The Jigsaw Man

by Nadine Matheson

  ‘They’re about to move the body. I’m heading back to the mortuary, but I just wanted to give you a heads-up. I’m estimating time of death to be within the last twenty-four hours.’

  Henley nodded. If the CCTV wasn’t enough to convince her that Olivier was responsible, the fact that Lauren Varma had been killed recently went against the copycat’s entire MO. ‘Are there any parts missing?’

  ‘No, as you saw for yourself, two arms, two legs, no missing fingers or toes but what I can tell you is that there are ligature marks on the wrists and ankles and bruising on the neck and the back of her head. Can’t say yet if the bruising was caused post-mortem. Other than the driving licence being put inside her, I can’t see any external signs of sexual activity, but I will let you know. Haven’t got much on today so I can pretty much start as soon as she gets here. There’s something else.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘She’s been branded. But this is different.’

  ‘How is it different?’

  ‘It’s a series of letters and numbers across both her breasts. I’m not sure what it means. I’ve got pictures which I can email to you now.’

  ‘Thanks, Linh.’

  Henley put the phone down and repeated to Ramouter what Linh had just told her. A couple of minutes later her computer pinged with an email alert. Henley opened the email from Linh. It was a close-up of Lauren Varma’s breasts. Beneath the blood, five numbers and two letters had been cut across the skin.

  ‘What do you think it means?’ said Ramouter. ‘A postcode? A password maybe?’

  ‘No. No.’ Henley copied out the sequence on a piece of paper. ‘A0743TP. Can’t you see it?’ she asked.

  ‘No. What am I looking at?’

  ‘Doesn’t that look like a prisoner number to you?’ Henley turned towards her computer and pulled up the email that Pellacia had sent confirming her visit to Belmarsh prison the previous week.

  ‘The bastard.’ Henley turned the laptop round to show Ramouter.

  ‘You’ve got to be joking,’ said Ramouter. ‘Peter Francis Olivier. Date of birth 8 November 1975. Prison number A0743TP. Why would he do that?’

  ‘He doesn’t care. He really doesn’t care. This is just a game to him now,’ Henley said, furiously pacing around the room.

  ‘So, what now?’ asked Ramouter.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Henley stopped pacing and tried to calm down.

  ‘Well, we’ve got two investigations running alongside each other. Our copycat and now Olivier’s gone and killed again. Do you think that they’re working together?’

  Henley shook her head. ‘No, Olivier is too egotistical for that, but we can’t rule anything out. We can ask Mark what he thinks. But cutting his prison number into her breasts – he’s making sure we know it’s all about him. I doubt that he would want to share his handiwork with anyone. In his head, he probably thinks that the copycat is substandard. Probably wants to show him how it’s done.’

  Just then Pellacia walked through the door, carrying a box of doughnuts.

  ‘You had an early start. It’s not exactly healthy, but it’s something,’ said Pellacia, putting the doughnuts down onto Stanford’s desk.

  Ramouter’s face paled. ‘I don’t think that I can eat anything right now,’ he said.

  ‘That bad, was it?’

  ‘Go ahead, Ramouter. Update him,’ said Henley as she distracted herself with the letters on her desk. Ramouter ran through the investigation so far.

  ‘Any sightings of Olivier?’ asked Pellacia, when Ramouter had finished.

  ‘No, there’s been nothing. It’s like he’s disappeared into the wind again.’

  ‘And I’ve got more bad news for you. Chance Blaine was released twenty minutes ago.’

  ‘Fuck.’ Henley put her hands to her head. ‘I didn’t want him out. I thought that you were going to speak to the CPS?’

  ‘I did but they weren’t having it. At least he’s got bail conditions. To live and sleep at his home address and no contact with the rest of the jurors. Stanford and Eastwood are carrying out surveillance on him for the next twenty-four hours. That should make you happy?’

  ‘No,’ said Henley, storming out of the office. ‘That does not make me happy.’

  Henley looked at her face in the bathroom mirror and grimaced. Not that she was one to spend hours doing her make-up, but she usually did a good job of hiding the dark circles under her eyes and the small scar on her cheek. She finished brushing her teeth and sprayed herself with deodorant. It wasn’t even midday, but she just wanted to go home, lie in bed and cry a bit. The bathroom door opened. It was Pellacia.

  ‘What are you doing in here?’ Henley asked.

  ‘Why did you come to me last night?’ Pellacia closed the door behind him.

  ‘Now is not the time.’

  ‘So, when would be a good time? You were going to walk out of my house without saying a word.’

  ‘You know full well that it wasn’t like that. Ramouter called and—’

  ‘You were almost out the door before he called you.’

  Henley picked up her bag from the edge of the sink. ‘I shouldn’t have come. It shouldn’t have happened.’

  ‘I don’t understand why you keep fighting me on this.’

  ‘Because I have a husband and we have a child. What do you want from me? I made a mistake.’

  ‘Is that what I am to you then? A mistake.’

  ‘No, of course you’re not. I’m sorry, that was the wrong word… I was… Lonely. I made the mistake.’

  Pellacia looked down at the old, cracked tiles on the floor while Henley tried to avoid her reflection in the mirror.

  ‘You know how I feel about you,’ Pellacia finally said.

  ‘Stop. Stephen, please.’

  Pellacia placed his hands on his lips, composing himself. Preparing himself. ‘I didn’t plan to follow you in here. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s OK. I’m sorry.’ Henley wanted to reach out, to hold him, but she held back.

  ‘It’s not easy. Seeing you every day, worrying about you… Anyway, I thought that you would want to know. DS Lancaster has been formally suspended, pending an investigation. Still doesn’t answer the question as to who leaked the initial story to the press, but hopefully we’ll…’ Pellacia’s voice trailed off. ‘You do realise that you’re involved in three separate active investigations?’

  ‘Technically, Olivier’s escape hasn’t been allocated to us. The NCA have that one.’ Henley opened her bag and rummaged around for the hand cream.

  ‘Doesn’t really matter what the job sheet says. You’re involved in all of this. I just want you to be careful. I’m worried about you.’ And with that, he walked out.

  Henley went into one of the stalls, pulled down the toilet seat and sat down. Her mouth felt dry and her breath was coming through in rapid gasps. She wanted to strip naked and throw herself into a pool of water; to shock her body into normality. She kicked the toilet door, leaving behind a dent.

  ‘Oh my God.’ Henley pushed her hands against her temples; anything to stop the pulse in her head. She squeezed her eyes closed, but the images of Zoe Darego, Lauren Varma, Daniel Kennedy and Sean Delaney’s bloodied and dismembered bodies kept flashing in her head. It was all too much. She had thought that she could control it. Keep the PTSD locked away.

  ‘Henley are you in here? There’s a call for you.’

  Henley tried to respond to Joanna, but her words were swallowed up in tear-filled chokes.

  ‘Henley?’ The tone in Joanna’s voice switched.

  Henley stiffened as Joanna gently tapped on the door.

  ‘Anjelica, love. Open the door.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Come on. Yes, you can.’

  Henley took a deep breath, stood up and opened the door.

  ‘Oh sweetheart, come here.’

  Henley fell into Joanna’s arms. Joanna held her tighter and rubbed her back.

  ‘I thought that I could do
this, Jo,’ said Henley. ‘But it’s all falling apart.’

  ‘You put too much pressure on yourself. You don’t have to do this to yourself.’

  Henley pulled herself away, walked towards the sink and ran the cold tap. Her eyes were red and puffy. Her face pale and strained.

  ‘I should have seen it coming,’ said Joanna as she pulled sheets of tissue paper from the dispenser.

  ‘I thought that I was ready,’ Henley said as Joanna soaked the paper and gently wiped away the streaked mascara from under her eyes. The cool tissue felt soothing. ‘That first day by the river. I had nerves but I did the job. I went to the mortuary. I looked at Kennedy’s body cut into pieces and I thought…’ Henley didn’t try to stop herself from crying again.

  ‘Is that when it started?’ Joanna handed Henley more tissues.

  There was no point hiding it from Joanna or herself. Henley saw herself sitting naked on the edge of her bed, watching her right-hand tremble. She had gone to bed that night convinced that she was dying.

  ‘I wish that you’d said something to me,’ said Joanna. ‘You’ve been through so much, poppet. If Rhimes was here…’ her voice trailed off. ‘I wish that he hadn’t… well. You know.’

  ‘I miss him,’ said Henley. ‘I miss him and hate him at the same time. Rhimes wasn’t just my boss. He knew me. He was family and he killed himself. He brought all of us together and he didn’t even try and let us help him. I hate that I’m weak right now. Look at me, Jo. I’m losing everything. I’m losing myself.’

  ‘I’ve got some diazepam in my desk drawer,’ said Joanna. ‘Don’t look at me like that. They’re probably out of date. I found them when I was clearing out Rhimes’s desk.’

  ‘I shouldn’t.’ Henley checked her reflection in the mirror. ‘God, I look like shit.’

  ‘They’re low dosage. Just a little something to calm you down. If you don’t want it, then I can go across the road to the bookies and ask one of those lads who hang around outside for a couple of ounces of weed.’

  ‘You don’t have to do that.’

  ‘Well, at least take half of the pill.’

  ‘Just half.’

  ‘Promise. Go downstairs to the old cells, I’ll bring you down a cup of tea and have a kip for an hour. I’ll cover for you. They’ve got enough to keep them busy for a while.’

  ‘Thanks, Jo.’

  ‘Anytime. Someone’s got to keep a lookout for you.’

  The diazepam had calmed her, slowed down her heartbeat, but it couldn’t stop the voices in her head. Closing her eyes didn’t erase the images of bloodied body parts. Henley sat up and looked at the wall where a previous occupant had written the word ‘wanker’. Henley wanted to lock the door and hide in the cells forever. To insulate herself from the chaos outside. She banged her hand against the wall as the image of Olivier, lying on top of her, licking her face, plunging the knife into her, lingered in her mind’s eye, a video on pause. She could hear him repeating his promise to kill her. She had thought she was ready, that she was strong enough, but right now she was convinced that this case was going to kill her.

  Chapter 79

  Queen Elizabeth Hospital had grown calmer. The enhanced security had disbanded, and the journalists and camera crews had finally moved on. Henley took the lift up to the third floor. No one paid any attention as she walked past the nurses’ station and made her way to Karen’s room. An unimpressive security guard sat outside the door playing a game on his phone. Henley followed the instructions on the safety poster, pressed the dispenser on the wall and rubbed her hands vigorously with the anti-bacterial liquid. The TV above Karen’s head was restricted to the non-premium channels. As far as Henley could tell, she was watching another episode of Judge Rinder even though her right eye was covered with a bandage. The bedside cabinet was filled with flowers and the requisite bunch of grapes and a large bottle of Lucozade.

  ‘Hello, Karen,’ Henley said.

  ‘Oh, Inspector. Sorry, I’ve forgotten your name,’ Karen replied, pushing herself up on the bed. Her face was still heavily bruised and swollen.

  ‘Inspector Henley. They were still going heavy on the painkillers the last time I was here.’

  ‘I needed them, but they’ve taken away my drip now. This is just antibiotics,’ Karen tapped at the cannula in her hand. ‘I caught an infection yesterday.’

  ‘How much longer are you staying in then?’

  Henley forced herself to put a smile on her face. To show that she genuinely cared.

  ‘I should be going home on Sunday. The doctors are just waiting for this infection to clear up.’

  ‘And the eye? I hope that there’s no permanent damage?’ said Henley. She pulled a chair from the corner and sat down.

  ‘They’re still not sure.’ Karen put a hand to her bandaged eye and winced. ‘I had the dressing changed yesterday but everything is still swollen. They’re not sure if the damage is going to be…’ She put a hand to her chest and took a breath. ‘They’re not sure if the damage is going to be permanent.’

  ‘Have you managed to see your colleague, Ade?’ Henley asked. Would there be any acknowledgement that she was partially responsible for his condition?

  ‘Oh… erm… I haven’t been able to see him. How is he?’

  ‘He’s still in a coma. He has a fractured skull and there’s swelling in his brain.’

  Karen looked down at the hospital-issued blanket. ‘I… Will he recover?’

  ‘They’re not sure.’

  Karen looked up at Henley with her good eye before turning away. ‘I didn’t think…’

  ‘You didn’t think what?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing. Ade didn’t deserve that. It all happened so quickly.’

  ‘You spent a lot of time with Olivier, didn’t you?’

  Henley noticed the subtle spark in Karen’s good eye at the mention of his name.

  ‘It wasn’t by choice. It was just part of my job. I wasn’t with him all of the time.’

  ‘But you were short-staffed. Not enough prison officers? It’s the same as the force. It’s the same everywhere.’ Henley leaned forward in her chair. ‘You’re overstretched, so probably ended up doing more than your fair share?’

  Karen nodded. ‘The pay is rubbish. The hours are rubbish and there aren’t enough of us.’

  ‘Did you know that Olivier had access to a mobile phone?’

  Karen didn’t answer.

  ‘Do you have any idea how he would have got a phone?’

  ‘Another prisoner? Or one of the guards. It wouldn’t be the first time.’

  ‘Even in the High Security Unit? I thought that they would have been a bit more vigilant about that sort of thing.’

  ‘I didn’t know that he had a phone.’ Karen shifted uncomfortably in her bed. ‘It’s not as if he was kept in isolation. There were other prisoners that he could talk to. They could have easily given him a phone.’

  ‘Did he tell you that he was feeling ill?’ Henley picked up the jug of water on the table and poured a glass for Karen.

  ‘Not at all.’ Karen gratefully took the cup. ‘He didn’t ask to see the doctor unless he mentioned something to another guard before I started my shift.’

  ‘You weren’t with him when he collapsed, were you?’

  ‘No, I was doing checks on the wing. Is this an interview?’

  ‘No, no. I just wanted to see how you were doing and to ask you a few questions about when Olivier escaped. You’re an important witness. We still haven’t caught him yet, so any information you can give us about that day is vital.’

  ‘I told those other officers everything I knew when they came this morning.’ Karen sounded almost petulant.

  ‘They were agents from the NCA and there’s been another murder since then and we have evidence that leads us to Olivier being a suspect.’

  ‘Peter wouldn’t… I mean… Why would he?’

  It wasn’t lost on Henley that Bajarami always called Olivier by his first name.

&
nbsp; ‘He’s a killer. It’s what he does. There’s a possible attempted murder charge for what he did to Ade and of course the GBH with intent charges against you and the security guard.’

  Henley could tell that her questions were making Karen uncomfortable and nervous as she began to fiddle with the chain around her neck. ‘It’s like I said in my statement. It all happened so quickly. I was outside when I heard the commotion and then when I got in the room, he… I didn’t even know that he had the fork in his hand.’

  She looked as though she was about to cry but Henley wasn’t convinced the tears were genuine.

  ‘Was there anything else that you wanted to ask me?’ Karen asked.

  ‘There is, actually. Someone provided Olivier with insulin. Turns out that the insulin was taken from the hospital wing of the prison—’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘Well, I don’t think that Olivier left his wing, strolled down and got it himself. An officer must have got it for him.’

  ‘It wasn’t me.’

  ‘Do you have any idea who it could be?’

  ‘No, no… I don’t… I have no idea why anyone would help him. Look at what he did to me and Ade.’

  ‘There is one more thing,’ said Henley. ‘The Franklin-Jones Cold Storage Facility. Have you heard of it?’

  Karen repeated the name and shook her head. ‘Why?’

  ‘We’ve got footage of a woman who looks like you in the reception area of the storage facility last week.’

  ‘No, it couldn’t have been me. I’ve never been to Manor Park and I’m pretty sure that I was working last week. It must be someone who looks like me. I’ve got one of those faces.’

  Henley’s stomach flipped. ‘I never said that it was in Manor Park.’

  ‘I thought that you did. Is there anything else?’ Karen asked. ‘It’s just that I’m really tired.’

  The chain that Karen had been fiddling with had escaped the confines of her hospital gown and was now dangling from her neck.

  ‘No, that’s it,’ Henley said. ‘Your necklace. My daughter would love that. She’s crazy about stars.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Karen sat back in her bed and quickly placed her necklace inside her hospital gown.