The Jigsaw Man

by Nadine Matheson

  Henley clutched her stomach, convinced that her guts were being ripped out. It was her fault that Pellacia was dead. There was no one to blame but herself. A cold wind from the river slapped Henley hard across the face. Should she take Pellacia down? Should she wait? Where was Olivier?

  Henley’s radio crackled. Other officers were asking her to confirm her location. The radio fell out of her hand as she watched the plastic press against Pellacia’s mouth and mould around the contours of his nostrils as if the air was being sucked out. An electric shock ran through Henley’s body. Pellacia was suffocating. But he was still alive.

  ‘Stephen!’ Henley shouted. She stood on her tiptoes and stretched her hand towards Pellacia’s head, her fingers failing to grip firmly onto the bag. She bent down, grabbed an old beer crate that was nearby and stood on it. ‘Fuck,’ she said when her foot crashed through the rotten dried-out plastic. She pulled her foot out and balanced herself precariously on the edges of the crate.

  ‘I’m going to get you down.’ Henley ripped the bag off Pellacia’s face and grappled with the rope that had been tied around his wrists. She looked around as the rope became loose around her fingers, but there was no sign of anyone. For all she knew, Olivier could have already made a run for it or was waiting in the darkness to finish off what he had started.

  Henley fell off the crate as the rope came loose and Pellacia fell against her. Pellacia groaned as he turned his head towards Henley. His right eye was blackened and swollen shut. There were cuts and bruises across the left side of his face and chin.

  ‘I’m here, Stephen. I’m here,’ Henley said as she placed him onto his back, took off her jacket and covered him. She heard Stanford groaning behind her as she confirmed their location on the radio.

  ‘They’re coming to us. The units are on their…’ Henley stopped when she heard Olivier calling her name.

  ‘Inspector Henley,’ Olivier shouted out.

  Henley scanned the area where she thought Olivier was shouting from but she couldn’t see him.

  Pellacia stretched out his hand towards her. He opened his mouth to speak but his words were lost over the sound of the police helicopter and the rising waves crashing against the river wall.

  Henley tried reaching for a broken bottle, but before she could wield it, Olivier was behind her, grabbing her hair, the roots slowly tearing out in his maniacal grip.

  ‘I didn’t think you would be stupid enough to come and find him,’ said Olivier, dragging Henley along the ground. Henley screamed as sharp rocks and pieces of glass cut into the skin on the small section of her back that wasn’t protected by her stab vest. ‘I had something else planned for you.’

  Henley clawed at Olivier’s arms, feeling her nails pierce into his skin. She heard Stanford shout out her name as the searchlight from the police helicopter overhead seeped across them.

  ‘Shit,’ said Olivier as the light temporarily blinded him. He stumbled back and loosened his grasp. Henley felt the tension release and took her chance to get out of Olivier’s grip. She tried to scramble away, but Olivier pulled out his knife and rushed her. She reached for her baton and swung it, catching the side of his face.

  Olivier, caught off guard for only a moment, lumbered towards Henley with the knife still in his hand, forcing her to step back towards the river. She tried to swing away but missed, and he pushed the knife into her chest but the blade bent against the Kevlar material. They fell to the ground, and Olivier smashed Henley’s head against the edge of the platform. She struck Olivier repeatedly on the back, but not once did he wince in pain. Instead, he raised himself up and pushed down on Henley’s wrists. The river was now at high tide and the water was beating loudly against the wall. She wasn’t sure where the spray was coming from; whether it was the drops of putrid river water splashing onto her face or the specks of salty sweat dripping from Olivier’s forehead. Olivier licked the side of her face. Slowly. His tongue traced the corner of her lips and moved up towards her eye. He pushed his groin harder against Henley’s leg.

  ‘Do you like that?’ Olivier looked over at Pellacia, who lay unmoving. ‘I’m going to show you that he’s not man enough for you. How do you think it will make him feel to watch me in you?’

  Henley tried to raise her knees to get out from under Olivier, and screamed with the effort of it. She felt sick as his weight crushed into her and his hot, rancid breath seeped into the pores of her skin. The helicopter searchlights flooded the area as more water splashed against her face. Henley heard police officers shouting out for her, Pellacia and Stanford over their radios. Blue lights began to break through the cracks of the wall. Henley felt Olivier shift, giving her the room to knee him twice in the groin. He grunted in pain and Henley spotted the jagged edges of a shattered wine bottle. She grabbed the bottle neck and pushed the jagged edge into the side of Olivier’s face. The glass sliced his flesh and a shard broke away. Olivier’s screams pierced Henley’s ears and then were lost among the sounds of sirens. Olivier rolled over as Henley turned onto her hands and knees and stood up. She kicked Olivier as hard as she could in his ribs.

  ‘You fucking bitch,’ Olivier shouted out as his face contorted, the piece of glass that was stuck in his face glinting in the light.

  Henley turned to run, to get back to Pellacia and Stanford, but Olivier grabbed her, spun her towards him and began to pull her towards the edge. She wrestled her right arm free and pushed the glass deeper into Olivier’s face. Her hand was hot and red as Olivier’s blood ran. Adrenalin coursed through Henley’s body and it took all her strength to push Olivier away from her. She felt him lose his footing and loosen his grip. She sensed footsteps approaching, but Henley knew there wasn’t enough time to wait for the cavalry to arrive. She pushed him again, hard. Olivier screamed out in the darkness. Henley stood still and held her breath until she heard it. A loud, hard splash as Olivier’s body hit the water.

  Chapter 101

  Henley was curled up in an armchair in Pellacia’s hospital room. It had been thirty-four hours since Olivier had fallen into the river. The River Police had searched for his body, but they hadn’t found him. They believed it was unlikely that he had survived the fall and that his body would eventually wash up somewhere over the next couple of days, but Henley wasn’t convinced. Stanford had called Olivier the devil and she was sure he was right.

  Henley opened her eyes to see Pellacia sitting up in bed, watching her. He had a broken collarbone and dislocated shoulder. He’d suffered internal bleeding from a ruptured spleen and had been rushed into surgery. The symbols that had been cut into his stomach were not deep and did not need stitches, but they would leave a scar.

  After he’d woken up from his morphine-induced sleep, Pellacia explained how Olivier had been waiting for him when he arrived at the SCU car park. He remembered being attacked and then waking up in the boot of a car before Olivier beat him and knocked him out for a second time.

  Stanford had suffered a minor concussion and had three stitches in his head. He had been kept in the hospital for twenty-four hours for observation, before being sent home.

  ‘You should still be sleeping.’ Henley winced and unfurled from the armchair; the cuts on small of her back still felt raw as they rubbed against the bandages. She made her way to Pellacia, placed a hand tenderly on the side of his face and kissed his forehead.

  ‘I thought that you had gone home.’

  ‘I did, but I came back.’

  ‘I’m glad you did,’ he said softly. He saw the look of concern cross her face. ‘I think it looks worse than it feels.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Henley replied. Her eyes ran down to the large plasters on Pellacia’s stomach. The wound was seeping and she could see the faint image of a double cross through the bandages.

  ‘What is it?’ Pellacia asked as he took hold of Henley’s hand.

  Henley couldn’t bring herself to speak Olivier’s name.

  ‘They will find him,’ he said.

  Henley shook her
head. ‘Until someone can show me a body, I’m going to be sleeping with one eye open. I won’t be able to—’

  ‘No one could survive that fall, Anjelica, or that water. No one.’

  Henley didn’t answer. She gently kissed Pellacia on the cheek and then pulled her hand away. ‘I have to go.’

  There was disappointment on Pellacia’s face. He turned away to face the window. After a while he spoke. ‘I was thinking about Elliot Cheung. Trying to work out why Olivier chose him.’

  ‘I wish I knew.’ Henley stepped back from Pellacia’s bed. ‘Cheung wasn’t linked to any of the other victims. Maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and Olivier killed him because he just… felt like it.’ That sounded thin and implausible, even to her ears.

  ‘Poor kid. What about Karen Bajarami?’

  ‘She was at court this morning. Eastwood confirmed that she was refused bail. The case was sent to the Old Bailey. She should be on her way to HMP Bronzefield later this afternoon.’

  ‘She’s the only one who is actually going to be punished and sent to prison for all this. I’m starting to think that Pine and Olivier got off lightly,’ Pellacia said bitterly. ‘Bajarami’s life will be a living hell when they realise she’s an ex-screw. After what she did, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone takes her out.’

  ‘You know what? I don’t really care,’ Henley said. ‘Her being in prison won’t be enough but it will be something. Someone has to pay for taking all of those innocent lives.’

  ‘I think that Pine has paid,’ said Pellacia. ‘Olivier made sure of that.’

  ‘That wasn’t Olivier’s job,’ Henley said darkly as her emotions wavered between anger and resentment. ‘I made a promise to Zoe’s grandparents and I didn’t keep it. I wasn’t the one who caught Zoe’s killer. Olivier did that. He took that promise from me.’

  Henley brushed away the tears from her face and walked out of the room, ignoring Pellacia’s pleas for her to come back as the voice in her head mockingly repeated the same three words. Olivier has won. Olivier has won.

  Chapter 102

  Henley stood on the steps of the SCU, trying to work out where Olivier had been standing when he had watched her that afternoon. It was raining heavily, but she didn’t try to seek shelter. She couldn’t shake off the feeling that Olivier would always be out there watching her. Waiting for her. She pulled out her phone and her finger hovered over Stanford’s name. She had an intense desire to run as far away from the SCU as possible. The phone in her hand began to vibrate. She watched Rob’s name and picture flash on the screen. She took a deep breath, her thumb hovering over the end call button before pressing accept.

  ‘I saw the news,’ said Rob. ‘Is it over then?’

  ‘Yes, it’s over,’ said Henley. ‘I’ll tell you about it later, but this case is done.’

  ‘And Olivier?’

  ‘He’s… Dead.’ Henley knew it was a lie.

  ‘Really? That’s it then? All of this is over?’

  ‘It is. I hope it is.’ Henley looked down at her heavily bandaged right hand. She had needed four stitches and it was likely that she had suffered permanent nerve damage.

  ‘I can’t believe that he’s finally gone. Out of our lives. For good,’ Rob said. ‘How did he…? Actually, I don’t really care. I just want you to come home. So, what are you going to do now?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Henley asked, walking down the steps and towards the High Road. She could have sworn that she had seen someone familiar on the other side of the street, standing in front of the chemist; Olivier’s face on the body of the man sheltering from the rain.

  ‘I mean, what’s next for us?’

  Henley squeezed her eyes closed as she tried to block out an image of Olivier’s body hitting the river.

  ‘Rob, can we talk about this when you and Emma get home?’

  ‘Yeah, of course. Where are you now?’

  ‘I’m still at the SCU,’ Henley said. The raindrops were cold and harsh against her face. She stepped back from the edge of the pavement as the traffic lights turned red and a double-decker bus stopped in front of her, obstructing her view.

  ‘Right… it’s safe… We need…’ Rob’s voice became disjointed as the signal broke up.

  ‘I can’t hear you properly,’ said Henley.

  ‘I was saying that we need you. Emma needs you, but I need to know, Anjelica. Have you decided yet? Is this the last case?’

  Henley didn’t answer. The lights turned green and the bus moved on. A woman stood at the door of the chemist, struggling with her umbrella. All she could see was Olivier. He was the face on every person she saw. When she closed her eyes, he was there. She could feel Olivier pressing down on her chest. She could smell him. Her heart started to race, and she couldn’t catch her breath. The cold rain was doing nothing to cool down the heat spreading across her face. Pins and needles ran up and down her leg, and a wave of fear swept over her.

  Olivier was alive. She could feel it.

  Henley stumbled back to the steps of the SCU and sat down on the wet concrete. The fear of dying. The loss of control had drained her. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out the business card of the therapist that Mark had given her last week. She put the phone back to her ear.

  ‘Rob, I need help.’

  Acknowledgements

  A heartfelt thank you to the ‘Trash Fictioners’ Amber, Esther, Jem, Jonathan, Luke, Patricia, Satu and Steph who were there at the very beginning when The Jigsaw Man began life as a 1000-word assignment on our Creative Writing MA at City, University of London. You’ve been on every single step of this journey with me and I couldn’t ask for a better group of writing friends. I love our friendship and that we continue to support each other. I’m looking forward to seeing you at our next dinner.

  A special thank you to Claire McGowan, Laura Wilson and William Ryan, who saw the potential of The Jigsaw Man, even when I couldn’t, and encouraged me every step of the way. Your guidance and support have been invaluable.

  My agent, Oli Munson, knows that I think that this entire journey with The Jigsaw Man has been completely ‘mad’, but this novel would not be in your hands if it wasn’t for him and the wonderful team at A.M. Heath. You have all been brilliant and working with you has been an absolute joy. Thank you for everything.

  To my editor, Manpreet Grewal, who loves Henley and Olivier as much as I do and who was instrumental in pushing me to shape and go that little bit further with The Jigsaw Man. I knew that HQ was the perfect home for me and I want to thank every single member of the team who were enthusiastic about The Jigsaw Man from the very beginning.

  Thank you to John Glynn and the fantastic team at Hanover Square Press, who are looking after my novel in the US and have been equally as enthusiastic. I’ve loved working with you all.

  A special mention to Sarah Hilary, who was my mentor and continues to support me. Thank to my one of my oldest friends, Amanda O’Brien, who entertained my random questions about police procedure.

  Lots of love and thank you to my guiding stars: Mum, Dad, Gavin, Jason, Sheulee, Edwin, Gaynor, Harminder, Kirsty and Lavinia, who have supported me through this madness and always picked up the phone to listen to the latest twist and turns of my journey.

  Thank you to all of my family and friends for their unwavering love, support and encouragement. Just because I haven’t mentioned you doesn’t mean that you’ve been forgotten. I love you all. Always and forever.

  And finally, thank you dear reader for buying my novel. I hope that you’ve enjoyed it and feel free to get in touch. x

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