‘Is that why you did it?’
She gives him that look, the one that gets him in his heart and his pants. ‘Don’t you trust me, Dom? After everything …’
‘I want to.’
There’s emotion in her voice as she says, ‘You were down. Genk was suspicious. I had to do something to get him to incriminate himself.’ She pauses, wheezing, the effort of speaking becoming too much. ‘Telling him I was police was the first thing that came to my mind. I thought if he was willing to work with a corrupt—’
‘It was risky.’
She glances down at her body shrouded in the white sheet, and at the monitors she’s hooked up to. ‘I’d say so.’
Seconds pass; neither of them speak. The machines continue to beep. In the corner, the characters of a dreary-looking daytime soap prattle away on the flat screen TV, the volume on low. Dom watches the liquid in Therese’s IV drip through from the bag to the line.
‘They tell me I’m dehydrated.’ There’s a quiver to her voice that he’s never heard before. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing a wine or two couldn’t fix.’
He doesn’t respond. He’s still thinking about what she’s said about her and Genk. What she did makes sense; she made a fast decision in the moment. It could have worked, and rescued the operation before it totally went bad. Dom wants to believe her, thinks that he does, but there’s an uneasy churning in his gut, as if he’s drunk four pints on an empty stomach. Is this what closure feels like? He doubts it.
She’s the one to break the silence. ‘It would have been worth it if we’d got him.’
Dom nods. ‘Yeah, it would.’
‘Did you tell Holsworth what you heard?’
‘What I heard you say to Genk?’
‘Yes.’
He looks away, wondering again if this is the real reason she wanted to see him, to find out if he’d grassed her up. Wonders if she’s been using him all along. ‘I didn’t tell him.’
‘Thanks,’ she says, the word whisper-quiet.
He tries to meet her gaze. Can’t. He still loves her, but he doesn’t trust her. He focuses just below her eyes instead. ‘Did you see who came into the room before the shots were fired?’
‘I don’t remember. My head’s still jumbled from the …’ She gestures to the adhesive patch fixed over the wound on the side of her head. ‘Well, you know.’
‘Yeah.’ The machines seem louder; the beeping of the heart monitor, the clicking from the morphine pump. Outside in the corridor, two men are talking loudly.
‘So I hear you’re working a serial killer case,’ Therese says. ‘How’s it going?’
‘What have you heard?
‘I’ve heard you’re respected by your team and that Jackson rates you.’
‘But?’
‘Word is, you’re nowhere on the investigation.’
‘Is that right?’
‘It’s a high-profile case, and coming right after Atlantis …’ She shakes her head. When she continues her voice is softer. ‘With the way the media are crying for action, some are saying it’s going to get you bumped.’
‘Some being Lindsay?’ His tone is bitter.
Her expression betrays nothing. ‘Is it true?’
He stays silent. Wants to know why Lindsay’s taking such an interest in Therese’s well-being. He needs to know the answer, but doesn’t want to know.
‘Dom?’
‘I’ve got to go.’ Turning away, he heads for the door.
Fuck Lindsay, and fuck the media. He can’t get bumped off the case. He has to find this killer, needs to find who’s responsible. Kate, Zara and Jenna deserve that.
‘Dom?’
He glances towards the bed, towards Therese.
She smiles. Looks apologetic. ‘Thanks for coming.’
He wishes he hadn’t.
29
CLEMENTINE
Death Stalker posted in Case Files: The Lover
Death Stalker This is the team – Crime Queen, Robert ‘chainsaw’ Jameson, Justice League, Ghost Avenger, Bloodhound, The Watcher, Witness_Zero and me as your team leader. Tonight we meet to plan our strategy. 19:00 at the Wetherspoons on Euston Road. Here’s the link.
I’m going to meet them, meet Death Stalker, face-to-face.
It’s perfect.
It’s terrifying.
30
DOM
Therese’s words are still buzzing around his head. Thoughts of her and Lindsay are distracting him from the case. As he exits the tube, a vendor in a tartan coat thrusts a folded newspaper at him. The start of the headline catches his eye: THE LOVER KI—
What line are the press spinning now?
Forcing a half-smile, he takes the paper. ‘Ta.’
Still walking, he reads the full headline: THE LOVER KILLED MY GIRLFRIEND: Distraught DJ speaks of his heartbreak.
Dom stops dead, speed-reads the piece, his grip on the pages tightening with every word he reads. Stax has used his girlfriend’s death to get publicity. Attention-seeking bastard.
There’s a large picture of Stax gazing soulfully into the camera. The article mentions his set times at the club and his aspiration for a recording contract. Aside from the headline and first paragraph, the story barely references Kate Adams.
Anger gnaws at his stomach, hollowing him out. Has Stax got no shame? Dom remembers how he acted when they met, that too-intense stare and the evasiveness. They need to bring in the weasel and really roast him. Find out what he’s hiding.
The team meeting starts at four o’clock. They’re gathered in the incident room, all facing the murder board, except Dom. He’s perched on the table at the front, marker pen in hand. He glances at the pictures of Kate Adams, Zara Bretton and Jenna Malik smiling, not knowing how things would end. It’s not fair, and him being distracted isn’t good enough. They deserve better. He shouldn’t have let himself get sidetracked by Holsworth, by Therese. This meeting needs to remedy that.
Abbott’s perched against a table, scratchpad in hand. Parekh looks keen to start, unlike Biggs who’s lounging back in his chair, playing with his phone. Dom clears his throat. ‘OK, let’s get going. Updates, first. Who wants to kick off?’
Parekh raises her hand. She looks excited. ‘Guv, I’ve found something on the Chick-O-Lick CCTV. A man not matching the description of any resident or guest of a resident gained access to Kate’s building at 8.42 p.m. and left at 1.58 a.m.’
Dom inhales fast. This is huge. ‘What can you tell us about him?’
‘Not much, unfortunately.’ Parekh passes Dom a grainy black and white image. ‘He looks about six foot tall, medium build and is wearing dark clothing. He never looks directly at the camera, and his hoodie is pulled low over his face, obscuring his features. He’s carrying something in the hand farthest from the camera. It looks like an old-fashioned doctor’s bag.’
‘Do you know where he came from?’
Parekh shakes her head. ‘I tried tracking him on the street cams but lost him two hundred metres from the crime scene, same on the way in. It’s like he just pops up from nowhere.’
‘Or he knows the exact range of the cameras,’ says Abbott.
‘Yeah.’ Dom looks back to Parekh. ‘Any luck with the CCTV from Wetherspoons?’
Parekh nods. ‘I’ve been through it. Kate and Eva only appear when they’re served at the bar. The place they stood the rest of the time, and the area on the mezzanine where Eva said the guy watching them was, are in the camera’s blind spots. There’s something useful, though. The guy who came on to Kate when she went to the loos? We’ve got the altercation on camera.’
‘Does it look like the person of interest on the Chick-O-Lick camera?’
‘No, the guy from the bar looks shorter and stockier.’ She passes Dom a second image. ‘Also, we don’t know if the guy who came on to Kate is the same man who watched the girls from the blind spot, but I’ve found out who he is so we can ask him.’
Dom’s impressed. Parekh’s achieved a lot. ‘Good wor
k. Who is he?’
‘POI 2 is Jon Leighton, twenty-three. He’s an estate agent, works for that new high-end company, Padulous. He’s been clean a few years, but in his teens he built up an impressive juvie sheet – disorderly misdemeanours mainly.’
Dom sticks the two pictures to the murder board, marks the Chick-O-Lick man Person of Interest 1 and the Wetherspoons guy Person of Interest 2. He adds their details beneath. Looking at Abbott he says, ‘Get the first image circulated.’
Abbott nods.
Dom turns to Parekh. ‘We should check Jon Leighton out. After this, yeah?’
She smiles. ‘Yes, guv.’
Dom nods at Biggs. ‘What have you got?’
‘Not a lot.’ His tone is gruff, bordering on rude.
Dom keeps his expression and tone dead serious. ‘You were looking into Stax and Kate’s relationship and money problems, you must have found something?’
Biggs shrugs. ‘Not really, everyone I spoke to said they were happy. Golden. He’s getting money in, it’s just the bigger amounts are sporadic, like his better-paying DJ gigs. Only her parents thought something was up. I checked out the financials and they’re right – his credit card debt was high, but he always paid in the end.’
‘With Kate’s money, from what they said.’
‘Not always, and from what they said Kate was willingly giving him the money when she did.’
‘Unless she refused,’ Abbott says.
Biggs shakes his head. ‘I found nothing suggesting that. They were happy, even if her parents weren’t.’
Dom doesn’t believe it. No relationship is ever that perfect, especially when the boyfriend is a tosser like Stax. ‘So you’re saying not one hint of trouble, then?’
Biggs picks up his mobile from the table and scrolls through what Dom assumes are his notes. ‘Well, not much, but I talked to a few people who work at that club where he DJs. They said he’s a good lad, and that the vic was devoted to him. He put her on a pedestal and all that bollocks, but something about the way they said it didn’t stack up for me.’ He chuckles at his pun.
Twat.
‘Did you press them?’
‘Course. But I didn’t get anywhere.’ Biggs puts his phone back onto the table. ‘Maybe he’s a stand-up guy.’
‘I doubt that. Anyone seen tonight’s news?’ Dom throws the paper onto the table closest to Biggs. ‘Stax, Kate Adams’s devoted boyfriend, has talked to the press. Details-wise it’s puff, but it shows us more about Stax’s nature. He’s playing the sympathy card, looking for his fifteen minutes. He talks more about his career than his murdered girlfriend.’
Biggs shifts in his seat. Looks uncomfortable.
Good, Dom thinks. Biggs was working the angle on Stax all day; that he’s surprised by the article looks bad. Maybe this will jolt him out of his sulk. If not, Dom knows they’ll have to have a serious chat about his future with the team.
‘You think he’s worth taking another run at?’ Parekh asks.
‘Yeah, I do. That story’s a fucking disgrace. We need to squeeze the bastard.’ Dom looks at Biggs. ‘You talked to him today?’
Biggs shakes his head. ‘Nah.’
‘Why the fuck not?’
Biggs shrugs.
Dom clenches his fists. Wishes Biggs wasn’t such a dick. He really wants another crack at Stax himself, but he can’t be everywhere. They finally have a fresh lead – it needs following up fast. Biggs might be a bastard, but he’s well capable of handling Stax alone. ‘Well get it done tonight. I want his balls in a vice until you find what he’s hiding, yeah?’
‘Yes, boss.’ Biggs’s words sound far from genuine.
Dom glares a moment longer at Biggs, then looks around the room. ‘What else?’
‘The book, Black Rose Chronicles,’ Parekh says. She consults her notes. ‘According to Wikipedia it was written by Daphne Turtine in 1943. For a while it was used as a set book for O level English, but it got thrown out when GCSEs came in. It’s pretty much been out of print since then, but according to Google it’s still on reading lists at a few public schools for expats, mainly in Singapore, South Africa and India. I’ve ordered some second-hand copies from Amazon. They should arrive tomorrow.’
Dom notes the information on the board and turns back to Parekh. ‘Have you checked if Kate Adams, Zara Bretton or Jenna Malik had a copy?’
‘Not yet, it’s on my list to do next.’ Parekh looks over at Biggs. ‘Can you ask Stax when you question him?’
Biggs types something on his phone, one-fingered. ‘Yep.’
‘Guv?’ Parekh says. ‘I just wanted to add the book was made into a film in the late eighties. Not a good one, according to IMDb. The plot was the same as the book, which is pretty basic by modern standards – a young woman takes a job as governess to the young children of a reclusive widower who lives in a crumbling mansion. At first she barely sees him, but over time they develop a bond, etc., then she discovers the secret he’s been hiding – the reason why he’s withdrawn from society. She’s conflicted, leaves, then realises she’s in love with him and returns. Emotional reunion, etc., happy ever after.’
‘There’s no murder in it?’ Dom asks.
‘Not that I can tell from the plot synopsis.’
‘I checked out pictures of the actress playing the lead. She didn’t look like our victims, not in the film or in her personal life. Could be there’s a supporting role that’ll give us a link.’
‘Maybe,’ Dom says. ‘Can we download it? Did the film have the same title as the book?’
Parekh consults her notes again. ‘No, they shortened it to The Black Rose, and you can’t download it, too lame for them to bother with, I guess. I’ve got DVDs on order, though. They should be here tomorrow.’
‘Good work, Parekh.’ He looks over at Abbott. ‘Do you want to update everyone on the PM?’
‘Can do.’ Abbott reels off the information from the autopsy. Consults his notes for the name of the new anaesthetic used in Kate’s murder and how the killer injected it into a hard-to-reach vein.
‘It could be he stuck the needle in anywhere, maybe because Kate was struggling, but there are easier places to inject if that’s the situation. I think it tells us something about our killer,’ Dom says, taking over from Abbott. ‘I think he’s deliberately trying to hide the mark from the injection, for some reason that’s important to him—’
‘You think he’s re-enacting a previous kill?’ Parekh says, leaning forward in her seat.
‘I think he’s re-enacting something. It could be another murder, or maybe something from this Black Rose book.’ He gestures at the board, towards the crime scene pictures. ‘Whatever it is, they’re meant to be someone, mean something to him. He’s careful, clean. The way their appearance is changed takes skill and time. But he’s still experimenting, trying different drugs.’
Biggs shrugs. ‘Maybe he’d run out of the other one. It could mean nothing.’
Dom stares at him. ‘Or it could mean something.’ He looks at Abbott. ‘Can you run a check for recent drug thefts, specifically anaesthetics? Check hospitals, pharmacists, doctor’s surgeries, anywhere that keeps these drugs.’
‘Yes, boss. We’re getting an extra indexer from Kelterman’s team tomorrow. I’ll get them on it first thing.’
‘Great. Anything more from the lab?’
‘Forensics got nothing usable from the scene, same as the others.’
‘How about those samples Emily sent over this morning – the make-up, that compound and the glue?’
‘Nothing yet,’ Abbott says. ‘It’s still early, though.’
Working a case without forensics was like a cage fighter entering the ring with his dominant fist tied behind his back. Dom looks at Parekh. ‘Any luck on that recruitment connection?’
‘I spoke to human resources at the NHS Trust. They did their own hiring for Kate Adams’s role. As we already know, Zara Bretton was put forward via an agency called Office Magic and Jenna Malik went direct t
hrough the graduate recruitment portal. I called both companies to be sure, though. They’d never heard of Kate.’
Dom had expected as much, but he still feels disappointed. He jots the new information onto the board. ‘Anything else?’
Parekh clears her throat. ‘Just to let you know I’m going through Kate Adams’s diaries – work and personal – looking for any similarities with the first two victims.’
‘Give her a gold fucking star,’ Biggs mutters.
Dom glares at him, then looks at Parekh. ‘Found anything?’
‘Just the usual, really – nights out, doctor’s appointments, hairdresser – that kind of thing. She had a dental appointment three weeks ago, and we already know Zara Bretton and Jenna Malik saw the dentist in the month before they died, but they’re different surgeries, so not connected.’
Dom nods. ‘OK, so until the lab work is back, our best leads are Stax and POI 2. Let’s get them interviewed tonight, and regroup first thing.’ He eyeballs Biggs. ‘Call me when you’ve finished with Stax. I want to know what you find.’
Biggs nods, a face on him like a right miserable bastard. Dom guesses he’s pissed off because it’s almost six and he wants to go home. Tough.
As they leave the room Abbott falls in step beside Dom. ‘Is there anything you need me on now?’
Close up, Dom can see how dog-tired his DS looks. ‘Nah. You get off and see that little kid of yours. Pick up with the lab again tomorrow.’
‘Thanks, guv.’ Abbott smiles. ‘Tomorrow’s another day, and all that.’
‘Let’s hope so.’ Dom lifts his jacket off the back of his chair and pulls it on.
Parekh heads his way, her orange parka and black fingerless gloves already on over her grey skirt suit. ‘Ready, boss?’
‘Yeah. Let’s see what Jon Leighton has to say for himself.’
31
DOM
Padulous Estate Agents close at six, so Parekh drives straight to Jon Leighton’s home address, a shabby ex-council high-rise with a good postcode. They park on the street, put a police notice on the dash and head to the building.
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