Chapter Twenty-Six
Giles stared coldly at Barker. Her mouth dropped open a fraction – she even forgot that she wasn’t wearing her scarf anymore. Donnovan’s laugh echoed around the abandoned mechanics workshop of her memory, his curious glee sending a shiver down her spine as the razor wire cut deep into her skin…
Tears formed in the corner of her eyes and - despite the gun in Barker’s pocket – she advanced towards him and slapped him firmly around the face.
‘No,’ she said defiantly, slapping him a second time. ‘You’re not the Bluebell Killer. You can’t be…’
Barker didn’t even flinch.
‘Denying the evidence, even when it’s right in front of your face…’
‘You’re lying…’ Giles growled. ‘You’ve been lying since the moment we first met.’
Barker shrugged, glancing up again at the cathedral tower. His eyes lingered on the clock there for a few seconds, the colour returning to his face a little. He was relaxed – sure of himself – as though he had unloaded a great burden from his shoulders. Almost as if he were making his peace with God…
A short way down the street behind him, the group by the coffee shop turned off down different side paths leaving only the man who Giles recognised loitering by the kiosk.
Time was running out.
In her heart Giles was convinced that Barker knew it as well.
So it came as no surprise when a few, short seconds later he abruptly looked back down at her and reached out to grab hold of her hand. The fear instinct kicked in and Giles withdrew a few steps as he reached across, but not before he was able to lay a single, cold, clammy finger on the back of her smooth skin.
‘I will tell you what I know,’ he said. ‘But you must promise to get me to safety the moment I do.’
Giles considered him for a moment.
‘What makes you think you can trust me?’
Barker shrugged.
‘You got me this far,’ he replied. ‘Besides, you will want to keep me alive and on side after you hear what I have to say.’
Giles didn’t respond immediately. She could still feel his finger touching the back of her hand, irritating her skin like a hair underneath her eyelid. When she looked down, she was surprised to see that he was no longer touching her – that the feeling was little more than a memory.
An unpleasant memory.
‘Alright, Mr Barker,’ she said. ‘The Bluebell Killer. Alex Donnovan. You. Tommy Haines. Tell me what you know.’
Barker took a deep breath.
‘The Bluebell Killer is not a single man,’ he began. ‘He’s an idea – an illusion if you will. A concept created for one purpose only – to remove one man’s enemies and scare his friends into line…’
‘Tommy Haines?’
Barker nodded.
‘The Krays did it. The Adams Family did it. The Richardson Gang did it. Any gangster worth their weight has used the tactic to get ahead – and Tommy Haines is the worst of all of them.’
He leant forward, staring over-dramatically into Giles’ eyes.
‘Imagine – if you can – being a man with aspirations of the gangster life. You want people to fear you, to respect you – you don’t want anyone to be cocky enough to want to let you down. But you’re not all that – not yet. You’re not as powerful as you hope to be. You haven’t got the respect or the fear to just walk into a pub and blow the brains out of one of your rival gang members without someone putting the finger on you. You might already be a wealthy man, but you haven’t got the prestige to just get one of your boys to do a hit for you. And we live in the Internet age now – the danger doesn’t just come from the people you see around you, it can come from anyone – anywhere.
‘You need something clever, something unique. You need an idea that eliminates the people who stand in your way and sends a message out to the people who might disrespect you. You need a figure, a hitman – a gangster superhero if you will. A faceless somebody who everybody knows about, but no one could ever identify. A ghost that only you can control – someone that the whole underworld knows about but the police could never catch…
‘The Bluebell Killer was that idea.’
Barker’s eyes sparkled with delight, but Giles was far from convinced. She shook her head slightly and whispered:
‘But we caught him. The Bluebell Killer was Alex Donnovan – the murders stopped after I…’ She hesitated. ‘It can’t be anyone else.’
‘The Bluebell Killer isn’t a man,’ Barker replied. ‘Not really. It was just a front. But Tommy Haines was smart about it. He knew that if he only killed off the people in his way, you lot would eventually link it back to him. So he sold the MO off to different people – husbands who wanted wives dead, dealers and loan sharks who wanted to send a message – they would pay Haines to use the identity of the Bluebell Killer to off whoever they wanted. In return, word gets out that Haines has sole control over a vicious serial killer and, with it, as much power and fear as he could ever want.
‘Of course, the added bonus is that the police can never link all the killings together – so nobody ever gets caught…’
It made sense. In fact, it was brilliant. An idea so utterly simple and yet completely fool proof. It explained a lot: how Giles could never pin all the murders on Donnovan, how he had cast iron alibis for some of the killings, how every suspect they ever had was considered and acquitted in record time…
‘It’s brilliant,’ she muttered, raising her head up to look at the knife-like Shard towering above them. ‘And as long as every killer sticks to the same MO and keeps their mouth shut…’
‘No one ever gets caught,’ Barker finished, smiling grimly.
Except you…
‘So, how did you get involved?’
Barker’s eyes narrowed.
‘I told you. I owed Haines. He wanted me to kill that man and I wasn’t in a position to refuse.’
‘But not as the Bluebell Killer,’ Giles replied. ‘I mean, the way you killed him was pretty standard. It’s not like you…’
Giles stopped. Her mind flitted back to the crime scene: the old pillbox, the rushing waters of the river, the carpet of bluebells leading up to it…
Her breath caught in her mouth and, all at once, the pieces of the puzzle began to slot into place.
‘You see it now,’ Barker muttered, lowering his head remorsefully.
‘If you’re right, then why did the killings stop?’
‘After you killed Donnovan?’
Giles nodded.
‘He didn’t need it anymore,’ Barker replied, shrugging his shoulders. ‘He had his power and respect and fear. He had a firm hold of my party, with a good plan to get us into government. You were so sure that Donnovan was the killer and, after your little torture show, you lot had him as good as convicted. If the murders kept happening, it wouldn’t be long before you’d start to tumble to the idea that there was more than one killer. And how long would it have been before you start asking the most important question: how many killers are there? The whole scheme would come crashing down. It wasn’t worth the risk…’
‘Then, why more killings now? Why send you?’
Barker thought for a moment, a wry smile crossing his face.
‘Sometimes fear needs to be shaken up a bit,’ he replied. ‘When you killed Donnovan, the Bluebell Killer stopped being a terrifying, ghostly barbarian and became just a man – dead and not at all intimidating. But, if he were to make an appearance the following spring, suddenly you either have a copycat on your hands, or the Bluebell Killer has transcended life itself to return to kill again – I can’t think of anything more utterly terrifying, can you?’
Giles sat back against the wall, staring up at the sky.
It was true. She thought that being hung by razor wire was the most horrific thought that her mind was capable of. But the idea that, after hearing Donnovan die in that murky garage, he returned to kill again sent shivers down her spine.
In the recesses of her mind, she could hear him laughing.
That bloody, gurgling laughter…
The laugh of a man who wasn’t done yet…
The laugh of a killer who would kill again…
She shook herself out of it. Beside her, Barker opened up his hands and, with a slight smile, shrugged his shoulders as he settled back against the wall.
‘There,’ he said, with a flourish. ‘That’s everything.’
‘Not everything,’ Giles replied. ‘You still haven’t given me proof.’
Barker’s eyes quivered. ‘Proof?’
‘I want to see your evidence.’
He thought for a moment, his eyes glancing around the market. He had become so embroiled in his story that he had forgotten where they were – the very real danger he was in. Now, that realisation flooded through him – Giles could see it by the fear in his eyes – and he lost all pretence of being calm and collected, descending quickly into a quivering and deeply suspicious wreck. His hand dived back into his pocket and firmly gripped hold of the gun.
‘No,’ he replied abruptly. ‘I must hold on to something for myself. When I get my immunity you will get everything you need.’
Giles’ eyes narrowed. For the first time since entering the market, Barker seemed resolute and sure of himself, despite his severe anxiety. It was almost as though there was nothing on this earth capable of forcing that last bit of information out of him.
Almost as if…
‘Ahh,’ Giles murmured, leaning back up against the railings. ‘Now I see…’
Barker blinked.
‘What?’
Giles chuckled, rubbing the tiredness from her eyes.
‘You don’t have anything for me, do you?’ she asked quietly. ‘You don’t have the evidence…’
‘I do,’ pleaded Barker, reaching out to grab Giles’ hand. ‘I do. Just get me somewhere safe and I’ll…’
‘No,’ interrupted Giles, her eyes staring daggers at him. ‘You’ve been toying with me. This whole day has been one long game of lies and deception. You’re not Matt at all. You’re nothing but a common murderer, trying to cover up your crime with this ridiculous story about…’
‘I am. I am Matt. Just get me to the station and I’ll prove it. I am your informant.’
Giles bit her bottom lip and smiled. To catch one person out with this trick today had been a pleasure, but to do it twice had been nothing short of a thrill. Slowly she leaned forward, beaming at the former politician.
‘My informant called himself Max, not Matt.’
She reached forward and grabbed hold of the phone and held it up to show Barker. He’d forgotten about the recording – Giles was almost certain of it. As she brought the phone back towards her, she watched as Barker feebly reached out to snatch it back, but failed to even raise his hands thanks to the debilitating tremors that took hold of his arm. Giles flashed him a satisfied smile.
‘I’m afraid the escape ends here, Mr Barker,’ she said clearly and deliberately, before bringing the phone up to her lips and stating:
‘Interview terminated.’
It all happened so quickly.
Giles glanced over Barker’s shoulder and made eye contact with the man she’d recognised. She gave a firm nod and, before Barker could turn to see what was happening, five armed police officers swarmed around them, appearing from various side paths on all sides – their guns all pointing at Barker.
Barker leapt back from the wall, his eyes wide with confusion as his body readied to flee, but it was all too late. As his eyes flashed around at the weapons pointed at his chest, he didn’t even have the courage to pluck the gun out of his own pocket. He simply stared around, wide-eyed and confused as they bellowed instructions at him.
‘Put your hands in the air,’ the nearest officer yelled, moving a few feet closer to him. ‘Hands in the air, now.’
Barker obliged without a second of thought, darting his hands as high into the air as he could.
‘Down on the ground,’ the officer ordered. ‘Down. Now.’
Giles stepped forward. ‘He has a gun.’
‘Down on the ground now,’ the officer bellowed with more urgency. ‘Fingers behind your head.’
Barker did what he was told.
‘Do not move.’
The officer moved quickly, stepping alongside Barker with his gun still pointed at the politician’s chest. Swiftly, he bent down and patted Barker’s coat until he found the weapon, which he quickly retrieved before taking a few steps back again.
In a moment, Barker found his arms thrust behind his back as two officers leapt on to him. He barely had time to struggle before the handcuffs were tightened around his wrists and he was hurled back to his feet once again.
Giles watched as the lead officer made the gun safe and held it out to detective in charge. Producing an evidence bag, Harris stepped forward and allows the officer to drop the gun inside before sealing it with a triumphant flourish. He stared down at the weapon for a few moments before he finally turned his attention to Giles.
‘Well, if there was ever any doubt about Edenbridge, Mr Barker,’ he said triumphantly. ‘I’m sure we won’t have any problems linking this to the bullet that killed Alison Carew.’
He passed the gun back to the officer and read Barker his rights. The politician remained resolutely calm and quiet throughout, his eyes staring straight at Giles as Harris spoke. It was only as when Harris stepped back and Giles handed him her phone that Barker made any attempt to struggle vice-like grip of the officers.
‘His full confession is on here,’ Giles explained, allowing Harris to take the phone off her. ‘There is some information on there that I would quite like access to if it wouldn’t be too much trouble?’
‘I’ll have copies forwarded to your department,’ Harris replied, pocketing the device with a smile. ‘Thank you DS Giles.’
Giles smiled and looked back to Barker. In that moment, his eyes told her everything she needed to know. She read in them the dawning realisation that it was no coincidence that Harris had found them here. Little by little, Barker was beginning to realise that – for all his fumbled attempts at deceit and mystery – he had been masterly played by the Asian detective.
‘You bitch,’ he snarled as the officers held him firm. His face was bright red with anger and the veins in his neck and forehead protruded so far that they seemed as they might burst out his skin altogether. ‘You conniving bitch. This is entrapment…’
Giles stepped forward, placing one hand on Barker’s shoulder.
‘Come now, Mr Barker. You engaged in this interview perfectly willingly and aware of the presence of the recording device. It would take a really thick jury to be convinced that you didn’t know what you were saying…’
The blood drained from his face.
‘You said you’d help me…’
Giles shook her head.
‘You didn’t really think I’d put my career in jeopardy just for the sake of a man like you, did you? Besides, I don’t think anyone will question me too thoroughly when they learn you had me at gunpoint…’ She stepped a little close to him, enjoying the look of pure shock that fluttered across his face, and whispered: ‘You disgust me.’
Whatever anger had been in Barker’s heart now turned back to fear. His lips quivered and his legs began to buckle and give way beneath him, prompting his escort to lower him slowly down to the ground where he cried out in anguish.
‘You have as good as killed me, Detective Giles. Do you know that?’
Giles took a few steps away and stared down at the pathetic man cowering on the floor. There was no sympathy in her mind, only justice. No remorse, only pride.
‘For the sake of your victims, Mr Barker, I hope you’re right.’
The Bluebell Informant Page 27