Cold Killing

by Luke Delaney

  ‘Sally Jones speaking.’

  ‘DS Jones, I’m Prison Officer English, from Wandsworth Prison.’

  Sally hadn’t expected the prison to call her out of hours. ‘You have something for me?’

  ‘Your inquiry into a former prisoner: Korsakov, Stefan, released in 1999. You wanted to know why we requested his fingerprints?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We made no request for his fingerprints from Scotland Yard.’

  ‘Are you positive?’

  ‘Absolutely. Our records are correct. There’s no mistake.’

  ‘No,’ Sally said, more to herself than anyone. ‘I’m sure there isn’t. Thank you.’ She hung up.

  Donnelly appeared next to her. ‘Problem?’

  ‘Someone’s been lying to me.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Right now I need another drink.’

  Hellier found the small sports shop easily enough. He selected a dark blue Nike tracksuit, the plainest he could find. He added a white T-shirt, white Puma training shoes and a pair of white socks to his basket. He asked for the items to be placed in separate plastic bags. He had been an easy customer who paid cash. The assistant was more than happy to lavish him with extra plastic bags.

  He left the shop, headed back to the Tube station and caught a train to Farringdon. He didn’t have to search long to find what he wanted. A bar where men and women in suits mixed easily enough with others wearing casual clothes, even tracksuits.

  He ordered a stiff gin and tonic from the bar. Gin, lots of ice, lime not lemon. The barman was good. The long drink both refreshed him and gave his brain a nice alcoholic kick, without affecting his clarity of thought – his control.

  Hellier sat and familiarized himself with the layout of the bar. Satisfied, he went to the men’s toilet, entered a cubicle and shut the door. It was fairly solid. That was good. He looked up at the window. It was quite high. If he tried to climb out of it, he would be seen. It was probably sealed shut anyway.

  He checked the toilet cistern. It was low on the wall. That was good. He lifted the lid from the cistern. Then he emptied the contents of the plastic bags on to the toilet seat, taking the gun from his belt and the spare magazine from his jacket pocket. He placed them on the tracksuit. Next he took the training shoes out of the box and wrapped them, the T-shirt and the socks in the tracksuit making a tight parcel; the shoes flattened to little more than the width and thickness of the soles, the light material of the T-shirt and tracksuit folded to almost nothing. He placed them in one of the smaller plastic bags and tied a knot at the open end. He placed that bag inside another and fastened it with a tight knot.

  At the last minute he recalled that the man who described himself as a friend would be calling on his mobile phone tomorrow at seven. He pulled the phone from a pocket and looked at it pensively. If the police were waiting for him, they would surely seize the phone. They always did. It was the only way he had of allowing the ‘friend’ to contact him. He decided he couldn’t take the risk, but no matter what, he would have to recover the phone before 7 p.m. the next day. Separating the phone from its battery, he undid the plastic bags and dropped both phone and battery in. Then he wrapped and knotted the bags again.

  Hellier was about to place the plastic bag in the toilet cistern when he stopped short. The gun was too big a prize to risk. Maybe he should just check into a hotel for the night instead of going home; that way he could stay hidden until it was time to meet the man from the phone calls. He shook his doubts away. He would go home. The police would undoubtedly be waiting for him there, but it wasn’t as if they were going to arrest him. What did they have? Nothing. If they had, they would have arrested him earlier, instead of trying to follow him. And even if they did arrest him, so what? He would be out in time to make the meeting and he would know whatever the police were thinking too. It was an uneven match. Every time the police moved against him they had to tell him what they knew. The laws of the land demanded it. This was a fair and just country. He, on the other hand, had to tell them nothing. And if they were stupid enough to try and follow him again after today, which he absolutely believed they were, then he had made plans for that too.

  All doubt gone, he smiled to himself and tucked the plastic bag containing the clothes and pistol neatly into the toilet cistern, expertly packing it around the working parts as he’d practised hundreds of times before, ensuring enough water was allowed into the small tank. He flushed once to make certain it still worked and watched the cistern fill again. Satisfied, he replaced the lid and left the bar carrying the largest of the plastic bags containing only the empty shoebox. He would squash it flat and dump it in a bin on his way to the underground station and home.

  It was almost ten p.m. on Thursday. Sean sat alone in his office. The inquiry room was dark and quiet. The rest of the team had adjourned to a nearby pub, where they would be deep into analysing what had gone wrong. They would argue Hellier should have been arrested earlier, that it had been an unnecessary risk to try and follow him around London on the off-chance he would lead them to some clinching evidence. Sean’s absence from the pub would be noticed, but it would be welcome too. They could speak their minds better if he wasn’t around.

  He unlocked his bottom desk drawer and pulled out an unopened bottle of dark rum and a heavy, shallow glass. The rum had been in there for months. He only kept it out of a sense of tradition. He had rarely felt the need to use it, until now.

  He poured an inch of rum into the glass and rolled it around. He put the glass tentatively to his lips and drank a quarter of it in one go. It was a lot for him. The back of his throat burned painfully, but he enjoyed the warmth of the liquid.

  He reached forward for his desk phone. He needed to call Kate. His ringing mobile stopped him. He answered sounding tired and dispirited.

  ‘Guv. It’s Jean Colville.’ DS Jean Colville was running the relief surveillance team, brought in to cover while DS Handy’s team regrouped and licked their collective wounds. ‘Thought you’d like to know your man just arrived home like nothing happened.’

  Sean sprang to his feet as if suddenly standing to attention. ‘What’s he wearing?’ he asked.

  ‘Suit and tie,’ Jean answered.

  ‘How’s he look?’

  ‘Fine. Normal I guess.’ She sounded puzzled.

  ‘Okay,’ Sean said. He checked his watch. Damn. Half his team would be semi-drunk by now, the other half would have headed off towards whichever corner of London they lived in. Had there been time since he went missing for Hellier to find a victim, kill and return home as if nothing had happened? Sean doubted it. No, this evening he’d been up to something else. Better to let the team rest for a while. What more could he lose?

  ‘I need you to keep him under obs tonight,’ he told DS Colville. ‘I’ll be there in the morning to take him out. Hopefully he won’t move again until then.’

  ‘No problem, guv,’ Jean answered. ‘If he moves, I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Sean hung up, waited a few seconds and called Sally. When she answered he could hear she was in the pub.

  ‘Sally. It’s Sean.’

  ‘Please tell me you’re not still at work.’ She sounded sober enough.

  ‘Contact Donnelly and the rest of the team.’ He knew Donnelly at least would be close by. ‘Six a.m. briefing back here. We’re taking Hellier out before he leaves for work.’

  ‘Before he leaves for work?’ she asked. He could hear the confusion in her voice. ‘He’s gone home?’

  ‘Don’t ask me why,’ Sean replied. ‘I don’t know what he’s up to, but we’re going to finish this tomorrow.’

  The light shining through the front door window was not a good sign. It was past eleven and he’d expected all to be quiet and dark inside. He turned the key as quietly as he could and carefully pushed the door open. The scent of the family who lived inside pleasantly assaulted his olfactory system. A
s he stepped inside he could hear the television quietly playing in the lounge. He followed the sound. Kate lay on the sofa, and Louise lay across her chest, sleeping fitfully.

  ‘What is she doing out of bed?’ Sean asked his wife.

  She shushed him before answering. ‘She has a temperature. Something going around at nursery.’

  ‘Is she all right?’

  ‘She’ll be fine. I’ve given her some Calpol. I just hope she doesn’t give it to Mandy. I could do without having to look after two sick children.’ Louise stirred on Kate’s chest.

  ‘If it comes to that, I’ll take some time off work and help out.’

  ‘Take some time off work?’ she whispered. ‘How do you plan on doing that?’

  ‘We’ve had a break in the case. Things should start happening pretty quickly now. With any luck we’ll be able to charge our suspect and wrap things up within a few days.’

  ‘And then, no doubt, you’ll inherit another case and we’ll be back to the same old routine.’

  ‘It’s late and I have an early start tomorrow,’ he said. ‘This is probably not a good time to discuss this. You’re tired and stressed. Having this conversation won’t help.’

  ‘Yes. You’re right. I am tired and stressed, as you would be if you’d been at home alone with two young children, one of whom is sick.’ She managed to keep her voice down, despite her frustration.

  ‘What do you want me to do, Kate? I get away from work as soon as I can, but sometimes it’s not possible to walk away at five o’clock. I don’t have that luxury. I don’t do a normal job.’

  ‘It’s this damn Murder Squad. It’s too unpredictable. I never know when I’m going to see you. When the kids are going to see you. I can’t plan anything like normal people do. When was the last time we did anything as a family? When was the last time we had a decent holiday? When was the last time you helped bath the kids, Sean? You know, I work too. Sometimes I need you to be here to help out.’

  ‘I want to be here,’ he told her. ‘But I don’t know how I can make things easier. I don’t sell fucking shoes, Kate. I solve murders. I stop people who kill. I can’t do this job with one hand tied behind my back.’

  There was a silence before Kate replied: ‘Is that what we are to you, Mandy, Louise and I? Some kind of handicap you’d be better off without?’

  ‘No. No,’ he insisted. ‘That’s not what I meant. You know that’s not what I meant, but I need my mind to be clear if I’m going to have any chance of catching these people quickly. If I’m constantly worrying about getting home for bathtime or dinner, I can’t think properly. I can’t think the way I need to think. You and the kids have no place in that world, believe me.’

  ‘But you’re missing them, Sean. Before you know it, they’ll be leaving home and you won’t be able to get that time back. It’ll be gone.’

  ‘Do you want me to leave the police? Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘No,’ she assured him. ‘That’s the last thing I want. Doing what you do makes you what you are. You need to be a cop. It’s a calling for you, not a job. But maybe it’s time to consider doing something else in the police. Something you can have more control over. Something more predictable. Get away from all this … death.’

  ‘But it’s what I’m best at. Where I can do things no one else can.’

  ‘You’ve done your bit, Sean. You’ve given enough of yourself. No one is going to think less of you if you ask for a change.’

  Sean glanced at his watch and sighed. ‘Maybe you’re right. I’ll start asking around to see what’s on offer, but it’ll take a while. They won’t let me go until they’ve found a replacement.’

  ‘I understand that,’ she said. ‘And I don’t want you to rush into anything either. Just think about it. That’s all I ask.’

  19

  None of it matters to me any more. The police. My wife. My children. Staying here, in London. I always knew it would only be a matter of time before I had to move on, but it’s not quite come to that yet. There’s one further game to play.

  My target has been selected. Nothing can save them now. It will happen exactly as I have pictured it. But don’t feel sad for them: be sad I have not chosen you. Once my hand touches them, they’ll be more in death than they had ever been in life.

  The next will be the most difficult and therefore the best yet. It will be worth the risks. Besides, I’ve made allowances. The police are drinking from a mirage. I will let them fill their bellies with sand.

  I wish I could reveal myself to you. Let you share my secrets. Unfortunately I cannot. For the moment, all I can give you is the gift of my nature.

  I would like nothing better than to put my name to my work, but so few of you would be capable of understanding. You should sing my praises as a genius, but instead you would put me in a cage. How your psychiatrists and psychologists would like that. They could waste their time poking and prodding me. Would they tear up their textbooks when I tell them I had a happy childhood? That I never bit my classmates or tortured animals? Never killed the family cat and buried it in the woods?

  I don’t hear voices in my head. I won’t claim God ordered me to kill. I’m not a disciple of Satan. I don’t believe in either. I don’t hate you. You are simply nothing to me.

  I scored well in my exams. Took part in school plays. Played hockey and cricket for my county. Was the favourite brother to my sisters, son to my mother and father. I went to a famous university and obtained a degree in accountancy. I was admired by my peers and respected by my tutors. I had several girlfriends, some serious, some not. I got drunk on Fridays and felt sick most Saturdays. I took my washing home for my mother once a fortnight. I was popular.

  None of it meant a thing.

  I’m not sure how old I was when I first felt it. Maybe five, maybe younger. I constantly checked the mirror. How could I look the same when clearly I was so different? I was both scared and exhilarated. So young to be absolutely alone. So young to be freed from the mediocrity and pointlessness of a normal life.

  Despite my age, I knew not to mention it to anyone. Not to talk to anyone about it. I had to bide my time. Fit in. Imitate those around me. I did very well in school, but was careful not to excel. Not to stand out. I realized I was just a chrysalis that protected the embryo within.

  The years passed painfully slowly. Still I resisted the temptation to explore my growing strength. I waited patiently. I didn’t know when the time would come, only that it would.

  As I grew older, I continued to gather the trinkets of normal life. A job. A wife. A house. Children. They were my sheep’s clothing. My smiling mask. And all the while I was waiting.

  Then, a few months ago, I awoke. I looked in the mirror and knew the moment had arrived. To everyone else I seemed the same, but not to myself. A new creation stared back upon itself. At last.

  My first instinct was to slaughter my family, but I quickly realized I wasn’t strong enough yet. I had only just been born. I was still covered in Nature’s afterbirth. I still needed their protection. But with each visit I grow stronger and stronger. I become more complete, what I am meant to be: not a man, but a man above men. A different evolutionary strain of man. To you, almost a god.

  20

  Friday morning

  Sean had kept the briefing quick and simple. They would drive from Peckham to Hellier’s house in Islington. Sean would arrest him. Sally would direct another search of the house. He knew the audience of bleary-eyed detectives wouldn’t be able to absorb much information at 6 a.m. − most looked like they’d opted for one last drink instead of stocking up on the most precious commodity to a detective: sleep. If they felt tired now, it would be worse for them later.

  Donnelly banged on the front door of Hellier’s Georgian terrace. The thick black paint shimmered like water with each knock. Sean and Sally were right behind him. The rest of the arrest team stood further back. No one expected Hellier to fight.

  James Hellier appeared in front of th
em. He was almost fully dressed and ready to leave for work. He looked good. Fit and strong. Immaculately groomed. He was casually threading a gold cufflink through his sleeve.

  Sean stepped forward, and before he spoke he could smell Hellier’s expensive cologne. It seemed to take Hellier a second to recognize him. When he did, he began to smile.

  Sean held his warrant card close to Hellier’s face. He didn’t back away.

  ‘James Hellier. I’m Detective Inspector Sean Corrigan, these other officers are with me.’

  ‘Please, Inspector,’ Hellier cut in. ‘There’s no need for introductions here. I think we all know each other.’

  Sean wanted to hit him. If Hellier didn’t stop smiling, he thought he probably would. Instead he pushed him back into the house and spun him around to face the hallway wall. He could see Elizabeth Hellier coming down the stairs.

  ‘Who is it, James?’ she called out. ‘What’s going on?’ Her panic growing.

  ‘Nothing to worry about, darling,’ Hellier called up to her. ‘Just call Jonathon Templeman and tell him I’ve been arrested again.’ He turned to Sean. ‘I am being arrested, aren’t I, Inspector?’

  Sean pulled Hellier’s arms behind his back and clipped a handcuff tightly round each of his wrists. ‘This time you’re mine,’ Sean whispered into Hellier’s ear. He stepped back and spoke so everyone could hear, especially Hellier’s wife. ‘James Hellier, I’m arresting you for the murder of Linda Kotler.’

  Hellier was still smiling. ‘What?’ He didn’t attempt to hide his disdain. ‘This is pathetic. I’ve never heard of the woman.’

  ‘You do not have to say anything unless you wish to.’ Sean spoke over Hellier’s protests. ‘But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court.’

  ‘Tell me, Inspector,’ Hellier was almost shouting, ‘are you going to arrest me for every crime you can’t solve?’

  ‘Anything you do say may be used as evidence,’ Sean continued.