They took the lift to the fifth floor and, moments later, they were outside room 556. West knocked smartly on the door, and when seconds passed with no response, he repeated the knock a little louder. Still no response. With a sigh, he slid the master key card down the lock. The red light immediately switched to green and with a clunk the lock disengaged.
He pushed the door open slowly, looking for signs of movement beyond. Nothing, and the room was in darkness. Both men, concerned now, reached for their holstered weapons and drew them silently. They waited a heartbeat. ‘Armed gardaí,’ West called out loudly and took a step into the room. ‘Armed gardaí,’ he said again and moved forward, Andrews immediately behind. A key card was in the light slot but all the lights were switched off and, with the curtains drawn, the room was a dangerous mix of shadows and shades. The light from the hallway illuminated some of the room but there were still too many places they couldn’t see, and both men were dangerously backlit. Reaching along the wall, West found the switch and with a flick the room was filled with light.
They stood without moving, their weapons held firm while their eyes scanned the room and assessed it for potential threat. A rustle alerted both to movement and they turned as one, weapons raised, to face the built-in wardrobe which slowly opened to show a pale and scared Edel.
‘I thought you were… were…’ She swayed, and put a hand out to the wall for support. ‘I was afraid it was John,’ she finally finished as they stood watching her carefully.
Andrews checked the rest of the room and bathroom and with a nod to the sergeant both men holstered their weapons.
Edel moved across to the unmade bed where she sat wiping tears from her eyes with a crumpled sheet. ‘I didn’t sleep very well, I kept dreaming that he was coming for me. When I heard the knock, I didn’t think, I just hid. It took a while to register it was you.’ She took a shaky breath and then looked at West accusingly. ‘You did trace the call,’ she said.
‘We did,’ he agreed calmly. Turning, he walked over to a chair by the window where he picked up her robe and coming back, handed it to her without a word. Colour racing to her cheeks, she snapped it from his hand and quickly slipped it on over the silk camisole and French knickers and belted it tightly.
West guessed she was unaware that the tightly-belted silk robe emphasised rather than hid the curves beneath and the colour complimented her pale skin perfectly, but there was something about her that he appreciated more, an inner core of strength that was there in her eyes and her raised chin. ‘Get dressed,’ he said gruffly, averting his eyes from her rose silk curves with difficulty. ‘You’ve a lot of explaining to do and we may as well do it over breakfast. We’ll wait outside.’ He headed for the door, leaving Andrews to follow in his wake. In the corridor he paced, ignoring his partner who rested nonchalantly against the door frame, arms crossed.
‘You’re going to interview her in the dining room?’ Andrews eventually asked, stopping him as he turned to pace the short corridor for the third time. ‘Not that I am questioning your decision, of course, Sergeant,’ he added hastily, seeing a look of irritation flash across his face.
West, who had been considering the wisdom of questioning Edel over breakfast, was for a split second, annoyed. But he was neither arrogant nor stupid, and his willingness to discuss decisions, and accept input in decision making, had contributed to the good rapport which had developed between the two men. He shook his head and gave a quick grin. ‘Yes, you are. And you’re right, it’s perhaps not the best idea I’ve had.’ He sighed and leaned his tall frame against the opposite side of the door. ‘Let’s just see what is going on here, and go from there, okay?’ He saw Andrews nod and continued. ‘At worst, she’ll tell us nothing but, at least we’ll have had a decent breakfast before heading back. I did promise you that, didn’t I?’
Andrews’ stomach growled, causing both men to laugh, and defusing any lingering tension. Their laughter faded as the door opened and, like sentinels, they stood as Edel walked between them wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. Her hair, although tangled, shone and bounced as she walked down the corridor just ahead of them.
They didn’t speak as they waited for the lift, relieved when it arrived empty. The dining room was a lively, busy place, elegantly furnished, bright and airy. Big windows looked onto a courtyard garden filled with tree ferns and an array of other plants in large, ornate terracotta pots. A sign invited them to wait to be seated and they stood, the men casually relaxed, Edel tense, her eyes constantly darting around the room.
A waiter, of uncertain years and wearing a poorly-fitting toupee, gestured for them to follow him to a table near the window which had a pretty view of the courtyard but was closely surrounded by other tables, all occupied. West spied a table toward the back of the room, near the wall, with a floral arrangement separating it from nearby tables. He pointed to it and the waiter, with a slight incline of his head, changed course and settled them at their chosen table. He handed them menus and related a list of breakfast specials before leaving them to make their choices.
West glanced at Edel. Her hands were gripping the menu so tightly, her knuckles were white. She looked tired and weary and he guessed tears weren’t far away. Whatever had happened yesterday, it seemed to have been the final straw.
She opened her mouth to speak but he interrupted before she got a word out. ‘Let’s order breakfast first. You look as though you could do with some food, and we certainly could, right Peter?’
‘Right,’ Andrews agreed, his focus firmly on the menu.
The waiter returned after a short interval and took their order. Andrews, in his element, ordered the hotel breakfast special which, West was amused to see, seemed to contain everything on the menu. He settled for bacon and eggs and Edel, hesitating a moment, did the same.
They all agreed on coffee and toast, and a large cafetiere came almost immediately. When their cups were filled, he looked at Edel. ‘Well, you may as well start.’
She blinked and then pressed her lips together. ‘I feel like I’ve been on a roller coaster,’ she said. ‘I don’t know if you’ll understand, I’m not sure I do anymore.’ She told them everything. It didn’t take long, she didn’t elaborate on what happened, didn’t dwell on how she felt or linger too long on the details of her abuse on the station platform. She laid it out in short, terse sentences, trying to remain emotionless and calm.
The two men listening were not fooled. She may have managed to keep her voice calm but she couldn’t disguise the tremble in her voice or the way her hand gripped her napkin. When she described the events on the station platform, she was unaware that her voice dropped to a whisper they struggled to hear. They didn’t interrupt, allowing her to finish her story to the end.
When she stopped speaking, the tension seemed to leave her abruptly, and she sagged back against the chair. She paled alarmingly, causing the men to exchange worried glances.
‘Are you all right?’ West asked in concern, wondering if she were going to pass out.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. A second deep breath and she opened her eyes to see both men regarding her intently. ‘I’m sorry… it’s just been so awful. Everything… and it just seems to go on and on.’ She stopped on a sob and said no more.
The waiter appeared just then, skilfully balancing three plates which he placed in front of each with a flourish. Andrews’ breakfast special appeared to be enough for at least five people and he gave a sigh of such obvious pleasure that both West and Edel were forced to smile. With general agreement they concentrated on their food for a while, or at least, as West said with heavy sarcasm, until he and Edel had finished theirs.
‘You’ll never eat all that, Peter,’ he commented when both he and Edel had pushed their plates away.
Forking a piece of sausage, Andrews waved it under his nose, gave a sniff and a growl of approval before popping it into his mouth and munching happily.
‘Ignore him, Ms Johnson,’ West
said, grateful that Andrews’ antics had relieved a little of the tension that lay heavily around the table. ‘Tell me more about this man. He said your husband had borrowed the money from him? Did he say when, or why?’
‘He said borrowed, but the way he said it… I don’t know, it just didn’t sound right… and then later he said Simon had relieved him of the money. So, I suppose he meant he had stolen it.’ Her forehead creased in a frown. ‘He didn’t say when, or anything more about it, other than he wanted it back.’
‘And he definitely said he had murdered him?’
‘No. He said he had exterminated him,’ she said with a shudder. ‘That he was vermin. He sounded so amused.’ Tears welled. ‘He said poor Simon was a stupid man, and he killed him.’
‘Not before Pratt told him about the money you had, though,’ he said cynically.
‘No, and I don’t understand, why did he kill him? I would have given him the money without a moment’s hesitation.’
‘Perhaps, if you could have provided the whole five hundred thousand, he might not have. I’ve seen men killed for a lot less than two hundred grand, I’m afraid. A lot less. Men, like this John character, can’t afford to be seen to be soft. Gives other criminals the wrong idea.’
‘We could have sold the house. Do you think I wouldn’t have done?’ she said desperately.
‘In the current market? It might have taken months. He obviously wasn’t willing to hang around. Wanted what he could get, and wanted it now.’ He considered a moment. ‘From the way he treated you, Edel, I’d guess this man John likes causing pain, that he likes to kill. If he did kill your husband, he is possibly also guilty of the murder of Simon Johnson.’
Seeing the waiter pass, he raised a hand and indicated the empty cafetiere. The waiter tilted his head, returning moments later with a fresh pot, steam and aroma drifting from it in happy tandem. He removed their used plates, glanced briefly at Andrews’ by now only half-empty plate and left with a smile.
West poured more coffee for all of them and, frowning, asked, ‘You’re sure you have never seen him before?’
‘Positive.’ She considered a moment. ‘He’s not a man you’d forget. There’s something about him, something really creepy. It’s not just because of what he did to me, it’s more… well, you feel he could do anything he wanted, that he wouldn’t think of the consequences.’ She looked at West. ‘You’ve no idea who he is, do you? So how can you possibly catch him? He could be anywhere.’ She bit her lip on a tremble.
West could see fear lurking at the edges of her wide eyes, waiting to take over. He had to tread carefully. She was scared and he needed her cooperative and safe. He chose his words and spoke slowly and calmly. ‘You’re right. We don’t know who he is. Yet. But we’ll find out, and we’ll catch him. First thing we need to do is to get you back to the station, have you look through some photos; see if we can identify him.’
‘Mug shots?’
West and Andrews shared a smile. ‘Everybody watches CSI, Mike, I told you,’ Andrews grinned through his last mouthful of bacon.
Seeing her puzzled look, West shook his head and continued. ‘Yes, mug shots. If you can’t pick him out from those, we’ll get you to work with our forensic artist, Robert, and see if we can identify him that way.’
She looked at him, fear in her eyes but knowledge in the tightening of her lips. ‘And if you can’t? What then? And if, or should I say, when he finds out I’ve spoken to you, what then? Maybe I watch too many crime programmes, CSI included,’ she said with a look at Andrews, ‘but if I were him, I’d want to get rid of me. After all, he has murdered before, hasn’t he?’
Andrews had finished his gargantuan breakfast at this stage and sat listening without comment.
‘Why would he need to get rid of you?’ West said. ‘You weren’t a witness to a murder, Edel.’
‘He told me he murdered my husband, isn’t that enough?’ she said sharply.
West looked uncomfortable. ‘I’m afraid not,’ he admitted. ‘You say you’ve watched a lot of crime programmes; you must know that it takes more than your word against his. We need proof and so far… well, so far, all we have is a fingerprint.’
‘A fingerprint?’
He shrugged. ‘We found one inside your husband’s wallet.’
Her look of puzzlement increased. ‘But,’ she said, ‘if you have a fingerprint, can’t you find out whose it is? Don’t you have data banks or some such thing?’
‘Yes, we do.’ He hesitated before admitting, ‘It’s not on it. There’s the possibility, of course, that it’s a red herring but our forensic team say that it had to have been left there recently. Whoever murdered your husband was looking for something, couldn’t search the wallet with gloves and took them off. He was careful but not careful enough. Unfortunately, not all criminals end up on our system. He may have a juvenile record but we have no access to that.’
‘So, looking at mug shots is a bit of a waste of time,’ she muttered irritably.
‘I wasn’t asking you to look at them for amusement, Edel. We have a number of photos of people who are, shall we say, of interest to us as opposed to having a criminal record. Possibly breaches all their civil rights, probably contravenes all data protection rules, but there it is, we have some and maybe, just maybe, this John character will show up there.
‘When we find him, we can arrest him for extortion and assault. If we can match his fingerprint to the one we found in Pratt’s wallet, well, then we’ll see what happens.’
‘If you find him?’
‘When,’ he said doggedly.
‘Well it doesn’t seem as if I have much choice. So, what happens now?’ she said tiredly, her head dropping back against the high back of the chair. Her hair fell away from her neck, for the first time exposing the damage John had perpetrated, the dark purple bruising dramatic against her unnaturally pale skin. The sight drew a collective sharp intake of breath from both men. It was a vicious branding that hinted at the depths this man was willing to stoop to.
West, still staring at her neck, was momentarily flummoxed. ‘What happens now? We go back to the station. We do our job and, with your help, we’ll put this guy away, Edel, you can bet on it.’
‘I can’t stop thinking about him.’ She closed her eyes tightly as though to shut out the image, and whispered, ‘I keep feeling his hands on me, his mouth… and I feel sick every time. I don’t know if I can take any more; it’s just one thing after another and I don’t know if I can keep going.’
West raised his hands in a gesture of resignation to Andrews who grimaced in return. It was never easy, both men knew, to ask victims to help put a perpetrator away. The ones who were eager to help were, invariably, the ones they didn’t need. Those who were too scared, too stressed or just not interested were the ones they usually wanted. Pressure could bring results, of course, but neither man approved of pressurising an already injured party, preferring to get information from other sources in those cases.
Some aspects of West’s job didn’t appeal to him. He waited while Edel tried to banish the memories that were guaranteed to haunt her for a long time.
‘So much has happened to me in the space of a week that my mind is in a whirl,’ she said, her eyes still shut. ‘Okay,’ she said, opening them, her voice a little stronger. ‘I’ll help in any way I can.’
‘Thank you,’ West said, relieved.
‘I have one condition,’ she added. ‘I want to come back here, and stay here until you catch him. I don’t want to go home until he is caught.’
‘We could move you to a hotel in Dublin. You’d be just as safe,’ he suggested.
She shook her head. ‘No, I feel safe here, if that makes things difficult for you, well, I’m sorry, but that’s the way I want it to be.’
‘Okay, that’s not a problem,’ West conceded, ignoring for the moment, the three hour each way drive. He glanced at his watch. ‘Do you need to go back to your room?’
She shook her head.
A raised finger brought the breakfast bill that West insisted be put down to departmental expenses. ‘It’s the least we can do,’ he insisted, tucking the receipt into his wallet. ‘Especially since Andrews here ate most of it.’
‘And enjoyed every mouthful. Makes up for all the meals I miss when working with you, Sergeant West,’ Andrews retorted quickly.
25
By early afternoon, Edel was in Foxrock looking at photographs. She gazed at each intently, willing John to be among them. ‘None is even close,’ she said in frustration.
‘Don’t worry,’ West reassured her. ‘It was always going to be a long shot. I’ll take you down to meet Robert, our part-time sketch artist. He’s very good and will work with you to give us the best likeness possible.’
He escorted her down a floor to a small, well-lit room overlooking the car park at the back of the station and introduced her to a slim, fair-haired man who greeted her with a shy smile before inviting her to sit beside him at the large table that dominated the room.
‘Just do the best you can,’ West said, and with a smile for Edel and a ‘Thanks’ for Robert, he left them to it.
When Robert opened a sketch pad, Edel looked at it quizzically. ‘I expected there to be a computer programme to do this,’ she said with an obvious air of disappointment.
His smile widened. ‘There is, Ms Johnson, and they allow us to do a creditable composite but to be honest, if you can give me a good description, the likeness I draw is more likely to be correct.’
‘You’re better than a computer?’ She looked at him in disbelief.
His smile turned gleeful. ‘Much better, believe me.’
He was right. After a frustrating hour, changing noses and hairlines, mouth and eyes, he came up with an eerily close sketch of John and held it up to her. ‘What do you think?’
She stared at it, picturing so easily in her mind the face of a man she hadn’t known existed twenty-four hours before. ‘His eyes,’ she murmured, ‘the eyelids are heavier.’
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