by Rob Ashman
Tillerson shepherded Kray about the office, a huge floor space with offices dotted around the perimeter, the whole floor housed a couple of hundred people. She pointed out the different teams and explained what they did. She made a beeline for a desk located in the corner.
‘This is one of the people I spoke to you about earlier, Roz, he has implemented a new working practice which has reduced our file processing time. It’s a piece of work he introduced completely off his own bat and the results have been amazing. Roz, I’d like you to meet Alex Jarrod.’
33
Jarrod was lost in his own little world, a world consumed with the need to deliver retribution. So engrossed was he in the file that it took a moment for him to register the two women standing at his desk.
He recognised Tillerson. ‘Hi, Brenda, sorry I was miles away.’
‘I was telling Roz about the good work you do here.’
Jarrod got up from his seat and offered his hand. Kray was struggling to maintain her composure.
‘Hi Alex, my name is Roz Kray.’ She shook his hand. Their palms touched and the scar running across her back exploded with the pin-pricks of a hundred needles.
‘Looks like my ears should have been burning.’ Jarrod’s hand went limp to end the shake but she held on, not allowing it to fall away.
Their eyes locked and Kray’s scars burned beneath her clothing.
Jarrod pulled away and wiped his palm on the leg of his trousers.
‘Roz is here to have a brief tour looking at what we do in CJU,’ Tillerson continued. ‘I thought that as I had been singing your praises, Alex, I would bring her over to say hi.’
‘Brenda has been very complementary about the work you’ve been doing,’ said Kray boring her eyes into him. ‘She tells me you come in early to sort through the intake of files from the CPS and the Courts in order to ensure they reach the right people.’
‘Yes, they come from all over, I’ve been doing it for a while now and it seems to be working.’
Kray clasped her hands behind her back to prevent them from fidgeting. Jarrod looked away to avoid Kray’s stare, occasionally flicking a glance in her direction. He removed a tissue from his pocket and dabbed his cheek.
‘Shall we continue, Roz?’ Tillerson waved her hand to show the way.
‘Good to meet you, Alex,’ Kray said, her whole body on fire.
Jarrod held his hand up in a ‘thank you’ gesture and returned to his seat. He watched Kray move between the clusters of desks with Tillerson at her side.
‘So, Roz …’ said Tillerson.
‘Excuse me, Brenda, I need to take this.’ Kray fished her phone from her jacket pocket, holding it to the side of her head. ‘Okay I’ll be there in five.’
‘Problem?’
‘Yeah, sorry I have to cut the tour short, we’ve got an incident that has blown up and requires my attention.’
‘No rest for the wicked. I hope you have found this useful and I look forward to seeing you at the interview stage.’
They shook hands and Kray walked to the front of the office and through the doors, every muscle in her body telling her not to look back. She stood on the landing and pushed two buttons on her phone.
Jarrod watched Kray leave, every muscle in his body telling him to run. The taste of sand in his mouth.
Tavener answered the phone. ‘Roz.’
‘Go to the incident room and pick up the e-fit picture of the suspect then get your arse over to the third floor of CJU. Hurry.’
‘What is—’
‘Do it now!’
Kray stole a glance through the glass panel in the door, she could see Jarrod at his desk. He looked up and pretended to carry on working. Her heart was bursting from her chest. Jarrod had his eyes glued to the door.
The minutes ticked by. Jarrod got up from his desk to look out the window. People milled around outside, none of them were Roz Kray.
Kray could hear the sound of size eleven boots pounding up the stairs two at a time.
‘What is it?’ Tavener puffed and panted. Kray snatched the paper from his hand.
‘Fuck, that’s him.’
‘That’s who?’
‘The guy in the picture. His name is Alex Jarrod and he works in CJU.’
‘Shit. Where is he now?’
‘At his desk in the far corner of the office. I met him and I think he rumbled me.’ Kray opened the door and marched inside, closely followed by Tavener.
Jarrod was gone.
They weaved around the office, scanning the faces. Kray pointed to the back corner, Tavener nodded.
‘Roz, are you back so soon?’ It was Tillerson, still out and about chatting with her team. Kray ignored her.
Fuck, where is he?
They reached his desk. The computer screen was still on and the usual clutter lay untouched on the desk. His jacket was draped across the back of the chair.
‘Check the toilets, I will take the side offices,’ said Kray.
‘Roz, is there a problem. Can I help?’ It was Tillerson again.
‘Have you seen Alex Jarrod?’
‘Yes he was … oh, he’s not there. He was here a second ago.’ Kray dashed off to the nearest office and burst inside. ‘Roz, what is this about?’
The place was empty. Kray checked under the desk and behind the door. Nothing. She moved on to the next office and did the same.
Tavener appeared. ‘The Gents and the Ladies are clear.’
‘Check with facilities and find out if Jarrod has a car registered on site. He might be in the car park.’
Tillerson took hold of Kray by the arm. ‘Roz you need to tell me what this is about.’
Kray looked around the office at the collection of faces staring at her.
‘We believe Jarrod may be involved in a murder investigation. I recognised his face from the e-fit, do you have any idea where he might have gone?’
‘Fuck me,’ Tillerson said, her professional veneer cracking wide open. She turned to face the room. ‘Did anyone see where Alex went?’ Her voice boomed around the office.
There was a general murmuring and shaking of heads.
‘Is there another way out of here?’
‘There is a fire escape at the back, but it’s been—’
‘Where, where is it?’
‘Through here.’
Kray followed Tillerson along the back wall to an area filled with banks of metal shelving, holding hundreds of dusty files. ‘It’s been out of commission ever since I took over. The metal work had deteriorated beyond repair.’
Behind one of the shelving units was a wooden door, the glass fire bolt lay on the floor in pieces.
‘Shit!’ Kray yanked it open and stared down at the rusted metal staircase, running down the exterior of the building. She seized the handrail and darted down the steps.
‘Roz they are unsafe,’ Tillerson yelled, but it was too late, she had already reached the first landing below.
Kray could feel the metal contraption sway and creak as she paced down it. She had a good view of the rear staff car park. Several people were walking to their vehicles while others were on their way into work. None of them looked like Jarrod.
She reached solid ground and gave a big sigh of relief. There was a horrible groaning of metal above her and for one awful moment she thought the whole structure was going to come crashing down. Tavener stood next to her.
‘Jarrod has a black Vauxhall, here’s the reg number.’ He handed Kray a slip of paper and they ran in between the cars, looking for the one matching the description. After several minutes Tavener called out, ‘Roz, over here.’
Kray ran across to find him standing next to the car.
‘He has to be here somewhere,’ she said. ‘Tell facilities to pull up all the CCTV they have for the last half an hour. I will alert Bagley to get Jarrod’s mugshot circulated … and post a couple of uniform at the gate.’
Tavener and Kray both reached for their phones.
‘Fuck
it!’ Kray yelled at the top of her voice just as Bagley picked up her call.
34
My hands are stuffed deep into my pockets as I force-march along a side road. It is bloody freezing and the wind cuts right through my shirt. It’s no big deal. Cold is good.
I pull my phone from my pocket and drop it onto the ground. I look around me to see if anyone is watching and smash my heel repeatedly into the touch screen. The glass shatters while I continue to stamp the life out of it. I pick the remnants off the pavement and toss them over a wall.
I trudge for almost an hour, trying to control the explosions going off in my head. The physical exertion helps me focus. I keep my head down and trudge on.
Back at the office, when Kray had disappeared from view, I had brought up the internal phone directory. The letters DI in front of her name made me realise it was time to hit the eject button. I have to say I wasn’t looking forward to climbing down the disused fire escape but it was my chosen escape route if ever events took a turn for the worse. And meeting DI Roz Kray certainly gave things a turn for the worse. The way she looked at me, I knew my time was up.
I march on and hit a fork in the road, choosing the street leading south, running parallel to the Promenade. I’ve managed to avoid the major routes with their CCTV cameras and passing traffic, but the constant criss-crossing around the city has made the journey far longer than I had imagined. My legs are burning with the cold.
The corrugated fencing looms in the distance. I reach the corner, look around and pull the sheeting free, slipping inside. After crossing the rubble and mud I do the same with the security shuttering on the back wall, the familiar smell of plasterboard and dust welcomes me inside.
I dash up the service staircase to the top and feel my way through the dark corridors, arriving at the penthouse. I tug my combat jacket off the nail and put it on. My limbs are shaking and my teeth chattering. Bars of horizontal light stretch across the walls as the sun cuts through the gaps in the shutters. I pick up a bottle of vodka and crack the top off. The fiery liquid burns on the way down and gets to work straightaway, easing the tension in my body. I don’t like the stuff but buying spirits was a matter of space and volume. While I would much prefer to sink a beer, it would have been far too onerous to manhandle crates of lager into the penthouse. I took the decision that if I needed alcohol it would have to be hard liquor. Four bottles line up against the wall. Alongside the booze are bags of dried food and bottles of water, plus a camping stove and gas canisters. It has taken several months to kit the place out but then I have been planning this for a long time. I think I’ve thought of everything even down to buying spare batteries for my head torch and a supply of basic medicines, plus a couple of cheap pay-as-you-go phones and a smart phone. I’m conscious I need to conserve the battery life so I have yet to switch them on.
Today has been a panic, that’s for sure. But this is an inevitable phase of the operation. Sooner or later I was always going to end up here, needing a bolt hole to run to. The supplies would enable me to remain hidden. The police could have the car, it contained nothing of interest and they could ransack the flat all they liked - they would find nothing there either.
The plan was simple, when the situation became too hot to handle I would disappear. I sit on the floor, position a mirror between my feet and begin hacking away at my hair with a pair of scissors. Soon my scalp is peppered with dark tufts which I scrape away with a disposable razor. In a few days my goatee beard will complete my new look. While it is a change in appearance that wouldn’t stand up to close scrutiny, it was good enough to deflect a casual glance.
The tension eases from my shoulders and the banging and screams in my head have subsided. I reach for the bottle and take another swig.
Fuck, that was close.
‘Jarrod got away on foot by using the old fire escape at the back of the admin building.’ Kray was in the imaging suite scrolling through CCTV footage under the watchful eye of Bagley and ACC Quade. Grainy images of cars and people scurried about the screen. ‘This is Jarrod caught on the camera at the back and here he is again walking off site and turning down King’s Street.’
‘Why didn’t you arrest him when you clocked him in CJU?’ asked Bagley, fidgeting with his pen.
‘I needed to be sure, plus I needed back up. For all I knew he could have been armed in an office full of people, I couldn’t take the chance,’ Kray replied.
‘You could have—’
‘Yeah I could have but I didn’t. Maybe if you had asked the right questions when talking to the letting agent we would have had the e-fit a day earlier.’
‘Okay, okay.’ Quade held up her hands, getting fed up with the sniping comments. ‘Pack it in. He was too quick for us and we have to work with what we’ve got. What do we know about Jarrod?’
Kray consulted her notes. ‘He’s thirty-eight years of age, joined the police after a spell in the army where he saw active duty in Afghanistan. He was discharged on medical grounds and came to work for us a little over a year ago. When I spoke to Tillerson and his line manager they both said Jarrod was a bit of a loner, a pleasant enough guy but he didn’t mix with the others in the office. The intervening period between leaving the army and appearing on our radar is a bit of a blank I’m afraid. We have a request in with the MOD to see his records but as we know that can be a little hit and miss on times.’
‘What’s his domestic circumstances?’ asked Quade.
‘Don’t know a great deal as yet, we are working up a media profile to identify his social network and it looks like his phone is dead. We also have a couple of uniform posted at his flat, just in case we get lucky. We got there pretty fast and don’t believe he returned home after he left here, I will be going there after we have finished. One of his neighbours told an officer that he used to live with a woman but she hasn’t been seen there in months. We are doing some digging to find out who she is. His vehicle is still in the car park and the details held at the DVLA all check out, we will be handing it over to a forensics team as soon as we can get organised. And we’ve put a watch on his bank accounts. We also have the local bus and train stations on alert as well as the airports.’
‘Does he have a criminal record?’
‘No, he’s clean.’
‘Do we know anything about this guy that tells us why he’s doing this?’
‘No clear motive as yet. Other than what we surmised before, that he is performing a kind of vigilante role against people who have received suspended sentences.’
‘Anything else?’
‘The footprint found at the flat where Hicks was murdered came from a military boot. So that fits given his background.’
‘We have to assume he has gone to ground somewhere, maybe he’s laying low at a friend’s place,’ said Quade.
‘But that doesn’t fit with his loner profile,’ replied Kray.
‘I think we need to go public.’ Bagley finally made a contribution. ‘Make a television appeal and see what falls out. That might spook him into making a mistake and could also put the brakes on him travelling if he believes he could be recognised.’
‘I can sort that out,’ said Quade. ‘What do we intend doing with the other people on the list who could be potential victims?’
‘Jarrod has now had a major spanner thrown into his works,’ Bagley said leaning forward. ‘I think he will be concentrating on getting away. His mind won’t be on murdering more people.’
Kray stared down into her lap spinning her wedding ring.
‘What do you think, Roz?’ asked Quade.
‘I think he’s on a mission. Jarrod isn’t going anywhere until its complete.’
35
Kray sat on the edge of the settee, taking in her surroundings. This was her last task of the day before returning home to put her feet up and sink a bottle of wine. Julie Clarke came in holding two cups of coffee.
‘Here you go,’ she said handing one over. ‘You said you wanted to talk to me abo
ut Alex. Is he in trouble?’
‘When was the last time you saw him?’ Kray avoided the question.
‘I saw him the other day when we were at the bank. We had a joint account which required us both to sign before it could be closed. And I know that could be done separately but for some reason I wanted to see him.’
‘How was he?’
‘He was fine, we chatted about all sorts and he seemed happy enough. He said work was going well and he was still living at the flat. Alex doesn’t say a lot … you kind of have to read between the lines.’
‘Do you meet up often?’
‘No, not at all. That was the first time in almost a year. We ceased contact when I moved out.’
‘How long were you with him?’
‘Six years.’
‘Why did you split up?’
‘Alex came back from his last tour of Afghanistan a different person. He was medically discharged after he contracted leishmaniasis.’
‘What the hell is that?’
‘It’s caused by being bitten by a sand fly which injects a parasite into your skin that causes your flesh to erupt into huge sores. He was bitten on the cheek and was in a terrible state. It took ages to heal.’
‘Is that what changed him?’
‘It didn’t help matters, but that’s not what did it. On his last tour he and his team were out on patrol when they were attacked. Most of the team were killed but Alex survived. It was awful and he developed PTSD.’
‘What type?’
‘Every type you could think of. He had panic attacks, voices in his head, night terrors, day terrors, the works. It started off small and quickly took over his life.’