Different

by Tony Butler

  There was nothing he could do about the girl’s arrest but he could help consolidate the evidence against her. He turned his car around and headed for the car park, hoping he’d get there before she told the police where she’d parked. Her car was still there and no one seemed to be paying it any attention but there was a penalty sticker attached to the driver’s window. He found her keys and, walking to her car, opened the boot. From his pocket he took a small parcel which contained £25,000

  in fifty pound notes and hid it inside the boot, beneath the spare wheel. Let’s hear you explain that away, he thought.

  * * * *

  Once inside the police station, Jay was taken to a desk where a uniformed sergeant took down her name, address and other personal details. Then she was fingerprinted, photographed and a cotton swab rubbed inside her cheek to obtain a DNA sample. Finally, she was placed inside one of the cells. Jay was given some clothes to put on and she recognised them as her own. They’d been brought here from her flat. To her surprise, she was asked if she would like anything to eat or drink. After about half an hour, Jay was taken into a small interview room containing an equally small table. An officer arrived with three mugs of tea and a bacon sandwich. Jay finished the sandwich and sipped at the scalding hot tea. She hadn’t realised just how hungry she was. When they had finished their tea and the crocks were taken away, the Chief Superintendent placed a twin spool cassette recorder in the middle of the table. There were two chairs set on either side of the table and he asked her to sit down. She sat on one side and he and Rebecca Carlyle, the police detective she’d met at the hospital, an attractive looking woman who appeared to be in her mid-thirties, sat next to him and started the tape recorder.

  “It’s fourteen-oh-five, Sunday twenty-sixth March, two-thousand. Interview with Jay-Be-Free Williams, regarding the murders of Benjamin James Deacon, William Gareth Hurst, Spencer Raymond Schoefield, PC Thomas Carver and Charlotte Hunningford, between the hours of doubleoh-fifteen and oh-four-thirty, Sunday twenty-sixth March, two thousand. Detective Inspector Rebecca Carlyle and Detective Superintendent Vincent Roberts. I will now caution Ms Williams.”

  Jay listened to the caution again and wondered whether she should wait and see a solicitor before answering any of their questions.

  “Miss Williams, you were admitted to the Queens Medical Centre at double-oh-forty-five hours this morning, suffering from a gunshot wound to your scalp. We stationed a uniformed officer at your bedside. At oh-four-forty, approximately four hours later, the bodies of PC Thomas Carver and the ward nurse, Charlotte Hunningford, were found. They had been killed with a sharp knife. An hour later, we found an offensive weapon—a stiletto switchblade—in a wheely bin. The knife has now been verified as the murder weapon and we can now confirm that the fingerprints found on the weapon were yours. How do you explain that, Ms Williams?”

  So, that’s why they offered me some refreshments. It gave them time to check my fingerprints.

  “I’ll tell you what happened,” she said.

  Neither of the detectives interrupted her until she’d finished talking and she looked at them expectantly.

  “You say that you went to see the manager, Mister Schoefield, at the request of your cousin, Scott, and that Mister Schoefield thought you wanted a job as a hooker?” Superintendent Roberts asked quietly.

  “Yes, I couldn’t believe it and I—”

  “Jay!” Carlyle snapped. “We’ve found your car and in the boot an envelope containing twenty five thousand pounds in cash! How do you explain that?”

  “I…I can’t. He must have put it there.” Jay looked desperately from one to the other but they just stared coldly back at her.

  “We’ve looked at the video situated in the corridor where Mister Schoefield’s office is.” Roberts leaned forward and smiled grimly. “According to your story, you went into the office and after your conversation with Mister Schoefield, left the casino and were later attacked in the car park. Is that correct?”

  “Yes! That’s what happened.”

  “And you left through the main entrance of the Club?”

  “Yes.” What was he getting at? Jay wondered.

  “According to the video, you came out of the office and walked to the other end of the corridor towards the fire exit. You went down the steps, but return a few seconds later, walked back down the corridor and into the casino.” His voice turned hard. “Let me tell you what I think happened. You deliberately lost at the casino in order to have an excuse to go to Schoefield’s because the hit-man had recruited you—offered you a chance to make some money.”

  “No!” she cried. “No!”

  “He probably told you that he was only going to rob the place so he forces the fire doors and he tells you to go and see Schoefield, and to make sure that there are only two bodyguards. Then you go back and report to the killer before you leave the casino through the main doors, then you meet up with the gunman round the back of the club and help him to distract the bodyguards. But when he kills them, you realise that it’s not a robbery and that you yourself could end up being dead so you make a run for it. Yes, he catches and is about to rape you before killing you when the people came out of the Oasis Club, to watch the fight. You broke free from the killer and ran towards them, and he only managed to crease you when he fired. I also believe that when you woke up in hospital, you saw PC Carver, panicked and used the knife to kill him. The nurse came into the ward and saw you, so you chased her into the toilets and slit her throat. That’s the truth, isn’t it, Jay? You had the knife and you killed them!”

  “No!” Jay shouted. “No, I didn’t do it!”

  “No, we don’t believe that you did it either,” Carlyle said quietly. “But we had to make sure. You see, there was a great deal of blood loss from the nurse and it’s impossible for someone to kill her like that without getting some of her blood onto your clothes or shoes. Your clothes show no traces of blood and we also have a video of you sneaking out of the hospital. You went nowhere near the wheelie bin where the murder weapon was found. However, about five minutes after you’d gone, a man wearing a doctor’s coat comes down the fire escape, walks over to the wheelie bin and drops something inside it.”

  “You knew that I was innocent all the time?”

  “Yes, more or less, but we had to make sure. I think the killer is the same man who killed your grandfather and the others. At the time, we thought he was after Cassie, but it looks now as though it’s you he wants to kill.” She leaned back in her chair and Jay felt suddenly very angry, very relieved and then she remembered.

  “What about the twenty five thousand pounds that you found in my car?”

  “As you say, he must have put it there to consolidate the evidence against you.”

  “No, it’s mine! I won it playing Black Jack.”

  “Oh, come on, Jay, you’ve already admitted that you’d no idea it was there!”

  “That’s before I knew you already believed I was innocent, now assuming that you’re going to let me go, I’d like to take my money with me.”

  “But we know that the money isn’t yours!” Carlyle said, and then she smiled. “But on the other hand, we can’t prove it and, as no-one has reported the money missing…”

  “I can use it to help pay my way until someone buys the cottage.”

  “I think that’s fair enough. Compensation for what he put you through,” Carlyle said. “There is a problem though, Jay. You see, we know about the man who tried to kill you. He’s a professional hit man known as The Death Dancer and we’re afraid that he might come after you again.”

  She’s right, Jay thought. He’ll try and get me all right because I’ve got away from him twice and I know what he looks like, but why am I different to everyone else? There was no one she could confide in, no one at all.

  “You’re a witness and he can’t afford to leave you alive. However, we do have a witness protection programme but it will mean you leaving the area, taking on a new identity and fi
nding yourself a new job. Obviously, you’ll be given a monthly allowance to help you get settled and, after you’ve bought your cheques back from the casino, you’ll still have eighteen thousand pounds left.”

  “I’m going to America on Wednesday for my Aunt and Uncle’s funeral. I should be safe enough there,” Jay said.

  “Well, we’ll book you into a hotel under an assumed name then we’ll collect anything you need from the flat and bring them to you there,” Superintendent Roberts said.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Five men sat in the small room above the Juniper Casino in Derby, all of whom fidgeted nervously when Janine entered and stalked across the room. She wore a designer cocktail dress made of pure silk that revealed every contour of her body. Her thighs pulled at the fabric, sensually emphasising their shape as she walked, but none of the men were looking at her legs. They were looking at the cold fury of her eyes.

  “What the fuck happened, David? How did the bastard get to murder my brother?” Janine snapped. She needed to act as though she had no idea that Russell had eliminated her blackmailing bastard of a brother. The girl had escaped, but they would soon track her down. The target of her question flinched as she glared at him and he swallowed noisily. He knew what she meant all right, so why had he personally allowed it to happen? He was head of security for the entire chain of the Schroeder family’s Casinos, eight of them now and still expanding. It was he who’d picked the bodyguards, two of his best men to protect Spencer Schroeder and they’d died without even drawing their weapons.

  “He got to the bodyguards using the girl to distract them. They were supposed to be professionals and they knew who they were up against. You’ve seen the video?”

  “Oh yes, I’ve seen the video and so have you. Now you men listen to me. I want that girl, Jay Williams. She helped set my brother up and I’m going to deal with her personally. She’ll tell us everything she knows about the bastard who shot Spencer before I let you kill her, and put her out of the pain and misery I’m going to give her—”

  David interrupted. “She was arrested this morning and, according to my contact in the police, she had no idea what was going on. He snatched her from a car park at gunpoint. They’ve released her and she’s flying to America on Wednesday, to attend a funeral.”

  “Who’s your contact?”

  He hesitated only a second. “DI Carlyle, she’s into us for fifteen grand.”

  “Knock five thousand off her account and tell her I’ll pay ten thousand in cash to find out where the funeral’s being held. Arrange two tickets on the same flight for me. I’ll be travelling as Missus Denker on the passport you arranged for me and I may decide to take you with me.” She turned on her heel and as she left the room she wondered how Russell would react when she told him that they were flying back to the States.

  * * * *

  Detective Superintendent Roberts played back the cassette and listened to the conversation between Williams and Carlyle and smiled. They’d had no reason to suspect that last night he’d planted a listening device in the hotel room where Williams would be staying. He’d left Carlyle with the girl. Neither of them had noticed him place the pen, containing the bug, behind a picture that was hanging on the wall as he made the pretence of straightening it. Now he had all the information he needed to earn himself a cool £10,000 tax free. Picking up the phone, he rang David Thompson at the casino.

  “That’s great, Vincent,” David said as he repeated the information out loud. “This is really great, but there could be a problem with the money.”

  “What do you mean a problem with the money?” If this pratt was trying to rip him off…

  “Well, we’ve told Janine that your DI Carlyle is my contact and as far as she’s concerned that’s who’ll get the money.”

  “No way, David. Listen…perhaps it’s time to tell Janine Schroeder the truth.”

  “You want me to say that I lied to her? Do you know what she’d do to me?”

  “Look, I’ll tell her that I told you to keep my name out of it as I was setting up Carlyle because she raided Spencer’s club. I’ll say I threatened to hassle you if you told anyone who I was.”

  “Alright, I’ll arrange a meeting. This information should put her in a better frame of mind. She’s been like a cat with two heads since he was killed.”

  “Fine, just do what you have to. Now I want to talk to you about Carlyle.”

  * * * *

  Rebecca was examining the file she’d obtained on The Death Dancer and it made interesting reading. His first victim was Raymond Hassley, a 56-year-old journalist who worked for the Nottingham Evening Herald. His body had been found in the bathroom of his house in Shrewsbury on the 18th December, 1986. He’d been shot once in the throat and once through the forehead and a white business card had been dropped on top of the body. Embossed on the card was the figure of a skeleton dancing on a grave and in red letters the message, I’ll dance on your grave! Hassley’s own name had been written on the grave’s tombstone.

  Since Hassley, The Death dancer had claimed twenty-three victims, men and women, and as far as Rebecca could see there was no obvious connection between his victims, who seemed to live in various locations within the UK. There was a married couple in 1986, the husband was a solicitor and his wife an accountant. They’d been killed in the lounge of their house in Milton Keynes. In 1988

  he’d killed three people, a market trader and his wife and a vicar. All of them lived in Birmingham. There was a note on the file stating that Andrea, the market trader’s 14-year-old daughter, had disappeared on the night of the killing. She was, it was believed, to have been either abducted, or so traumatised that she’d run away from home. Rebecca made a note to check and see whether the girl had ever been found.

  Of the other eighteen victims, there were five married couples, an assortment of men, and one 56-year-old woman from Derby who had been killed last year. She was the anomaly. Who would pay a hit-man to kill a supermarket stock person? All of the other women who had been murdered with their husbands were in their late thirties—around her own age—and like her, childless. Except for the market trader and his wife! She scanned the list again. The vicar from Birmingham? Was he the Hassley’s priest? Someone they’d turned to or confided in? Had they told him that they were hoping to adopt a baby or had Mrs. Hassley been enquiring about a Christening?

  She was still working on compiling a chart of all the killings and she looked at her monitor screen in triumph. There it was. Five of the other men all lived in the same area and were killed about the same time as one of the married couples. The door of her office opened and the Assistant Chief Constable walked in, accompanied by Superintendent Roberts. Rebecca sensed that something was wrong.

  “Detective Inspector Carlyle, I have received information that you have been gambling at the Saracen casino, and are in debt to them for the sum of fifteen thousand pounds,” the Assistant Chief Constable said gravely. “Because of the suspected criminal activities of the club, of which you are well aware, I have no choice but to suspend you from duty, pending a full enquiry. I would advise you to contact your Federation representative at the earliest opportunity. I require your warrant card and the keys to your locker and desk!”

  Numb with shock, she fumbled in her bag and handed over her warrant card and keys and didn’t resist when the Superintendent took her bag and started to look through it. He withdrew something from it and she saw that he was passing some kind of laminated card to the senior officer. After examining it, the assistant Chief Constable frowned. “This is a membership card for the Saracen Club – it has your photograph and your signature on it.”

  Rebecca didn’t say that she didn’t understand because she did. Vincent Roberts had planted the card in her bag because, for some reason, he’d framed her and, knowing Vincent, there was probably worse to come. She had no idea how her photograph and signature had been obtained for the membership card, or how her account at a club, that she’d only visited
during a raid, came to be fifteen thousand pounds in the red. But she intended to find out. Standing, she plucked the card out of the senior police officer’s hand. “That belongs to me I think,” she said. She took her handbag out of Vincent’s hand and met his eye. “I intend to find out why you’ve framed me, Vincent, and I’m going to prove that you’re bent. Believe me, you’re not going to get away with this!”

  He smiled sadly and shook his head. “You’re suspended, Rebecca. Don’t make things worse for yourself than they already are. Go home. You’ll be informed when the rubber heel squad want to interview you.”

  “Fuck you and Internal Affairs. All you’ve got on me is the allegation that I’m in debt to the club for fifteen thousand pounds, which is rather surprising as I have almost five hundred and eighty

  thousand pounds in my bank account. I’m sure that my bank will confirm that it was paid into my account two years ago with a cheque from the National Lottery.” She laughed at the shocked expression on the two men’s faces. “That’s right, sirs. It was, as the advert says, It could be you, and it was!”

  She was still laughing as she left the police station. Roberts would now have a hard time persuading the Assistant Chief Constable that she was being blackmailed over fifteen thousand pounds. Vincent had tried to ruin her, well now it was her turn because, if there was one thing that she couldn’t stand, it was a bent copper.

  She proffered her membership card at the door of the casino and was let through the glass doors. Plush red carpet covered the floors and in the games room the lighting was skilfully arranged to give an atmosphere of comfort and warmth. There wasn’t a clock in sight she noticed. Walking over to the cashier’s window, she proffered the woman her card. “I’d like to settle my account,” she said. Taking the card, the woman tapped the membership number printed on it, into her computer. She studied the monitor for a moment and smiled at Rebecca. “There is ten thousand pounds outstanding, Madam. How would you care to pay?”