Follow the Leader (28 page)

‘I’m coming to you. Back-up is on its way. Tell him you need to leave and try to get out, but only if you can.’

‘Right,’ she continued. ‘I’m on my way. Yes, I’ll meet you there.’ The phone had already gone dead.

Even safe with the knowledge that her team knew where she was and that all available units would be drafted to respond, Allie struggled to hear anything over the beating of her heart. Taking a deep breath, she put her phone away and looked up again. It wasn’t the first time she had come face to face with a killer. Would he harm her to continue the game?

For a second, Mark’s face flashed in front of her eyes. An image of him laughing as they were dancing together at their wedding. She cleared her throat to stop herself from crying out.

‘I need to go, Mr Thomas,’ she spoke directly, trying to keep the shake from her voice.

‘I haven’t shown you my diary yet.’ Patrick took a step towards her, but staying in front of the door.

‘I have to respond to something that’s come in. I can send one of my colleagues to see you as soon as possible.’ She took a step towards him. ‘Would that be okay with you?’

‘Okay, Sergeant.’

His smile caused her to shiver as she dared another step closer. When she drew level with him, he stood in front of her for a moment, staring directly, as if into her. It felt like he was reading her mind, knowing what she had found out. But then it was over and he stepped to one side to let her pass.

Holding her breath with every extra step, she made her way along the narrow hallway. If she could just get to the front door . . .

His feet on the carpet behind made her grapple with the door handle. He grabbed her by the shoulder, turned her sharply and rammed his fist into her stomach. As the pain shot through her, she dropped to her knees. On all fours and gasping for breath, all she could do was watch as he took hold of her head and slammed it into the wall.

Patrick hurried down the street to his car. He started the engine and pulled away from the kerb, foot on the pedal. Giving the police Tranter’s address had been an idea he’d come up with after using the pizza to get into Frank’s house. He knew they might link the delivery back to him so he’d made up an order to be sent to their address. Of course, most of it had gone in the back of the skip behind the building at work. It was just a ploy, to give him more time. While they had been working that out, he was hoping it would keep them off his tail for just that little bit longer. And it seemed to have worked.

When that woman knocked on his door and showed her warrant card, and he saw that she was alone and had no clue as to who he was, he’d had to bite his bottom lip to stop himself breaking out into a giveaway smile. Instead, he’d managed to continue his game and give out a few more clues.

It had taken a few years to get every detail of his plan right before he could instigate it. At times, it had brought back painful memories, given him nightmares and panic attacks, but he’d
persevered
. Except for one last hurdle, he was almost finished. Just two hours to stay free, that’s all he needed.

As he drove past his open door, he couldn’t help but slow down to take a look. The woman was sitting on the floor with her back to the wall, knees up, holding on to her head.

‘Little miss detective,’ he smirked. ‘When will you realise that to catch a killer, you must follow the leader?’

Chapter Thirty-Three

It was a few minutes before Allie got her breath back enough to stand. The sharpness of the pain in her stomach began to subside along with her fear as she heard sirens, cars pulling up
outside
, blocking the street as they double-parked. Two cars arrived from Hanley station, followed by Sam who fussed over her like the mother hen that she was.

Ranger Street was sealed off either end, much to the annoyance of the neighbour Allie had seen earlier, who was still on her doorstep.

‘What’s he done, the stupid twat?’ she shouted across. ‘He’s a right weirdo.’

Apart from one officer who was sent over to see why she was so vocal, no one took any notice of her.

Perry ran through the front door a few minutes later. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked when he saw Allie, holding out his hand.

‘Yes, I’m fine now I have my breath back. Just a couple of bruises, probably.’

He pulled her up to standing. ‘Do you need to go to hospital?’

‘Not bloody likely.’ She shook her head and then groaned, put a hand to the back of it. ‘We’re going to nail the fucker first, are
n’t w
e?’

‘Spoken like a true Stokie.’ Perry smirked.

‘I’ve rung Nick – he’s on to Prison Intel.’ Allie had remembered who Ray Morgan was now. She pointed to the living room. ‘You need to see what’s in there.’

Pulling on sterile gloves, Allie followed him into the room. All around, the officers present were sifting through Morgan’s
belongings
.

Sam was looking through a batch of papers and stopped for a moment when she saw her. ‘Are you really okay?’ she questioned.

‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Allie smiled, although a dull ache had now formed in the pit of her stomach. ‘Nothing that a soak in a hot bath won’t cure. Is there a call out on his car?’

Sam nodded. ‘Although, I reckon he’ll ditch it somewhere, don’t you? He’s clearly walked – or run – to most of the murder scenes. That’s why we haven’t been able to trace him quickly.’

‘There are letters and papers everywhere.’ Perry slapped a cardboard shoebox down next to them, making them both jump. ‘There’s so much to go through.’

Allie moved to the map. ‘We have coloured letters inside large circles for all the places he’s committed the murders and the attack on Nathan Whittaker. And this one here, with no letter.’ She pointed. ‘Stoke. One hell of a big place for a killer to strike. What’s in the immediate vicinity?’

Everyone started to shout out names.

‘Staffordshire University.’

‘Christ, there’s tons of buildings on there.’

‘Yeah, the business village, science and tech centre.’

‘And Sir Stanley Matthews Sports Centre.’

‘And then there’s Sixth Form College.’

‘The railway station.’

‘Royal Mail Sorting Office.’

‘How big is the circle?’ asked Sam. ‘Could it be the Civic
Centre
, or the King’s Hall?’

‘Or the North Stafford Hotel, opposite the railway station.’

‘Okay, okay.’ Allie held up her hand for quiet. ‘We’re beginning to sound like an A-Z map.’ She stepped forward to run a finger around the black line of the empty circle. ‘It’s a huge place if we’re looking for one person. Whom I’ve only seen up close.’ She turned round to face the room. ‘Are there any photos of him around?’

A uniformed officer spotted one in a frame. ‘Is this him, do you think?’ He handed it to her.

Allie studied it: a woman with a young boy and girl. ‘It could be, I suppose.’ She looked closer. ‘I couldn’t be sure, though.’

‘Or this one.’ Perry pulled a large black and white photograph from out of the side cupboard. ‘Shit, I think this must be our class in junior school. I must be on here somewhere.’ He shook his head. ‘I still can’t believe this is Patrick Morgan doing all this stuff.’

‘What was he like at school?’

‘Well, you were right, Sarge. He was an oddball. I used to hang around with him every now and then, with a lad called Daz . . . Daz . . . can’t think of his surname right now.’

‘There was a Darren Watson who came forward after the appeal,’ Sam mentioned. ‘And a Darren Hawkins.’

‘Yeah, Darren Hawkins, that’s him.’ Perry nodded. ‘Patrick’s nickname was Shorty. He never had up-to-date clothes and, as we didn’t wear a uniform, it stood out a mile that he was wearing the same things all the time. He was clean, though, I’ll give him that. Not one of the smelly kids.’

Allie’s head began to spin as they continued their search. She placed an arm on the wall to steady herself until the feeling of nausea had passed.

Sam picked up a small notebook. ‘See this.’ She handed it to Allie. ‘The writing is the same as on the map, I think. There are a few verses of a children’s nursery rhyme on it.
This Old Man
.’

‘
This Old Man
? I haven’t heard that in ages.’

‘Yes, and from one to seven. Six murders – or at least six attempts at murder. I’m sure it wasn’t in his game plan to only inflict pain on Nathan Whittaker.’

Allie glanced over it quickly. ‘One verse on each page. And victims’ names with lines crossed through them – dates of their murders next to them.’

‘And I bet he’s left the name next to number seven?’ Perry scoffed.

‘He wouldn’t make it that easy.’ Sam picked up another pile of papers and sifted through it. ‘But there’ll be something in here. I have a feeling he’s left something for us to find. Part of the game.’

Allie nodded. ‘Exactly what I thought.’

‘Boss.’ Perry handed her an envelope. ‘Letters from HM Prison Birmingham – redirected from an address in Adams Street, where Ray Morgan last lived before he was jailed. And these too.’ Perry held up a fistful of newspaper cuttings.

Nick arrived, coming straight over to Allie before doing anything else.

‘You sure you’re okay to continue?’ he asked once she’d updated him. ‘You look really pale.’

‘Yes, yes sir,’ she nodded. ‘I’m fine, really.’

Nick kept his gaze on her for a while longer. Satisfied, he nodded, turned and raised his hand. ‘All right, listen up everyone. Quiet!’ Once he had their attention, he continued. ‘Does everyone know Ray Morgan and his background?’

Most officers nodded. Only a couple of people shook their head.

‘1998, Morgan went into The Woodman, Cobridge, and stabbed a bloke, Bill Nickson, who was sitting at the bar. Witnesses said it happened so quickly that Nickson never had time to respond. In a statement recorded, Morgan told the interviewing officers that the victim had attacked him a couple of weeks before and that he’d had to practically crawl home in his own blood.

‘Because he thought he’d been made a fool of, he wanted to exact revenge in as brutal a way as possible, and cold-blooded killing was the only way to deal with it. He didn’t seem sorry from all accounts and was jailed for fifteen years. He had a further two years added early into his sentence for another vicious assault on a prisoner. He’s been at HM Prison Birmingham for the past thre
e years.

‘Prison Intel Unit informed me and my team early last week that his release was imminent. Ray Morgan owned his property and his son supposedly lived there, but he hadn’t been there for a while as the house is boarded up. Probation officers have got Morgan temporary accommodation until he sorts everything out inside – utilities, furniture, everything will be damp and unsalvageable, I reckon. They’ve also been trying to track down his son, Patrick Morgan, to let him know of his father’s release. Or Patrick Thomas, as we now know him. I’m waiting on a call back from the prison now.’ Nick turned to glance at the map again. ‘I need everyone to up the search – there
has
to be something in this house that lets us know what he’s going to do next.’

‘He’s going to finish what he started, isn’t he?’ Allie turned to him and spoke quietly. ‘The letter R, for his father’s name. Ray Morgan is the last piece in his puzzle. It must have been part of the game, to go back to the beginning.’

Nick nodded. ‘He’s going to go after his father. Once we’ve established his release time, we can –’ Nick’s phone rang and he held his hand up for quiet. His face flushed, he fixed his gaze on Allie as he listened to the caller, his adrenaline getting to work.

‘Prison Intel have confirmed Ray Morgan was released as planned this morning,’ he said after he’d disconnected the call. ‘The nearest train station is Birmingham New Street so they got him a taxi to there plus a train ticket back here. His train arrives in Stoke station at ten fifty-three this morning.’

All heads went up to the clock on the wall. It was ten thirty.

‘You,’ Nick pointed to an officer, ‘email the photo on record of Ray Morgan to everyone so we have it on our phones. It’s pointless searching for one of Patrick Morgan – not enough time. The rest of you, we need to get to Stoke Station. And get a stab vest on if you have one!’

Patrick walked underneath the bridge at Glebe Street after abandoning his car on the car park in Kingsway. Ahead of him stood the sleek, white building of Stoke-on-Trent Sixth Form
College
. Next to it was the start of Staffordshire University
campus
.
Patrick
wished he’d been able to go on to further education after leaving Reginald High School, rather than having to get a job to bring in some money. Then he wouldn’t have been at Ray’s beck and call: he might have moved out of the city altogether and none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t have killed all those people.

He turned left into Station Road. The Royal Mail Sorting Office was to his right, the railway station a few hundred metres in front. The automatic glass doors opened as he approached the entrance moments later, moving to one side to allow a family of five to race through with suitcases. There were people everywhere and he knew he’d be invisible here too. They were all too busy trying to get to places, visit loved ones, arrive on time for work meetings, leave bad memories as far behind as possible.

One last time, he checked that his knife was secure in his coat pocket and went inside. Moving quickly to his right in front of the queue for tickets, he looked up, checked the television screen for arrivals. Ten fifty-three a.m. Good: the train was on time.

Fifteen minutes to go.

The tannoy announced the next train – London Euston, arriving at platform one. Patrick watched people surge forward as it drew to a halt, wondered if he should just run across and jump on it. He’d be in the capital in an hour and a half. The police wouldn’t find him until it was too late. They had certainly taken their time working out the clues he’d given them so far. What a bunch of
losers
they’d
turned out to be.

Perspiration dripped down his back as a sentence played over and over inside his head.
Are you man enough to kill your father?

He crossed the station and took the stairs down into the
subway
.