Evil Valley (16 page)

It was remarkable how quickly you stopped worrying, she thought, as that bobbing rope of Nicola’s blonde hair disappeared around the street corner, her slight, grey-coated figure skipping amongst her friends. It was only a few weeks ago, at the start of term that she’d given in. Yes, OK then, you can walk to school with your friends, but any hint of mischief and I’ll be taking you again. The school was only half a mile away, and there was always that lingering fear of strange men, hanging around. But she’d read in a paper it was a wildly exaggerated danger and you had to let go at some time, didn’t you? Start to give them some freedom? It was one of the greatest dilemmas of being a parent, when to loosen the reins.

She was nearly nine now, her friends walked, she could walk with them. There were lots of other mums around, and quite a few dads too – these modern times! – and they all knew each other. She’d be quite safe, of course she would. The school was just around the corner, really. But it hadn’t calmed the butterflies those first few times her friends came calling. Nicola didn’t know it yet, would have been mad with the embarrassment, but Mum had followed, at a discreet distance, unseen, on the other side of the road, for the first week, just to be sure. She was fine. She’d been well taught, to be careful of the road and never, ever to go with a stranger.

Time to get changed then, and work out what to wear today to leave something smart for tomorrow, something Andy hadn’t yet seen. Something tight around the top, she thought. A girl had to emphasise her assets. Nicola would be fine.

‘The bastard,’ Adam growled. ‘He really took me in. I can’t believe it. He was there, sitting in front of me, cool as you like and I didn’t realise. What a devious bastard.’

He pulled open the top button of his shirt, loosened his tie, sat down heavily on the concrete steps outside Gibson’s flat, his face taut. ‘A right bloody fool he’s made of me.’

‘Me too,’ agreed Dan. ‘I should have realised he was describing me and my car. He’s made an idiot of me too.’

‘Yeah, but you’re not the Detective Chief Inspector here, are you? You’re not the one who’s going to get a rollocking from the High Honchos and who’s going to be the laughing stock of the force. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a disciplinary for this.’

There was a silence. Adam tapped a foot on the ground, then shook his head, lifted his hunched shoulders. ‘OK, enough of this feeling sorry for ourselves. It’s not going to help us get him. I’ll take the rap for it later. We’ve got forensics coming over to do the flat. They can look at the letter first, then we can open it and see what he’s got to say for himself this time. I’ve called the search teams off the hunt for the mystery man and put everyone on alert for Gibson. But where is he, that’s the problem? Where’s the bastard gone? Is there anything else we can do to find him, do you think? The key question is – what does he plan to do next?’

‘Yep,’ agreed Dan. ‘If he’s planning to do anything. Are you sure he won’t just take off and hide?’

‘I wish I could believe it. But everything he’s done so far tells us he’s got a plan and he’s going to stick to it. I’d like to think we’ve disturbed him and put him off his track, but that doesn’t stand up. He deliberately made sure we talked to him last night with that false info he gave us, so he knew we’d be onto him by this morning. Whatever it is he’s planning to do, he’s either done it already or he’s sure the fact that we know it’s him won’t stop him. And I just know he’s upping the stakes with what he did last night and showing us his flat. He’s about to deliver his sick little masterpiece and I don’t even want to think about what it’ll be.’

Dan was quietened by the force of his friend’s anger. Finally, he said, ‘Well … like what do you think? What could he be planning?’

‘How the bloody hell should I know?’ snapped Adam, rubbing a sheen of sweat from his forehead. ‘If I did, I could bloody stop him, couldn’t I?’

Dan had an urge to snap something back, but pursed his lips. He could feel the pressure on Adam. If something happened now – some attack, perhaps some rape or murder? – the detective would never forgive himself. He had a chance to arrest Gibson and he missed it.

‘I’m sorry,’ Dan said softly after counting to five in his head. ‘It was a stupid question.’

‘No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take my frustrations out on you.’

‘OK, forget it. Right … is there any way I can help? Anything we can get out on the TV to warn people to watch out for him?’

Adam looked up. ‘Now there’s an idea. That could help no end. But you don’t usually do any old police appeal, do you?’

‘No, there are too many of them and they’re not usually interesting enough. But if we have a quick think we should be able to come up with something that Lizzie would go for. All we need to do is dress up a little story so you can get a description of Gibson out.’

Adam nodded. ‘You’re the expert. That’s what you’re here for. What do you suggest?’

Dan felt a momentary qualm, as if Lizzie were watching him. He knew what he was doing, and by no means for the first time. It was exactly what she’d warned him against, again and again: getting so involved he was crossing the line between reporting and becoming part of the investigation. She was spot on, as usual, but so what? What was the right thing to do? Behave like the impartial observer a journalist should be, or try to catch a man who might just be about to commit a terrible crime?

‘Well, what we – sorry you – put out, will have to be true, but also limited, so as not to cause panic, or hamper the investigation,’ Dan said slowly. ‘So what about something like … like … you’re hunting a man you believe to have assaulted two women in the last few days? You’ve got a description of him and you fear he could strike again.’

Dan stopped for a quick think. It wasn’t striking enough to get on TV, to lure the viewers into taking notice and helping.

‘But you’ll have to go a bit further than that to get some real interest,’ he continued. ‘How do you feel about releasing the fact that he’s left a couple of notes taunting the police? That’d probably be good enough. It’s certainly dramatic. And what about the pig’s head and heart stuff? All the media would go for that. It’d make a really good splash.’

‘OK,’ said Adam. ‘It’ll bring all the cranks out claiming it was them, but if you say it’ll work and get us a load of publicity, let’s do it. The more people we’ve got keeping an eye out for Gibson the better.’

‘I’ll ask for the outside broadcast truck. Can you do us a live interview?’

‘Yep.’

Dan again felt Lizzie watching him, remembered he should think like a hack, occasionally at least. ‘And can we have it first, as an …’

‘An exclusive?’ interrupted Adam, his glowering face almost lifting. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

They’d stopped, put down their satchels and rucksacks and were playing hopscotch around the cracks and joins in the pavement by the post box. Four of them, as usual. Perfect. He knew they’d stop here, had watched them often enough. They always had a quick game of hopscotch before the final couple of minutes walk into school, just as countless thousands of young girls before them had. He calmed himself, started the car, drew up alongside.

‘Hello Nicola,’ he said cheerfully as he wound down the window.

‘Hello Ed,’ chirped the blonde girl with the bobbing ponytail.

‘Are you winning today?’ He tried to keep his voice steady, sound normal, friendly.

‘No.’

She shook her head, the plaited rope of hair flipping back and forth, skipped over to the car, pointed to another girl. ‘Vicky is. She always does.’

The others looked over, smiled and waved, went on with their game. Perfect. They were used to him, trusted him, had seen him at the leisure centre enough times on their swimming lessons. He’d even driven them back and forth to school when the usual bus driver was sick or on holiday.

He always made a point of talking to them then, but not too much of course. He didn’t want to arouse any suspicions. He’d stopped here to chat to them often enough too, all part of the plan, a friendly adult on his way to work. All those tedious times spent with Karen Reece as she yapped away relentlessly about work, or whatever problem or moan or ailment was bothering her had finally been worthwhile. Even those endless hours of the fixed smiles during the excruciating outings to the beach, or Dartmoor, or the Cornish countryside. All now at last worth it, all part of the slow, careful plan, finally nearing its delicious end.

‘It’s your birthday in a couple of days, isn’t it Nicola?’

She beamed a sparkling smile, that slightly lopsided look of hers, showing the gap in her front teeth. It was cute, but he had to put that feeling aside. He couldn’t afford to like her.

‘How did you know that, Ed?’

‘Mum told me.’

‘Yes, and look what I’ve got already.’ She delved in her bag, found a glittering blue hair grip. ‘We bought it on Saturday as an early present. I’m going to wear it in drama class this afternoon.’

‘That’s lovely. You’ll look just like a princess.’

He was almost there now, it was going perfectly. Just keep calm, don’t look around, betray your nerves, just smile, be natural, ignore the shuddering trembles coming from inside, the urge to grab her and go, just a few seconds more now.

‘Well, it’s funny you should talk about early presents,’ he continued, wondering if he sounded as breathless as he felt. ‘Because Mum has asked me to help her. She said I was to come and get you to take you to choose your birthday surprise.’

He’d expected suspicion, hesitation, a need to explain, persuade. But it would have to be quick, he didn’t have long. He was ready with the next rehearsed words, ready to convince her …

‘Is it the pony?’ she gushed first, her face still beaming. ‘Am I going to pick a Dartmoor pony? Is it going to be a black and white one?’

‘You know I can’t tell you that,’ he said, managing a smile. ‘It’d spoil the surprise. But hop into the car and I’ll take you and we’ll see.’

She picked up her bag and walked around to the side door. He opened it and she climbed in. He thought his chest would burst with his heart’s furious pounding, but he kept his voice calm, as calm as he could. It had worked. Perfectly.

Just as it had with Dan Groves and Adam Breen, the night before. The raging nerves faced down. The script followed flawlessly. Another brilliant performance. A tribute to himself and the righteousness of his beautiful plan.

He allowed himself the luxury of a smile.

‘Wave goodbye to your friends now, Nicola,’ he said.

Chapter Twelve

T
HE FORENSICS TEAM RUSHED
through their sweep of Gibson’s flat. Adam gave them half an hour. He overruled their protests about the time it required to do their work.

‘I understand all that science being slow stuff, but he’s going to commit his next crime within hours,’ the detective told them. ‘So you have only got minutes to find something that might give me a clue what it is. I don’t need evidence to convict this guy. He wants us to know it’s him. I need to know what he’s planning. And arguing is wasting your time, so get going now. Now!’

Adam paced up and down outside the flat, fiddling with his tie, while the white-overalled figures flitted around it. They’d examined the letter first, then opened it and brought it over in a sealed plastic bag for Adam to read. Then they’d spread out over the rest of the flat taking scrapings and samples from the floor, checking furniture for powders, fibres, residue, anything that might give a hint about what Gibson planned.

The letter was the longest message so far, neatly written on both sides of an A4 sheet.

“My dear Dan,

It was, may I say, an absolute pleasure and a privilege to meet you and Mr Breen, even though I had to adopt a little character to do so and we couldn’t talk about all the things I would have liked. Another time perhaps. Or then again, probably not. I’m afraid I don’t think we’ll have the chance now. A great pity.”

Adam let out a long hiss.

“Did you like my little personality? I’m wondering what you thought of me. The idea of the security guard was to be an old and slightly eccentric soldier who’d been a tad battle scarred, making him a nervous although still dependable person. I did some drama at university and was told I was rather good at it. Did it work for you? The character was how I got the job. The centre managers seemed to like the idea of employing someone who’d been in the forces, and the position was ideal for my purposes. I knew what I needed and could not have hoped for better.

“Is it becoming clearer to you what my plan is? Have you managed to add it up yet? I can’t go into too much detail, because there is the slight chance you will read this before I’ve completed the next stage. But you must have worked out the connection between those first two women, the one in the flat and from last night in the car. I could scarcely have made it plainer, could I, hopping in to join her in the car park?

“Yes, of course, they both used the leisure centre and I knew them fairly well. I had to know them for my plan to work.”

Dan nodded, said, ‘That’s why he never spoke in his attacks. Why he had to write notes telling the women what he wanted. Because otherwise they might recognise his voice.’

“You do see why now, don’t you?” the letter continued. “Or do you? Perhaps you’d like a hint? I shouldn’t, but I’m afraid I can’t resist it. I’m enjoying myself! How’s your Shakespeare? I’ll make it easy, so let’s go for one of his most famous plays,
Romeo and Juliet
. What would affect the sweet smell of a rose?”

‘What the bloody hell is that about?’ growled Adam, his clenched fist pressed hard against the wall.

‘It’s a riddle,’ Dan replied, trying desperately to remember the quotation. He’d studied Romeo and Juliet for ‘O’ level literature and scraped a pass, but the words about a rose wouldn’t come to mind.

‘No shit,’ grunted Adam. ‘Not another puzzle like that damn McCluskey business. I’m sick of them. Why do you attract mad criminals? What the hell does it mean?’

‘It’s a quotation, I think. Or part of one. We need a dictionary of quotations. I’ll call the newsroom in a while to arrange the outside broadcast and get one of the researchers to look it up. Let’s have a look at the rest of the letter first.’

Adam snorted, but again held up the bag.

“Anyway, I digress. Back to last night’s meeting. I did have one momentary concern, when I was describing the villain to you Adam (I scarcely need mention I know you’ll be reading this together. I saw how close you were last night. You make a lovely couple), and Dan, you so helpfully chipped in with the make of the car. I did just wonder at that moment whether you’d realised I was describing you. It was a risk, wasn’t it? A delicious one though, which I’m afraid I couldn’t resist. I had a second’s worry there, but, Dan, you played your part beautifully. Thank you.”

It was Dan’s turn to snarl now.

“So then, onto more practical matters. You’ll want to know where we’re going next in our dance. If you haven’t already, very soon now you will find out what the next stage of my plan entails. You’ll immediately realise it will mean I have to leave Plymouth. Did I mention to you I recently purchased a car? It was out of necessity – you’ll see why soon enough – but I’ve quite got into driving. I had a look at the map and wondered where I might go.

“Somewhere I’ve not been to before I thought, somewhere easily accessible, next to a good road. Maybe around Manchester. Or somewhere near, like Denton or Hyde. They look like interesting places. Anyway, wherever I choose, I shall be leaving Plymouth. But this is not goodbye.

“Again my friends, you will be asking yourselves about my motive. Soon now your computers and detectives will bring you all the background on me that you could wish for. It’s all in there, and surprisingly simple perhaps. It’ll explain to you my need to make the law be sorry, and why you Dan have become involved in this too. You probably suspect already that you’re a messenger and I would agree with that. But you’ll also see why I chose you particularly, and why I am disappointed in you. We have a passion in common. Or rather, we had.

“Your attempts to trace me will soon become increasingly urgent, like a man seeking the elusive band of gold. Well, all the information you need to find me is contained within the letters I have sent you Dan, if you know where to look and how to interpret. I have every confidence you will. The question is – how long will it take you? And in this you must apply yourself as hard as you know how, for as you will soon realise, time is not on your side.

“Again you will be discussing whether I am evil, or mad, misguided or whatever label you might find easiest to describe me with. I do not see myself as evil, though no doubt it will become a word commonly used in relation to me. I am merely a man who has suffered a wrong, which I intend to point out and go some way towards putting right. If I am evil, I was made so. It was my destiny, and who of us can avoid that?

“Finally, I say this. Dan, if my plan goes as I expect, we shall meet again but unfortunately not under such circumstances as to make a real conversation possible. This I regret, but it is how it must be. I hope when you come to report on all that has happened, you give me a fair hearing and understand a little of why I have done that which I have.

“I can honestly say it’s been a pleasure.

“Edmund.”

Adam leaned back against the corridor wall and let out a long breath.

‘He’s barmy. He’s absolutely bloody barmy. What the hell is he up to now? What’s he on about, going away somewhere? Why’s he telling us where? And what’s all that about a band of gold? And seeing you again, but not being able to talk to you? What the hell does it mean? And do you really think he’s put the answers to what he’s up to in his letters?’

‘Oh yes,’ replied Dan emphatically. ‘I’m sure they’re in there. He wants to be caught eventually so his big statement can get all the publicity he obviously craves. But it’s got to be done his way. What scares me is what he’s up to now. Right at this moment if the letter’s to be believed.’

The forensics officers had finished and the search team went in. ‘Anything you can find that might give us a clue what he’s up to,’ Adam shouted. ‘Anything at all. There’s no need to be gentle. He won’t be coming back here. Rip the place apart. And do it fast.’

A dozen men and women from TAG, the Tactical Aid Group, all dressed in black, fanned out across the flat, began opening drawers, checking down the sides of the sofa, looking under carpets and pictures, anywhere that anything could be hidden.

Dan slipped his mobile out of his pocket and called the newsroom. Lizzie’s number, the red line. He noticed his ankle was aching harder now, making it difficult to stand. He sat down on the concrete steps, felt their dense coldness start to creep up his back.

‘Lizzie, it’s Dan. I’ve got something for you, an urgent one.’

‘Oh, so you do still work here then? Good.’

He swallowed his annoyance, explained the story. ‘Sold,’ she said instantly. ‘I’ll send Nigel and the OB truck. I want it on the lunchtime news. I want a big report. I want a live interview. I want even more later. I want …’

‘OK,’ he interrupted, rubbed the phone on his shirt to make it crackle. ‘Sorry, you’re breaking up. I’ll sort it out and call back later.’

Adam was involved in a whispered conference with another plain-clothes man Dan recognised from the McCluskey case. He looked over quizzically and Adam beckoned.

‘Forensics didn’t find anything that might give us a clue what he’s up to. But this,’ he said, waving a file, ‘is the background stuff on Gibson. It makes interesting reading, to say the least.’

Dan took the sheets of paper, wondered what he was about to see. His hand was shaking.

The sheet first was a brief biography.

Edmund Gibson, born July 4th 1969 in Exeter. Father a Colonel in the Devon and Dorset regiment, mother a nurse. Went to a state school in Exeter, then university in Birmingham, read history. Graduated with a first class honours degree. Sponsored at university by the army, ambition to join the same regiment as his father, now retired. Trained as an officer but failed the selection course as not having necessary leadership skills. Moved instead to become a dog handler in the Devon and Dorsets. Passed dog training with distinction. Posted to Bosnia along with a detachment from the regiment in July 1995.

Dan turned the page. There was a brief summary of the situation in Bosnia at the time. It was a vicious civil war. The capital, Sarajevo was under siege by Serbs. It was supposed to be a safe haven, set up to protect the Muslim community, but it wasn’t working. The Devon and Dorsets had been sent as part of the United Nations peacekeeping force to try to relieve the city. Dan remembered it vaguely from news reports of the time, continual shelling and bloodshed. Slaughter might be a better word, according to the report in front of him. It detailed widespread massacres.

Gibson’s personal file revealed he had been on guard duty one night when there was an attack on the troops’ camp. According to his account, a man had attempted to kill him with a knife. His Alsatian had attacked the man, suffering a serious knife wound in the process. Gibson himself wasn’t injured. The dog – called Sam – survived, but was disabled and was to be sent back to England to be re-homed. Gibson was, according to the record, “powerfully attached to the dog who he believed to have saved his life”, and left the army to go back to Devon with Sam.

Before he went, military psychologists had examined Gibson, and concluded he was unfit for duty. The trauma of the constant attacks and the horrors he had witnessed had what they described as a “profound and damaging effect”. The knife attack had compounded that, the report calling it “the classic straw that breaks the camel’s back”, not uncommon in cases of a sudden, direct and tangible threat to a subject’s life. The doctors recommended a course of counselling, which Gibson apparently ignored.

There was no record of anything happening to him in the time after that, until last year. Gibson was arrested and charged with assaulting a police officer. The case went to court and he was convicted. Because of his history of military service and his unblemished record he was spared prison, instead given a suspended sentence, community service and a fine.

Dan turned to the last page, the details of Gibson’s conviction. He read it, then leaned back heavily against the wall, rested his head on his chest and closed his eyes. He breathed deeply and read it again. Now he understood. The reason for Gibson’s obsession with him was here.

The police had received information that a man was using his flat to deal in drugs. He was reputed to carry a gun for protection. Dan looked down, out of the window. It was the flat neighbouring and below Gibson’s.

The police had carried out a dawn raid, a dozen armed officers surrounding the flat, then moving in. But Sam had been in the garden and when he saw one of the men creeping over the fence … did he remember Bosnia? Think his master was again under lethal attack? Or was it just a dog’s natural instinct at the invasion of his territory? Whatever, he’d attacked the policeman with such force the officer had shot him dead. Gibson had heard the barking and the shot, come running down the stairs and seen his beloved dog lying dead in the garden. He’d instantly charged at the policeman and assaulted him. The report said Gibson’s fury was so great it took six officers to restrain him.

Dan slowly shook his head as he sank into his thoughts.

He thinks I let him down. He’s seen those pictures of Rutherford and me they used to illustrate the story about how I solved the Death Pictures riddle. He’s seen I’m a dog lover – more, an Alsatian lover – and he feels betrayed that I work with the very people who are responsible for killing Sam. He’s going to make the police pay for killing him and he’s going to teach me a lesson by using me to tell the world.

The twitch of wanting to continually turn and look over his shoulder was back and its pull was powerful. The man’s a psychopath. What the hell have I got myself into?

Adam was staring at him. ‘You OK, mate?’ he asked. ‘You’ve gone pale.’

‘Yeah,’ said Dan with an effort. ‘Yeah, just about. I was wondering what was going on in his mind. It’s … it’s damned scary. I think we can safely say we’re dealing with someone who’s alarmingly unbalanced …’

The detective snorted. ‘Mad might be a simpler way of putting it.’

‘Well, maybe. But mad in a cold and purposeful way and I can’t help but think that’s … well, bloody terrifying, frankly.’

‘Yeah, quite,’ agreed Adam. ‘Well, the teams have found absolutely nothing here to help us work out what he’s going to do next, so we’d better have a look at that letter and see if we can see any clues. Did you check the quotation?’