s.

  ‘Why are you here, Anj?’ Pellacia asked.

  ‘Because I’m pissed off and my house is too quiet.’

  ‘You didn’t have to come here.’

  ‘I know that I didn’t, but you get it. This job, what it does to you.’

  ‘But isn’t that why you married Rob? You wanted someone outside of the job. Someone who didn’t know what the job did to you. That’s the reason you gave me.’

  Henley didn’t answer. That was what she had told herself when she had made her decision to finally end her relationship with Pellacia and be with Rob.

  ‘You could have just called. Sent a text.’

  ‘Wow. Anyone would think you didn’t want me here.’

  Henley knew she was taunting him. From the second Pellacia had seen her car parked outside his house, it was inevitable what was going to happen. Henley wasn’t sure whether Pellacia had pulled her towards him or whether she had pulled Pellacia towards her. She just felt his mouth on hers.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he murmured. Henley slipped her top over her head and he began to kiss her neck, his hand pushing its way into her jeans.

  ‘I know,’ Henley replied, her breath catching in her throat. She missed him too, but she couldn’t say that aloud. Right now, all she needed was for Pellacia to take her away from all of the loss, violence and self-doubt that was drowning her.

  Chapter 72

  ‘Lauren, baby. Everything all right in there?’

  ‘Everything is fine. I’ll be out in a bit.’

  Lauren checked her reflection in the three-way mirror. She had done everything to make sure that he would be happy. He had told her that yellow was his favourite colour. The summer clearance sales were over, and the shops were filled to the brim with the colours of autumn. She’d had to hunt high and low to find the yellow silk camisole among the blacks, plums and charcoals. She turned sideways and adjusted the straps on her shoulders.

  ‘Lauren, I’m going to open another bottle of red. Is that all right?’

  ‘That’s fine, darling.’

  She reapplied the red-carpet lipstick and spritzed herself with perfume and straightened the silver chain around her neck. He had told her that he liked long hair; she had grown it. He had told her that roast lamb was his favourite. She had taken herself to Smithfield’s at 7 a.m. and spent an exorbitant amount on an organic leg of lamb. He had wanted their first night to be special. She had pushed the self-help books under her bed and lit sticks of fire of love incense. She looked back at the double bed. The brand-new John Lewis duvet set was now a crumpled mess. She looked down at her wrists. The marks across both wrists were starting to fade. She hadn’t told him that the restraints were too tight.

  ‘Here you go.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Lauren took the glass of wine from him. She felt a flutter of nerves in her stomach.

  ‘Are you OK, sweetheart?’ he asked, sitting down on the sofa and patting the seat next to him.

  ‘I’m fine. I was just thinking. This may sound strange, but I don’t want to waste any time. Do you know what I mean?’

  ‘I know exactly what you mean.’ He took a sip of wine. ‘Hmm. This is really good. You have such great taste.’

  Lauren felt her cheeks growing hot as she leaned back against him. ‘We could have gone out to dinner, but I wanted you to have a nice home-cooked meal.’

  ‘And it’s appreciated. Lauren?’

  ‘Really? I’m glad.’

  ‘Don’t act surprised. You’ve made this evening so special. I wouldn’t normally want to rush into a relationship, but with you…’

  He slipped a finger under the strap of her camisole. She gasped as he moved his hand downwards and under the material. He cupped her breast and squeezed tighter than he had before.

  ‘Do you like that? Do you want me to fuck you again?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  Lauren placed her glass on the table. She didn’t notice when she knocked it over. Red wine pooled on the table and waterfalled over the side. She leaned in and kissed him. There was the sweet taste of blood as he bit her lip, breaking the thin skin.

  ‘Let’s go back to the bedroom,’ he said.

  ‘OK. Just give me a minute and I’ll meet you in there.’

  Lauren walked into the bathroom, breathless. The excitement of what she was going to do again was causing her lungs to close up. She opened the bathroom cabinet and reached for her asthma inhaler. She closed it and jumped, startled to see his reflection in the mirror staring back at her. Then the light went out. His hands were around her neck in an instant.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he hissed. ‘Didn’t mean to scare you.’

  Lauren opened her mouth to speak, but no sound escaped. She tried to say his name, but the force of her head connecting with the glass mirror lodged the word in her throat. He threw her onto the floor, knocking the wind out of her. She put a hand to her chest and listened to the scream that was penetrating the soft membrane of her eardrums. It took her a second to realise that the agonised sound was coming from her.

  I can’t breathe, Lauren tried to say, turning onto her stomach and crawling towards the door. He grabbed her hair and pulled, hard. She felt pressure on her back and pain in her right shoulder as he turned her over.

  Confusion and blood-tainted terror clouded Lauren’s brain as she looked up at the man who was supposed to love her. She didn’t recognise him. This wasn’t the man whose eyes had sparkled with desire and tenderness when he’d stroked her face before kissing her. Every muscle in this man’s face had stiffened with steely determination. His eyes were dead. Lauren’s brain told her to run but her body was locked with fear.

  ‘Please don’t do this.’

  ‘Don’t beg.’

  She could feel his bony kneecaps squeezing into her ribcage as he straddled her. The orange glow from the streetlamps outside had seeped through the gaps in the blinds. The silver blade of the knife flickered like cheap fairy lights. She tried to kick out as he covered her face with his rough palm; squeezing shut her nose and mouth. The knife came down quickly. Her neck felt warm. She was choking. She felt as though she was drowning, but how could she be drowning when she wasn’t under water? Then all went black.

  He’d had to wait. Wait for the chill to settle in the early morning air and for the last house on the street to switch off their bedroom light. He’d had to kick away a cat who had been sniffing at the bags at his feet. He had thought carefully about where he would put them. To make sure that they would be found, but this time it had to be different. Something special. Ten more minutes and then he would go. He closed his eyes. He could see her. He had memorised every contortion that her face had made. The cat came back. It hadn’t learned its lesson. There was a pond not far from where he was standing. He thought about drowning it.

  He kicked the cat harder this time and had to stop himself from laughing as it bounced against the brick wall. He picked
up the rucksack that had been resting next to the large duffle bag on the ground.

  The bag was lighter now.

  He held the rough canvas material to his face. The bottom of the bag was damp with blood. Dirt and gravel clung to the bloodied flesh where the plastic had unravelled. The limbs had rubbed against the stained canvas. He rubbed the damp spot with his fingers. He put his fingers to his nose and sniffed. The coppery scent seeped into his nostrils. He stroked the long strand of brown hair that was caught in the zip, and smiled. He placed the strap across his shoulders and then pulled up the handle of the duffle bag.

  He smiled because he already knew that he had done a better job than him.

  Chapter 73

  The bedside clock ticked forward to 5 a.m. Henley lay awake in a familiar bed staring at the ceiling and listening to the early morning chatter of starlings outside. Pellacia was on his side, facing her, eyes closed but with his arm around her. Guilt filled Henley’s chest.

  She gently pushed Pellacia’s arm aside.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Pellacia mumbled.

  ‘Bathroom.’ Henley shifted over to the right side of the bed. She stepped, naked, onto the carpet.

  ‘Make sure you come back.’ Pellacia moved himself into the place that Henley had just left and pulled the duvet up to his chest. She didn’t answer. Instead, she picked up her clothes and left the bedroom. She quickly washed her face with cold water to take away the dried sleep from her eyes and the pillow marks on her face. Henley walked down the staircase, avoiding the step that she knew always creaked. Before she reached the last step the sharp ringtone from her mobile phone broke the silence. She walked into the living room and saw the screen of her phone glowing among the cushions that were now scattered on the floor. Henley pulled a face. Why was Ramouter calling her at 5.04 a.m.?

  ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you for ages. There’s been another one.’

  ‘What?’ Henley whispered. She placed the phone in the crook of her neck and picked up her trainers by the sofa.

  ‘Uniform found another body, cut up like the others—’

  ‘Where?’ Henley stood up as she heard a creak on the staircase.

  ‘Isle of Dogs?’

  ‘How did you know about this?’

  ‘I’m on the rota for emergency calls. CID from Limehouse called the SCU and it got diverted to me.’

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘I’m at the SCU. I wasn’t sure whether to make my way to the Isle of Dogs or wait for you.’

  Henley turned around to see Pellacia standing in the doorway watching her. He ran a hand through his bed-raddled hair. Henley pressed the mute button and as extra security, put the phone to her chest.

  ‘You said that you were just going to the bathroom,’ Pellacia said.

  ‘I have to go,’ Henley said quickly. She walked past him and grabbed her bag and jacket from the bannister.

  ‘Anj—’ Pellacia’s pleaded.

  ‘I can’t… Not now.’ She unmuted the phone.

  ‘Hello… Are you—’ said Ramouter.

  ‘You just can’t—’ said Pellacia.

  ‘Head straight to the Isle of Dogs. I’ll be with you in about twenty minutes. Thirty at the most.’ Henley ended the call. ‘Stephen, you don’t understand. This isn’t about us. There’s been another one.’

  Chapter 74

  ‘Do we have any idea who it is?’ asked Henley, as she looked for somewhere to park.

  ‘I only know that the victim is possibly female. I thought that the copycat had stopped.’ Ramouter’s voice was loud over the car speakers. ‘Ran out of steam.’

  ‘They never stop. They may go quiet for a while—’

  ‘A while? It wasn’t even a week.’

  ‘The press conference must have prompted him. Suddenly, he’s getting attention. He’s on the front of papers and the first thing being spoken about on the news. Do we know who discovered the body?’

  ‘Douglas Gill,’ Ramouter repeated from memory. ‘Forty-eight years old. He’s a builder. Kitchen, bathrooms that sort of thing. He left his tools in the van overnight, went to get them this morning and that’s when he found her.’

  ‘I’m parking up. I’ll see you in a sec,’ said Henley.

  A crowd had formed behind the blue-and-white police tape that fluttered in the breeze. Callander Drive on the Isle of Dogs was a new addition to the London A-Z. The road was bordered by identical new-build terraced houses, each the colour of rice pudding. A makeshift forensic tent covered the driveway of number 39.

  ‘Oi, stop,’ shouted an officer as Henley placed her hand on the tape.

  ‘DI Anjelica Henley from the SCU.’ She reached inside her pocket for her warrant card and then swore. ‘I’ve left my—’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise. TDC Ramouter said that you were coming,’ the officer replied sheepishly, lifting the police tape. Henley thanked him as she ducked under and made her way towards Ramouter. Along the way she caught a glimpse of the stocky white man sitting on the doorstep of the house next door. Through the open door behind him, Henley could see a petite woman dressed in shorts and a vest, talking to a female officer. The man looked up at Henley almost apologetically.

  ‘From the sound of things, it’s not looking good,’ Ramouter said to Henley.

  ‘I take it that’s Douglas Gill.’ Henley indicated at the man who had stood up and gone back into the house.

  ‘Yep, that’s him. He thought that someone must have broken into the van, but it doesn’t look like entry’s been forced.’

  The van had been parked haphazardly and was covered with the decaying grime of the city. Someone had helpfully written on the driver’s side of the van, I WISH THAT MY GIRL WAS THIS DIRTY. A streak of exposed metal glinted under the mobile number, and a large dent pocked the door.

  Henley examined the lock. Except for the usual grime and a smudge of dried paint, Ramouter was right. The lock was almost pristine.

  ‘The van has never been reported stolen?’

  Ramouter shook his head.

  ‘It’s either that he forgot to lock up or whoever it was had a key,’ said Henley.

  ‘Or he could have programmed a key fob. It’s easy enough to do.’ Ramouter handed Henley a pair of gloves. ‘That’s a lot of planning but it would explain why the van’s alarm didn’t go off.’

  ‘It takes a lot of effort, though. To target this particular van, to copy the keys, only to make sure that there weren’t any prints. Why not just take the van and dump it somewhere?’

  Ramouter shrugged as they both stood looking at the van doors.

  ‘What time did Gill arrive home last night?’ asked Henley.

  ‘He said that he was finishing a job in Leytonstone and arrived home at 9 p.m. He went out again at 10 but didn’t take the van. Says that he met his girlfriend at the Fox and Crown pub and they stayed until eleven. The pub is around the corner and he got home around five past. He didn’t come out again until 4.30 this morning.’

  ‘That gives us only a four-and-a-half-hour window,’ Henley said as she pulled at the door. ‘Our victim may be local.’

  The stench of dead flesh choked their nostrils.

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ Henley covered her nose and mouth with her palm. Next to a large dented toolbox was an arm that had been neatly cut off at the shoulder. The fake diamonds on a rose gold watch, still on the wrist, sparkled in the stream of sunlight. The second arm rested on a pair of dirty overalls. Two blood-stained legs were pointing in the direction of the door, while the torso, wearing a blood-spattered yellow camisole, was propped up at the end of the van, next to a large bucket of plaster. A woman’s head was hanging on the van wall. Her long brown hair had been tied around a hook. Her mouth was open, her tongue hanging out. Two dead eyes stared back at Henley.

  ‘What. The. Fuck?’ Ramouter stepped back and placed his hands on his thighs. There was a rustle of plastic as Anthony stepped into the tent and Ramouter walked quickly out.

  ‘Sorry,
I should have warned you,’ Anthony said.

  Henley was unable to take her eyes off the dead girl’s head. ‘This is different to the others. It smells… Fresh.’

  ‘Looks fresh too,’ said Anthony, clasping his hand behind his back. ‘It’s a horrible way to go.’

  Henley focused her attention on the bloodied limbs. ‘They’re all there.’

  ‘What are?’

  ‘The body parts. Our copycat has been keeping parts. Trophies. Everything is here. I can see her ears.’

  Henley looked again at the hanging head. The woman’s dead brown eyes stared back at her. Her lips were covered with bright red lipstick and dried blood and it was at that moment that Henley knew. This one was different. All of the copycat’s victims had been dumped within a two-mile radius. South of the river. The freshness of the body made Henley suspect that this woman had been killed nearby. The opposite side of the river to where Daniel Kennedy’s torso had been found.

  ‘This is Olivier,’ Henley said. ‘He’s sending us a message.’

  Chapter 75

  As the police went door-to-door, appealing for witnesses, Henley and Ramouter walked up the garden path of number 40. The front door opened before Henley had a chance to even place her hand on the brass knocker, and she found herself face to face with a man who looked to be in his late sixties with white unkempt hair, wearing a faded Leyton Orient football shirt and Star Wars pyjama bottoms. A bull terrier appeared at his side. Henley felt her nose twitch. The smell of cannabis was overwhelming.

  ‘Don’t worry about her. She’s harmless,’ he said, grabbing the dog by the collar. ‘I saw you two from across the road.’

  ‘I’m Inspector Henley and this is my colleague, Detective Ramouter.’

  ‘Inspector? Can’t be many of you lot in the force,’ he said.

  ‘You lot?’ Henley said, making no effort to hide the disdain and irritation in her voice.

  ‘Women inspectors, I meant. Young ones too.’

  Ramouter tutted and folded his arms across the chest.