The Jackdaw

by Luke Delaney

  There was the noise of metal on metal before the man reappeared with a length of rope – a noose tied at one end while the other looked to go straight to the ceiling, out of shot. The masked man looped the noose over the struggling Elkins, ignoring his writhing and bucking – ignoring his pleas.

  ‘Please don’t do this. Please. I haven’t done anything wrong. I can give the money back. You can have it. I just want to see my wife and children again. I’m a family man.’ But the man ignored him as he reached for another rope that seemed to hang from the ceiling.

  ‘The people have judged you, Mr Elkins. Now I must pass sentence. Your punishment shall be … death.’ Before Elkins could speak again, the man pulled the rope he was holding towards the floor, the rope attached to the noose around Elkins’s neck instantly growing taut, vibrating with tension as it lifted him, chair and all, from the floor. Terrible sounds came from behind Elkins’s gritted teeth as he fought desperately for his life.

  ‘Fucking hell,’ Hudson exclaimed, unaware that his two friends were backing away from the screen, their faces serious and pale while his beamed and glowed. ‘He’s hanging the fucker. He’s really doing it. Ha. This is fucking brilliant.’

  Westbrook watched on as the older version of himself hung from the rope, still taped to the chair – the man’s eyes growing increasingly bulbous and grotesque – his mouth now open with his tongue protruding and writhing around like a dying lizard. He felt sick and scared all in the same moment. Someone wanted revenge – revenge against him and all his type. Which one of them would be next? He felt a shiver run up his spine.

  ‘I can’t watch this any more,’ Cathy told her husband. ‘I think I’m going to be sick. Turn it off.’ She reached for the computer’s power switch, but her husband pushed her hand away, eyes full of hate – although not for her.

  ‘Leave it,’ he ordered.

  ‘Please tell me you don’t want to watch this,’ she pleaded. ‘A man’s being killed. Murdered. Why the hell do you want to watch it?’

  ‘Maybe he had it coming. Maybe he deserved it. Maybe they all do.’

  ‘Jesus, Phil,’ she told him. ‘No one deserves that.’

  ‘Don’t they?’ he asked. ‘And what about me? Did I deserve what happened to me? Did I deserve to lose everything?’

  ‘You just lost money, Phil. This is a man’s life.’ She turned and walked from the room. ‘I won’t be in the same room as this. I hope they catch the bastard and hang him.’ She left him sitting staring at the screen – a thin smile spreading across his face as he watched Elkins’s body finally go limp.

  The priest closed his eyes and drew an imaginary cross over his heart, summoning the courage to once again look at the scene of barbarity he’d just witnessed on his computer screen. Being a priest in modern London was not what the public imagined it to be. He regularly had to deal with abused youngsters and battered women who for whatever reason were too scared or unwilling to go to the police, although he’d always encourage them to do so. And then there was the missionary work he’d done in Africa – teaching men and women who’d had their arms hacked off with machetes how to somehow survive after yet another civil war in the Congo, as well as many other terrible things he’d seen that he never talked about. But this was as repellent as anything he’d ever witnessed. When he finally opened his eyes the masked man was standing in front of the still swaying body and chair.

  ‘Justice has been done. The first of the guilty has been punished. Rest assured, my friends – my brothers and sisters – there will be more.’ The man released the rope and allowed the body and chair to crash to the floor before walking towards the camera. A few seconds later the screen went blank.

  Father Alex clasped his hands together and began to pray, but found it difficult to focus – his mind still trapped in more earthly matters. The terrible crime he’d just witnessed would no doubt have to be investigated by the police – by detectives. The thought brought to mind the troubled policeman who occasionally came to see him – DI Sean Corrigan. Would he be the man who’d have to try to catch this remorseless killer?

  ‘Our Father who art in heaven – protect us from this new evil in our lives and forgive him who has done the unforgivable.’

  2

  Detective Inspector Sean Corrigan sat in his office on the seventh floor of New Scotland Yard reading through the latest batch of CPS memos about the soon-to-begin trial of Douglas Allen – a man the media had aptly named ‘The Toy Taker’. Allen had been declared mentally fit to stand trial at a previous Pleas and Directions hearing and now it was full steam ahead for the trial. The investigation had been Sean’s first as head of the Special Investigations Team and now he waited for the next, praying it wouldn’t come until after Allen’s trial and the conviction it was sure to bring. The last thing he wanted was to be dashing backwards and forwards to the Old Bailey whilst trying to run a new investigation. DC Paulo Zukov appeared at his door and tapped more times that was needed on the frame, breaking Sean’s concentration and making him look up.

  ‘What is it, Paulo?’

  Zukov smiled smugly before answering, sure he was for once one step ahead of Sean. ‘Just wondering what you thought about that online murder thing that’s all over the news?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Sean asked, not interested in Zukov’s games.

  ‘The online murder, boss. Haven’t you seen it yet?’

  ‘No I haven’t,’ Sean told him. ‘I’ve been a little too busy to be staring at the news all day.’

  ‘This happened last night, boss.’

  ‘Paulo, I haven’t read a newspaper or watched TV for days and one day, God forbid, if you’re in my position, plus two young kids and a wife who works, you’ll know what I mean.’

  ‘Just thought you might have had a call from someone.’

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘Superintendent Featherstone. Mr Addis.’

  ‘Why would I?’

  ‘Well, we are Special Investigations, aren’t we?’

  ‘Paulo,’ Sean asked, losing his limited patience, ‘is there something I should know about?’

  ‘The online murder, boss. Just thought it was the sort of thing we might pick up.’

  The look on Zukov’s face told Sean he needed to find out more. ‘Get in here,’ Sean told him. ‘Go on then. Tell me about it, but keep it succinct.’

  ‘Some bloke from the City gets grabbed from the street in broad daylight,’ Zukov began, ‘and the next thing he’s on Your View strapped to a chair with some nutter going on about how he and all his banker buddies are criminals and how he’s going to teach them all a lesson. Keeps a hood on all the time and uses some sort of electronic device to alter his voice.’

  Sean stared at him disbelievingly for a while before speaking. ‘And then?’

  Zukov shrugged his shoulders. ‘And then he killed him.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Looks like he used some sort of pulley system to hang him. Pulled the chair up and everything.’

  ‘And this is genuine?’ Sean asked, still unconvinced.

  ‘Apparently. Bloke’s family’s already been in touch with the local CID. He went missing some time yesterday and hasn’t been seen since.’

  ‘Could he be in on it – some kind of prank or publicity stunt?’

  ‘Doesn’t look like it. Not the type, apparently.’

  ‘Where you getting all this from?’ Sean asked. ‘How come you know so much about it?’

  ‘Like I said – it’s all over the news, boss. All over the Internet.’

  Sean looked him up and down before pushing his laptop across his desk and indicating for Zukov to take a seat in front of it. ‘Show me.’

  Zukov sat and quickly logged onto the Internet and began to navigate his way around. He soon had what he was looking for and spun the laptop back towards Sean. ‘Here you go, boss – the whole thing available to watch on Your View. It’s been the most watched video since word got out.’

  ‘Jesus,
’ Sean muttered as he concentrated on the screen. ‘That says a lot about our society. Who the hell would want to watch a man being killed?’

  ‘Thousands,’ Zukov answered. ‘Maybe even millions.’

  Sean didn’t answer, the video of the masked man and his victim taking over his world. He watched the entire ‘show’, until finally the masked preacher drew a curtain of darkness across the screen.

  ‘What the hell is this?’ Sean asked himself.

  ‘Dunno, boss,’ Zukov said, mistaking it as a question directed at him. ‘But some in the media reckon maybe he thinks he’s some sort of avenging angel.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know – man of the people sticking up for the little guys, striking back at the rich bankers.’

  ‘You’ve got to be joking,’ Sean told him. ‘Avenging angel? More like another bloody psychopath looking to make a name for himself. This is all we need.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Zukov added.

  Sean leaned back in his chair and fixed him with look Zukov knew all too well. ‘You don’t sound convinced.’

  ‘It’s just a lot of people seem to agree with him. Not necessarily the murder, but that it’s about time something was done to the bankers.’

  ‘What people?’

  ‘People on Facebook and Twitter. They’re all saying it.’

  ‘Facebook? Twitter?’ Sean asked. ‘It’s a wonder anyone gets any work done any more. Get hold of Donnelly and Sally for me. Get them back here for a briefing. They’ll need to know what’s happening. Shit!’

  ‘You reckon we’ll get this one then, boss?’

  ‘Does this look like a run-of-the-mill murder to you? Does this look like someone who intends to stop any time soon? Yeah. This one’s coming our way. I can feel it.’

  Zukov knew he’d used up his usefulness. ‘I’ll go track them down for you, boss.’

  ‘You do that,’ Sean told him, watching him leave just as Detective Superintendent Featherstone entered the main office and headed his way carrying a pink cardboard folder – the colour indicating the contents were confidential. Featherstone appeared to be his jovial self, despite the bad news Sean knew he carried tucked under his armpit. He knocked once on Sean’s doorframe before entering and taking a seat without being asked.

  ‘Morning,’ he began. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Fine so far, but I’m guessing it’s about to change.’

  ‘How’s the prep for the Allen case going?’

  ‘Pretty much done,’ Sean told him, his eyes never leaving the pink folder. ‘Down to the jury as to whether they believe he intended to kill the boy or whether they think it was an accident. Nothing more we can do now. The abductions and false imprisonments are beyond doubt.’

  ‘Good,’ Featherstone answered, although he hadn’t really been listening.

  Sean nodded at the folder. ‘Let me guess – the banker who was murdered live on the Internet yesterday?’

  ‘You heard then?’

  ‘Only recently.’

  Featherstone tossed the folder across the desk. ‘Courtesy of Mr Addis. Felt this was right up your street.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Sean said without meaning it, pulling the file towards him and flipping it open to be greeted by a professional-looking photograph of the smiling victim. ‘Not the usual holiday snap-shot. Someone important?’

  ‘Paul Elkins,’ Featherstone explained. ‘CEO of Fairfield’s Bank based in the City, so yes, he’s both important and wealthy, or at least he was. If it hadn’t been for the video on Your View and the rantings of the suspect I would have assumed it was a professional hit – some Colombians or Russians making an example of him.’

  ‘You have reason to believe he was laundering money for somebody he shouldn’t have been messing with?’

  ‘No, not yet, but it’ll need to be eliminated as a possible motive.’

  ‘Of course, but …’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘You’ve seen the video – looks more personal than professional.’

  ‘There you go,’ Featherstone told him. ‘I knew you were the right man for the job – you’re making inroads already.’ Featherstone’s smile was not returned. ‘Anyway, he finishes work late yesterday afternoon and takes the tube home, shunning the use of a company chauffeur, as usual. He’s walking along the street where he lives in Chelsea when he’s attacked from behind, apparently hit over the head several times and then dragged into a white van that’s parked up next to the abduction site. The van takes off and not long after that he’s live on Your View. As they say, the rest is history.’

  ‘How do we know all this?’

  ‘We have two witnesses who saw pretty much the whole thing – a housekeeper on her way home and a neighbour who happened to be looking out of her window.’

  Sean scanned through the file, noting the details of the witnesses and the fact the victim had been hit over the head several times with something the neighbour described as a small, black bat. ‘Looks like he used a cosh.’

  ‘I reckon,’ Featherstone agreed.

  ‘Then he’s definitely no professional.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Because a professional would have taken him out with one hit. This guy’s not done this before. He’s learning as he goes.’

  ‘Which all fits with him being a disgruntled citizen with an axe to grind with bankers.’

  ‘Well that narrows it down to just a few million suspects.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Featherstone shrugged his shoulders and heaved himself out of the uncomfortable chair. ‘It’s all in the file – what we know so far. I’ll leave it with you and good luck. The Assistant Commissioner would of course appreciate a quick result – media’s already all over this one.’ He headed for the door before turning back. ‘One more thing.’ Sean looked at him with suspicion. ‘Mr Addis has decided he’d like an old friend of yours on this one. Anna Ravenni-Ceron will be joining you shortly. Try to get on with her this time.’

  Sean swallowed hard, the excitement in his stomach unwelcome, but it was already too late. As much as he might object to the criminologist and psychiatrist being attached to his investigation, he could never deny his attraction to her − or hers to him. He could almost smell her long dark hair and her soft skin, just as surely as if she was standing in the office next to him.

  ‘I’ll try.’

  Assistant Commissioner Addis looked over the top of his spectacles at Anna, who sat on the opposite side of his oversized desk in his larger than normal office on the top floor of New Scotland Yard, his stare making her feel uncomfortable and disloyal.

  ‘You understand what I need you to do, yes?’ he asked her.

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Same as before. Watch him, study him, speak to him as much as you can without showing your hand and report directly back to me. In exchange you get unrestricted access to the investigation, including the chance to assist with any interviews with the suspect once he’s apprehended, which I’m sure with DI Corrigan in charge won’t take too long.’

  ‘I’ll get as close as I can,’ she told him, ‘but it won’t be without the risk of DI Corrigan working out what’s happening. He’s clever and instinctive. It won’t be easy.’

  ‘You’ll find a way,’ Addis leered at her. ‘I have every confidence in you.’

  She wondered if he knew – somehow knew about that afternoon when Sean had visited her in her office in Swiss Cottage and they’d come so close to giving in to their desires and attraction for one another. But how could he? Then again, how did he know half the things he seemed to know?

  ‘I’ll do what I can,’ she finally answered.

  She felt him studying her for a while, searching for a weakness. ‘You think I’m being … underhand in wanting him watched by someone from your profession?’ She said nothing. ‘You see, Anna, Corrigan is an asset. No matter what you may think, I value him as such. But let’s be honest with each other, he’s not exactly … conventional. I’ve seen his type before �
�� the ones who need to be right on the edge all the time to get the best out of themselves. Trouble with being on the edge is you’re more likely to fall. I want to see that coming before it happens with DI Corrigan. I have his best interests at heart here, which is why I value your professional opinion as a psychiatrist.’

  ‘Of course. I understand.’ Anna didn’t believe a word Addis was saying.

  ‘One thing about Corrigan that does concern me,’ Addis told her, ‘is his compulsion to confront the suspects, once he has them cornered, so to speak. He seems determined to challenge them face-to-face, and alone. Any ideas as to why that could be?’

  Anna moved uncomfortably in her chair and cleared her throat. Was this Addis gathering evidence against Sean for some reason, or was he concerned Sean would do something to damage the reputation of the Metropolitan Police? The possibility that the Assistant Commissioner could be concerned for his officer’s welfare never crossed her mind.

  ‘It’s a part of him he can’t control. A recklessness that manifests itself in other ways too.’ She stopped, realizing she’d probably said too much.

  ‘Other ways?’ Addis seized on it. ‘Such as?’

  ‘Such as he takes risks that others probably wouldn’t, and he can be a little clumsy, socially. Can say things he immediately regrets or sometimes doesn’t.’ She hoped Addis had bought it.

  Addis said nothing for a while before grunting and shrugging his shoulders. ‘Indeed. But why does he have this reckless need to be alone with the suspects at all? He was damn lucky Thomas Keller didn’t blow his head off.’

  ‘I think he needs it,’ Anna told him, trying to tell him the truth while also protecting Sean. ‘To have a chance to talk alone with them, before the lawyers and procedure take over – to speak with them in an undiluted way. So for a while he can observe and absorb everything about them while they’re still their true selves.’

  ‘And why would he want to do that?’

  ‘So next time, if he has to, he can become like them. You have to think like a criminal to catch a criminal. Isn’t that what you police say?’