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‘I don’t know. Several.’ An amateur, Sean reminded himself. ‘Then he picked him off the ground and literally dragged him to the white van and bundled him in the back. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Anyway, I grabbed the phone,’ she pointed to the one next to her bed, ‘and phoned the police. By the time someone answered he, the man with the ski-mask over his face, was still at the back of his van. He was there for quite a while actually, and then while I was talking to the police on the phone he closed the doors, ran around to the driver’s side, got in, started the van and drove away as calm as you like.’
‘Could you see what he was doing at the back of the van?’
‘No. Sorry. I was at the wrong angle to see.’
‘But he was there for a while?’
‘Yes.’
What the hell were you doing, my friend? You abduct a man from a London street in broad daylight. Then you mess around at the back of your van for several minutes. Why would you do that? Why take the risk?
‘Did he restrain him at all?’ Sean asked. ‘Tie him up or use handcuffs – anything like that?’
‘No. He just hit him over the head and dragged him to the van.’
A fully grown man, unrestrained in the back of a van, could make a hell of a noise. Did you really risk driving across London with him thrashing around? I don’t think so. So is that what you were doing at the back of the van – restraining him, or drugging him? He had a flash back to the Thomas Keller case – a rapist and murder who used chloroform to overpower his victims. You must have been. You must have been. This was all so carefully planned – victim selection and research, the room you prepared for his murder – you would have planned how to restrain them too – you must have.
‘You all right, Inspector?’ Angela Haitink’s voice brought him back.
‘What?’ He remembered she was there. ‘Yeah. Fine. I was just thinking something through.’ He quickly re-gathered his thoughts. ‘And then he just calmly drove away?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘At speed, engine revving, tyres squealing?’
‘No. Nothing. Just pulled out and drove away. I gave the police the number plate. Can’t you find him from that?’
‘Maybe. If we get lucky. But he planned everything else, so my guess is it’s unlikely he used his own van. Probably used a stolen one or one with false plates. We’re looking into it. Thanks for your time, Mrs Haitink.’
‘Is that it?’ she asked.
‘We’ll be in touch,’ he told her and headed for the bedroom door. ‘We’ll need a full written statement in due course. I’ll send one of my team around at a time that suits you.’
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t have been more help.’
‘You’ve helped plenty,’ he reassured her. ‘In fact, more than you probably realize.’
3 (#ulink_bf1bc7bb-ffdf-5cb3-ba6f-a748a86f6f39)
Geoff Jackson stood in front of the huge whiteboard and surveyed the collection of seasoned crime correspondents gathered in the conference room laughing and joking with each other, half nursing unlit cigarettes. Unbeknown to them, Jackson was already considering their individual talents and assigning them tasks. He’d virtually grown up in the business, getting a first-class degree in Journalism Studies, then straight to work for a local paper in Swanley, Kent, before rising quickly through the ranks to become the crime editor of the most-read newspaper in Britain.
Jackson was good. Really good. He knew many of his colleagues on the broadsheets looked down on him working for a red-top rag, but he didn’t give a damn. He could take their jobs any time he wanted, but they’d never be able to take his. He had an almost predatory instinct for a story and let nothing stand in the way of getting it. How he got it – that was his business. The public just wanted the story, with all the unpleasant details, and he was the man to get it for them.
‘All right, you lot,’ he bellowed across the room. ‘Everyone shut the fuck up and listen.’ The room fell almost instantly quiet and serious. ‘Do any of you pricks know why we’re here?’
‘To get the smoking ban lifted,’ someone called out, causing calls of approval and much laughter.
‘Very fucking funny,’ Jackson told the comedian. ‘You’ve just volunteered to be the official tea boy.’ More laughter until Jackson killed it, turning and writing on the board in letters almost big enough to fill it:
THE YOUR VIEW KILLER
‘Drop your other stories,’ he told them. ‘From now on this is the only story. I want to look into the victim’s background. I want to know everything about him. How rich was he? How did he live? Did he have any secrets, or vices? Was he liked, or disliked? Everything. And let’s find out what the public are thinking. Do they agree with what the killer’s doing, or do they think he’s just another sicko? Let’s speak to them and find out and get an online poll going so people can tell us if they’re for him or against him. And get hold of your sources and see if any of them know anything. Someone must have heard something on the criminal grapevine, so find out what. I’ll email you all your assignments within the next hour, so let’s get on with it.’
‘You reckon he’ll kill again, then?’ one of the journos asked.
‘I bloody hope so,’ Jackson answered deadpan, causing muted laughter amongst his audience. ‘Not much of a story if he doesn’t, is it?’ He looked away from them, checking his iPhone for messages. The journos took their cue and started to file out of the room, leaving Jackson alone to think.
He was happy enough with the meeting, but knew he needed more. The Your View Killer was gold dust, but he still needed to make it different – the public were growing immune to press coverage of protracted cases, preferring to get quick updates from the Internet or the multitude of twenty-four-hour news shows on television. He needed something – something no one else had. He pulled up a chair and sat staring out of the window, waiting for that magical moment when an undeniably brilliant idea popped into his head. He didn’t have to wait long. A smile spread across his face at the sheer audacity of the idea and he jumped out of his chair in celebration.
‘Yes. Fucking yes.’ He pumped his fists in front of him. ‘Interview the bastard. Just him and me. Sensational, Geoff my old son – fucking sensational, but how? How am I gonna get one on one with this joker?’
And even if I do, how am I going to keep the police off my back?
Sean and Donnelly arrived back at the Yard and headed towards their offices, but Sean froze in his tracks when he saw Anna sitting in his. Featherstone had warned him she’d be attached to the investigation, but the sight of her so close still made his stomach tighten and his head feel suddenly cloudy, if only for a few seconds.
‘You all right?’ Donnelly asked. ‘Look like you’ve just been made Addis’s new bag carrier.’ He followed Sean’s eyeline until he saw Anna. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Well, you did tell me she was going to be with us again.’
‘I know,’ Sean answered, still looking decidedly uncomfortable.
‘Jesus,’ Donnelly told him. ‘She’s not that bad.’
‘No,’ Sean agreed. ‘No she’s not.’
‘Aye, aye,’ Donnelly teased. ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’
Sean watched Donnelly head toward his office and Sally, before following suit and walking the short distance to his own. Anna still hadn’t seen him when he reached the office door.
‘Hello,’ was all he could think of to say, but at least it made her look up from her file.
‘Sean,’ she smiled. ‘Not too much of a shock seeing me here I hope?’
‘No. Superintendent Featherstone told me you’d be with us. It’s good to see you again.’
‘Thank you, although I sense a but in there somewhere.’
‘No. Not really. Just I’m not sure this particular case warrants your input. Your expertise.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning I don’t see a psychiatric angle here – not particularly, anyway.’
‘You have an offender who’s killed someone live on the Internet. I would have thought a psychiatric evaluation would be just what you needed.’
‘This one’s no Thomas Keller, Anna – no tortured childhood and history of abuse. He’s pissed off and he wants revenge. Nice, straightforward, old-fashioned motivation.’
‘That simple?’
‘Why not?’
‘Because he shares his revenge with the world. How does that fit into his motivation?’
‘Because,’ Sean tried to explain, ‘he sees the majority of the public as fellow victims – victims of the system that he believes protects the rich and powerful – no matter what they do. He wants to be their … spiritual leader.’
She looked him up and down before continuing. ‘You may well be right, but it’s a little soon to be settling on one theory and one theory alone – don’t you think?’
‘I’m not settling on anything,’ he told her, sounding frustrated. ‘I’m just leaning towards what the evidence supports.’
‘Of course,’ she agreed, ‘and I hear you found the victim’s body in the Thames.’
‘Correct.’
‘So he took the time and effort to remove the body from the scene – meaning he may well offend again.’
‘Really? I hadn’t considered that yet,’ he lied.
‘Yes you have. You know this isn’t going to be his only crime, so why don’t you just tell me why you don’t want me involved in the investigation?’
He studied her for a few seconds, trying to give himself some thinking time so that the next thing out of his mouth wouldn’t be harmful and wounding to them both. Finally he held up his hands and allowed himself a slight smile. ‘You know what, I’m sorry,’ he told her and meant it. ‘It is good to see you again. I’m sure we’ll catch this one quicker with you than without you.’
‘It’s good to see you too.’ She took the olive branch.
He pushed himself away from her and walked quickly from his office and into Sally and Donnelly’s.
‘Time to brief the team,’ he told them. ‘Care to join me?’ He turned without waiting for the answer and headed to the whiteboard that had a smiling photograph of Paul Elkins attached to it, with some details and notes scribbled all around it. As soon as Sally and Donnelly entered the main office he began.
‘All right everybody, listen up,’ he called across the room. Within a few seconds everyone had stopped talking or typing – calls put on hold or phones hung up. ‘You’ve all seen the murder that was shown live on Your View some time yesterday evening and by now you all know it was genuine – not some staged publicity stunt or sick joke. We recovered the victim’s body from the Thames earlier today. We haven’t had the body officially identified yet, but I’ve seen it and can tell you it’s the body of Paul Elkins.’ Nobody argued.
‘What we know so far is the victim was wealthy. Very wealthy. He worked for a bank in the City and lived in Chelsea, with his wife and two kids. He was abducted by a solitary male late yesterday afternoon – in broad daylight from his own street as he made his way home. He was bundled into a white panel van and driven away. Two witnesses saw the abduction and one provided a registration number.’
‘I’ve got an update on the vehicle,’ Sally interrupted.
‘Go on,’ Sean told her.
‘It’s been checked out by the local CID who cover the address of the registered keeper. Turns out it belongs to a painter and decorator in Guildford who reported having his number plates nicked a couple of weeks ago. The locals say it checks out. Dead end, I’m afraid.’
‘Not quite,’ Sean explained. ‘Put out a national circulation – anyone reports having their number plates nicked off their van we want to know about it immediately.’
‘No problem,’ Sally agreed.
‘Some time later the victim pops up on Your View, with our masked killer who gives anyone who cares to listen a lecture on the wrongs of being overly wealthy and in particular gives it to the bankers and the banking system. He encourages people to vote online as to whether they think Elkins is guilty of greed, corruption, God knows what. The vote goes against Elkins and he’s murdered – we all know how. So … ideas.’
‘Check with his company and wife to see if he had any death threats or other threats. Emails, letters, phone calls,’ Sally suggested.
‘Yeah. Good,’ Sean agreed. ‘Anything else?’
‘Check if anyone’s been seen acting suspiciously outside his home or work,’ DC Alan Jesson offered. ‘Maybe there’s a record of someone causing trouble or some other incidents.’
‘Fine,’ Sean told him. ‘Check it out.’
‘Check the rope around the victim’s neck,’ DC Maggie O’Neil joined in. ‘It might be a rare type.’
‘Unfortunately the killer didn’t leave us the rope,’ Sean told her. ‘He removed it from the body before he dumped it, but I’ll have Dr Canning check the marks around the victim’s neck anyway. He may be able to recreate the rope’s pattern and then yes, we might be able to tell if it’s exotic. Anything else?’ he asked the room.
‘Search the area where the body was found for the scene – this white room he used for the killing,’ DC Ashley Goodwin added.
‘Could be anywhere,’ Sean dismissed it. ‘We don’t have anything specific enough to target an area, but we can circulate a request Met-wide asking everyone to keep their eyes open. Get that out to surrounding forces too, will you, Ash? I don’t think he went outside the southeast.’ Goodwin nodded.
‘This white room,’ DC Fiona Cahill interrupted, ‘looks pretty unusual. If he’d prepared it in advance someone else might have seen it – a builder, a caretaker. Maybe it’s been seen by someone and the suspect doesn’t even know.’
‘Worth a chance,’ Sean agreed. ‘Get that out to the media as an appeal for assistance. Anyone thinks they might have seen anything like it to get in touch. Anyone else got anything?’ The room was silent, the detectives looking at one another, but no one spoke. ‘All right,’ Sean told them. ‘Dave, find me someone who’s a bit of a whizz with computers and the Internet and all that stuff. We’re gonna need a bit of help with this one.’
‘Where from?’ Donnelly asked.
‘I don’t care,’ Sean told him. ‘Anywhere. Try the Cyber Crime Unit. They must have someone they can spare.’
‘If we look outside the Met I might be able to find you a real expert,’ Donnelly argued.
‘And wipe out our unit’s budget for the entire year?’ Sean complained, ‘I don’t think so. Let’s make do with someone who’s homegrown and knows what they’re doing and keep a little money for a rainy day.’
‘Fair enough,’ Donnelly agreed.
‘And we’re going to need to monitor Your View around the clock,’ Sean continued. ‘Dave, you sort out a shift pattern so someone’s always got it covered.’ Donnelly nodded he understood. ‘OK, that’s it for now,’ but the meeting didn’t disperse as quickly as he expected, telling him something was wrong. ‘Problem?’ he asked them as a group.
‘This could be a complicated investigation,’ Donnelly spoke for them.
‘So?’ Sean queried.
‘So how’re we supposed to investigate it properly when Douglas Allen’s trial’s about to kick off at the Bailey?’
‘Don’t hang around at court,’ Sean told them. ‘Keep your mobiles on and the CPS will call you when and if you’re needed to give evidence. Go to court – give your evidence and get back here.’
‘They’ll want us there,’ Donnelly reminded him, ‘for the exhibits alone.’
‘We’ll manage,’ Sean insisted, holding his hands up, palms out, to let everyone know it wasn’t up for further discussion. ‘We don’t have any other choice but to manage, so let’s get on with it.’ There were a few moans and groans as the meeting finally broke up, but Sean knew they’d be fine. They just needed to become immersed in the new investigation – move on from the last case. It would do them all good to have Douglas Allen out of their heads. He just wished he could get Anna out of his.
Assistant Commissioner Addis stood looking out of his office window on the top floor of New Scotland Yard, over the vast city he had ambitions to be the next Commissioner of – so long as he could outmanoeuvre his rivals. They had their high-profile marches to police, getting their faces all over the TV news, but he had Special Investigations, ensuring he’d be overseeing every prominent murder, abduction or anything else he deemed fit to assign Corrigan and his team. So long as he kept a tight control over media access to information and press conferences, the TV and paperboys would have to come begging to him or miss out on the story. If they kept him nicely in the eye of the public and politicians, he’d keep them up to speed on the hunt for the Your View Killer.
He just needed Corrigan to do what he seemed able to do better than anyone else and get a quick result without blowing up and turning his trump card into a liability. That was why he wanted to keep a close watch on things – a tight rein. He was pleased with himself for integrating Anna into the team, but would she remember where her loyalties lay? And would Corrigan’s team become suspicious of her and start feeding her misinformation? He knew detectives could be a cunning lot – suspicious and instinctive. Anna would be no match for them if they sensed she was there for any other reason than to observe and advise. Maybe it was time he had someone even closer to Corrigan on the unit – someone who was already in place and trusted. Maybe only another detective could be completely relied on to provide him with what he needed.
The landline phone ringing on his desk broke into his thoughts and he turned and strode across the office, grabbing the phone as he sat in his large leather chair, back straight, head high.
‘Assistant Commissioner Addis speaking.’
‘Assistant Commissioner,’ the voice began. ‘My name is Nick Poole – I’m the CEO of Your View.’ Addis’s eyebrows arched high on his brow.
‘And what can I do for you, Mr Poole?’
‘Well, as you’re no doubt aware, in the light of our site being used by what I can only describe as a sick and evil individual, we gave a lot of consideration to temporarily closing it down.’
