The Retribution thacj-7

by Val McDermid

  ‘You’re worried about me,’ she said. ‘You think he might come after me.’

  Tony stopped in his tracks. ‘Of course I’m worried about you. I remember what you told me. What he said to you the night you arrested him.’

  Carol felt a cold thrill at the back of her neck. Vance’s low angry words had chilled her at the time; they’d come back to her in dark and twisted dreams for months afterwards. Sometimes her gift for being able to remember precisely whatever she heard felt more like a curse. ‘You are going to regret this night,’ he’d said. Danger had come off him like a smell, leaving her feeling corrupted and afraid. Suddenly dry-mouthed, she tried to swallow. ‘Surely he’s not going to hang around taking revenge?’ she said, trying to convince herself most of all. ‘He’s going to have a bolthole lined up. Somewhere he can feel in charge of his life. That’s not going to be in this country, never mind anywhere near me.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bank on it,’ Tony said. ‘Remember what he did to Shaz Bowman.’

  Recalling what Vance had done reminded Carol of the young cop who had been training as a profiler with Tony. Blazing blue eyes, brilliant analyst, impulsive servant of justice. Shaz had uncovered a cluster of potential serial killer victims, which had pleased her bosses. She’d also identified sporting hero and TV star Jacko Vance as the impossibly improbable suspect. Lacking the support of her colleagues, she’d gone her own sweet way, confronting Vance with her suspicions. And he had killed her in the most brutal and dehumanising manner. ‘She was a threat to his security. To his liberty,’ Carol said, knowing it was a weak response.

  Tony shook his head, an angry twist to his expression. ‘Nobody was listening to Shaz. Not even me, to my eternal shame. Nothing she had would have convinced a senior officer to investigate Vance, never mind arrest him. He was the big beast in the jungle, and she was a mosquito. He killed her because she’d pissed him off. The irony is that that’s why he ended up in jail in the first place. If he’d left Shaz alone, she’d have been written off as a silly woman with a bee in her bonnet. Killing her was what electrified the lot of us.’

  Carol nodded agreement, her shoulders slumping. ‘And he’s not stupid. He must understand that now, even if he didn’t get it at the time. He’s clearly been preparing this escape for years. So why would he risk being recaptured just to get his own back?’ She glanced out of the window at the busy office outside. She badly wanted a drink, but she wouldn’t let her team see her drink on duty. She wished she’d closed the blinds, but it was too late now. ‘Surely he’s not going to stick around just for revenge? All this time in the planning, he must have an escape hatch set up. And surely that’s bound to be abroad? Somewhere without an extradition treaty?’ Trying to convince herself, to keep the fear at bay.

  ‘He doesn’t look at the world the way we do, Carol. Vance is a psychopath. For years, abducting and raping and torturing and killing young girls was what gave his life meaning. And we took that away from him. That’s been eating away at him ever since. Believe me, making us suffer in return is right up there at the top of his list. I know Vance. I’ve sat across a table from him and seen the wheels go round. He’s going to want retribution – and you are going to be in the crosshairs.’ Tony sat down abruptly, hands gripping the arms of the chair.

  Carol frowned. ‘Not only me, Tony. I just arrested him. You were the one who analysed his crimes, his behaviour. If he’s got a list, you’re up near the top too. And not just you. What about those baby profilers who stood shoulder to shoulder to avenge their colleague? They’re in the frame too. Leon, Simon and Kay.’ Fresh realisation dawned and Carol waved at the room beyond the glass. ‘And Chris. I always forget that’s when I first met Chris, because we were working opposite ends of the investigation. Chris will be on his list too. There was nobody more passionate about nailing Vance for Shaz’s murder than Chris. She’s a target. They’re all targets. And they need to be warned.’ Sudden anger surged in Carol’s chest. ‘Why have I not heard about this officially? Why am I hearing it from you?’

  Tony shrugged. ‘I don’t know the answer to that. Maybe because I haven’t delivered my risk assessment yet. But you’re possibly right. I’m not convinced they played a significant enough role in Vance’s eyes to be in the crosshairs now. But they do need to be told.’

  ‘And his ex-wife,’ Carol said. ‘Jesus. Tell me they’ve informed Micky Morgan.’

  ‘I told them straight off they should warn her,’ Tony said. ‘He’ll perceive what she did as a betrayal. Not only did she fail to stand by him, she chose to humiliate him. That’s how he’ll see it. Rather than divorce him, she went for annulment. You and me, we understand why Vance wanted a marriage of convenience, but as far as your average prison inmate is concerned, not consummating your marriage means only one thing.’ He gave Carol a wry look. ‘That you’re a sad sack of shit who can’t get it up.’

  Carol saw the pain in his eyes and felt the twist of the knife. It wasn’t just his impotence that had come between them over the years, but it sure as hell hadn’t helped. ‘You’re not a sad sack of shit,’ she said briskly. ‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself. I hear what you’re saying about Micky – the way she went about getting rid of Vance set him up for ridicule, at best.’

  ‘He’ll have seen that as deliberate,’ Tony said. ‘But I don’t think she’ll be the one he goes for first. What she did was after the fact, if you like. The real villains are the ones who took his life away from him.’

  ‘Which would be us,’ Carol said. Anxiety was beginning to climb closer to alarm. She really needed that drink now.

  ‘I think we’ve got a small window of opportunity before he makes a move,’ Tony said. ‘Vance was never one to take risks. He’ll want to be rested and he’ll want to be certain the plans he put in place from prison will work in practice. That gives all of us time to get our lives in order and go into hiding.’

  Carol looked bemused. The notion of giving into the fear was anathema. ‘Go into hiding? Are you crazy? We need to be out there, working with the search team.’

  ‘No,’ Tony said. ‘That’s the last place you want to be. You want to be where he won’t be looking. Halfway up a Welsh mountain, or on a crowded London street. But certainly not with the search team, the very people he’ll be doing his best to keep tabs on. Carol, I want us all to survive this. And the best way is to take ourselves out of harm’s way till they catch Vance and put him back where he belongs.’

  Carol glared at him. ‘And what if they don’t catch him? How long do we stay off the radar? How long do we put our lives on hold till it’s safe to come out?’

  ‘They’ll catch him. He’s not Superman. He’s got no sense of the surveillance society that’s sprung up since he was sent down.’

  Carol snorted. ‘You think? The hard evidence that put him away came from the early versions of what we’ve got now. I think he’ll be very conscious of what’s out there. If he was on a Therapeutic Community Wing, he’ll have had a TV, a radio. Maybe even limited Internet access. Tony, Vance will know exactly what he’s up against and he’ll have made his plans with that in mind.’

  ‘All the more reason to lie low,’ Tony said stubbornly. He slammed his hands down on the arm of his chair. ‘Damn it, Carol, I don’t want to lose anybody else to that sick bastard.’ His face was stripped of defences and she was reminded of how personal Shaz Bowman’s death had felt to him. The blame he’d loaded on his own shoulders had weighed him down for years, not least because the courts had allowed Vance to escape the consequences of that particularly brutal act.

  ‘You won’t,’ she said, her voice soft and warm. ‘It’s not going to be like last time. But cops like us don’t hide from animals like Jacko Vance. We go out after them.’ She held up a hand to stop him as he opened his mouth to speak. ‘And I don’t say that in the spirit of gung-ho stupidity. I say it because I believe it. If I start letting the fear take control, I might as well quit right now. Never mind a new start. The only thing I should be loo
king at is early retirement.’

  Tony sighed, knowing when he was defeated. ‘I can’t make you,’ he said.

  ‘No, you can’t. And unless the others have changed a hell of a lot in the past dozen or so years, you can’t make them either. We need to be out there, looking for him.’

  Tony screwed up his face in a pained expression. ‘Please don’t do that, Carol. Please. Warn the others, by all means. But just do your normal work. Leave the manhunt to people he’s got no interest in killing.’

  ‘And you? Is that what you’ll be doing?’

  Tony found he couldn’t meet her eyes, even though he didn’t feel he had anything to be ashamed of. ‘I’m going to be a long way away from the front line, preparing a risk assessment. Suggestions about what Vance will want to do. Where he will want to go. I was going to hide halfway up a Welsh mountain with you so I could pick your brains, but that’s not going to happen, is it?’ Again, he was aware of anger creeping into his voice. This time, he clamped down on it, forcing himself to sound genial. ‘So I’ll probably get somebody else to deal with my appointments at Bradfield Moor today and drive back to Worcester so I can work there in peace.’

  It wasn’t an option that pleased Carol. She wanted him where she could keep tabs on him. ‘I’d rather you stayed here,’ she said. ‘If we’re not going into hiding, the least we should do is stay close to each other. Avoid giving Vance any opportunity for attack.’

  Tony looked dubious. ‘You’re in the middle of a serial-killer inquiry and I’m not supposed to be working with you. If your beloved Chief Constable sees me hanging around in here, he’ll have an aneurysm.’

  ‘Tough. Anyway, I thought you’d figured out a way round that?’

  Tony continued to avoid her eyes. ‘I didn’t get round to it. This other business put it out of my mind. And now I’ve got to work on this Vance assessment. I tell you what: I’ll work in your office with the blinds drawn, then, when I deliver to the Home Office, I’ll get it sorted out. OK?’

  Carol surprised herself by laughing. ‘You’re hopeless, you know that?’

  ‘But you have to promise me something in return …’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘If he comes anywhere near any of us, you’ll take cover.’

  ‘I am not hiding up a mountain in the middle of Wales.’ Carol’s mouth set in a firm line.

  ‘No, I see that. But I’ve still got the narrowboat moored up in the basin in Worcester. We could set sail like the owl and the pussycat. It’d take our minds off Vance.’

  Carol frowned. This wasn’t the Tony Hill she’d known all these years. Yes, he’d recently claimed he’d been changed profoundly by discovering the identity of his biological father, understanding the reasons why the man had played no role in his life, and coming to terms with his legacy. But she’d been doubtful, seeing little evidence of any change beyond the superficial decision to leave Bradfield and move into the splendid Edwardian house in Worcester. OK, that had also meant jacking in his job at Bradfield Moor secure mental hospital, but Carol was convinced that giving up work wouldn’t last for more than a few weeks. Tony identified himself too closely with the exploration of damaged minds to abandon it for long. There would be another secure hospital, another set of messy heads. She had no doubt of that.

  However, the idea of taking off on an unplanned excursion to anywhere on a narrowboat was entirely out of character, a genuine marker of change. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d even taken his annual leave, never mind actually going on holiday. Maybe he too was feeling the fear gnawing at his heart. ‘We’ll sail under that bridge when we come to it,’ she muttered, getting up and heading for the door. ‘But the first thing I need to do is break the bad news to Chris. Then we have to get cracking on tracking down the others and telling them.’

  Tony got to his feet.

  ‘No, you’re staying right here,’ Carol said, reaching past him and closing the blinds.

  ‘I need to go home for my laptop,’ he protested.

  ‘No, you don’t. You can use my computer.’

  ‘It doesn’t have my boilerplate.’

  Carol gave a grim smile. ‘If you mean your standard intro, just use one of your old profiles. You’ll find them in the directory conveniently entitled “profiles”. Sorry, Tony. If this is as serious as you made out, you have to take as much care of yourself as you would like to take of me.’

  There was, she thought as she marched into the main squad room, absolutely nothing he could say to that.

  12

  Vance had found a Boston Red Sox baseball cap in the taxi driver’s glove box. It wasn’t exactly a disguise, but if there was already a description of him out there, the hat wouldn’t be part of it. It was probably enough to give him a few moments’ grace. He was pleasantly surprised by the new service area on the motorway. Back when he’d gone inside, a motorway service area was a depressing necessity, trapped in a 1960s time warp. Now this one at least had apparently been transformed into an attractive open-plan diner with an M&S food store, a coffee shop with twenty varieties of hot drink, and a motel. Who cared about ripping up the countryside? This was a huge improvement.

  Vance drove to a quiet section of the car park, as far as he could get from the motel. He checked out the CCTV cameras and made sure he was parked in a position where the number plate couldn’t be seen. Any time he could buy himself was an advantage at this point.

  Out of curiosity, he opened the boot. Tucked in a corner at the back was some clothing. He reached in and shook out the folds of a lightweight rain jacket. Perfect. It was a bit tight on the shoulders, but it covered his tattooed arms, which was the most noticeable aspect of his current look. All the better for getting in and out of the motel.

  Leaving the keys in the ignition in the hope that someone would steal the taxi, he walked briskly up the paved path to the motel, keeping his face tucked down into the upturned collar of the jacket. As he walked, he could feel the tension in his body. It wasn’t fear; there were no grounds for fear yet. It was a mixture of apprehension and anticipation, he thought. It was a heightened awareness that would keep him safe. Not just for the moment, but for as long as he needed to carry out his plans.

  He turned down the last lane of parked cars, studying them as he passed. Halfway down he saw the dark blue Mercedes estate car that he was looking for. Propped on the dashboard was a piece of paper with a number on it. The last three digits were 314.

  Vance peeled away and made straight for the motel. He pushed the door open and walked confidently across the lobby to the lifts. None of the people chatting on sofas or drinking coffee at the functional tables so much as glanced at him. The receptionist, busy with another arrival, barely looked his way. Everything was exactly as he expected. Terry had done a good job of setting this up and reporting the salient details during his visits. Vance hit the call button and stepped aboard as soon as the doors opened. On the third floor, he turned left down a corridor that had the sharp chemical tang of artificial fragrance. He walked along the corridor till he came to the door marked 314. He knocked three times then stepped away from the door, ready to run if that proved necessary.

  But there was no need to worry. The door swung silently open to reveal the wiry frame and monkey face of Terry Gates, the true believer who had done Vance’s bidding in every particular since the day he’d been arrested. It had been Terry whose lying testimony had cast doubt on his first murder convictions, Terry who had never questioned what had been asked of him, Terry who had never wavered in his belief in Vance’s innocence. For a moment he looked uncertain. Then their eyes met and his face crinkled in a toothy grin. He spread his arms wide, stepping backwards. ‘Come away in, man,’ he said, his Geordie accent obvious even in that short greeting.

  Vance quickly crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him. He let out a long whoosh of breath and grinned right back at Terry. ‘It’s great to see you, Terry,’ he said, relaxing back into his own honeyed tones.


  Terry couldn’t stop smiling. ‘It’s champion, Jacko. Champion. It’s been so depressing all these years, only ever seeing you in them places.’ He waved an arm at the room. ‘How nice is this?’

  It was, in truth, a lot better than Vance had expected for this stopping point on his journey back to the luxury and comfort he craved as his right. The room was clean with no stale notes of cigarettes or booze. The decor was simple – white walls and bedding, dark wood panelling behind the bed and the table that doubled as a desk. The curtains were tobacco brown. The only rich colours came from the carpet and the bedspread. ‘You did well, Terry,’ he said, pulling off the hat and shrugging out of the jacket.

  ‘How did it go? Can I make you a brew? Is there anything you need? I’ve got all your paperwork and ID here in the briefcase. And I got some nice salads and sandwiches from M&S,’ Terry gabbled.

  ‘It went like clockwork,’ Vance said, stretching luxuriously. ‘Not a hitch.’ He clapped Terry on the shoulder. ‘Thanks. But first things first. What I need now is a shower.’ He looked at his arms with distaste. ‘I want to get rid of these eyesores. Why anyone would do that to themselves is a mystery to me.’ He headed towards the bathroom.

  ‘Just as well Jason did, though,’ Terry said. ‘With tattoos like that, nobody’s looking too closely at your face, are they?’

  ‘Exactly. Have you got a razor, Terry? I want to get rid of the goatee.’

  ‘It’s all in there, Jacko. Everything you asked for, all your regular toiletries.’ Terry flashed him a smile again, ever anxious to please.