Chameleon's Shadow

by Minette Walters

  ‘You weren’t overly keen on yours being invaded.’

  ‘True . . . but I’m a police officer, and the law protects me in a way that it doesn’t protect you. How far would you have gone if Dr Jackson hadn’t been here?’

  ‘If you’re asking whether I’d have beaten you to death, then the answer’s no,’ said Acland. ‘That particular method of killing isn’t encouraged in the army. It takes too long. If I’d wanted you dead, I’d have crushed your spinal cord.’

  ‘Why mention beatings?’

  ‘That’s how Kevin Atkins was killed.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘The doctor Googled his name on the hospital computer.’

  Jones glanced at Jackson and she nodded. ‘It’s common enough knowledge,’ he agreed. ‘Have you been following the cases in the newspapers, Charles?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you were in London when Kevin Atkins was murdered. You discussed the case with Dr Campbell.’

  Carefully, Acland raised his head and stared hard at the superintendent. ‘If I did, I don’t remember. I only remember staying in my room most of the time to stop her discussing anything with me. She talked for talking’s sake, and I don’t recall that much of what she said was worth listening to.’

  Having been on the receiving end of Susan Campbell’s homily on short-term memory loss, Jones had some sympathy with him. ‘So who was this other man in the alley?’

  ‘Ask Jackson. She spoke to him more than I did.’

  ‘Doctor?’

  ‘He called himself Chalky, claimed to be mid-fifties, and said he was a corporal during the Falklands War. Five-foot-tennish . . . dark, greying hair and beard . . . brown overcoat... stank to high heaven and looks older than he is. He refused to come with us, but I imagine he’s fairly well known on the streets. From what he told us, he’s been homeless for twenty years.’

  The Falklands War ignited Jones’s interest. ‘Had you met him before?’ he asked Acland.

  ‘Once. I saw off a group of drunken teenagers who were bullying him, then helped him climb the railings into the alleyway. That’s how I knew it was there.’

  ‘What were the teenagers doing?’

  ‘Kicking him.’

  ‘Was the sick lad one of them?’

  Acland hesitated. ‘I don’t know. There was a boy urinating on Chalky . . . but I never saw his face. He was wearing a hoodie. The rest were girls.’

  ‘I don’t think Chalky would have helped him tonight if he’d taken a thrashing off him,’ said Jackson drily. ‘He told me he’s been trying to protect Ben from shirt-lifters. He wanted me to pass on to you that the streets aren’t safe for boys or girls. The dealers get them hooked and the kerb crawlers take immediate advantage.’

  ‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ Jones said equally drily. ‘Are you saying this Chalky’s homophobic?’

  Jackson was ahead of him. ‘Along with a goodly percentage of the population, Superintendent. I don’t think it means he’s a killer.’

  Jones turned back to Acland. ‘Will he vouch for the fact that you never tampered with the rucksack?’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘The man’s a chronic alcoholic and not the type to volunteer information,’ said Jackson in answer to the superintendent’s frown. ‘He’ll have a convenient loss of memory . . . assuming you can find him.’

  ‘Where did you last see him?’

  ‘Outside St Thomas’s. He’ll be gone by now.’

  ‘Then let’s hear what you have to say. To your knowledge, was the lieutenant ever alone with the boy’s things?’

  Jackson glanced at Acland, as if seeking permission to answer.

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘There was a period when he and Chalky stayed with the car and I was in the hospital.’ She explained how she’d left Acland to drive the BMW while she followed the paramedics into A&E. ‘I asked the lieutenant to search the rucksack for anything that might help us locate the next of kin . . . and he brought it to me about twenty minutes later.’

  ‘And showed you the mobile?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?’

  ‘You were only interested in what happened in the alleyway.’ Jackson broke off briefly to marshal her thoughts. ‘Look, I’m obviously missing something, because I can’t see why you keep harping on about this. What would Charles have to gain by putting Kevin Atkins’s phone in the boy’s rucksack? It makes no sense at all . . . particularly as he could have ditched anything compromising down the first grating between the staff car park and the A&E entrance.’

  ‘He wasn’t to know you’d bypass the PIN.’

  Jackson frowned, trying to follow his logic. ‘What difference does that make? He knew we were trying to identify the kid, so the chances were high that Atkins’s mobile would be examined eventually. Why gamble on something so unpredictable when he could have got rid of the evidence altogether?’

  ‘It depends what the gamble was. Supposing the lad had died? The case would take on a very different complexion in those circumstances. A dead rent boy, who wasn’t too happy about selling himself, would make a compelling candidate as a gay killer.’ Jones spread his hands in a damping gesture at Jackson’s immediate show of irritation. ‘Don’t be naive about people’s motives, Doctor. If you sit in court for a day you’ll hear many more unlikely stories than that.’

  ‘There was no suggestion that Ben was going to die. The paramedics started hydration treatment in the ambulance and the endocrinology unit was ready to go into action as soon as he reached the hospital. Both the lieutenant and Chalky knew that his chances of survival were excellent even before we left Covent Garden.’

  ‘You’re wasting your breath,’ Acland said, pushing himself off the floor and leaning his shoulder against the wall. ‘I told you this would happen.’

  ‘At least I’m fighting your corner,’ said Jackson coldly, ‘which is more than you ever seem to do. You have two speeds. Red mist and pained martyrdom . . . and the pained martyrdom is getting on my nerves.’ She eyed him with disfavour. ‘We went through the silent treatment yesterday after you attacked Rashid in the pub . . . and it didn’t impress me then. Guilt isn’t a negotiable commodity, Lieutenant. You can’t trade it like an indulgence.’

  His return stare was hostile. ‘Don’t patronize me.’

  ‘Then stop behaving like a jerk and live with the sins you have committed. Signing up for someone else’s isn’t going to put the clock back . . . any more than refusing to take painkillers has...’

  METROPOLITAN

  POLICE

  INTERNAL MEMO To: ACC Clifford Golding From: Det Supt Brian Jones Date: 13 August 2007 Subject: Assault on Walter Tutting 12.00–13.00, 10.08.07

  Sir,

  We continue to believe the assault on Walter Tutting was part of the series. Update as follows:

  Lt Charles Acland Resident at the Bell, Gainsborough Road. Now on police bail and still being treated as a material witness. Known contacts with Walter Tutting and Ben Russell. Was in possession of Kevin Atkins’s mobile for a brief period before handing it in.

  Ben Russell Currently a patient at St Thomas’s Hospital. Believed to have had Atkins’s mobile in his possession for some weeks (see below).

  ‘Chalky’ Name unknown. Current whereabouts unknown. According to what he told Dr Jackson and Lt Acland, he has had intermittent contact with Ben Russell over the last four weeks. He may also be in possession of a canvas duffel-style bag that Lt Acland believes Russell brought into the alleyway and which

  Chalky may have hidden inside one of his own. These facts are contradicted by Russell (see below). NB As ‘Chalky’ is a common nickname for the surname ‘White’ army records have been searched for a Corporal White on active service during the Falklands War. Two were found, but neither has any involvement with the inquiry.

  Walter Tutting

  Despite dissimilarities at the crime scene, we remain of the opinion that the attack on Mr Tutti
ng is connected to the earlier murders. This view is cautiously endorsed by John Webb, senior SOCO at the victim’s house. I am sending his preliminary report under separate cover. We have been unable to interview Mr Tutting, who remains under heavy sedation in St Thomas’s Hospital. His doctors have expressed optimism about a return to consciousness in the next few days.

  Kevin Atkins – mobile telephone

  This is the most promising lead we’ve had so far. We are currently working on a printout of the address book in cooperation with the Atkins family. I expect further information in the next two days re previously unidentified numbers, accessed websites, texts, photographs, etc. FYI: The only fingerprints retrieved from the casing have been identified as Ben Russell’s, Lt Charles Acland’s and Dr Jackson’s. We found no Unknowns and none belonging to Atkins, which suggests the casing was cleaned after the murder. There’s a possibility of a DNA reading from saliva inside the mouthpiece, although FSS is predicting Atkins as the most likely donor.

  BlackBerry/second mobile/iPods

  Interviews with Ben Russell, and initial searches of the memories, suggest the BlackBerry and second mobile are unconnected with the inquiry. We have yet to confirm ownership, but interviews with relevant parties are being arranged. Meanwhile, I have requested continued searches of the memories. The iPods contain variously Garage, Rap, Brit Pop and Indie, but again appear to have no connection with the inquiry. FYI: A variety of fingerprints were recovered from the different casings, but we were only able to identify Russell’s and Acland’s. FSS confirms there was no obvious attempt to clean these items before or after their thefts.

  Ben Russell

  Russell has been interviewed on three occasions in St Thomas’s Hospital in the presence of his mother and a solicitor. Due to his age and medical condition, he has been treated throughout as a ‘vulnerable’ witness. His full details are attached, including cautions and an ASBO issued in Wolverhampton, but the essential points are:

  Benjamin Jacob Russell

  16 yrs old

  Brought up in Wolverhampton

  Poor education record

  Cautioned twice for drunk and disorderly

  Served with ASBO following complaints from neighbours

  Left home last year after row with stepfather over theft of money

  Claims to have lived in a squat in Birmingham for first 6 months (vague on detail)

  Claims to have been sleeping rough in London for approx. 3–4 months

  Still has contact with girlfriend, Hannah, 13 – resident in Wolverhampton

  Admits to a sexual relationship with Hannah

  No record of arrests/cautions in the metropolitan area

  Admits living from theft and begging but denies prostitution

  Recently diagnosed type one diabetic

  Russell has no memory of going to the alleyway on the night of Friday, 10 August, but agrees he has been sleeping there from time to time since ‘Chalky’ introduced him to it. He calls ‘Chalky’ Grandpa, but knows nothing about him except that he’s a ‘decent bloke’. He denies owning a canvas duffel bag or seeing one in Chalky’s possession. He also denies knowing a man with a black eyepatch or anyone going by the names of ‘lieutenant’/‘lootenant’ or Charles Acland.

  Russell freely admits to the thefts of the mobiles, BlackBerry and iPods, although he is vague about when, where and how he stole them. In 3–4 months, he estimates he’s stolen approx. 15–20 mobiles and says the methods are ‘pretty similar’ so the incidents become ‘blurred’. During the interviews the mobiles were referred to as ‘the Nokia’ and ‘the Samsung’. He says he lifted one of them (he thinks it was the Samsung) from a woman’s open bag while she was paying for a newspaper. He saw her from behind, so the description is of no value – ‘tallish’. He claims he found the other (Atkins’s Nokia) in a small holdall that he stole off a bench seat in Hyde Park while the owner was ‘watching a couple snogging’. Again no useful description except that it was a man – ‘dark hair and dressed in black’. Possibly a suit.

  Russell describes the holdall as black and similar to the one cycle couriers use – approx. 40 x 30cm. He ‘ditched’ it in bushes near the Diana Memorial Fountain as soon as he’d searched it and can’t remember what else was in it apart from the mobile, a bottle of aspirin and a pack of sandwiches

  – all of which he took. His best recollection on the rest is ‘a newspaper, maybe a brown envelope and some keys’. FYI: A search of the area produced nothing, nor has a bag of that description been handed in by the public or the park ground staff.

  Russell is unable to pinpoint when either of these thefts took place, although his best guess is 2–4 weeks ago. His usual MO is to ‘collect’ a handful of items and sell them to a fence in the Canning Town area (he has so far refused to give us a name or address on this), but he denies selling anything during the last month because he’s been feeling too ill to make the trip. He remembers calling his girlfriend on one of the phones (he thinks the Samsung) because it was active when he stole it, but the other was ‘dead’.

  Conclusion

  I can see no point in diverting resources on a wild-goose chase after a ‘tallish’ woman or a dark-haired man, nor in factoring these descriptions into the inquiry. Russell is an unreliable witness and is quick to agree that it may have been the BlackBerry or one of the iPods that he stole from the handbag and/or the holdall. His descriptions of his other victims are equally vague – he thinks two of the iPod owners were ‘a black guy’ and ‘a kid’.

  Through his solicitor, Russell was made aware of the seriousness of the inquiry. Although nervous of being interviewed, Russell maintained an even demeanour throughout the three sessions. Neither DI Nick Beale nor I detected any difference in his reactions when it came to questions about the Nokia. We are of the opinion, therefore, that it is more likely he stole the mobile from Atkins’s killer than from Atkins himself or from Atkins’s house.

  I have asked James Steele to consider the implications of this re the psychological profile. Our assumption has been that the mobiles were stolen as trophies and/or because they were the means of communication between killer and victim. In either event, I am unclear why the killer was carrying at least one of them in public. To what end?

  Our two most positive lines of inquiry at the moment are Kevin Atkins’s mobile and the attack on Walter Tutting, and I have instructed all efforts to be concentrated in those two areas.

  With kind regards,

  Detective Superintendent Brian Jones

  Sixteen

  BEN RUSSELL’S MOTHER looked tired and depressed, as if the strain of the last three days had taken their toll. A small, grey-haired woman, she sat at her son’s bedside, interminably lacing her fingers and pretending not to care that he was only interested in what was playing through the headphones attached to a TV and radio console beside him. In daylight, and conscious, his unsmiling mouth and permanent scowl identified him clearly as the alienated youth he was, and Jackson doubted any joy would come of this mother-and-son reunion.

  He was in a side room on his own, segregated from the other patients because of the continued police interest in him, but Jackson had a good look through his open door as she and Trevor Monaghan passed. They came to a halt ten yards down the corridor. ‘How old is the mother?’

  ‘Sixty-seven,’ murmured Monaghan. ‘Thought she was through the menopause at fifty-two, slept with her old man for the first time in twelve months and ended up pregnant. Poor woman. The husband was dead of lung cancer a year later.’

  ‘Any other children?’

  ‘Four . . . all much older than he is. There’s a brother of thirty-eight who has a couple of teenagers of his own. The kid was brought up as an only child – spoilt rotten, as far as I can make out – but wasn’t a particular problem until husband mark two came on the scene. Now the wretched woman’s blaming herself for marrying again. Ben’s been in constant trouble ever since.’

  Jackson pulled a wry expression. ‘How many
times have I heard that before? It’s the history of every runaway.’

  ‘Mm. Mrs Sykes wants me to say it was diabetes that sent Ben off the rails.’

  ‘Instead of what? The stepfather?’

  Monaghan shrugged. ‘Take your pick. She blames everything from over-compensation for his father’s death . . . changing her name when she remarried . . . to having to share her time between the son and the new husband. The only thing she’s not prepared to accept is that Ben behaves the way he does because he wants to. She keeps telling me he’s a good boy underneath.’

  ‘Is he?’

  ‘Not that I’ve seen. He’s a rude little bugger. Are you sure you want to talk to him?’

  Jackson nodded. ‘Preferably alone. Any chance of prising the mother away?’

  ‘What’s the quid pro quo?’

  ‘A bottle of Scotch if I get an uninterrupted half-hour with the door closed. I want to know what he’s told the police.’

  *

  ‘Rude little bugger’ was about right, thought Jackson, after the door closed and she was left alone with Ben. He studiously ignored her until she swung the Patientline TV console to one side, switched off the power and plucked the headphones from his ears. ‘Good morning, Ben,’ she said pleasantly. ‘My name’s Dr Jackson. We’ve met before but you probably don’t remember me. I was the doctor who attended you before the ambulance arrived.’ The scowl deepened as he assessed her. ‘Are you a dyke?’ ‘Last time I looked I was.’ She prevented him retrieving the headphones by unplugging them and dropping them out of reach on the floor behind her. ‘Life’s a bitch, eh?’ ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’ ‘Why not? They’re not yours and you aren’t paying for them.

  It’s either me, the taxpayer, who’s funding your TV habit . . . or your poor long-suffering mother.’ She took the chair that Mrs Sykes had been sitting in.

  ‘It’s the law. You put your hands on me. I could have you done for assault.’