‘Welcome.’ His voice is deeper than I’d expected. ‘That’s all of us for now – Witness Zero is going to come later. Let’s make a start.’
He doesn’t give his name. Probably because he called the meeting and, as our leader, assumes he needs no introduction. From the hush that comes over the group it seems the others are willing to follow his lead, but I’m not so sure. The situation seems unnaturally surreal, like I’ve stepped through the velvet curtain and tumbled down a beer-smelling rabbit hole.
Death Stalker’s monologue has lasted twenty-nine minutes yet he’s said very little that’s new. There’s been bluster about finding the truth and us being in this together, but I think it’s all for show. He calls us his team, and refers to the Lover investigation as his case. He’s not a team player, that’s pretty clear; he wants us to do the donkey work, while he gets to bask in the limelight if we succeed.
And to me, success looks unlikely. The investigation routes he wants us to follow seem disparate and unconnected to a wider strategy. Of course that could be how he wants it to appear – keeping us out of the big picture so he alone will be able to piece the information together – but that limits our ability to find the Lover and places all the responsibility to identify them on Death Stalker.
Although perhaps that’s the point; if he is the killer, it gives him the chance to sabotage us if we get too close. I keep my expression neutral as I try to make sense of it. It’s hard work, and the gin is fogging my thinking.
Death Stalker looks at each of us in turn and asks, ‘Anyone got questions?’
Bob jumps in right away. ‘That was very helpful. I wondered if we should set up a virtual murder board on our page. That’d let us record our findings and cross-reference them, and to spot patterns.’
Death Stalker nods. ‘Yep, I like that. Can you set it up for me?’
Bob’s porky cheeks flush, with pride I guess. He hasn’t realised Death Stalker’s fobbing him off. Death Stalker’s not shared any information he’s gathered since posting the initial photos. Without his input we’ll only ever have a partial view.
I want to ask him what he’s discovered, but I need to be careful not to alienate him. The books I’ve read on influencing put great emphasis on the use of language – saying ‘and’ in place of ‘but’ so as to appear to be building on a person’s idea rather than implying it won’t work. The key is to be non-confrontational.
I swallow. My heart rate accelerates as I open my mouth to speak. I need to try and appear confident. ‘That sounds a great idea. And if we look at your intel alongside ours perhaps we’ll spot a pattern faster?’
Bob is nodding. Across the table, Justice League and Bloodhound look expectantly at Death Stalker. Ghost Avenger’s expression is hard to read, but Crime Queen’s isn’t – her frown implies I’ve crossed a line.
Death Stalker doesn’t seem phased. ‘I’ll share anything I get, just as I have been doing. So far my energy’s going into tapping up contacts in the police, finding out how their investigation is progressing so I can feed new leads to you guys.’ He makes eye contact with each of us again. ‘We need each other to beat them to finding the Lover. I need you all to be part of this team.’
The others are nodding, taken in by his performance of sincerity, but I’m not. He’s avoided the question. Used a politician’s trick to appear genuine; appealing to their desire to be needed, making them feel part of something important. I can see through it, though; I’ve had to learn those tricks to mimic normal human interaction. He doesn’t fool me.
I consider what to do. Walk out? Go along with the charade? If this is all about him taking the glory I need to make myself indispensable, get closer to him, although I know that will make Wade worry. I press my palm against my jacket pocket, and feel the outline of the plastic bag and the broken brush within. I’ve got something Death Stalker wants. I have to use it to get into his confidence.
Not yet, though. With no further questions, the formal part of the meeting is over. Bob and Crime Queen huddle closer to Death Stalker, talking in hushed voices. Justice League, Bloodhound and Ghost Avenger move their chairs closer to mine. I feel hemmed in, claustrophobic.
Justice League catches my eye. ‘So have you worked on any cases before?’
I shake my head. Don’t speak. She keeps staring at me. I grab my gin and drain the glass. Because although I know how to respond in a way that will make her believe I’m just like her, really I am not. Everything about me is an act. And here in this group, I’m feeling more like an outsider than ever.
The fear is growing, too. This room is too small. The air is thick and lumpy, chewy on my tongue. I swallow hard. The moths are back, fluttering in my chest, their sharp wings cutting at my throat as my panic rises.
Leave. Go now.
‘I have,’ Ghost Avenger says, answering Justice League’s question. ‘I helped another group with a couple of cold cases.’
Bloodhound nods. ‘I’ve done a few small ones.’
Justice League switches her attention from me to Ghost Avenger. ‘Did you solve them?’
He shakes his head and his hair falls over his eyes. He brushes it away with a flick of his hand. I notice he’s wearing black nail polish. ‘Nah. Didn’t get far, to be honest.’ He gestures towards Death Stalker. ‘This group is very different.’
From the tone of Ghost Avenger’s voice it’s clear he thinks this group is better. Am I ridiculous to think Death Stalker could have a darker motive for the investigation? Wade’s suspicions have made me paranoid; my fear isn’t founded on methodical analysis, it’s borne from Wade’s own fears that what I’m doing isn’t good for my academic career or, more specifically, isn’t good for his.
I’ve been a fool. I’ve let him manipulate me; planting the kernel of fear and then moving away as it grows in my mind just as he knew it would. He knows about my troubles with anxiety and my tendency towards paranoia, and he’s used them to play me. I clench my fists and the moth wings cease their flapping. I start to breathe a little easier.
‘Oh, yes,’ says Justice League. She’s ignoring Bloodhound and looking at Ghost Avenger like he’s some kind of rock god. ‘Different how?’
Ghost Avenger shrugs. ‘More organised. With the other group I got the impression they just did it for a laugh, you know? This is more serious. We all want to solve this. Take the killer off the streets. It’s not a game.’
Bloodhound nods along, but says nothing. I do the same.
Justice League looks thoughtful. ‘How could they treat it as a game? Murder is murder. Doesn’t get more serious than that, surely?’ She lowers her voice. Glances down as if she’s embarrassed. ‘It’s not meant to be fun, even if investigating is quite thrilling at times. That’s not the point. The point is that we’re making this world, this city, a safer place.’
From the way she’s talking we should each have a superhero outfit, a cape or something. I wonder if she’s got some kind of God complex, then discount it. She doesn’t seem to have an inflated opinion of herself. ‘True.’
Justice League gestures towards our glasses. ‘Drink?’
We give her our orders and she disappears out through the curtain to the main bar. I look at Ghost Avenger. ‘So did you tell the other group about your job?’
‘No. I didn’t tell them anything much, to be honest. Just read a few things and checked stuff out online.’
‘You told us, though.’
Ghost Avenger gives a lopsided smile. ‘I did. I’d already told Death Stalker a while back, thought it might be useful, when the first body ended up on one of my slabs.’
‘Is that why you took pictures of them?’
Ghost Avenger nods. He glances at Bloodhound. ‘DS said I should make a record, you know, in case we needed it. The police have their crime scene photos and post-mortem pictures. If we were going to investigate too then we’d need something similar.’
Good thinking, and good planning on Death Stalker’s part. The chatter about hunting a
serial killer started around that time and it seems Death Stalker was planning his investigation already, or his cover-up. I meet Ghost Avenger’s eyes. ‘What was it like, seeing the victims’ bodies?’
Bloodhound stands. ‘Back in a mo. Just nipping to the loo.’
I smile at him, then look back to Ghost Avenger.
His expression becomes wistful, his gaze focused somewhere over my shoulder. ‘Amazing. It’s spooky how each victim was changed to look like the same woman. Every detail was exact.’
‘Sounds fascinating,’ I say, leaning closer to him. ‘How?’
He shifts forward. Slides his hands across the table, palms down. He smells of vanilla soap and musk. ‘The Lover is a perfectionist. Every element of his kill is pre-planned – it has to be to achieve such perfection. He selects his victims carefully and follows his routine to the letter. There’s an artfulness about it. An inevitability that the sequence will play out exactly the same every time.’ His eyes close, as if he’s picturing it in his mind. He opens his eyes and stares back at me. ‘Even in death his victims are beautiful.’
There’s an emotion in Ghost Avenger’s voice that I can’t identify. Whatever it is, it’s clear that he’s just as fascinated by death as I am. Leaning closer, I lower my voice and ask, ‘So, how close have you got to them?’
He beckons for me to move to the seat next to him. I oblige, and he whispers in my ear. ‘I’ve touched them.’
I draw back, increasing the distance between us.
Ghost Avenger sighs. ‘You asked before what got me interested in true crime—’
‘And you said it was a long story.’
‘It’s not that long, to be honest.’ He looks at me. He’s frowning, like he’s trying to figure something out. ‘OK, so when I was thirteen my best mate, Dan, was murdered. He was grabbed after football practice and found dead, strangled, the next day.’
‘That must have been hard.’
‘It was. They said it was a sexual attack.’
‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.’ Which is the truth. I don’t know what to say, but I do feel a twinge of sorrow. It’s an unfamiliar sensation. Am I feeling sorry for another person, for Ghost Avenger? ‘Did they find who did it?’
Ghost Avenger picks up his glass before realising it’s empty. He puts it back down again. ‘That’s the worst of it. They matched the DNA left on Dan’s body with Mr Caldiene, our football coach. When they went to arrest him he was already dead.’
‘How?’
‘Hose from the exhaust pipe of his car. They found him locked in the garage.’ He shakes his head. ‘I thought he was a good man, you know? No matter how I tried, I couldn’t make sense of it. Why would he do that to Dan? I mean, he’d known us since we were little. He’d trained the team for years. He had a fucking wife!’
‘People keep all kinds of secrets.’ As I speak, another twinge of sadness vibrates through my chest. It makes me feel queasy.
‘I just wanted to know why he did that to Dan, but he topped himself so I can never ask him.’ Ghost Avenger’s voice cracks. He looks down, his hair flopping over his eyes. ‘I want to know why.’
‘So you joined this investigation because you want to find the Lover to help his victims’ families get closure?’
Ghost Avenger nods. ‘Something like that, you know?’
I do know. I also know that a higher percentage than you’d think of those affected by violent crime go on to commit violent crime themselves, but before I can question him further we’re interrupted.
‘I need to borrow The Watcher for a moment.’
Death Stalker’s voice makes me jump. I twist round and see him standing to my left.
He gives a half-smile. ‘Do you mind?’
‘Not at all,’ I say, but I do. Things were getting interesting with Ghost Avenger. He’s experienced loss, seen death. Maybe even caused death. It was almost as if I was feeling something for him. Something like empathy, perhaps.
‘Will you give me a hand at the bar?’ Death Stalker asks me.
Back in the main bar, I wonder where Justice League got to; she’s not here and it’s been ages since she left to get more drinks. The place is packed. We’ve been waiting five minutes and the queue doesn’t seem any shorter.
‘Do you have the brush?’ Death Stalker asks. I get now why he wanted us to buy more drinks; so we could make the exchange away from the others. He’s keeping it from the rest of the group. It’s our secret.
I nod. Try to hide my nerves, appear confident. ‘Who’s your contact?’
‘Someone reliable.’
It feels weird talking in real life. ‘I found it. I want to know where it’s going.’
Death Stalker looks thoughtful. I hold his gaze. In my peripheral vision, over his shoulder, I see Crime Queen staring at me, her eyes narrowed. She’s standing with Bob, holding the curtain open, but her attention is fixed on Death Stalker and me. Her stare is intense beneath her purple fringe. I figure I don’t have long before she interrupts.
Lowering my voice, I say, ‘I get that you want to lead this. All I’m asking is for you to let me in on this part of it. I’m a professional researcher. Let me help you.’
For a moment I think he’s going to walk away. Then he says, ‘All right, seeing as you found it, I suppose it’s fair. A friend of mine works in a pharmaceutical lab, which one isn’t important, but he’s got access to the equipment needed to run the tests we want.’
That’s more information than he’s shared so far this evening. I slip my hand into my jacket and pull out the plastic bag with the brush. ‘I want to know what it is, and how it fits with the information your contacts are feeding you.’
He holds my gaze for a long moment. Nods. ‘Deal.’
I hand the bag to Death Stalker. He pushes it into his pocket.
I find Justice League in the back room. She’s bought me another gin, as has Death Stalker. The buzz of alcohol is fuelling my confidence, making talking with these people less of a chore, but it’s fogging my mind. I’m worried my act will slip.
‘Sorry I was slow getting the drinks earlier,’ Justice League says. ‘The husband rang. Had a problem with the kids.’ She takes a gulp of her wine. ‘We’ve got three boys. You’d think he could manage them for one bloody night, wouldn’t you?’
I’ve no idea. ‘I guess.’
‘It’s not like I get to go out much.’ She looks at me. ‘And for much, read hardly ever. He’s their dad. He should be able to cope for a few hours. I have them all the time.’
I take another sip of my drink. It’s easier just to let her talk.
‘Do you have kids?’
‘No.’
‘Husband?’
‘No.’
‘Keep it that way. It’s much simpler, believe me.’
‘I’ve never given much thought to having children, or a husband. Don’t think it’s for me. I like my own space,’ I try to say it like it’s not the understatement of the year.
‘Wise words.’ She laughs. ‘So what do you do?’
‘I’m an academic.’
‘Really? Brilliant. I’m doing Criminology at Birkbeck as a mature student.’ She laughs. ‘Makes me sound ancient, right?’
I ask her a question before she can ask me more about myself. ‘Do you enjoy it?’
She nods. ‘I do. I know I’ve just moaned on about my husband and the boys, but they’re great, really. It’s just I felt like something was missing. Like I was only valid in relation to someone else – someone’s wife, someone’s mother – not in my own right. I wanted something for me, a sense of my own purpose.’
It amazes me that she’s sharing so much about her life with me. I’m a stranger. I could be anyone, do anything with the things she’s telling me. ‘And studying gives you purpose?’
‘It does, and criminology, it’s a chance to give something back, for the public good, you know, like this investigation … who’s that?’
I look in the direction she’s poi
nting. There’s a new guy standing beside Crime Queen. He’s at least a foot taller than her, older, too – late thirties or early forties I reckon – and smart in a charcoal-grey suit and black shirt. His blond hair is cropped short, and his face has a rough charm that makes him quite attractive.
Witness Zero was running late. I wonder if that’s him. I watch Crime Queen call to Death Stalker. He raises his hand and goes over to speak to the new arrival. They exchange a few words before the three of them disappear back through the curtain to the main bar.
‘Blimey, he was a bit pretty,’ Justice League says. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and she’s fiddling with her hair.
For me, though, the feelings he evokes are rather different. Is he Witness Zero? I hate that I know nothing about him, and that he’s seen me. Most of all I hate that he’s close with Death Stalker and Crime Queen, and that the three of them have gone off alone.
I need to be in their inner circle.
Most wolves hunt in packs.
33
DOM
He’s only been home ten minutes when he gets Lindsay’s text: She said you’d been by. Thanks. Fancy a beer? Old times and that.
Dom texts back: Yeah. Sounds good. Give me an hour.
It’s a lie, though. Meeting Lindsay doesn’t sound good, but it could be a way to get some answers. He needs to know what’s going on. Has to know.
Forty minutes later and he’s almost at the Princess Victoria, the place they used to go drinking after shift on Operation Atlantis. He’s been trying to think about the murder case, about the leads they’ve got, but the Atlantis stuff is buzzing around his head like a fly he can’t swat.
It’s busy by the river. As he jogs up the steps of the Millennium Bridge he’s passed by office workers, still in their business clothes, and a fair few people out for the night, dressed up despite the shitty weather. All of them are bustling across the bridge, hurrying to get to wherever they’re headed.
One person is different. He’s sitting on the tarmac, staring straight ahead. His grey hair is matted against his skull, and his baggy suit trousers, scuffed trainers and dirt-covered raincoat look soaked through. There’s an open bottle in a plastic bag lying at his feet. A woollen hat is upturned on the ground beside him. It’s empty.
My Little Eye Page 18