by Jay Gill
“Do you know what she was working on recently?”
“No. Like I said I haven’t seen her for a few months. Since before the summer, I think. Last I heard she was hanging out with some club owner. She was trying to find out about how freely drugs were available in clubs. She did whatever it took to get the information, if you know what I mean.”
“What did she do for money?”
“Parents looked after her. They’re loaded. She also made money from her videos somehow. I’m not really sure how. She sold her stories to national papers occasionally. You know, I don’t know. I’m just guessing. She told me she’d use whatever it took to, like, get in with the right people. Her dad’s money. Herself. Blackmail if she had to.
“I once went to a party with her when we were fifteen. Professional footballers, one of the big clubs. I remember her, like, telling one of them she was only fifteen. This guy was all over her. It was like she couldn’t see what he wanted. There were drugs as well, pills of some sort. Some guy was videoing the party. I remember he wanted to get close-ups of us girls. It was creepy.
“I was really uncomfortable, scared. I wanted to leave, and so me and Katharine, we, like, ended up having a screaming match outside. She got me a cab and I left. I was afraid for her. I just wanted my friend with me, safe. I wanted to help her but she kept pushing me away. It was like she was deliberately putting herself in harm’s way.”
“So, what happened?”
“I went home and told my mum and dad, and I was grounded for months. Of course, I later realised Katharine had sent me home on purpose. She’d got her first story. That’s how she started doing what she does – what she did. She told me later she’d done it for a girl at our school who said she’d been raped by two footballers. The footballers said it was consensual. They said they also had no idea she was underage. The girl was too scared to go to the police. She didn’t think anyone would believe her story.
“Katharine decided she would do something about it. She put herself in harm’s way to get the evidence. She recorded it all. She planned the whole thing. They went to prison but got ridiculously short sentences. But their football careers were over. She also made sure anyone who offered them a job got press clippings in the post. She was a hero, and my best friend.”
I left Tara’s feeling depressed and exhausted. It seemed to me someone like Katharine would have an endless list of enemies. What would drive someone so young to put herself in harm’s way like that? There are plenty of ways to expose corruption and miscarriages of justice. Doing what she did, she must have known it was only a matter of time before someone caught up with her.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
It was late and I was driving home. I was trying to spend as much time as I could at home, but my workload right now was taking big chunks out of each day.
I was thinking how every investigation so quickly becomes personal when my phone rang for what felt like the hundredth time that day. I recognised the number; it was the mayor’s office. I was tempted to ignore it but decided to brave it out, so I reluctantly pressed the answer button on the steering wheel.
“Caroline Kemp from the mayor’s office. I have the mayor on the line for you.”
We had a new mayor, and Caroline Kemp wasn’t a name I recognised. I presumed she was his PA. Broadly speaking, I got on well with the mayor’s office. Though I stayed as far away from politics as possible, I recognised things worked best when there was an amicable relationship. The mayor of London was an elected politician, and as each politician came and went, they wanted to leave their mark. As long as that mark wasn’t me being left out to dry, I was pretty easy-going.
“I’m driving at the moment, Caroline,” I said. “But I’m happy to speak to the mayor. Thank you.”
“Inspector Hardy,” said a man’s voice. “This is Nick Glover. It’s good to finally speak to you, though if I’m honest I was hoping it would be under different circumstances. I’ve heard so many great things about you. You’re something of a legend.”
I could already sense the political overtones. “Likewise. How can I help, Mayor?” I wasn’t in the mood for dancing around. I wouldn’t be getting this call unless Mayor Glover had an agenda, and I had a feeling my interests weren’t of paramount importance to him at this particular moment.
“Look, the thing is this,” started the mayor. “Tourism, as you know, is vital to the economy of London, and to the whole of the UK for that matter. Well, I’ve just been informed another dead body directly associated with the investigation you’re on has been found. So, I suppose what I am saying is that national and international lead stories about London serial killers on the loose do not benefit the capital. I also have it on good authority that a Hollywood film crew has suddenly pulled out of filming in the capital and moved their location to Amsterdam.
“Do you have any idea how much work it has taken our ministers to make London desirable for filming? This crew pulled out, apparently, because the director’s new wife was nervous about bringing their new baby into the country while we have a killer on the loose. A bigger concern is how much damage will be done once that story circulates around Hollywood. There’s a growing sense of paranoia surrounding these murders.”
I interrupted without thinking. “Perhaps you should mention the inconvenience to all the families of the victims.”
“I don’t need a smart mouth, Inspector. I need results. I need to know you’re on top of this. I know you’ve been successful in the past. Maybe you had a lucky streak, or maybe you have other priorities now. I don’t know and I don’t care. What I need is someone who can deliver results, and right now I’m not seeing any. So, first, I want to know that you are the right man for the job and second, I want assurance that you are on top of this thing. I need this – London needs this resolved, and resolved quickly.”
I tried to stay calm but with little success. Our new mayor wasn’t out to make friends today; he was on a damage-control mission.
“I thought it impossible,” I said, before I could stop myself, “but you’re perhaps more of a bloody idiot than our previous mayor. I’m sorry our serial killer hasn’t considered the implications for the UK economy before embarking on his killing spree. I’ll be sure to take it up with him when the time comes – I’ll include it on his list of crimes, shall I?
“Now, Mr. Glover, unless you can convince the killer to hand himself in during your next TV sound-bite, then I’ll continue to investigate how I see fit. That means doing my duty for the benefit of the victims and the victims’ families.
“I will bring this killer in, and I will ensure the families see this man behind bars for a very long time. I will do all I can to keep citizens safe. What I can’t do is second-guess what the killer will do next, and what I won’t do is take shortcuts that put more lives at risk.
“So, unless you have valuable information that might lead to an arrest, I suggest you leave me alone to do my job. If you have a problem with me or with any of that, I suggest you speak to my boss. Do you have the number for the chief?”
I was getting increasingly angry, so I pulled the car over and parked. There was silence for a moment. I could hear a slight cough, whispering and a clearing of a throat on an otherwise quiet line. It then dawned on me that, over the noise of driving, I hadn’t been able to tell I was on a conference call with any number of people. I had little doubt that Chief Superintendent Webster was part of the meeting. Not that it made any difference. At that moment I didn’t care. What I’d said was the truth and how I felt. The prime minister could have been part of the conference call and I wouldn’t have changed a word. I’d put myself under enough pressure thanks to the facts, evidence and possibilities floating inside my head every minute of the day without this moron’s political agenda thrown into the mix.
Finally, the mayor spoke again. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll expect an update from Chief Superintendent Webster as soon as there are any more developments. In the meantime, do get this situation under control,
and I mean sooner rather than later. Thank you for your time this evening, Inspector.”
I wasn’t sure what else was said in that room after we rang off, and I didn’t care. I was just glad I was being left alone to get on with it.
Chapter Thirty
There was no denying Katharine had made him question whether what he was doing was right. For the first time, he’d felt shaken and disturbed by his course of action. She had gotten to him.
Emotions had crept up on him like a dark shadow, and it had undeniably shocked him. Remorse was something he had not expected to feel. After all, he was the victim in all this, even if he was the only one to see it. Distance and time had helped; it had given him back his perspective and he could once more see his justification in continuing.
He’d also considered the loneliness of other great men who had stood by their convictions when all around them lesser men trembled with uncertainty.
Baker sat in his car and looked up at the house. “I see your children, Detective Chief Inspector Hardy. I see your girlfriend. I don’t see you. Where are you this evening?”
He was sketching. He’d drawn a superhero complete with cape, utility belt and a huge “H” on the chest. The superhero was holding a woman in his muscular arms, his cape blowing in the wind. The woman was lifeless; water dripped and rose petals fell from her to be caught and scattered in the same breeze that lifted the hero’s cape. Across the top of the page in comic book–style lettering he’d printed,
HARDYMAN
Scotland Yard’s Crime Crusader
Man or Myth?
Then across the bottom he’d written,
Coming to a Cinema Near You Soon
In the background, Baker drew a shadowy, masked villain with bulging muscles and grimacing face. The villain brandished a blood-soaked blade and held aloft a severed head. He stood atop a mountain of skulls. Baker looked up as a car pulled up; it was Hardy arriving home. Baker began speaking to himself in an old-fashioned police constable voice, like he’d seen in black-and-white movies. “Evening, all,” he intoned. “What’s all this, then? Where do you live? Nine-nine-nine Lets-be Avenue.”
Baker watched as Hardy was met at the front door by his excited daughters. The detective chief inspector scooped the girls up in his arms, kissed them and carried them into the house.
Sleep tight, Hardyman. You’re going to need your superior Scotland Yard sleuthing senses.
Baker tore the drawing from the pad, signed it, folded it and slipped it into a clear plastic bag. He sealed the bag and got out of the car. Pulling a cap down to disguise his face, he walked over and lifted the windscreen wiper of Hardy’s car. He placed the bagged drawing underneath.
There we go, my friend. I’m applying a little extra pressure. Now you know for sure I’m more than one step ahead, and that I also have my eye on you and yours.
Chapter Thirty-One
Things had just got very personal. Rayner saw where I was heading and could see from my face something wasn’t right. He jumped up from behind his desk and followed close behind me. I knocked once and opened Webster’s door without waiting.
“He came to my home last night and tucked this under the windscreen wiper of my car.” I placed the clear plastic evidence bag containing the drawing on his desk. “He knows where I live, where my children live.”
“Slow down. Who did?” asked Webster. He looked up from his pile of paperwork and motioned for Rayner to come in.
“The Gallery Killer,” I said.
“You’re sure it’s him?” Webster picked up the drawing and began examining it.
“He must be watching you. He must have followed you home,” added Rayner from behind me. He shut the door and stood beside me. “I’ll run surveillance twenty-four-seven and if he turns up again—’
“We’ll do this properly,” interrupted Webster. “Where are your family now?”
“They’re with my parents. Dad’s there and he understands. He’s had similar situations in the past, as you know.”
“Okay, good,” said Webster. “What does this even mean?”
“The drawing itself most likely has very little meaning. The significance comes from the fact the killer is sending us a message. He wants us to know he can reach out and touch us whenever and wherever he wants. I’ve seen this before. Sometimes for the killer, the focus shifts from killing to communicating, showing whomever he deems worthy that he is smarter than them. It becomes about proving they are inferior beings. Sometimes it can be taunting; sometimes it’s cryptic messages. That said, we’re jumping ahead of ourselves here. This is a single incident, but it feels as though this is a message along those lines.”
Webster looked uncomfortable. “What do you suggest we do about it?”
“Nothing. We let Forensics examine it, but we keep this to ourselves. It may encourage him to send another or communicate in some other way, and if he does then he may make a mistake or create a break in the case in some other way.”
Rayner brought our attention back to the present. “I want to be involved in overseeing the safety of Monica, Alice and Faith.”
“You’re right. That needs to be the priority here,” agreed Webster.
I was happy to hear that, and the three of us spent the next hour working out a plan and organising resources to ensure there was a police presence at both houses. It was decided Monica and the girls would remain at my parents’ home while I stayed at the family home. We’d run a surveillance team headed by Rayner in case the Gallery Killer came back, which in reality we all felt was unlikely. My instincts told me this was nothing more than the Gallery Killer showing me his superiority and that he could reach at me and my loved ones whenever he chose to.
Eventually we turned our attention back to the drawing. “Can we learn anything from it? Apart from the fact he likes drawing caricatures, of course. He’s actually pretty good at it,” said Webster.
“He’s either mocking me, taunting me or challenging me. At the moment it’s too early to say. To have spent time tracking me down shows an interest in the investigation. Otherwise why bother? If he wanted to hurt me or my family, he would have done it. If that was his intention, why warn me like this? Though I’m concerned, I don’t think harming us was his true intention. At the moment, my instincts tell me he’s challenging me, trying to show me how smart he is. If he wanted to taunt me or mock me, he could simply have done that at the murder scene, so everyone could see. No, I think that, in his mind, he’s starting a game of cat and mouse.”
The room was awkwardly silent for a moment while we all considered the facts. “I’ll get this down to the prints lab and forensic team to see if anything turns up,” I said finally.
“Is there anything else you need, Hardy?” said Webster.
“I need space and time, that’s all.”
“Sorry about the mayor. I’ll keep him off your back as long as I can. He’s new in the job and has found himself under pressure from Downing Street. He’ll calm down, or something else big will come along and he’ll find himself wrapped up in that. You know how it goes.”
I nodded appreciatively. Rayner looked my way and wondered what he’d missed, but he knew better than to ask and find himself unnecessarily drawn into police politics.
Webster didn’t waste any time. He dispatched officers to my house and my parents’ place. I requested more be posted at my parents’ home since all I needed was surveillance; I saw no point in using the limited manpower guarding my home, which would mostly be empty while I worked. It was Alice, Faith, Monica and my parents I wanted to protect.
As soon as I was out of the office I got on the phone and called in a favour from a buddy of my brother. Frank Brown was ex–British army, intelligence corps. He and my brother had been at school together and had joined the Royal Marines at the same time. My brother was still serving. When Frank had decided to leave after a bad fall during a night-time training exercise, he set up a company in the private sector. He was now in demand installi
ng state-of-the-art security systems and supplying highly trained and disciplined security guards and bodyguards to the rich and famous.
By the end of the day, Frank had personally surveyed both homes and his team had installed security systems, run penetration tests and supplied location-tracking devices. Frank even offered manpower in the form of an ex–SAS service team, which for the time being I declined.
Once the team had gone, I went over to Mum and Dad’s. Mum was in her kitchen baking with Alice and Faith, trying to portray a sense of life going on as normal. Rayner was in the kitchen too, and, much to the delight of the girls, had become their “royal taster.” After one last cookie and another theatrical poisoning to amuse the girls, he winked at me and prepared to make his escape. He turned to Alice and Faith.
“Time to go see my Jenny. She’ll be wondering where I am, and I don’t want her forgetting my name, now, do I?” Rayner hugged the girls and gave Mum a kiss, and I walked him out.
“It’s going to be fine,” said Rayner.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this one,” I said once we were out of earshot. “I just don’t understand it. I must be missing something. Why bother coming at me? Why take that chance? It’s like poking a hornet’s nest. You don’t do it unless you’re crazy.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
I found Monica in the upstairs bathroom. I could see she was upset, although she was pretending she wasn’t. We talked for a while, and I explained everything was under control and that we were probably now the safest family, after the Royal Family, in London.
“Will you teach me to shoot a gun?” she said out of the blue. I knew where she was coming from, but all the same her request took me by surprise. She was perched on the edge of the bathtub and I took her hand.