A Tapping at My Door: A Gripping Serial Killer Thriller (The DS Nathan Cody Series) (21 page)

Her words chill the room. The men and women here don’t want to contemplate the thought that more of their number may yet die.

‘It suggests, though,’ says Cody, ‘that the mutilation isn’t a vital part of the ritual. He’s more interested in the killing itself. At least now he is.’

Blunt raises a quizzical eyebrow. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The first two killings got his message across. He doesn’t need to worry so much about that now. It frees him up to just get on with the murder.’

‘His message being?’

‘That this is the work of the birds. In the first two cases the symbolism was that the birds had pecked out the eyes and removed Garnett’s nose. I know that didn’t actually happen, but that was what he wanted us to see. Job done. As stupid as he probably thinks we are, he’ll know we understand that much. He doesn’t need to keep pressing that message home. Given a choice between a successful kill and spending time saying the same frigging thing again and again, he goes for the kill and gets the hell out of there. What
is
important, though, is the bird itself. Even for Whitland’s murder he made sure that a dead bird was prepared and left at the scene. If this guy intends to kill again, I’d bet another bird is involved. The question is why?’

Blunt nods thoughtfully. ‘All right, let’s discuss the bird. Apparently this one was a goldfinch. It’s a pretty common songbird. Much smaller and more colourful than the raven and the blackbird. Like the others, though, it had a note attached to its leg.’

Cody didn’t attend the crime scene. This is the first he’s heard about the latest note.

Blunt picks up a manila folder and opens it. ‘The note says, “The sedge has withered from the lake.”’

‘“And no birds sing,”’ Cody continues. ‘Keats. “La Belle Dame sans Merci”.’

Blunt looks surprised. ‘You
are
well read, Cody. I had to consult my friend Google.’

Cody says nothing. He feels a bit like the class swot. He’s half expecting to get a Chinese burn at break-time.

‘Okay,’ says Blunt. ‘We go from Edgar Allan Poe to a nursery rhyme to John Keats. All poetry of one form or another, and all involving birds. What else links them?’

Webley speaks now. ‘That last one. It’s a bit . . . well, sad, don’t you think? You said yourself – this was a goldfinch. A songbird. And now no birds are singing. It’s . . . I dunno, I just think maybe the killer is saying he’s really sad about something.’

‘It’s a good point,’ Cody adds. ‘This might be his way of getting his feelings across. There’s something he’s upset about. It makes him sad, but it also makes him angry. It could be said that the second message was about revenge. A load of blackbirds get baked in a pie, so another one attacks the maid.’

‘Yeah,’ says Webley, enthused by Cody’s support. ‘And in the first message, he’s saying it’s never going to happen again to him. Whatever it was, he’s putting a stop to it.’

Says Blunt, ‘But why do it with birds? Why not just leave a note on the bodies? If he’s got an issue, why doesn’t he just come right out and say it?’

‘Because he’s nuts,’ says Ferguson. ‘I’m serious. I mean, he’s got to be insane to be killing police like this in the first place. The birds are just more confirmation that he’s got a screw loose.’

Blunt shakes her head. ‘No, there’s more to it than that. For some reason, the birds have a profound meaning for whoever’s doing this. They’re not the easiest creatures to catch. He’s gone to too much trouble for them just to be something to tie notes to.’

‘Crazy people can be obsessed about things nobody else gives a damn about. Who knows what’s going on in his mind? For all we know, these birds might be his friends. He might think they’re tiny little assassins, going off to kill the nasty coppers who once gave him a speeding fine. We’ll never really know until we get hold of him, and even then it probably won’t make any sense to us.’

‘For all our sakes,’ says Blunt, ‘I hope it’s not as meaningless as that. It’s going to be hard enough catching him if he’s following a rational pattern. If it’s a totally deranged mind behind these killings, there’s little point in us even sitting here and talking about it. We’d have to rely on getting a break with forensics, or on him making a mistake, and right now neither of those looks on the cards.’

She pauses. ‘You’re right about one thing, though. This is very much an anti-police crusade. Somebody hated these three officers with a vengeance. Let’s hope it’s only three, and these three in particular, rather than just the tip of an iceberg designed to sink the whole ship. Cody, anything promising in that regard?’

Cody doesn’t want to sound too negative. Like Blunt, he is hoping the cold dish of revenge – if that is indeed what this is about – is now regarded as having been served and consumed. Three dead officers is three too many, and the thought of more helpings to come turns his stomach.

‘Too early to say, ma’am,’ is about as optimistic as he can be. ‘So far, I haven’t found anything to link Andrea Whitland with either Terri Latham or Paul Garnett. Far as I can see, they were never stationed together, and they didn’t do their basic training at the same time. I’m talking to people who knew Whitland, to see if they’re aware of a relationship of any kind with either Latham or Garnett. I’m also going through her arrest reports, again looking for a common thread.’

‘Good. Keep at it. If you want bodies to help you, just shout. There’s got to be a connection there somewhere. It would make life much simpler for us all if a certain family was tied into this latest homicide somehow.’

Both eyebrows fly up this time – an invitation to Cody to brighten her darkness with some good news. But he has to disappoint her.

‘I’m looking for that. Believe me, the one name I really want to find in her reports is Vernon. So far, nothing.’

Blunt issues a growling noise. ‘Whoever was responsible for last night’s attack knows that area well, and it just seems a little odd to me that the location isn’t a million miles away from the Vernon house. And the fact that Latham and Garnett were both involved with the Vernon case can’t have been sheer coincidence. They weren’t picked at random. So Andrea Whitland surely can’t be random either.’

‘Erm . . .’

The noise comes from Webley, who seems a little reluctant to air her current thoughts.

‘Well?’ says Blunt. ‘Go on.’

‘With respect, ma’am, there’s a problem with what you just said. Whitland and Kearney were responding to a call regarding kids causing trouble at the church.’

‘So?’

‘So . . . how did the killer know who would respond? If it was always in his mind to kill Whitland, how on earth could he be sure she would turn up at the scene? And even if he could narrow it down to a certain patrol car, how did he know Kearney wouldn’t get to him first? Would he still have killed Kearney? If so, that would suggest it didn’t matter to him who he killed, as long as it was a copper.’

Blunt nods, and Cody can see from her expression that she hasn’t allowed herself to be checkmated by Webley. ‘That thought occurred to me too. If you’re right, it could be that all this digging into Whitland’s background is a complete waste of our time. On the other hand, this killer is a devious bastard. Maybe he knows who usually patrols that area. He could have encountered Whitland or Kearney there before. He might have even spoken to them directly at some point last night. I don’t know. The point is, we have to consider every eventuality. What you just suggested might be exactly what the killer wants us to think. He makes last night’s murder look random and spur-of-the-moment precisely so that we don’t bother looking at the latest victim too closely.’

She turns back to Cody. ‘In fact, pull Kearney’s reports too. Maybe he was the intended victim. Maybe they both were. I have no idea. Just find me some answers.’

Cody scribbles a note to himself to check Kearney out. ‘There’s another possibility, if we’re talking about this guy being devious.’

‘Go on.’

‘A smokescreen. This latest murder is to divert our attention from the Vernon case. To make it look like any cops will do as the victims.’

‘Good point. Which is why I don’t want us to give up on the Vernons or their associates just yet. Keep looking at them, and keep up the search for that Gazza bloke.’

She pauses for a moment as she scans the faces in the room. ‘There’s one other thing. We don’t know that this killer is finished. Whether it’s connected with the Vernon case or not, it’s possible that this lunatic might have other coppers in his sights. We need to be careful – all of us. We need to watch each other’s backs, because no other bugger will do it for us. I don’t want to be at any of your funerals in the near future. Got it?’

She gets nods and murmurs of agreement. Cody stays silent. Being a potential target for murder is as disconcerting as it gets.

27

Cody recognises the voice immediately. There’s a certain reptilian quality to it.

‘Hello, Sergeant Cody.’

Cody rolls his eyes. He debates putting the phone down, but knows it wouldn’t end anything.

‘What is it this time, Dobby?’

‘Same as it was last time. I’d like to talk to you. Get your side of things.’

‘Yeah, well, my answer’s the same as last time, too. A big fat no.’

‘Come on, Cody. Help out a fellow investigator. This is a big, big story now. A three-time cop killer? This could make you famous. I could help you with that.’

‘I don’t want to be famous. I just want to do my job. And spending time on the phone with you doesn’t fall into that category, so if you don’t mind . . .’

‘If that’s the way you want to play it, so be it. I’ll just have to run with the story as it stands. Be nice to check all the facts out with you first, but
c’est la vie
.’

‘What story, Dobby? You’ve been given exactly the same press information as every other hack. Anything you add to it is sheer make-believe.’

A sigh from Dobson. ‘There you go again. Underestimating my abilities. I’ll have you know I’m pretty good at what I do.’

‘I wouldn’t go shouting that out if I were you. I don’t think it’s anything to be proud of. Now is it all right by you if I get back to some proper policing?’

‘That’s fine, Cody. Just don’t say I didn’t give you an opportunity to comment on this story before it runs.’

‘I’m sure it’ll get the reception it deserves, with or without my input.’

‘I’m sure it will, too. Pretty freaky, don’t you think? Those birds . . .’

Whammo. There it is. Nice one, Dobby. Didn’t see that one coming.

For a while Cody doesn’t know what to say, but he’s aware that every second of silence is being taken by Dobby as confirmation that he’s just won the top prize.

‘What are you talking about, Dobby?’

That’s right – act the innocent. But he can hear the hollowness in his own voice.

‘Don’t play with me, Cody. If you’re going to do that, I’ll just go ahead and run my story anyway.’

Cody thinks it over. The big unknown here is how much Dobby has learnt about the case. There’s no way he can give his blessing to Dobby to publish without finding out more.

‘So what are you asking me?’

‘For a friendly chat, that’s all. Is that too much to ask?’

‘When?’

‘How about now? I’m in the Beehive. They do a decent pint here. I’d be happy to buy you one.’

‘Now’s not a good time.’

‘I have deadlines, Cody. If this is to make the next edition . . .’

Cody checks his watch. ‘All right. You’ve got your meeting. But I warn you now that you haven’t put me in the best of moods. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Make sure that arsehole of a photographer isn’t there.’

‘Just me, Cody. I’ll do the crossword while I’m waiting.’

The line goes dead. Cody hangs up. Stares into space for a while.

‘What was that?’

This from Ferguson, standing there with a large mug of steaming tea in his hand.

‘That dickhead from the
Clarion
. Dobson.’

‘Old Dobby? He sniffing around for titbits again?’

‘Yeah. Only this time he’s got a whiff of something. I need to find out what he’s dug up.’

Cody stands up and dons his jacket.

‘Need some backup?’ says Ferguson

‘Nah. You drink your tea before it goes cold.’

Ferguson grins. ‘I wasn’t thinking of me. I was going to look for Wibbly. She’ll be pining for you if you leave her here.’

‘I’m sure she’ll be fine in your capable hands.’

Ferguson winks. ‘Don’t worry. Five minutes with me and you won’t even be in her thoughts.’

‘Only because she’ll have nodded off.’

Cody leaves the room with a smile on his face. He likes Ferguson. Enjoys his sense of humour and his eternal optimism. Footlong is the guy who, when given a mountain of shit as a present, starts digging into it to find the pony.

The smile fades as he descends the staircase and hears the arguing. He debates turning around and going back. Decides instead that someone needs to deal with the flak.

Frank Vernon rounds on Cody as soon as he sees him coming down the stairs.

‘Here he is. Here’s one of them. What have you got to say for yourself, eh?’

Cody takes in the sight of the exasperated uniformed officers clustered around Vernon. The desk sergeant looks on the verge of ordering that Vernon be thrown into a cell while he calms down.

Cody beckons to the enraged centre of attention. ‘Mr Vernon. Let’s go somewhere we can talk.’

Vernon sweeps his arm in front of him, as if imagining that he’s flinging Cody across the room. ‘No. You’re not hiding me away. I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. Not like you lot.’

Cody glances at the desk sergeant. Gets a roll of his eyes.

‘All right, Mr Vernon. What is it you want to discuss?’

‘What is it I want to discuss? I don’t want to discuss nothing. I want an apology, is what I want.’

‘An apology? And what would that be for?’

‘You have to ask? Are you taking the piss? I want you to say sorry for calling us murderers.’

‘We never called you any such thing, Mr Vernon, as well you know.’

‘No. I don’t know that at all. If you had your way, me and my family would be banged up in Walton jail right now.’