by I K Watson
On his way to the office Baxter collected a coffee, left some of it in the corridor and, at the door of the incident room and with a sideways nod of the head, summoned Cole.
Settled behind his desk Baxter said, “You can tell the others that she wasn’t the most popular girl on site but Margaret is one of ours. She’s as good as on the job. Christmas has been cancelled. I know you’re busy but you’ve got to keep a close eye on Hinckley. Jack Wooderson…” He shook a downbeat head then more abrasively said, “And Sam isn’t going to win any inspirational awards, is he?” Cole knew what he meant but it wasn’t going to be easy. Coppers treated interference the same as anyone else.
Baxter went on, “We’ve got a dilemma here. No crime. Not even the suspicion of one. But we all know Margaret. She’s not going to take a hike. I’ll talk to John Domey and make sure everything’s OK. But you get Sam to pull his finger out and make sure that Jack knows the top floor’s looking over his shoulder. I want everything buttoned up, watertight. No one coming back to say we missed something.” “I’ve got Geoff Maynard here.”
Baxter had forgotten. His hesitation betrayed him. He nodded and said, “Let him loose. That’s what he’s here for. Let’s see what he comes up with. Officially, the assaults still take priority. Unofficially, one of our own is missing.”
Cole paused at the door. “Jack isn’t going to like it.”
Baxter stressed, “Frankly, I won’t lose any sleep about hurting Jack Wooderson’s feelings. Go and find Margaret. Whatever it takes. What you do best. Right? Just, be careful. In this day and age a loose cannon is not appreciated. This is a one-off, a rare gift, and it didn’t come from me. I want this little woman found, and quickly.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And Rick, one other thing. You should have followed up John Domey’s visit yesterday. That wasn’t good.”
Baxter stared through Cole’s vacant space, for a moment lost in thought. The day of the free-wheeler from C8 (The Flying Squad, Heavy Mob or Sweeney) and later C1 (Drug Squad) was long gone. Now it was about teamwork and conformity. Coppers like Cole had always been the villain’s biggest threat because they didn’t work by the book and they didn’t conform and that was the very thing that made them unpredictable and dangerous. In giving Cole a free hand the superintendent hoped he had made the right decision. He wasn’t convinced.
After introducing Maynard to the team Cole turned to the therapist and said, “This is PC Donna Fitzgerald and she’s going to look after you.” Donna flashed Cole a thoughtful look. It landed in a sensitive place and had him checking out her engagement ring. It was still there. She said, “We’re still looking for Jason. The uniforms are looking in all the likely places.”
Cole nodded and left them to it.
Although he would have preferred talking to Sam Butler direct he decided on protocol and called Jack Wooderson.
“Rick?”
“Hello, Jack.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Problem is right. I’ve decided not to transfer Anian.”
A moment’s hesitation, an antagonism that carried along the line, then, “What’s happened?”
“Margaret Domey’s gone missing, and she’s pregnant.”
“I heard. Is her pregnancy significant? Complications?”
“You didn’t know the others were pregnant?”
“The other women? Sam might have mentioned one of them was. I didn’t make the connection.”
Cole’s pause went on too long, a silent condemnation. Eventually he said, “Three out of the four, I believe. He should have mentioned it.”
“Too fucking right.”
“You better get your act together. The chief is making threatening noises.”
Another hesitation. This time it was the thought of Chief Superintendent Marsh that did it. Eventually Wooderson said, “I’m on it. I appreciate the call.” Cole struggled with the next one. “I might have been the last person to have talked to Margaret. She was in my office yesterday morning.
You better get Sam over here. The super is talking to John, her husband. He might have something to add.”
“Right. I’ll get things moving.”
Cole replaced the handset and unconsciously reached for a JPS.
Down the dead line Jack Wooderson put a call out for DS Sam Butler and before realizing what he’d done, he lit a Benson’s.
An hour later Sam Butler walked into Cole’s office. Without a doubt Jack Wooderson had carved a strip out of him and told him that Cole was the source.
“Sam, let’s not waste time. Jack’s spoken to you, that much is obvious. Margaret called in yesterday morning. It was nothing more than a social call. From here she was going to buy a cooking pan in the High Road. The Gallery. Know it?”
Butler nodded.
“As far as I know that’s the last we’ve seen of her. Check out the Gallery. Let’s establish whether she ever got there.”
“Right.”
At the door Butler hesitated.
Cole picked up on it and said, “I got you over here to explain why I had to bring Jack into the frame. I had no choice. The top floor is about to cave in on us.”
DS Butler took it in, shrugged weakly, and left the office.
In Superintendent Tony Baxter’s office John Domey was in tears. He was a slim fragile man. Baxter wondered how on earth he put up with Margaret.
“I know it’s difficult,” Baxter said. “But I’ve got to ask you this.
Are you and Margaret OK, with the baby coming? What I’m trying to ask and making a complete arse of it is whether there are any problems I should know about?”
Sleepless eyes blinked up in surprise and met the super’s gaze. “Everything is fine, Tony. But something terrible has happened. I know it.”
Baxter knew the feeling, the utter helplessness, the cold fingers that tightened around the chest until you could barely breath. He moved around the desk and placed a hand on John Domey’s shoulder. It was the best he could do.
“You’ve got to help us find her. Let’s start with her appointment at the hospital. Who was she going to see?”
It was touching noon when Cole walked into Hinckley nick and sensed the excitement. DS Butler and DC Stanford, flanked by Inspector Wooderson and a couple of PCs, were concentrating on a screen where an indexer’s fingers were just a blur on the keyboard. Wooderson saw Cole and mouthed a silent ‘yes’.
“What is it?”
Sam Butler kept his eyes glued to the screen as he said quietly, “This is it, Guv. Christmas!”
Anian Stanford looked up to meet Cole’s fleeting acknowledgment and smiled nervously.
Butler went on, “The owner of the Gallery, one Mr John Lawrence, also known as The Underground Slasher. Did eight of a fifteen. Released on parole in eighty-four.”
Cole’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. Why the hell hadn’t Sheerham picked it up on the slasher case? This previous would have made him a prime suspect for the assaults, certainly top of the list to be TIED. Coppers didn’t believe in coincidence. There had to be a catch. Wooderson put in, “I remember him. Went after pregnant women on the underground. Used a knife on their bellies. Slash and run was his trademark.”
Anian asked, “Murder?”
Butler glanced up from the screen. “No, look, GBH, attempted murder.”
Wooderson went on, “There were headlines in the papers. He killed the unborn child, two I seem to remember, so it should have been murder.”
“A psycho?”
“Are you joking? Personality defect, what else?”
“OK,” Cole calmed the situation. “Let’s have him in. Get a warrant and get a team into the shop. Sam, get hold of the original crime sheets. Let’s wrap this up quickly.”
Butler cut in sheepishly, “There’s something you should know, Guv.”
Cole said, “Go on?”
“Anian’s already made contact. We saw a painting at Ticker’s place and she followed it up.”
Incr
edulity touched Cole’s eyes before they turned very cold. He looked from Butler to Anian and back again. Eventually he said, “The Gallery?”
Butler nodded.
Jack Wooderson’s mouth dropped open, then anger tightened his lips.
Cole turned to the DC. “And?”
Anian felt the heat on her face and hoped it didn’t show. She said anxiously, “It was just a feeling, Guv, nothing more than that. He’s painting my picture. Just like he painted Helen Harrison.” Butler coughed.
She threw him a leave-it-out look.
Butler explained, “The painting of Helen Harrison was pretty revealing.”
Cole shook away a fleeting image of Helen Harrison and said, “Does he know you’re on the job?”
Anian shook her head.
“What’s he like?”
She sighed relief and answered, “A bit old-fashioned, a bit of a gentleman. He’d open a door for a lady.”
Wooderson muttered, “And slash her in the belly as she came through. Why didn’t I know about this?”
Anian said defensively, “It was off my own back, Guv.”
Wooderson responded quickly. “Then how did DS Butler know about it? Don’t pull the wool, Anian, you’re not good enough and, what’s more, you’re in deep enough already. And it’s bat, off my own bat, not fucking back!”
Butler cut in, “I didn’t know until this morning.”
Wooderson shook his head and brushed ash from his jacket sleeve. His anger was not without reason. The chief would never countenance the role that DC Stanford was playing. Ever since the Wimbledon Common set-up and the judge’s ruling, senior coppers had been having nightmares about entrapment and even now they were unsure where they stood.
Cole defused the situation and said to Anian, “Well, it seems like your hunch was right but you should have shared it. Going forward you’ll have no further contact. Cancel any future appointments. Tell him you’ve changed your mind.”
“Yes Sir.”
“And since you’ve made contact you stay out of the way. Let’s not compromise the situation further.” He turned to Wooderson and said stiffly, “Jack, I didn’t hear any of this. Did you?”
“No, I didn’t. And I don’t want to hear any more.” He addressed Butler direct. “You’ve put us all on the line. You better hope the chief doesn’t get wind of it.”
Anian insisted, “It was a personal contract, Guv, taken out before he was in the frame.”
Wooderson made a suitable noise.
Cole wasn’t convinced either, not by a long shot. DS Butler and DC Stanford had been playing a dangerous game. The DS should have kept Wooderson informed and he should have mentioned it to Cole earlier in the day when he was asked to follow up the chestnut cooking pot.
DS Butler was looking a little wary. He knew pretty well what was on Cole’s mind.
Cole wrapped it up. “OK, let’s get on with it.”
Anian glanced up again. Cole hoped the others didn’t notice the speculation in her eye.
In that moment, when other things became incidental, they heard a distant explosion. The report came on, rushing at them, rattling the windows. Alarm bells sounded, tyres screeched and the lights flickered.
An indexer jumped and fell off her chair. Butler ducked. DC Stanford and DI Cole didn’t move, still locked together by an unanswered question.
And Inspector Jack Wooderson said, “Fucking kids. I blame the single mothers!”
Chapter 15
In a police station nothing moves faster than rumour.
Sheerham was like any other nick in that regard and was leaking more than Thames Water. Most coppers had a direct line to their mates on the local – it meant pocket money or, at least, a top-up at the favoured boozer. Even small change helped when the credit cards were maxed.
The top brass were in panic-stricken mode, hiding in their offices – sex and violence, one of their own missing – and even thinking about the headlines had Chief Superintendent Marsh reaching for the glyceryl trinitrate and he didn’t even have a heart condition – unless a cold heart counted.
There had been another slasher incident. More blues and twos, more blue and white police tape fluttering around yet another scene of crime. This time it had been in an underpass. Another girl had been attacked, just like the others. They'd established that she wasn't a tom and that gangland wasn't involved. And they were getting reports coming in that a woman might have been the assailant.
“What about Lawrence?” Detective Superintendent Baxter asked once Cole had closed the office door.
“Forensics are at the shop now.” Cole glanced at his watch. “We should get a prelim in the next hour or so.”
“And Lawrence himself?”
“They're letting him sweat, waiting for the report. That never does any harm.”
“Who's his brief?”
“Doesn't want one. Told Sam that he would conduct his own defence.”
Baxter made a suitable noise. “A joker, then. Will you conduct the interview?”
“No. Let Sam have it.”
“Don't let Jack muddy the water.”
“Sam's confident that it's just the loose ends.”
Baxter looked up. “Unfortunately we’ve heard that before. So, what have we got, the slasher, the missing women? Is Lawrence in the frame for both? There's a whisper a woman is involved in the latest.” “We'll see. The rumour came from the Square. One of the locals got hold of it and passed it on to LBC. At this rate it’ll be on the news at six.” The DI paused before changing track. “I think we can leave Barry with the kids. If they blow up another shed so be it.”
“I've got no issues with that. The explosion… I spilt my coffee. It's a bloody liberty. When we get the little buggers there won't be a damned thing to do.”
Cole managed to suppress a smile. He said, “They'll have to start insuring their allotment sheds. Some of it was found two hundred yards away.”
“So what about this slasher? A woman?”
“I'm waiting for Geoff. I'd like to hear what he thinks.”
Baxter agreed. “So would I. Make Barry aware that my door is open. I want a twice-daily update from him."
They heard voices coming from the outer office. Through the glass they saw Maynard and PC Fitzgerald talking to the team.
“Talk of the devil,” Baxter murmured.
Cole moved to the door and waved Maynard inside.
Maynard took a seat without invitation.
“You remember Detective Superintendent Baxter?”
“Of course.” Maynard hid his surprise. The super had gained weight. A stone a year and that meant two and most of it around the middle. “How are you, Mr Baxter?"
Baxter weighed up the therapist, searching for something, he didn't know what. Carefully he removed his spectacles for a quick once-over with the yellow buffer. “I'm fine Geoff. Are you?"
“Good,” Maynard responded. “It’s good to be back.”
Cole cut in, wanting to get on. “You saw Elizabeth Rayner?" The psychologist nodded.
“And?”
“And nothing Rick. This wasn't personal. You've got a psychopath on your hands. He's struck three times in less than a week and there's more to come.”
“He?”
“I heard the rumour. And Elizabeth Rayner has come up with something else. Remember the distinctive aftershave she recognized – well it wasn't. It was Amarige, a Givenchy perfume.”
Cole nodded. “You OK with Donna?”
“You should talk to her,” Maynard suggested. “She's got a couple of points that might interest you.”
The DI shot him a thoughtful look. He said, “What's your plan now?”
“I’ll see the other victims and try to find a connection, if there is one. Can you spare Donna?”
Now Cole knew it was personal. He nodded slowly.
Maynard smiled, enjoying himself.
Cole said, “We'll meet up later.”
Maynard nodded. Cole hadn't mentio
ned where but he knew exactly where he meant.
So did the super and he wasn't impressed.
Once the door had closed behind them and while Baxter considered the situation he unwrapped silver paper and started on a thick sandwich. Mature farmhouse cheddar all the way from Somerset and beef tomato from the Canaries. A feast and what was more, Cole and Maynard on the job again. The fat man shook his head in wonder. It was like old times.
On the way through the IR Chas Walker stopped them. "Guv,” he addressed Cole. “Rodney Grant has come up with the goods. We've got Jason in IV one. But he's calling himself Brian Lara now, even though he's white and blond.”
“Right,” Cole said. “I want you to look into this rumour about a woman being involved. Find the hack responsible and sit on him till you get an answer. Make him understand that ‘no comment’ is not an option. Make him understand that he lives in a police state.” If he was joking it didn’t show and Walker said, “Right, Guv, I can do that.”
Cole turned to Donna. “You and Peter look after Brian. He'll know the score. We want to know about everything that goes down in the Square.”
Chas Walker cut in. “We're waiting for the duty social worker. He's no more than fourteen. More like twelve.”
Cole said sharply, “You still here?”
Walker persisted, “An appropriate adult, Guv. Never mind Social Services we’ll be starting a civil war with PPU.”
“PPU! FPU! CPU! They’re in the wrong job anyway.”
“We’re bending the rules, Guv?”
“Bend some more.”
Donna started toward the door. Peter Ward followed. And Maynard, without invitation, followed him.
Brian, for want of a better name, was pale, smooth and blond, with long eyelashes and a slim figure, and Walker had been right, he looked no more than twelve or thirteen. He had big innocent eyes that were as innocent as hell and a look that could lead you, if that was your bend, to hell. There was a redness around his nose and eyes and he sniffed the symptoms of a common cold.