The Blow Out

by Bill Rogers

  ‘If I remember right,’ she said, ‘the last time we were here, they were attached to a laptop and a printer.’

  ‘A MacBook Pro,’ said Jo, ‘and an HP printer, copier, scanner.’ She pointed to the multidrawer filing cabinet. ‘See if you can find anything in there or anywhere else that might link him to the Nissan. Maybe an insurance certificate, or a fraudulently acquired driver’s licence in Jordan Springer’s name.’

  She climbed back down the ladder and went into the master bedroom where she found Nick Carter lying flat on the floor, peering under the bed.

  ‘Anything?’ she asked.

  Taken by surprise, he banged his head on the bedframe, swore, and emerged rubbing the back of his scalp vigorously. ‘Not a dicky bird,’ he moaned. ‘Not even a porn magazine.’

  Jo was staring at the bedside table. ‘Any sign of a Kindle?’ she said. ‘It had a red cover on it.’

  He followed her gaze. ‘No. I’ve finished in here, except for under the mattress.’

  Together they raised one side of the mattress and then the other. ‘That’s it then,’ she said. ‘He’s taken everything.’

  Nick had left the wardrobe doors open. She went over and studied the contents.

  ‘There were definitely more clothes in here,’ she said. ‘There’s a black leather jacket missing and at least two pairs of jeans.’ She started opening the shoeboxes. ‘I can’t be certain,’ she said, ‘but I think there’s a pair of walking boots and at least one pair of sneakers missing.’

  ‘Ma’am?’ The senior CSI officer was standing in the doorway. ‘We’re ready when you are, Ma’am,’ he said.

  Jo stood up, holding a shoe. ‘We’re done here,’ she told the CSI. ‘Photograph everything and then take this place apart. You know what you’re looking for.’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am.’ He disappeared onto the landing.

  ‘I doubt they’re going to find it though,’ said Nick.

  She threw the shoe at him. He caught it and lobbed it back. ‘Misery guts!’ she said.

  ‘You know I’m right,’ he told her.

  ‘Course I do.’ She dropped the shoe on top of the boxes. ‘Only you’re here to raise my spirits, Nick, not dampen them. Can you try to remember that?’

  They reconvened back at the car. The loggist was still with them, recording every decision.

  Jo was briefing the search team leader. ‘Make sure the officers working the door-to-doors understand we need every bit of CCTV data that any of these other houses might have. That includes dashcams. And when they’re taking witness statements, make sure they ask if Clements has been seen driving, or getting into, any vehicle at all. If so, I want the make, colour, time, and description of any other occupants. There’s no way he could have left here with his laptop, printer, shoes, clothes, and whatever else he may have needed, on a bicycle.’

  He listened patiently, his expression suggesting that he’d already briefed them to do exactly that, but his voice demonstrated that he understood that she was under pressure to be seen to be in charge. That the written log was a way of doing that.

  ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ he replied. ‘I’ll see to it right now.’

  They watched him walk briskly away.

  ‘What now?’ said Carter.

  Jo suddenly thumped the steering wheel. The others stared at her. ‘I’ve been so desperate to find him,’ she said, ‘that I’ve taken my eye off the ball.’

  ‘How d’you mean?’ said Carter, watching out of the corner of his eye as the loggist scribbled away in the back seat.

  ‘If,’ she explained, ‘he’s been systematically working through a list of people he blames – either directly or indirectly – for his sister’s death, then we have to assume there are other names on that list. We’ve just spooked him. What if he decides he has to speed up his crazy mission before we can stop him?’

  ‘In that case he’s more likely to make mistakes,’ Nick pointed out. ‘The less time he has to plan, the more visible he’s going to be.’

  ‘Tell that to his next victim,’ said Jo. ‘We have to work out who the rest of his targets might be and warn them. Their lives depend on it.’

  Chapter 63

  ‘Well?’ said Jo.

  As Andy Swift raised his head, the image on the screen blurred and then came back into focus. ‘From what you’ve told me,’ he said, ‘both scenarios are still valid.’

  Jo nodded impatiently. ‘The slow-burn revenge killer and the professional hitman,’ she said.

  ‘But only because you have no evidence relating to Darren Clements other than the hypothesis that he stole a former acquaintance’s identity in order to be able to purchase a car that has subsequently been spotted in the vicinity of two crime scenes.’

  ‘There is also the fact that he has a clear motive,’ she protested. ‘And no one to verify his whereabouts at the times in question. And now he’s left the house, sanitised it, and removed everything that might have incriminated him.’

  ‘All grounds for reasonable suspicion,’ he said, ‘but a long way from evidential.’

  He was infuriating when he was playing devil’s advocate. She knew why he was doing it. He didn’t want her to close her mind to other possibilities. To go racing down a track that turned out to be a dead end.

  ‘I get that, Andy,’ she said. ‘You’ve made your point. Can we please move on to your professional opinion on what he’s likely to do next?’

  He leaned his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. ‘All the indications are that he’s fled his home?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘To what end?’

  ‘Come on, Andy,’ she said. ‘Help me, please. I’m doing all the work here?’

  His smile was irritatingly paternal. ‘Just answer the question, Jo,’ he said.

  ‘To evade capture, or to complete his mission.’

  ‘Precisely. Now, if he had already completed his “mission”, as you call it, then experience of such killers leads me to believe that he would either have waited for you to come and get him or taken his own life.’

  ‘So he definitely has other targets out there? More people he needs to kill.’

  ‘Good choice of words,’ he said. ‘He needs to kill them.’

  ‘And now that he knows we suspect him, how will that affect his behaviour?’

  ‘Does he know? Or does he just suspect that you’re looking for him?’

  ‘If he didn’t before, he will very soon. There’s an APW out on him, and the fourth floor are insisting that we release his photo and description to the media.’

  ‘Ah.’ Andy removed his glasses and began to clean them. He put them back on and adjusted them. ‘In that case he’ll be even more desperate to complete what he sees as his mission. Nothing will be allowed to stand in his way. That makes him incredibly unpredictable as well as even more dangerous.’

  ‘If he’s cornered, will it be possible to negotiate with him?’

  ‘That depends on whether or not he’s completed his mission. If he has, then yes. If not, then I very much doubt it. He’ll see himself as a failure. I think it likely that he would attempt suicide.’

  ‘Not easy with a .177 air rifle,’ observed Jo. ‘Even if it is firing pellets laced with ricin.’

  ‘In which case, you could be looking at a jumper, or suicide by cop. Either way, not very pleasant.’

  ‘I’ve had my fill of both,’ she said. ‘Every time, I was the one left feeling like a failure.’

  ‘Sorry I couldn’t be more help, Jo.’

  ‘You have been – if only by confirming what I suspected.’

  ‘Good luck,’ he said. ‘And be careful. You’re the face of this investigation. The closer you get to him the more he’ll see you as an obstacle. Remember that.’ He sat back. His face receded from the screen. The video link ended.

  Jo stood up and went out into the body of the incident room. The energy in the place was electric. Knowing that they finally had a prime suspect and that more lives were at risk had
a way of focusing minds. Eyes fixed on screens, fingers scurrying across keyboards. Nobody looked up as she walked between the desks. Nick Carter, his back towards her, was deep in conversation with Ged, the office manager.

  ‘Anything?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ he said. ‘He’s still off the radar, but we’ve just this second identified two potential targets.’ He seemed less excited than she might have expected.

  ‘Who are they?’ she said.

  ‘One of them’s a CPS officer I’ve come across a few times. Henry Mwamba.’

  ‘What’s his connection to Clements?’

  ‘He was the officer who made the decision that no final action should be taken regarding the death of his sister.’

  ‘After the inquest or before?’

  ‘The father appealed to the Senior Investigating Officer, claiming the inquest didn’t have to be the final word. When she told him that the case was closed he went straight to the CPS.’

  ‘How did he know who to approach?’

  ‘Mwamba gave evidence at the inquest.’

  ‘And the SIO?’

  His expression was grave. It was as though he was reluctant to tell her.

  ‘Just tell me,’ she said.

  ‘It was Sarah. Sarah Weston.’

  Jo’s heart fluttered. Throughout the time that she’d been part of Caton’s team, Sarah had been a mentor and a friend, despite the difference in rank.

  ‘Do we know where she is?’ she asked. ‘The last I remember she was with Child Exploitation and Online Protection.’

  ‘I lost touch,’ he said. ‘But you shouldn’t have any problem finding out. Didn’t CEOP become part of the National Crime Agency?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘CEOP Command. Bugger! That means Vauxhall Bridge Road. I’m not going all the way down to London. Not at this stage in the investigation.’

  ‘Why not just give her a ring?’

  ‘Because this is something that needs doing face to face.’

  ‘That’s what you’ve got video links for,’ he reminded her.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’ll get straight on to it. You find out where Mwamba is and go and see him. Take him an Osman warning. Tell him to be careful and if anything does happen, to ring us direct and get to Manchester Royal Infirmary ASAP.’

  ‘Will do,’ he replied. ‘Incidentally, you know you mentioned about a vaccine, and the guy at Porton Down waving Highly Classified at you?’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Well, DC Hulme decided to do an online search, and guess what?’

  ‘I haven’t time for guessing games,’ she told him.

  ‘He’s discovered it’s commercially available.’

  ‘In which case let’s hear what he has to say before we talk to Sarah and Mwamba. Where is he?’

  Hulme saw them coming and stood up.

  ‘You can sit down,’ said Jo. ‘What’s this about a commercially available vaccine?’

  He looked uncomfortable. ‘I didn’t actually say it was available,’ he said. ‘Only that it exists and has been registered by a drug firm.’

  ‘The distinction being?’

  He shrugged. ‘It’s an Orphan Drug.’

  Jo was becoming increasingly impatient. ‘Meaning?’

  ‘It’s the status the US gives to drugs deemed to be safe, effective, and important, but which aren’t likely to affect many people and therefore aren’t likely to be commercially profitable.’

  ‘I get that,’ she said. ‘But what I want to know is that if it’s a US drug and not commercially available, how the hell do we get our hands on it?’

  ‘As I understand it,’ he said, ‘it was developed by one of their universities and they’re continuing to refine it with this drug company and a number of undisclosed bodies around the world. You can bet that Porton Down is one of them.’

  ‘Which would explain,’ said Nick Carter, ‘why your guy was so cagey about it. He’d have to get permission from the Yanks to make some available. And I bet it’ll cost a fortune. ACC Gates won’t like the sound of that.’

  ‘What are two lives worth?’ said Jo. ‘Well done, DC Hulme. Carry on.’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am.’ He looked more relieved than pleased. They moved away from the desk.

  ‘You’ll need approval from a Superintendent or above,’ said Nick, ‘for the Osman.’

  ‘I’m well aware of that,’ she said. ‘I’ll get Ged to prepare the paperwork while I’m trying the Duty Super. If he’s not available, I’ll have to speak with ACC Gates. But we know they’ll both agree. We’re talking a credible, real, and immediate threat to life. If you haven’t got the letter within fifteen minutes, I want you to warn him anyway. I’ll handle any flak.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to talk to Porton Down?’ asked Nick.

  ‘As soon as we’ve spoken to Sarah and Mwamba. Let me know when you’re done.’

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’m on it.’

  Jo wasn’t big on praying, but this time they had a good idea of who the next victims might be. She knew that she’d never forgive herself if Clements got to them first.

  Chapter 64

  ‘I’m sorry, Ma’am, but she’s not here right now.’

  It had taken Jo five minutes to get through the security checks and finally be put through to CEOP Command. It would have been much quicker, she realised, if she’d been a member of the public, reporting online abuse.

  ‘Can you tell me exactly where she is and give me a contact number, please?’

  ‘Is it urgent?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s a matter of life and death!’ She realised that she’d raised her voice and must sound pretty threatening herself. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘But I’m serious. I have to speak with her.’

  ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘She’s actually in your neck of the woods, doing some CEOP Ambassador training in Stockport. I only have her phone number. We’re not supposed to give it out.’ He heard her sharp intake of breath and hurried on. ‘But under the circumstances . . .’

  Jo wrote it down, thanked him, and grabbed her car keys.

  Seventeen minutes later she was shown into a small office in a health centre on the outskirts of Stockport. No sooner had the door closed than it opened again. In walked Sarah Weston. Four years older, but hardly changed. She was still the cool, glamorous woman who looked more like a business executive than a police officer.

  ‘Jo,’ she said, ‘it’s good to see you again. But what’s this all about and why the urgency?’

  ‘You’d better sit down,’ said Jo. She waited until Sarah was seated and then handed her the letter.

  ‘Now you’re freaking me out,’ said Sarah.

  She read the one side of A4 and looked up. Jo thought her remarkably calm.

  ‘I’m used to writing these out in my present role,’ Sarah said, ‘but I’ve never been on the receiving end before. How good is your intelligence?’

  ‘You’ve not been following the news, have you?’ said Jo.

  Sarah shook her head. ‘I’ve been in Brussels all week at an international symposium on child protection. What news are we talking about?’ Before Jo had time to reply, Sarah’s pupils dilated. ‘The madman with the ricin pellets!’ she exclaimed. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Deadly,’ said Jo. ‘We have a prime suspect, whereabouts unknown, with a connection to you and a clear motive.’

  Sarah let the letter drop onto the seat beside her and sat back. ‘You’d better tell me all about it,’ she said.

  When Jo had finished, Sarah actually smiled. ‘So as long as I stay away from golf courses and parks,’ she said, ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘You really need to take this seriously, Sarah,’ said Jo. ‘Now that he knows we’re looking for him it’s likely that he’ll want to kill everyone on his list before we catch up with him. He’ll take risks he’s never taken before. He may even change his modus operandi.’

  ‘I can see that,’ said Sarah. ‘More so if he hears that at least one of
his victims has survived. What surprises me is that you’re sure that it’s him. The son. I could have understood if it was the father. He was seriously out of control.’ She shook her head. ‘Grief and an overwhelming sense of injustice makes for a volatile combination.’

  ‘That’s what his latest victim said. Heather Rand.’

  Sarah sighed and nodded. ‘The Coroner. She made the right call. We all did.’

  ‘Unfortunately, that’s not how Darren Clements sees it.’

  ‘So how do you propose that I keep myself safe? I can’t just put my life on hold and I don’t suppose you’re going to give me close protection?’

  ‘I would if it was up to me.’

  ‘But it isn’t?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t worry. It’s the same with us. We hand out these notifications of threat to life like confetti, but unless we happen to know the exact time and place that the perpetrator is going to strike, there’s nothing we can do – strike that – there’s nothing we’re allowed to do, beyond telling them to stay away from their abuser and keep their heads down.’

  She looked Jo straight in the eyes. ‘Is that what you’re going to tell me?’

  ‘I think I can do better than that,’ said Jo. ‘But you’ve got more years in than me, so it’ll feel like being told how to suck eggs.’

  ‘Don’t let that stop you.’

  ‘Very well. For a start, I suggest you don’t go home while you’re up here.’

  ‘Home is London now. We’ve separated.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. I’m not. I married for all the wrong reasons and it’s come back to bite me. I’m booked on the 20.17 train to Euston.’ She smiled grimly. ‘I’ll be perfectly safe. I’m in First Class. They’ll never allow anyone in there carrying an air rifle.’

  ‘Secondly, don’t assume that he hasn’t found out where you live and where you work. Is there anywhere else that you can stay until we sort this?’

  ‘Are we talking about the same person? Darren Clements? Mouse of a boy?’

  Jo wasn’t sure if it was denial or false bravado. But this wasn’t the Sarah Weston she knew. ‘A mouse on a mission,’ she said. ‘With a gun and poison pellets. It’s a terrible way to die, believe me.’