Lost Souls

by Michael Knaggs

  “Yes, sir – as far as we know. But they could be next.”

  John shook his head. He leaned back again.

  “Let’s just go back to that discussion a few weeks ago and recap on what we concluded. Please, stop me if I go wrong, Detective Inspector, because it seems my recollection of it may not agree with yours. In fact, let’s go back even further.”

  He got to his feet and began pacing back and forth behind his desk, an action which, by design or otherwise, always made Jo feel she was being disciplined.

  “Jack Tomlinson-Brown and Jason Midanda were found guilty of peddling Class A drugs based on the following evidence.” He began counting on his fingers. “One, a total of seven people phoned the police about some dodgy crack they’d received from two local dealers, their descriptions of whom matched those of Jack and Jason. Four of the seven subsequently came forward and positively identified them from photographs as the two dealers. How am I doing so far?”

  “Look, sir, I know all this stuff and I don’t think it’s necessary to…”

  “Oh, this is for my benefit, DI Cottrell, because I can’t help feeling that I must have missed something along the way or perhaps just forgotten it. So, two, one of the users said he’d been to Jack’s home and thrown a bag of the stuff over the perimeter wall exactly where a bag was later found when the grounds were searched. A bag which had that user’s prints on it.

  “Three, direct police surveillance and CCTV picked out Jack on twelve occasions being approached by eight different users on Delaware, all of whom were known at some time to be into Class A drugs. And just to be absolutely fair and objective about this, so you know that I have been listening to you, four of those eight were the four recently shot to death in Woking and Cobham, including the one approached by David Gerrard at your request. Right?”

  “Not exactly, sir. It was David’s suggestion and…”

  “You tried to talk him out of it?”

  “Well… no.”

  “Then, as far as I’m concerned, it’s no different to it being at your request. Agreed?”

  Jo said nothing and John continued.

  “So, four – and the absolute clincher – following an anonymous tip-off, Jack’s and Jason’s houses were subjected to raids led by you and DI Waters, respectively. At each location Class A drugs were found, along with surgical gloves and mobile phones whose numbers matched those given by the seven users who originally contacted the police.” He paused and stopped pacing, leaning on the back of his chair looking down at Jo. “Have I missed anything?”

  “Only the party at Jack’s and the break-in at Jason’s. To be absolutely objective…sir. When it was just possible – as Harry admitted at the trial – that the drugs could have been planted.”

  “At the break-in, yes, according to Harry,” John said. “Not the party. That was just an unsubstantiated suggestion by the Defence.” John sat down again. “So,” he continued. “That, as I remember it, is the evidence upon which a guilty verdict was reached. Not the verdict that you or I – or any of the investigating team, for that matter – wanted, but one which I understood we had both accepted as correct. And which, unless you can come up with something better than you have today, I still accept as correct.”

  There was a long pause before Jo broke the silence.

  “So we just ignore what’s happened?”

  “Ignore!” John thundered. “Of course we don’t ignore what’s happened. Harry’s team will be working flat out to track down the bastard who killed four sad, but harmless, young men and I’ve no doubt along the way, they’ll establish why he – or she – or they – did it. If – and it’s a massive ‘if’ – the reason links in any way to Jack and Jason’s case, then I’ll be the first one racing to knock on your office door to let you know. But until then, leave it alone and let Harry get on with his job.”

  Jo remained silent for a long time again before speaking.

  “Just one thing, sir; when I get back to my office, DC Crusoe may be waiting for me and I’m going to have to tell her why I was checking out those guys. Given that it was sort of unofficial, I don’t know what to tell her. Harry’s going to go ballistic if he finds out I’ve been checking up on his case without him knowing. I just wondered whether you did tell him at the time and, if not, whether you want me to put off seeing Nat until you have.”

  John leaned back in his chair. “That’s a very good point, Jo,” he said. “No I didn’t tell him. Do you know if he’s in right now?”

  “I believe so, sir. He’ll be holding his briefing at four and I think he’ll expect Nat to have an answer from me before then.”

  John picked up his desk phone and pressed the intercom button.

  “Sir?”

  “Janice, can you ask DI Waters to come up here right away, please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jo got up to leave.

  “No, stay there, Jo. I want you here when I tell Harry. If there is going to be an issue I want it out in the open now so we can sort it between us.”

  *

  Total silence was not the reaction Jo expected or wanted. The quiet simmering rage was apparent, but not the angry, resentful outburst she had been preparing to meet head-on with her own energetic display of righteous indignation. Harry Waters was clearly displeased, but his dignified calmness was to be admired, Jo conceded, once she had got over the anti-climax of not having a battle to fight and win.

  “I don’t have to tell you, Harry,” John Mackay was saying, “that it had nothing to do with my having any doubts over your handling of the case or your integrity in objectively cooperating with any further examination of any aspect of it.” John raised his eyebrows inviting a response, which was not forthcoming. He continued, “I personally felt – and still do – that there were no grounds for further investigation. However, in the light of Jo’s continuing concerns, I sanctioned her to go back through the records to satisfy herself there were no underlying links between seemingly unconnected parties involved in the case.”

  Harry finally spoke, in a quiet voice filled with rancour. “And all this was as a result of DI Cottrell’s bully-boy catching and threatening one of the innocent guys caught on camera? A guy who wasn’t even questioned in court.”

  “Because the investigating team couldn’t find him!” snapped Jo, “That’s why!”

  “And a guy who is now dead,” Harry went on. “And who’s to say whether or not as a direct consequence of…”

  John’s hand came crashing down on his desktop, taking them both by surprise

  “Enough! Angry words and accusations are not what are needed here. If anyone is to blame for a lack of communication it’s me, and I’m not about to resign, so we’re stuck with each other. I sanctioned Jo, at her request, to check through the records – making it very clear that I had absolutely no intention of officially re-opening the case. And I chose not to inform you, Harry, because I was – and still am – convinced it wasn’t going anywhere; that nothing significant would come to light. And…” he turned to Jo,“… nothing has. Right, DI Cottrell?”

  Jo sighed and nodded.

  “So let’s all get back to work and catch the person who is probably Woking’s first ever serial killer. There you go, Harry – a chance to get into the records books. And it could be, of course, that their common trader is a relevant link; that Mr Sampson just might be an important lead.”

  Harry turned to Jo. “So what are you planning to tell Natalie now that she believes you’ve virtually solved the case?”

  Jo shrugged with exaggerated indifference. “Whatever you want me to tell her.”

  John got to his feet with a wide smile. “Well, I’m sure you don’t need me for this, or my office to discuss it in. Two DIs should be enough to decide what to tell one detective constable. Meeting closed. Thank you, both.”

&n
bsp; CHAPTER FOUR

  Tuesday; 8 September

  The white BMW M6 Coupe pulled to a stop at the entrance of the apartment building on Vauxhall Bridge Road in SW1. The driver nudged his sleeping passenger, who blinked himself awake.

  “We’re here.”

  “God, that was quick.”

  “It’s only just over a mile, Tom. I’m amazed you had time to go to sleep.”

  “Are you coming in?”

  “No, thanks; got to get on. Some of us still have jobs, you know?”

  Tom smiled. “The last person who said that to me was Grace Goody, the day before my calamitous meeting with the press.”

  “Well, I’m sure it was more memorable coming from her. Where is she, anyway? I thought perhaps, you know, you and her … She might be what you need to keep you out of trouble.”

  “Not sure where she is. I think she’s still in the US. And there certainly isn’t any ‘you and her’ as you put it. One day – off the record – I’ll tell you all about it. Perhaps not off the record.”

  “I can’t wait. Just let me know when. And in the meantime, if you’re going to pass out somewhere, can you make it a bit nearer than Woking?”

  “It’s a promise.” He shook Tony’s hand, holding onto it. “Thanks again, my friend. I really do appreciate all you’ve done.”

  “I know. You take care.”

  Tom waved as Tony pulled out into the traffic then let himself in the main entrance by tapping the four-digit code into the security key pad. He tried to remember the last time he’d been there. It couldn’t have been long ago; there was no build-up of mail behind the door of the apartment; and only a couple of messages unchecked on the answer phone. Neither from Katey, he noted sadly. Not that he expected they would be.

  He tossed his jacket onto the bed in the master bedroom before walking through into the huge living area with its floor-to-ceiling windows in a wide half-circle overlooking the Thames. He opened the drinks cabinet and took out a glass and a half-full bottle of Jack Daniels and flopped onto one of the large black leather sofas. Before he had time to pour himself a drink, there was a knock on the door.

  It took him a few seconds to realise what the sound was. His apartment at Balmaha in SW1 comprised half of the top floor of the building. A large ornate landing separated it from a second property, which had remained unoccupied for four years. It was a situation which had suited him perfectly, to the extent that he had considered acquiring it himself, as both an investment and to maintain his practical isolation. The only visitors he had ever received up to that moment had always rung his doorbell from outside the building at street level.

  The man standing on the landing was tall and dark and in his early thirties. He was also strikingly good-looking behind the pair of heavy-framed spectacles which seemed to be at odds with the designer jeans and tight-fitting tee shirt.

  “Hi. Just heard you arrive and thought it polite to introduce myself. Oscar Strange – your new neighbour.” He extended his hand which Tom took.

  “Hi, Oscar. Tom Brown.” He frowned. “How long have you been here – I mean, living here?”

  “Only since yesterday; still moving in. I’d invite you over for coffee but I’ve hardly got anything in there yet. Nowhere to sit, for a start. And anyway, I’m afraid I’ve got nothing stronger.”

  He smiled and nodded at the bottle and glass Tom was still holding.

  Tom gave a hollow laugh. “Just tidying up,” he said. “Why don’t you come in and have a coffee, seeing as you’re half way here.”

  He stepped back and the young man was past him and heading for the living room before he had time to move again. Oscar sat down in the exact place Tom had just vacated, leaning back, crossing his legs and stretching out his arms along the back of the sofa. Then he sprang to his feet and walked over to the window.

  “Wow, what a view. I’m facing the other way, of course. Still good, but nothing like this. Don’t want to swap, I suppose.” He laughed.

  “You suppose right,” said Tom. “Would you like something stronger than coffee?”

  “No, thanks.” He was looking round the room, rather intrusively, Tom thought. “In fact, I won’t stay this time, if you don’t mind. Got a load of stuff still to do.”

  He turned and strode out of the room and down the short corridor towards the door. “Great to meet you. See you soon, no doubt.” He let himself out before Tom had time to speak.

  *

  The office door opened a fraction. Harry’s head poked round.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Be my guest.”

  “What are you doing right now? Have you got a few minutes to spare?”

  “Oh, yes please,” said Jo. She moved the curser on the screen in front of her and closed the document. “The boss has got me surfing the bloody net for any information that could be linked to a gun-running set-up down in Brighton. Guess where I’ll be going next.”

  “Well, we do like to be beside the seaside, don’t we? Although I guess it does take you quite a bit further away from Leicester.”

  “Is there anyone in this station who doesn’t know about my love-life?”

  “No, nobody. Which is why my next question may be a bit unexpected. How do you fancy seeing a movie?”

  Jo frowned. “This is all a bit sudden, Harry. When exactly?”

  “Well, I thought right now – hence the question about whether you had time to spare.”

  “Now? At midday on a Tuesday? Exactly where did you have in mind?”

  “My office; and attendance is mandatory. Shall I send out for some popcorn?”

  *

  Jo could hear the sound of moving equipment in the background as the person answered the phone.

  “DI Cottrell, what a pleasant surprise.”

  “How are you, David? What’s that noise?”

  “You always phone when I’m at the gym halfway through an exercise? Right now, I’m on the cross-trainer. You must think I spend all my time here.”

  “Oh, no I don’t,” Jo said. “In fact, you’d be surprised how much I know about how you spend your time.”

  There was a pause before he replied.

  “Meaning what, exactly?”

  “Meaning I need to see you; officially. So it won’t be the Olde London or the Dog this time, I’m afraid. Can you come to Guildford?”

  Another pause.

  “I’m fascinated. It can’t be for fiddling my expenses because you didn’t pay me any. We’re not going to fall out of friends are we? Seb’s not told you to stop seeing me?”

  “God, I’m fed up of people going on about Seb. No, of course we’re not going to fall out of friends, David, but I’d really like you to come in without any further questions. I suggest we meet somewhere away from the office and then we’ll come in together. Okay?”

  “You mean so it will look like you’ve caught and arrested me. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of you wrestling me to the ground is there?”

  Jo laughed. “How is it you always do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Make me laugh when I’m trying to be serious. But I do need you to come in, David. If you do, I’ll ignore the sexual connotations of that last remark and not charge you with harassment.”

  “I really don’t know what you mean, but of course I’ll come to Guildford if you need me to. Can I finish on the cross-trainer first? Only a couple of minutes to go.”

  She laughed again. “It will keep until tomorrow. It’s not that desperately urgent.”

  “Just tell me when and where. And are you going to tell me what and why as well?”

  “No, but you’ll work it out. You used to be a detective, after all.”

  *

  Wednesday; 9 September

  Tom rolled ove
r and nearly off the bed at the sound of the banging. He checked the digital clock on the bedside table, moving the empty Jack Daniels bottle out of the way so he could see the display. The large red numbers said ‘10:45’ and the smaller letters and digits underneath told him it was ‘WED 9 SEPT’. How fortunate, he thought, to have a clock that tells you what day it is.

  He sat up and swung his legs out of bed, reaching down for the short bathrobe that had found its way onto the floor. He got to his feet, pulling on the robe and wondering why he didn’t feel worse than he did. Perhaps the answer was the empty bottle – he seemed to remember it had only been half full when he got it from the cabinet… when… twenty-four hours ago? That was a long time for it to last. Perhaps he had finished a second bottle and still didn’t feel half bad. That really would be worrying.

  The noise, whatever it was, had stopped. Perhaps it had been nothing at all; perhaps he’d dreamt it. No, there it was again; his heart sank. It was someone knocking at the apartment door, and it could only be one person. As if to confirm the worst, this time it was followed by the sound of a voice.

  “Tom! Mr Brown! Are you okay?”

  The words seemed very loud and clear for someone shouting from the landing. He moved across to the bedroom door and listened. He could hear the muted sound of carefully-placed footsteps in the corridor outside. He looked round for a possible weapon and, seeing nothing suitable, grasped the handle of the door and pulled it open, stepping out.

  Oscar Strange took a small step backwards but recovered quickly, lunging forward and grabbing the lapels of Tom’s robe, pushing him against the wall. He released his hold immediately and stepped back again before Tom could react.

  “Sorry, Tom. Jesus, you scared the shit out of me,” he said. “Are you okay? The apartment door wasn’t properly closed and I thought there must be an intruder in here. I’ve been knocking and shouting for about five minutes.”

  Tom straightened his robe very deliberately and stepped up close to the younger man.