The Jigsaw Man

by Nadine Matheson

  ‘Well, he’s not at work and he’s not here.’ Ramouter leaned back against the balcony. ‘Why don’t the UKPPS have eyes on him?’

  ‘Because they’re idiots and don’t have a clue,’ said Henley as she banged the front door with her fist again, more out of frustration than a misguided belief that Pine was sleeping in his bedroom. ‘They thought that he was at work.’

  The neighbour’s door swung open.

  ‘Why are you making so much damn noise, what dey arse is wrong with you?’

  An elderly black woman stepped out, her head wrapped in a dark blue headscarf, her face was almost lineless, but her body was showing the signs of age. ‘Big Sunday morning and you’re banging that door like mad people for the past fifteen minutes. I should call the police,’ she said, her words tinted with a Trinidadian lilt.

  ‘I’m sorry for disturbing you. I’m—’ Henley said.

  ‘Disturbing me? My husband has high blood pressure and you’re out making noise like—’

  ‘I’m Inspector Henley and this is TDC Ramouter.’

  ‘You’re an inspector?’ The woman’s voice dripped with scepticism.

  ‘Yes, we’re from Greenwich police station. I was just wondering if you could help us.’

  The woman’s eyes darted around nervously.

  ‘What is it?’ she said, once she was satisfied that there was no one out there to accuse her of being a grass.

  Henley didn’t ask to be let in, knowing that this woman’s hospitality would only extend as far as the doorstep. ‘How long have you lived here?’ asked Henley.

  ‘Oh lord, since 1978.’

  ‘You must have seen a lot of changes around here?’

  ‘And not for the better, if you ask me. If my husband could have travelled, I would have gone back home long time ago.’

  ‘How long has your neighbour at number 45 lived here?’

  ‘He came here after us. I’m not sure the exact date but it was eighty someting.’

  ‘And he had children? A son?’ asked Henley.

  ‘Bertrand? No, no. Never married. Never seen him with a woman,’ she whispered. ‘Ever.’

  ‘And what happened to Bertrand?’

  ‘Oh, he dead.’

  Henley didn’t bother to hide her surprise. She rubbed her right temple. ‘And when did he die?’

  ‘Lord, must be seven months now. Cancer. He went into hospital and he never came back. He was a nice man.’

  ‘So, who’s living there now?’

  ‘Well, no one. His nephew, Dom, Don, someting like that, he still comes now and again. I don’t know what for but if you asked me, I’m surprised the council haven’t taken the flat back yet. They quick to run you down for the damn council tax—’

  ‘How often do you see his nephew?’ asked Henley.

  ‘Well, I used to see him once a month or so, but the last time I saw him was a few days ago. I could hear the washing machine going but he don’t live there. No sah. Never lived here.’

  Henley’s mind was racing as she drove back to the station.

  ‘He was always able to escape under the radar,’ she said. ‘He works for the LAS twelve hours out of the day, sometimes more, and the minute protection was authorised, our copycat went quiet, over a week of absolute quiet.’

  ‘Because Pine knew that we were watching him.’

  ‘But they weren’t following him,’ said Henley.

  The traffic lights turned red and the warning lights began to flash rapidly, signalling that Creek Bridge was about to be raised. Henley pulled up the handbrake and turned off the engine. She could see a couple of barges making their way down the creek.

  ‘I was just thinking,’ Ramouter said, ‘a harassment warning letter was sent to Naylor in April. A few weeks later, Lewis is dead. She wouldn’t have agreed to meet up with Naylor if she was that fed up of him.’

  ‘No, she wouldn’t,’ Henley agreed. ‘I want you to check the electoral registers when we get back to the SCU. Naylor and Pine had to be on the register when they were both picked for jury service. That would give us an address, whether it’s still his current address is another story.’

  As Henley turned onto Greenwich High Road, the phone rang. It was a blocked number which meant that it was most probably a call from the SCU or Olivier. She felt herself growing hot.

  ‘Hello, Anjelica. It’s Ezra.’

  ‘Everything OK?’ Henley asked as her pulse rate lowered. ‘Why are you in the office on a Sunday?’

  ‘This case is important, innit, and I wanted to make sure that I updated you. We got the authorisation and subscriber information back for Olivier’s phone and it confirms everything that I’ve already told you.’

  ‘What about the bank account details? The card that was used to top up,’ asked Henley as she turned into the station.

  ‘All there. She actually registered the pay-as-you-go account using her own debit card before she started using a money card. I’ve printed everything out and left it on your desk.’

  ‘The mobile phone, debit card, CCTV. It’s enough to arrest and charge her, isn’t it?’ asked Ramouter as Henley pulled into the station.

  ‘More than enough.’

  Chapter 86

  Olivier leaned against the wall of the darkened alleyway that separated number 27 and 29 Callander Drive. He fondled the heart-shaped keyring that was attached to Lauren’s car keys as he looked out into the street. He had been waiting for almost three hours. The white van where he had dumped Lauren’s body had been taken away almost seven hours ago and the last of the news reporters had gone. There was nothing to gawp at now. Olivier chuckled to himself as he lit a cigarette and then checked the time on the mobile phone that Lauren had given him: 1.07 a.m. He was wondering how much longer he should give it when he saw him.

  As the man walked slowly up the driveway, Olivier peeled away from the wall and circled around him. The knife, still stained with Lauren’s blood, was in his pocket.

  ‘Dominic. Hello, boy.’

  Dominic Pine turned around. Olivier smiled when he registered the look of surprise on the man’s face. Dominic sidestepped, but Olivier blocked him.

  ‘I… I… Don’t—’ Dominic cried out as Olivier placed his hand on his left shoulder and squeezed down on the pressure point.

  ‘Dominic Pine,’ said Olivier. ‘Juror eleven.’

  ‘No, no, I’m not,’ Dominic replied unconvincingly through gritted teeth. ‘Please, I won’t—’

  ‘You won’t what?’

  ‘I won’t say anything. Please let me go.’

  ‘Shh.’ Olivier pressed a finger to Dominic’s lips. Olivier watched with bemusement as Dominic squeezed his eyes shut and then slowly opened them again. Olivier laughed sardonically when Dominic began to cry.

  ‘Were you hoping that I’d disappeared?’ Olivier asked. ‘They say you should never meet your heroes, but I thought you would be more enthusiastic than this.’

  Olivier grabbed Dominic by the collar and grinned when he felt Dominic’s body grow tense.

  ‘Come on, Dominic. Say something. This is getting embarrassing.’

  ‘How do you know who I am?’ Dominic’s voice was a strained whisper.

  ‘I never forget a face, and it doesn’t take a genius to work out what’s being going on here. I should be flattered, but I’m not.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t done anything.’

  ‘Yeah, right. They always come back, you know,’ Olivier said.

  ‘Who comes back?’

  ‘Men like you. The weak. The insecure. The emotionally stunted. They always come back to the scene of the crime, but you, being the sort of man who lacks imagination, came to mine. It’s pathetic really.’

  Olivier released his grip on Dominic and patted him on his shoulder with mock affection before he reached into his pocket, pulled out the knife and placed the blade against Dominic’s throat.

  ‘What the fuck?’

  Olivier released the pressure
slightly. He wanted to see what Pine would do. Fight or flight? The dim light from the crescent moon illuminated Dominic’s face, giving Olivier his answer. Dominic was frightened but there was a hint of unstable, self-sacrificing determination in his eyes.

  Dominic grabbed Olivier’s wrist and tried to move the knife away from him. He flinched as the tip of the blade scratched his skin and blood began to seep.

  ‘You’re feisty, aren’t you?’ Olivier said, lowering the knife. ‘But you don’t have the upper hand here, son.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  Olivier stood up straight when he heard the challenge in Dominic’s tone. Olivier had seen it before, seven times in fact, that fleeting moment when the victim felt emboldened.

  ‘You’re asking the question as if you have options,’ said Olivier.

  Dominic stepped towards Olivier and raised his head so that he could meet his eyes. ‘You’re the one who came for me,’ he said defiantly. ‘You call me pathetic, but you’re the weak one, the suggestible one. You killed some poor cow because you wanted to flush me out. It must have been eating you up inside knowing that I was out here, making your precious Detective Inspector chase me.’

  ‘There you are.’ Olivier tapped the knife against Dominic’s cheek. ‘I knew you were in there somewhere. It’s not me that you wanted to impress, it was her.’

  Dominic stayed silent.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Olivier asked. ‘You couldn’t afford to buy the Inspector flowers so you thought she’d be more amenable to body parts instead?’

  ‘Fuck you,’ Dominic spat back.

  Olivier scraped away the phlegm that had landed on his cheek, just under the rim of his lower eyelid, with the edge of his knife. He put the blade to Dominic’s chest and wiped it clean.

  ‘You’re not an idiot,’ Olivier said. ‘You knew I would come for you.’

  ‘You’re predictable,’ Dominic said with forced confidence. Olivier let out a vengeful laugh.

  ‘I can’t believe I actually thought you and I were the same,’ Dominic said disgustedly.

  ‘You and I are nothing alike.’

  ‘You should have understood. I did it for you. If those jurors hadn’t been so gutless you would have been free and I would never have ended up inside.’

  ‘Jesus Christ. Are you on something, boy?’

  Rage flickered in Dominic’s eyes. ‘We were both betrayed by people we trusted,’ he shouted. ‘But we showed them who was really in control. I thought you’d appreciate what I did for you. That you would respect my work. Our work.’

  ‘You’re looking for respect?’ Olivier asked scornfully.

  ‘Not anymore. I don’t need anything from you.’

  ‘Let’s go.’ Olivier grabbed hold of Dominic’s elbow and dragged him towards the alley that led to a small car park. He pulled harder, ignoring the sound of Dominic’s trainers trying to gain traction against the pavement as he resisted. Dominic twisted his body, kicking over a recycling bin. Glass bottles rattled across the concrete. Olivier pushed Dominic against the bonnet of a black mini and pressed the knife against his stomach. Olivier pulled out a set of keys and opened the car door.

  ‘I’m not going with you,’ Dominic hissed. He jerked away and fell forward onto his hands and knees. Olivier sighed heavily with boredom and grabbed Dominic by the collar. The cheap material began to tear.

  ‘I’m not going—’

  ‘Did I say you could talk?’ Olivier let go of Pine. ‘Your work is a fucking embarrassment, boy. Now get in the car.’

  Olivier shoved Dominic forward and he fell onto the passenger seat.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Dominic asked.

  Olivier ignored him, started the car and headed towards the Rotherhithe Tunnel.

  Fifteen minutes later, Olivier drove into the sprawling Pepys Estate in Deptford. Three of London’s tallest tower blocks loomed like unofficial guardians overhead. The River Thames bordered the back of the once notorious council estate.

  ‘What are we doing here?’ Dominic asked as Olivier parked the car.

  ‘I thought that we would go for a nice moonlight stroll.’

  Olivier stepped out and indicated with the knife for him to get out.

  Olivier clutched Dominic’s arm as they walked along the river. He shoved him hard against the safety railing, knifepoint pressed to his chest.

  ‘You’re out of your depth, son.’

  Olivier grabbed hold of Dominic’s neck and squeezed. The more Dominic clawed at his hands, the tighter he squeezed. The high tide waters of the river slapped against the wall. The dim lights from the flats nearby shone across Dominic’s face. Dominic’s eyes widened and turned glassy, and his face reddened. Olivier smiled.

  ‘You didn’t even try and do better than me.’

  Olivier let go and pulled out a wad of newspaper articles from his back pocket, as Dominic fell to the ground coughing and gasping for breath.

  ‘This is amateur hour,’ said Olivier. He threw the well-read pages at Pine’s head. ‘You just chopped them up and dumped them all over my manor. You didn’t even show them off first.’

  ‘You scattered one of your victims all over the A2,’ Dominic shot back.

  ‘It was a puzzle; I had a system. You’re just shit. You didn’t even try and do better than me,’ he repeated.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘You don’t have the brains to do anything original. You took my brand. My symbols. They belonged to me.’ Each word that Olivier spat out was followed by a hard kick to Pine’s ribs. ‘I don’t need you putting my tag onto your shitty work, you snivelling little shit.’

  Olivier kneeled down, placed his hand on the back of Dominic’s neck and squeezed. ‘What did they do to you? Did that pretty little black girl turn you down or something? Was your dick too small?’

  Dominic scratched away at Olivier’s hand.

  ‘Your little ego couldn’t handle the fact that she grassed you up. Pathetic.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ Dominic gurgled.

  Olivier squeezed harder, his fingers pushing down against Dominic’s jugular vein. He squeezed until he saw tiny blood vessels bursting in the whites of Dominic’s watering eyes. He held on as Dominic’s pulse slowed and the flesh under his chin began to swell.

  Olivier released his grip.

  Dominic vomited until there was nothing left. He gasped for air as he grabbed hold of the rusty railing and pulled himself up. ‘They have no idea… it’s me,’ he said. Each word was expressed with pained exhaustion. ‘I’m a target. A potential victim. You’re the one who’s escaped. They’re looking for you. Not me.’

  Olivier’s laugh echoed through the still night air. ‘Is that what you think? I found you. The Inspector will find you too, if I let her.’

  ‘You’re nothing.’ Dominic gasped for air. ‘I’m making you relevant again.’

  Olivier placed his hands to the top of his head and leaned back. ‘And they said I was the delusional one. Well, good luck with it all.’ Olivier extended his hand.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Dominic asked in surprise.

  ‘I’m wishing you luck.’

  ‘But, but…’ Dominic spluttered.

  Olivier cocked his head as the sound of the police sirens in the distance grew louder. ‘Suit yourself,’ he said.

  ‘I won’t be spending the rest of my life in a prison cell after I’m done.’ Dominic’s voice was faint and unconvincing.

  ‘Be careful what you wish for, son,’ Olivier said as he pressed his forehead against Dominic’s head. ‘This is not over; I am not over. I know my next move. I’m not doing this out of some misguided notation to be recognised. This isn’t a means to an end for me. I can stop you but nobody can stop me.’

  Chapter 87

  11 a.m. DC Eastwood fanned herself with the Sunday supplement as she watched the block of flats from the car. Chance Blaine had returned here almost thirteen hours ago after being released from custody. With the exception of
the flicker of lights from the fourth-floor bedroom window there had been no movement from Blaine’s flat since Eastwood had taken over from Stanford four hours ago.

  Just as she was about to pick up her bag of popcorn, she saw him.

  Blaine pushed through the communal doors and pulled out his phone. He kept his head bowed and walked briskly. After he rounded a corner, Eastwood turned on the engine and followed him. She stopped at the traffic lights and watched Blaine begin to jog in the direction of Woolwich Arsenal train station. Eastwood took a side road to the station’s entrance. She got out as Blaine went inside.

  Eastwood followed him until she was obstructed by a couple of Jehovah’s Witnesses who were setting up their magazine stall by the entrance. Then she was swallowed up by a group of hungover teenagers. She pulled out her Oyster card and pushed through the barriers.

  Across the platform, he was talking to another man. They looked like they were arguing, and a woman who was standing nearby took a few steps back. The train horn blared louder as the tannoy announced the arrival of the 11.24 to Gravesend.

  Eastwood could hear the woman’s ear-piercing scream long before the train’s brakes screeched harshly through the air.

  ‘What do you mean he’s dead?’

  Henley stopped walking while Emma ran off ahead with Luna at her side and into the park.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Rob asked.

  Henley mouthed ‘It’s work’, waving him away. She listened to the sound of sirens on the other end of the phone.

  ‘Eastwood, what’s happened?’ Henley asked again.

  ‘Chance Blaine is dead,’ Eastwood repeated. ‘He left his flat and I followed him to the train station.’

  ‘He jumped?’ Henley walked slowly in the direction of her family. She could sense that Eastwood was trying to cover up her shock with a forced professionalism.

  ‘I’m not sure. I didn’t see what happened.’

  Henley could hear the quiver in Eastwood’s voice. ‘Eastie. Breathe. Take a moment.’

  ‘I should have been quicker.’

  ‘It’s not your fault. Tell me what you know.’

  ‘There are witnesses. The problem is that they’re all saying different things,’ Eastwood continued. ‘A couple of witnesses are saying that a man pushed Blaine in front of a train, but another witnesses and the train driver are saying that he jumped.’