‘If he gets off on young women, why isn’t he doing more to them?’
‘Erm, because it’s too risky. He’ll leave DNA. It’ll take too long; it’s just more complicated.’
‘Exactly, it is complicated! Like I said to you in the café the other day, it would take a different approach, as symbolised by him getting rid of the knife. But by being complicated it has more chances of going wrong. And it did go wrong.’ Johnson deliberately paused waiting for McNeil to speak.
‘Like in St. Albans?’
‘Yes! This attack in Milton Keynes only serves to confirm that it was him that killed the woman in St. Albans.’
‘What, by the stabbing of a man in broad daylight somewhere different?’ McNeil hoped his voice had sounded more incredulous than sarcastic.
‘Precisely! What better way to distance himself from St. Albans altogether than to do something, not only completely different to St. Albans, but also something that seems to be reverting to type.’ She stood up again. She had been so wrapped in the conversation that she hadn’t noticed her cigarette had burned down. She absentmindedly tossed it in the direction of a drain.
‘But if he’s reverting to type, wouldn’t he kill a woman again? Perhaps back in Canterbury or here even?’
‘Yes, that’s the logical thing to do.’
‘You’re agreeing with me?’ McNeil asked, confused.
This time it was Johnson’s turn to laugh. ‘No, it may be logical but remember we are dealing with a serial killer here. He’s cold and calculating, sure, but that doesn’t make him rational. No, by trying to cover up his mistake in St. Albans he has gone on to make more mistakes. It’s back to the garage logo. Just like he was too obviously trying to make the direct link back to Canterbury, thus bypassing St. Albans, picking a man this time is too obviously trying to imply there is no sexual motivation to his actions. Like you said yourself, McNeil, it was no coincidence that he was selecting women in the first place…’
McNeil stood up too. His mind was struggling to cope with all this. ‘Right, let me get this straight, what you’re saying is that, rather than the obvious explanation, he is switching it up again by changing gender as well as location and he’s keen to show us the link because it’s been a while since the last one, and this is an elaborate way of distancing himself from the murder in St. Albans, something no one had linked him to.’
‘Precisely,’ said Johnson, grinning.
McNeil shook his head and laughed again. ‘Well, ma’am, you’re either completely mad or completely amazing.’
‘Oh, I am amazing,’ Johnson said punching the number into the keypad to regain entry to the station. As she stepped through the doorway, she added: ‘And soon I’ll prove it.’
McNeil remained stationary, allowing the door to close behind Johnson. He sincerely hoped he wasn’t reading more into that last statement than had been intended.
Chapter Forty-three
Johnson couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this nervous. She had contemplated discussing it with Potter, but she knew he wouldn’t allow it. It was better for him that he didn’t know. She hadn’t told McNeil either because he would try and convince her out of it. As far as Johnson could see, this was the only way. Unless she intervened, there was a good chance they could be chasing this killer indefinitely. It seemed he was way ahead in the game and if she didn’t switch it up, they had little hope of catching him. She had found a weakness and she was going to exploit it. One day Potter might even thank her for it. Not today though, she thought to herself.
After all this, I really am going to cut down, she promised herself, stubbing out the cigarette on the overflowing metal container. She entered the building and noticed that members of the press had already gone through and taken their seats. Lurking inside the double doors was McNeil, who happened to turn at that moment, spot her, and offer a thumb’s up. As she went around the corridor to the side entrance, she saw DSI Potter talking to someone unfamiliar.
‘DSI Franklin.’ He introduced himself before Potter had the chance to do so. ‘DCI Johnson, I have heard so much about you.’ There was a smarmy quality to his voice. ‘Listen, Potter and I have been talking and we think between us we have it covered. However, for the sake of continuity it wouldn’t do any harm to have you up there.’ His wink at Potter brought a shiver to Johnson’s spine even before he added, ‘Bring a bit of glamour to proceedings, eh?’
Johnson could see Potter was about to say something in reply. Credit to him, much as they had disagreed recently, she admired his commitment to not being caught up in the old-boys’ club misogynist bullshit that still went on in the force, albeit much better hidden than it used to be. She put a hand on his arm to stop him and received a quizzical look in return. ‘No problem gentlemen,’ she replied. Then indicating at the door, she continued, ‘Shall we?’
There was the familiar flash of cameras as soon as they entered the room but the number of them suggested a far bigger gathering than Johnson had encountered before. As she took her seat, she noticed her hand shaking slightly when she reached out to the glass of water in front of her.
Johnson wasn’t surprised that it was DSI Franklin who started the press conference. From the brief encounter with him it was obvious he would want the limelight, despite DSI Potter having led the investigation since this had all begun. Franklin introduced himself and explained that he would read a short statement regarding the most recent murder, before passing over to Potter. He added that there wouldn’t be an opportunity for questions. Shit! Johnson thought.
What Franklin said about Milton Keynes was the typical speech under the circumstances: giving some basic details about what had happened and that they were following up a number of lines of enquiry. But the way in which he delivered it was curious to Johnson. She felt she could detect a sense of pride in his statement, as though he was pleased that Thames Valley Police was getting its share of the publicity. Similar in a way to a newly announced host city for the Olympics or World Cup looks forward to the gaze of the world falling upon them.
Potter played with his usual straight bat, explaining that they believed this to be the work of the man responsible for the attacks in Nottingham and Canterbury. Johnson noticed that he had been careful to avoid the words serial killer. From that point she largely zoned out from what was being said, her mind ablaze with thoughts of how to get her opportunity. These thoughts were met with others attempting to reassure her that it was probably for the best that she wouldn’t.
DSI Potter had been brief; so much so it seemed to come as a surprise to the whole room when he finished. There followed a pause that felt like an age to Johnson, who was still wracked with indecision. In unison both Franklin and Potter leaned forward, ready to push their chairs back and stand when a voice called out from the middle of the room.
‘Why a man this time?’
This is it! Johnson knew that if she wasn’t the first to speak then the moment would be lost. Out of the corner of her eye she could already see Franklin’s hand being raised in a dismissive gesture.
‘I’ll take this one,’ she blurted out as quickly as she could.
She could sense the two heads swivel towards her and could imagine the shock on their faces.
‘We believe this shows the same…’ Deliberate pause. ‘…motivation as in previous attacks.’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Franklin called loudly. ‘We said there would be no questions.’ With that he stood and then so too did Potter and Johnson. She was relieved that it was her who would have to lead them out but, even with her back to her DSI, she could feel his stare bore into her.
Anxious to delay the inevitable chastisement that was to follow, she headed round the corridor and back to the main entrance. ‘I hope that wasn’t too subtle’, she murmured to herself whilst apparently stopping to look for something in her bag.
‘DCI Johnson, do you have a moment?’ It was Gail Trevelly, reporter for one of the red tops.
‘If you can
walk and talk,’ Johnson said, trying to sound casual, despite her heart going ten to the dozen.
Stepping outside she did not even hold the door open. If Trevelly was offended she didn’t show it. ‘I wanted to ask you about that comment you made in the press conference.’
‘You do?’ Johnson replied, as innocently as possible, pausing her walk to face the journalist.
‘Yes, what did you mean when you said same motivation?’
Johnson had to turn away again, hiding the smile of delight that had formed on her lips.
Chapter Forty-four
‘For Christ’s sake, Johnson, Potter is going to kill you!’ McNeil was sat in the same coffee shop as before, but this time was waving a newspaper around. ‘And if he doesn’t read this, all the others will have latched on to it by tomorrow and it will be everywhere.’
‘I didn’t say that,’ Johnson responded, though with a knowing look in her eyes.
‘There is speculation that the attacker’s switch to a male victim is the result of his own conflict with his sexuality. Perhaps he is bisexual or, at the very least, bi-curious,’ McNeil quoted.
‘I didn’t say that,’ Johnson repeated.
‘What did you mean by motivation then?’
‘Oh, that was just an accident.’ She looked down in mock shame. ‘I forgot that DSI Franklin had said there were to be no questions.’
‘Bullshit! Save that for Potter. I know you and I know that, however impetuous you appear to be, behind everything is cold calculation.’
Johnson was about to respond; genuinely concerned for the first time in the conversation by something McNeil had said. But his face caused her to pause. It was as though she could almost hear the cogs whirring.
Suddenly his face lit up. ‘You really are amazing!’
‘You don’t know the half of it,’ she replied, placing a hand on his knee, this simple gesture causing a slight flutter in his chest.
‘I can just imagine,’ he said in a low whisper.
‘Perhaps you won’t have to much longer,’ she purred. Then an instant later she was on her feet and marching towards the exit.
‘Where are you going?’ McNeil called after her, deciding whether he could comfortably stand up.
‘Back to face the music,’ she replied over her shoulder.
Chapter Forty-five
‘You cunt!’ Brandt roared, throwing the newspaper across the room; the individual sheets separating before falling to the floor. ‘You did this!’
Brandt had watched the press conference the previous day and had been satisfied with how it went. That was until the very end when that bitch piped up. Although she was shut down quickly, he had been keen to see what the press made of it. Arriving at his local shop the next morning, he was pleased to find his exploits on the front page of all the tabloids and even some of the broadsheets. He could think of nothing that would give him greater pleasure that day, than to pick up a copy of each one and spend the morning poring over them. He quickly devised a route that would take him to two other newsagents and would see him back home within the hour. Purchasing two papers from each shop wouldn’t arouse any suspicion and he would use the walk to build up the anticipation by imagining the flurry of activity that morning in the relevant police stations.
Once home, Brandt had decided to start with the broadsheets, knowing their more measured style to reporting would stick closer to facts than opinion. Whilst he enjoyed reading the snippets in there, it was the sensationalist nature of the tabloids that he was really looking forward to. The first one didn’t disappoint, suggesting that Britain was in the throes of its greatest serial killer since the Yorkshire Ripper. Brandt knew that the comparison would cause fear amongst some of its readers although, if he were feeling particularly egotistic, he would point out that the Ripper had been preying on a particular type of person and in a relatively localised area. It started Brandt thinking about what he should do next to ensure that the wide-ranging nature of his exploits be fully appreciated.
It was with such thoughts that he turned to the next publication. With an absent mind he scanned the front page, with its now familiar description of Saturday’s murder and the police confirmation of the link to the Nottingham and Canterbury killings. He followed the link at the bottom to page 7 which introduced an editorial by their columnist Gail Trevelly. Brandt briefly glanced at her photo which he knew would have been professionally taken but did show her to be not unattractive. He was amused to find that she was claiming a unique insight into the murderer. Oh, this should be good, he chuckled to himself knowing that anything dramatic would serve his purpose of generating more fear among the public. But slowly his excitement had turned into shock, which was then replaced by fury.
With his legs shaking he made his way to the house phone, sat in its charger in the hallway. He forced himself to take a few moments to compose himself before punching in the number.
‘Brian, how are you buddy? It’s Jeff.’
‘Oh hello. What can I do for you?’
Brandt was slightly taken aback by the purposeful tone he was met with. In his state of high emotion, he hadn’t considered that ringing Franklin during working hours would be very different than the evening.
‘Oh, I er… I just heard about what happened in Milton Keynes.’
‘Yes, you can imagine what a furore it has caused.’
Brandt detected a little pleasure in Franklin’s tone.
‘Listen, we’re quite busy here, what with everything, is there something specific I can do for you?’ Franklin said.
‘Oh no I just… I’ll give you a call later once you’re finished.’
‘Are you okay, Jeff? You sound different.’
Shit! Just tell him you’re fine and that you wanted to wish him well with the investigation. ‘Fancy meeting up at the weekend?’
‘Er sure, I could probably do Sunday assuming nothing else happens here on Saturday.’
It won’t, Brandt thought to himself with a smile.
‘I’ll give you a call later on in the… Oh wait, I just remembered that I’m going to my Uncle’s to watch the Arsenal game,’ Franklin said.
Shit! Think, Brandt, think. ‘That’s just it: I’ve been given a couple of tickets to the match and wondered if…’
‘Mate, that’s awesome. Count me in. Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll give you a call tomorrow night.’
The line went dead before Brandt could reply. With the receiver still to his ear he stood there motionless for a while, attempting to process what he had just done. On the one hand he was pleased that he had managed to provide a suitable reason for phoning at such an unusual time. Similarly, he had found a way of getting Franklin to agree to meet up when it had seemed he would be too busy. But on the other hand, he didn’t even know what Arsenal game Franklin had been referring to, much less had tickets for them. Brandt hated football; ninety minutes of watching massively overpaid prima donnas falling to the ground and writhing in mock-pain as though they had broken their legs, only to jump up and celebrate scoring a goal like they had just discovered the cure for cancer. And that was watching it on television from the comfort of his armchair. The only enjoyment it had ever provided him was the fact that his wife had hated it more. Switching it on had been Brandt’s way of driving her from the sitting room; something he found all too tempting in the latter years of their marriage.
Now, not only would he have to go to a game by choice, but he would have to pay for the privilege. As Brandt headed into the kitchen to fire up his laptop, he tried to reassure himself that he had made the right decision under difficult circumstances, and what he would gain from the day would be worth the hassle.
After twenty minutes on the internet and a frustrating phone call, he realised that the effort required to make this work was far greater than he had imagined. His initial relief at discovering they were playing at home, rather than somewhere like Newcastle, was tempered by who their opponents were. Even Brandt’s limited knowledge extended t
o an appreciation that a game between Arsenal and their north London rivals Tottenham Hotspur was likely to increase demand for tickets. The website said that the match had been sold out weeks ago and a call to the ticket office confirmed this. The man at the other end of the line explained that, for a fee, Brandt could purchase two membership packages which would entitle him to purchase seats made available by season ticket holders who were unable to attend. However, he admitted that there were thousands of other members trying to do the same and that the chances of being successful were, at best, slim. Somewhat unhelpfully, he suggested keeping his money and using it to watch the game at the pub. Brandt attempted to hide his increasing annoyance and, rather than tell him what a stupid idea that was, said he might do just that.
Chapter Forty-six
Keep it simple. Say as little else as possible, take the bollocking and get out of there as quickly as you can. Despite this attempt at reassuring herself, Johnson felt queasy as she approached the door to Potter’s office and was unable to hide her irritation when her path was blocked by DI Fisher and DC Hardy.
‘Can’t it wait? I’m busy,’ she barked.
The look that passed between them made it clear that it wasn’t a chance encounter. ‘Ma’am, have you seen what the newspaper is saying?’ Hardy asked.
Fucking little weasel, she thought to herself, instantly knowing that Fisher had made him raise the concern.
‘What, do you need me to read it out to you? Explain what the big words mean?’ She didn’t have time for whatever stupid game he was playing and used their shocked expression to push past them and burst through Potter’s door.
‘Ah, Johnson, I’ve been looking for you!’ The haste in his voice seemed to speak volumes.
‘Oh really, guv, how come?’
‘Look Stella, I don’t have time for this. I don’t know what you were playing at in the press conference but something more important has come up,’ he said.
ONE STEP AHEAD: detectives hunt a serial killer who knows all their moves (The DCI Jeffrey Brandt Murders Trilogy Book 1) Page 17