by Neil White
Now he just had to work out what Don and Mike had done that demanded such vicious revenge. But first, he had to see Laura.
Chapter Fifty
Laura leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes. It was only ten in the morning, but the long hours were taking their toll. She had managed to drag every shift manager into the station and had demanded a list of all those officers who’d been on duty when the emails had been sent from the police station. The technical people were trying to narrow it down to an individual terminal or log-in details, but it was slow going. There were countless computers being used at all times in the station, and they all went through one major server.
She was rescued from looking at the list of names when her phone vibrated on the desk next to her. When she looked at the screen, she saw that it was a London number.
‘Sandy?’ she said.
There was a laugh on the other end, and then the familiar rounded vowels of the south hit her ears. ‘Hey, babe, it’s been a long time. How is it up there? I’ve heard they’ve got colour television now.’
She laughed. ‘How’s life in the clogged up, smoggy streets?’
‘It’s all sushi and soft shoes now.’
‘So, what have you got for me?’ Laura asked.
‘What you wanted,’ he said. ‘Your boy, Shane Grix, was found in an alleyway near King’s Cross. Typical young drifter stuff. Down to the bright lights, except that it just got him into drink and drugs, and so he paid his way with sexual favours. Do you know how hard it is to investigate these things?’
‘I haven’t been away that long,’ she said lightly. And Laura did remember the problems – any witness who could provide background information seemed to be in a new place each night. Some of the street sleepers found their own slot amongst the cardboard, and would defend it aggressively, but as soon as the authorities came looking, they shuffled off somewhere else. And getting them as far as a courtroom was almost impossible.
‘It’s even worse now,’ Sandy said, interrupting her thoughts. ‘Eastern Europeans hog the soup queues, even if they are not homeless, and they get pretty violent if anyone objects.’
‘So you didn’t get much joy?’
Laura could almost hear the shake of the head. ‘Maybe things would be different now,’ he said, ‘but it was the Thatcher years. We celebrated the winners. What did some minister say back then, that the homeless were just the people you trip over on the way to the opera? Shane ended up in a fight with someone just like him. Strangled to death and then set on fire.’
‘Forensic cover-up?’
‘That was the guess at the time,’ he said.
‘And what about since?’ Laura heard the sigh, and she guessed the answer. ‘There hasn’t been a since, has there?’ she said. ‘No forensics, no eye witnesses, and a family who don’t make trouble. Just another young homeless death.’
‘It’s called priorities, Laura, you know how it works. The file’s still open, but short of a confession, we’re never going to solve it. It was years ago.’
‘How sure are you that the body was identified correctly? It was all based on clothes, wasn’t it?’
‘We’re not,’ he said. ‘We tried dental records, but life on the streets had taken their toll. He’d lost three at the front, a couple at the back, and when we asked Shane’s mother she said that he’d stopped going to the dentist after he was told to wear braces when he was thirteen.’
‘Was there anything unusual about the body?’
There was a pause as Sandy thought back on what he’d found out so far. ‘Not really. Apart from the gag.’
The hairs rose on Laura’s arms.
‘Gag?’
‘A cloth, jammed into his mouth. I suppose it muffled the screams, and because it soaked up plenty of petrol, the fire burned pretty badly around the face.’
Laura rubbed her eyes. Her mind was still moving slowly, but she could work out the significance of what she had been told.
‘Laura, what is it?’ she heard Sandy say, but she still left it a few more seconds.
‘It might be that you have to prioritise again,’ Laura said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t think your corpse is Shane Grix,’ she said. ‘I think Shane Grix may be the person who killed him.’
Sandy whistled. ‘At least we’ve got a name now.’
‘You always had the name, except the wrong way round,’ she said. ‘And once you discover who was actually killed, you might have a family who’ll make more problems for you than Shane’s did.’
The drive to the police station took Jack through the centre of Blackley, and as he passed the courthouse, he spotted David Hoyle’s car.
Jack didn’t often go to court on Saturdays, as Saturday cases were overnighters only, and were either so serious that the end of the case was a long way off, or else so trivial, like late-night drunkenness, that they didn’t really deserve any ink in the first place. He decided to make an exception, so he could corner Hoyle again.
He pulled into the space next to Hoyle’s car and jammed the meter with whatever small change he had left, and then walked quickly up the court steps.
The corridor was quiet; it always was on Saturdays. The lawyers wanted to be in and out as quickly as possible, and so the only people who ever hung around were relatives of the prisoners. Except that it wasn’t as quiet as normal, because David Hoyle was sitting at the end of the corridor, leaning forward, staring at the floor.
He didn’t look up as Jack approached, although he must have realised who it was, because as Jack sat down next to him, he said, ‘If you want a quote, you won’t get one.’ His voice was quiet and forlorn.
Jack remembered the email from the night before. Hoyly Moyly. It was time for some guesswork, because the poem had to mean something. Oh Angel, why did you scream?
‘How’s Angel?’ Jack said. ‘Is she okay?’
Hoyle looked up, surprised. ‘What do you mean?’ He had none of the arrogance of their usual meetings.
‘I heard that she had a close call last night.’
Hoyle said nothing at first, and so Jack wasn’t sure if his bluff had worked, but then Hoyle looked down again and said, ‘How did you know?’
‘It’s a small town, Mr Hoyle. Rumours spread quickly.’
‘Well, nothing happened, okay. There’s nothing to say, nothing to report, and if you write otherwise, I’ll sue you.’
‘Is Angel your girlfriend?’
Hoyle sat up and leaned back in his seat. He folded his arms.
Jack nodded his understanding. ‘Okay, thank you, Mr Hoyle. But tell me this: why are you here, and not with her, telling the police all about it?’
Hoyle ground his teeth and didn’t respond.
‘Are you so far gone that you look to serve Don before you protect your girlfriend?’ Jack said, shaking his head. ‘You’ve lost your way, Mr Hoyle.’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Don’t I? What, that women are dying, and if your girlfriend saw something, she might help the police catch him? But you would rather look after your client than help prevent another murder. So what don’t I know, Mr Hoyle? You tell me.’
Hoyle let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his eyes. He looked tired. ‘Where did you hear about Angel?’ he said.
‘Just something I heard, and I saw the look on your face last night, like you had been dragged too close to something that was out of your comfort zone.’
Hoyle clenched his jaw. ‘What the fuck does that mean?’
‘You’re a courtroom player. You can control what happens in there, because you know the rules, the tricks. That’s how you deal with Don, because when he has to come here, or his men get charged, they are visiting your world, and you’re in charge.’
Jack waited for the smart response, but as he looked into Hoyle’s eyes, Jack just saw fatigue and worry, the fear that the evil of the world had come to him.
Hoyle looked down again.
‘Talk to the police, David,’ Jack said. ‘Don’s got no loyalty towards you. If he didn’t use you, he’d use someone else.’
There was a pause, and then Hoyle said, ‘But I want him to do it, to catch the killer, and that’s what I hate about it. I care about the rules. Do you know that?’ Jack didn’t respond, and so he carried on, his voice rising a notch. ‘I know you think people like me just try to weasel our way out of the rules, but it is still about the rules. It gives everything order.’
‘Except that you are not sure whether you want this person to have that chance,’ Jack said.
Hoyle looked him straight in the eye. ‘I know what he did to Don’s daughter,’ he said. ‘Any gaps that Don left out were filled in by you in your article, and I can’t stand the thought that he could have done that to Angel.’
‘So why are you here?’ Jack said.
He looked around and shrugged. ‘Because it’s what I know, this place,’ he said.
‘But who is looking after Angel now?’
‘She’s at home, alone,’ Hoyle said. ‘She insisted on it. Angel isn’t weak.’
‘If the police call, will she speak to them?’ Jack said.
Hoyle didn’t answer at first. Instead, he just chewed on his lip. Eventually, he said, ‘I don’t know.’
Jack spotted something in Hoyle’s voice, it sounded like fear, and then it dawned on him. ‘That’s really why you’re here, isn’t it?’ Jack said. ‘You haven’t told her who the intruder was, that it might be the same person who killed Jane Roberts, and you don’t know how to deal with it.’
Jack knew he’d hit home, because Hoyle looked up at the ceiling and clenched his jaw. After a few moments of silence, he shook his head and then got to his feet. ‘I’m going back into court,’ he said and wearily made his way along the corridor.
Chapter Fifty-One
Jack paced up and down outside the entrance to the police station, the print-out of the emails from the night before in his hand.
He turned around when he heard the large wooden doors swing open and smiled when he saw Laura. She walked over to him, returning the smile, although Jack thought she looked tired, her eyes red, the skin under them dark and puffy.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
She ran her hands over her face. ‘We’re just chasing this thing hard,’ she said. ‘We need to catch him.’
‘Look after yourself too.’
‘I will. It’s nice to see you. It seems like forever since we spent some real time together.’
‘I was going to say the same thing,’ he said.
‘Is this what this is about, that you want to see me?’
‘No, no, nothing to do with that,’ he said, and then he grinned. ‘It is good to see you though.’
She moved forward and kissed him softly on the lips. ‘You can have the rest later,’ she whispered. ‘For now, just tell me what you’re doing here.’
‘The emails,’ Jack said. ‘I’ve had some more.’
Laura’s eyes widened, alert now. ‘When, last night?’
He nodded. ‘You remember David Hoyle?’
She thought for a moment and then said, ‘Smart-arse defence lawyer. Nice suits, bad attitude.’
Jack nodded. ‘That’s him. I saw him last night, rushing out of Don’s house. He looked frightened, and when I got home, I received this,’ and Jack held out the print-out of the Hoyly Moyly email to Laura. As she read it, her eyes widening, Jack continued, ‘There was an intruder in his house, while his girlfriend was home alone. She’s the Angel in the poem.’
Laura looked at Jack, surprised.
‘There’s something else you ought to know too,’ Jack said.
‘Go on.’
‘The bodies weren’t left in random places. Don and Mike were supposed to find their daughters. It was revenge. I went to both murder scenes. Jane was found on a path that takes you right to Don’s house, a path that people use to walk their dogs. Don has a dog.’
‘And Deborah?’
‘Mike Corley is a fisherman. I saw his gear when I was at his house. I bet he uses that reservoir.’
‘He never mentioned that,’ Laura said.
‘Perhaps it wasn’t a big deal when it was just Deborah, but when Jane was murdered, a pattern emerged.’
Laura thought about that for a moment, and when he passed her the paper, she said, ‘Follow me.’
She walked quickly into the police station, rushing Jack through the reception area and towards Carson, whose pink dome gleamed through the crowd of uniformed officers putting off the start of the day. He was sitting with Joe Kinsella, deep in conversation. Jack threaded his way through the uniforms, and as he got closer to Carson, Laura held up the print-out.
‘You might want to see this,’ she said, and handed the first email over.
Carson looked at Jack. ‘Is this what I think it is?’ he said.
‘Another email, to me,’ Jack said, nodding.
‘Fuck!’ Carson said, his voice tired, his breath a mix of no sleep and too much coffee. As he read, Carson’s eyes started to widen.
‘What the fuck is all this?’ he said. ‘Poetry? Angel?’
‘Taunts,’ Jack said, pointing down at the paper. ‘Angel is David Hoyle’s girlfriend. Look at the title, Hoyly Moyly. Hoyle was at Don’s house last night, and he left looking pretty fraught. I saw him this morning and asked him how Angel was, and he looked like I had kicked him in the gut.’
Carson turned to Laura. ‘We need to check the incident logs from last night, see if she called it in,’ he said.
‘She didn’t,’ Jack said. ‘Don Roberts is trying to deal with it himself, and I reckon Hoyle has joined the gang.’
‘But if Angel had a confrontation, she might be able to give a description. This could be the killer’s second mistake.’
Joe Kinsella was reading the email now. ‘And we need to know how she was able to frighten him away,’ he said. ‘The first two victims would have fought too, so what was different about Angel?’
‘You find out,’ Carson said. ‘I’ve got to go to a meeting with the top brass. They’re worried about the cost of this case.’ He sighed heavily. ‘If we lose some of our squad, he’ll kill again, and that won’t make anything easier.’
‘You might want to see this then,’ Jack said, and handed over the second email. ‘It arrived later on last night.’ He watched as Carson read. And I have spotted a female. You know her, ha ha. Just got to work out the details.
Carson lowered the print-out and passed it to Laura. ‘This might be aimed at you,’ he said. ‘You can’t be alone today.’ Laura started to protest, but he held up his hand. ‘This is non-negotiable.’
Laura read it, and Jack saw the blood drain from her face for a moment. Then she recovered and said, ‘We better catch him then.’
Carson smiled at her, but then said, ‘Just be careful. We’ve had too many corpses.’
Chapter Fifty-Two
Jack was still outside the police station, sitting in his car and worrying about what lay ahead for Laura, when his phone rang.
The number on the handset was unfamiliar. When he answered, a quiet voice said, ‘Jack Garrett?’ It was a woman’s voice, indistinct, but familiar, yet he couldn’t place it.
‘Yes, this is Jack Garrett.’
‘Did you come to my house last night?’ she said. ‘I’ve found your card.’
Jack thought about the previous evening, and then he knew why her voice was familiar. It was the woman from the Whitcroft estate, being tormented by a teenage gang. ‘Yes, I did.’
The line went silent for a while, and Jack thought he had lost the signal, but then she said, ‘Why did you come to my house?’
‘I’m writing about the estate. You seemed to be having some trouble. I was passing, that’s all.’
‘Was that the only reason?’
Jack was confused. ‘Should there be another reason?’ he said.
‘I’ve read your stories in the pap
er.’
‘About what?’
‘The two dead women.’
That got Jack’s attention. ‘Do you know anything about them?’
She went silent again, and Jack realised he had stopped breathing. He was waiting for her to talk.
‘Don Roberts,’ she said eventually. ‘I can tell you all about Don Roberts, and Mike Corley.’
Jack let out a long breath. He wasn’t aware of anything else around him. It was just her voice on the phone. ‘I’m listening,’ he said.
There was another pause, and then, ‘I can tell you exactly how the dead women are connected.’
His mouth went dry and he felt a tingle of anticipation. He scrambled in his pocket and then his glove compartment for a pencil, and then found a scrap of paper to scribble on. ‘So tell me what you know.’ His fingers gripped the pen tightly.
‘It was wrong, all wrong,’ she said, although her voice was fainter this time.
‘What was wrong?’
There was no response.
‘Are you there?’ Still silence. ‘What’s your name?’
There was another pause, and then she said, ‘Emma.’
‘Wait there,’ Jack said, throwing the paper and pencil to the floor. ‘I’m two minutes away.’
‘So what do we do when we get to David Hoyle’s house?’ Laura asked Joe, as he drove them through the town centre.
‘We persuade Angel to talk to us, not Don Roberts,’ Joe said.
‘But if Hoyle is there, he’ll stop us.’
Joe shook his head. ‘I’ve spoken to the court ushers. Hoyle is still at court.’
‘Jesus, does life always have to be about the money?’ Laura said.