Imperfect Killing (8 page)

‘Well, thanks for your time,’ Sean finally said, pushing himself out of the seat, Benton following suit. ‘And thanks for your patience and understanding.’

‘You have your questions to ask,’ Stokes answered understandingly. ‘Sue was a special person,’ he repeated. ‘Any updates you can give on the investigation’s progress would be much appreciated by everyone here at the studio.’

‘Of course,’ Sean lied. ‘You’ll be the first to know. We’ll see ourselves out.’ He walked casually from the office and into the corridor. Benton went to ask him a question, but Sean silenced him by placing an index finger over his own lips. Only once they were safely inside the lift did Sean speak. ‘What is it?’

‘Well?’ Benton asked impatiently. ‘What d’you reckon?’

‘I reckon we need some evidence,’ was all Sean said.

‘Is that it?’ Benton questioned.

‘For now,’ Sean explained. ‘But if you weren’t a criminal who could get your hands on a gun and you didn’t have the knowledge or equipment to reactivate a replica firearm – where would be the perfect place to find a blank-firing gun?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ Benton replied, rolling his eyes.

‘Then you’d better follow me,’ Sean told him with a grin.

‘Where to now?’ Benton pleaded.

‘You’ll see soon enough,’ Sean answered. ‘You’ll see.’

***

Only a few minutes later they walked into the cavernous Props Department hidden in the basement of the studios. To their surprise they were able to move deep into the room amongst the tens of thousands of props used for shows of all descriptions. Eventually a man in his sixties with wild grey hair, wearing old-fashioned brown overalls stepped out from behind a rack of costumes and challenged them.

‘Can I help you, gentlemen?’ he asked with a smile.

‘Police,’ Sean told him.

‘Real or actors getting into role?’ he asked in all seriousness.

‘Real,’ Sean assured him and pulled out his warrant card. ‘DS Sean Corrigan.’

Benton also flashed his card. ‘DC Zack Benton.’

The old man pulled a pair of spectacles from his pocket and perched them on his face, leaning closer to examine their identification. ‘So that’s what they look like now,’ he said. ‘You lot are always changing those damn things. I’ll have to update our police props sub-department now. Never mind.’

‘And you are?’ Benton asked.

‘Charles Mendham, at your service.’

‘Are you in charge here?’ Benton continued.

‘If anyone’s in charge, I suppose it’s me.’

‘Worked here long?’ Sean asked, keeping it friendly.

‘As long as I can remember,’ Mendham answered with a chuckle, ‘and at the old studio before that.’

‘Quite a responsibility,’ Sean told him looking around the huge basement, ‘keeping track of all …
this
.’

‘Oh I know my way round pretty well,’ Mendham assured him. Can put my hands on most things pretty quickly. But I’m sure two of the Met’s finest didn’t come down here just for a chat.’

‘No,’ Sean confessed with a wry smile.

‘So why don’t you tell me what it is I can do for you?’

‘Firearms,’ Sean told him. ‘More specifically blank-firing firearms – blank-firing revolvers.’

‘Firearms it is then,’ Mendham replied and headed off. ‘Feel free to follow on,’ he encouraged them. Sean and Benton glanced at each other before doing as they’d been told, following Mendham to a partitioned-off area of the basement where they discovered hundreds of firearms of all kinds: rifles, pistols, revolvers, submachine guns, historical weapons and even several small cannons. ‘Here they are,’ Mendham told them proudly. ‘Firearms.’

‘Christ,’ Benton declared. ‘You could arm every bloody criminal in London with this little lot.’

‘Wouldn’t do them any good,’ Mendham explained. ‘None of them work.’

‘Not yet,’ Sean told him. ‘Why aren’t they locked away?’

‘Because they don’t have to be,’ Mendham shrugged. ‘They’re not real. We have a booking in and out system, but that’s just so people are accountable if any go missing. Some of our actors like to keep them as souvenirs of their successful shows.’

‘Don’t you need some sort of licence for these?’ Benton asked.

‘Not at all,’ Mendham told him, ‘but we do have a theatrical exemption licence that means we can take them into public areas – so long as they’re being used for filming.’

‘But you keep a close check on them,’ Sean asked, ‘to make sure none of them are missing.’

‘I do,’ Mendham assured him.

‘And when was the last time you checked?’ Sean continued.

‘I checked the register yesterday. Everything that had been booked out has been booked back in.’

‘I appreciate the register may be in order,’ Sean agreed, ‘but when was the last time you
physically
checked all the weapons are here?’

‘I … I,’ Mendham stuttered, ‘I’m not sure. Maybe a few weeks ago I did a stock check.’

‘But nothing since then?’ Sean squeezed him.

‘No,’ he admitted. ‘There’s no real need for me to check more often than that. The booking in and out system enables me to track everything … eventually.’

‘So long as everybody actually books them out,’ Sean pointed out.

‘Why wouldn’t they?’ Mendham asked naively.

Sean let it go for now, casting his hand over the handgun section. ‘These,’ he asked, ‘the modern handguns, particularly the revolvers – there aren’t too many here. Perhaps you can tell me if any are missing?’

Mendham puffed out his cheeks and began to examine the collection of revolvers, his eyes darting from one to the next. Only seconds later he straightened and smiled with relief. ‘No,’ he declared. ‘As I suspected they’re all there.’

‘You sure?’ Sean checked.

‘Absolutely,’ Mendham assured him. ‘I know these weapons well and they’re all here. Many are quite new additions.’

Sean’s eyes squinted with concentration as he massaged his temples and began to examine the revolvers for himself – discounting most on the grounds of being the wrong potential calibre, too small or too big. Others he dismissed because they were chrome or even gold plated, until he reduced his own collection to a handful of weapons that resembled the revolver he’d seen on the grainy CCTV footage of the shooting.

‘You alright?’ Benton asked as they watched Sean scanning the tables. Sean held his hand up to let them know he wanted silence. He pulled a pair of latex gloves from his jacket pocket and slipped them over his hands, lowering one to pick up a .38 Smith and Wesson with an old-style four-inch barrel. He lifted it to his face, inhaling deeply. It smelled of little other than metal and oil, and he placed it back on the table, swapping it for a .357 Colt Python with a six-inch barrel. Again he raised it to his face and inhaled, but again all he could detect was oil and metal.

‘Who cleans and maintains these weapons?’ he asked Mendham.

‘I do,’ he proudly answered.

‘How often?’

‘After every use,’ he told him.

‘Every use?’

‘Every use,’ Mendham confirmed.

‘Straight away?’

‘Straight away,’ he assured him. ‘I have to – in case they need to be used again.’

Sean nodded his understanding and returned to examining the revolvers, his eye drawn to a .357 Combat Magnum with a four-inch barrel. He lifted it to his face and inhaled before slowly turning to Benton and offering him the weapon to smell and then doing the same to Mendham. The props manager’s eyes widened. ‘Cordite,’ he announced.

‘This gun’s been fired recently,’ Sean confirmed, ‘and not cleaned after use.’

‘That’s impossible,’ Mendham argued. ‘That gun hasn’t been used since the last episode of
Franks and Grimstone
– a London-based cop show. Perhaps you saw it?’

‘I did,’ Benton told him. ‘It was terrible.’

‘You smelt it yourself,’ Sean reminded him. ‘This weapon’s been fired.’ He popped the chamber of the weapon open and peered along the inside of the barrel. ‘This barrel’s been bored,’ he continued.

‘Of course,’ Mendham admitted. ‘Most of them have – otherwise the flash when it’s fired wouldn’t look realistic.’

‘Bored, but not rifled,’ he added.

‘No need to rifle the barrel of a gun that’s only going to be used to fire blanks,’ Mendham explained.

‘But this weapon can fire live cartridges?’ Sean asked.

‘Well, yes,’ Mendham admitted, ‘but only with low charges – otherwise you risk blowing the gun to pieces.’

Sean and Benton looked at each other. They’d both seen the footage of the weapon used to kill Sue Evans almost blowing apart when it was fired in her face at point blank range. Sean slowly placed the revolver back on the table.

‘We need to seize that,’ Benton told him.

‘Not yet,’ Sean insisted.

‘It could be evidence,’ Benton argued.

‘The killer wore gloves – remember? All we got is a gun that’s been fired.’

‘Forensics can match it to the bullet,’ Benton suggested.

‘Maybe – maybe not,’ Sean replied. ‘The barrel’s not rifled and the bullet’s badly misshapen. They can’t guarantee anything and even if they could all it proves is we’ve got the right weapon, but it doesn’t
put
anyone with it.’

‘But it’s evidence,’ Benton repeated. ‘We can’t leave it here.’

‘It’s more than evidence,’ Sean told him coldly. ‘It’s bait.’

‘I’m not sure about this,’ Benton shook his head. ‘This is not normal procedure.’

‘The best police work rarely is,’ Sean assured him before turning to Mendham. ‘Tell me – do you have any black boiler suits down here, and gloves and black ski masks or balaclavas?’

‘Of course,’ Mendham replied. ‘What would we dress our bank robbers in if I didn’t?’

‘Where d’you keep them?’ asked.

‘Over in the black-clothing section,’ Mendham explained. ‘I find it easier to organize them based on colour.’

‘Show me,’ Sean demanded.

‘Very well,’ he agreed. ‘This way.’ They followed Mendham as he weaved his way passed racks of coats, jackets, hats and every other prop imaginable until they reached a corner of the basement full of black clothing. Mendham ran his finger along the crowded racks until he came to what they were looking for. ‘Here they are – black boiler suits, various sizes.’

‘Any missing?’ Sean queried.

Mendham sighed then counted them quickly, silently mouthing the numbers as he did so. ‘No,’ he declared. ‘All present and correct.’

Sean thought it all through for a second, trying to identify anything he hadn’t yet covered. ‘The day Sue Evans was killed,’ he asked, ‘were you already at work?’

‘No,’ Mendham answered. ‘That was a little too early for me.’

‘But the props store was locked, right?’ he asked a deliberately leading question.

‘Er … no,’ Mendham answered tentatively.

‘All this equipment – including replica firearms – and you left it open?’

‘I always do,’ Mendham tried to explain. ‘You never know when one of the props might be needed – they might be filming a show in the middle of the night and realize they’ve forgotten to request something. I can’t be here twenty-four hours a day. So long as everyone sticks to the booking in and out system it works fine.’

‘Is there any CCTV down here?’ Sean enquired.

‘No, no,’ Mendham insisted. ‘Sometimes the actors strip down to almost nothing trying on costumes. It wouldn’t do to have CCTV covering that – privacy laws and all that.’

Sean considered the way they entered the basement and was sure that if the killer had come from there he wouldn’t have used the same entry-exit to make his way to the car park. ‘Is there another way out of here,’ he asked, ‘other than the way we came in?’

‘Of course,’ Mendham assured him. ‘Health and safety made sure of that.’

‘Where?’ Sean rushed him.

‘Two fire exits,’ Mendham explained. ‘One on the west side leading to a stairwell that leads into the main lobby.’ Sean immediately dismissed it in his mind. ‘And one on the east side that opens onto a small stairwell that leads up to the side of the building.’

‘Directly to the outside?’ Sean seized on it.

‘Yes.’

‘To the car park?’

‘Close,’ Mendham confirmed. ‘Turn right and it’s only a few yards away. Turn left and it’s not far to the Southbank.’

‘That exit’s not covered by CCTV,’ Benton added fuel to the flames in Sean’s head. ‘We checked it in case the shooter ran past that way, but there’s no camera. Closer to the car park there is and at the corner of the Southbank, but not covering the fire exit. We picked him up running past the camera covering the car park corner, but not the one on the Southbank. We just assumed he knew where the camera was and avoided it.’

‘He’s not on the camera,’ Sean spelt it out, ‘because he never passed it. He came in here early in the morning when there was no one here and dressed in the boiler suit and balaclava before taking the revolver he’d already selected, and loading it with his homemade bullet. Do you keep records of ammunition usage?’ he asked Mendham.

‘Good Lord, no,’ he answered. ‘I just keep an eye on it and order in some more if supplies are looking low.’

‘He probably knew that,’ Sean guessed, ‘he could easily have taken a few cartridges without anyone being any the wiser.’ Sean headed east across the basement, past yet more racks of clothing and other props, followed by Benton and Mendham until they reached the fire exit. He pushed the bar down and eased the door open waiting for the sound of an alarm, but there was none. The cold air from outside rushed over him, and he imagined it hitting the shooter – catching him by surprise, quickening his already shortening breath, making his already trembling hand shake even more.
Did you almost turn back?
he asked the ghost of the killer.
Did being outside – the shock of the cold – almost bring you to your senses, almost make you go back inside, return the suit, the gun, the balaclava and forget the whole thing? But you couldn’t, could you? Your hate and jealousy were too strong.

He stepped outside and immediately saw the small stairwell Mendham had described. He climbed the first two steps and peered over the top of the flight. It gave him the perfect view of the car park, while affording him near perfect concealment. He could see the empty space where Sue Evans used to park her car – the forensic team long since packed up and gone, taking her car with them. ‘Then he came out here,’ he picked up his commentary, ‘and he waited – waited for her to arrive, ducking back inside as and when he had to until she eventually turned up. He waited for her to park and prepare to get out of her car, then he moved quickly across the ground, catching her completely by surprise. He hesitated for a second. She said something to him and he pulled the trigger. Then he ran back to the fire exit – he would have had to wedge it open with something – back into the basement, replaced the gun, returned the clothes and made his way up to the lobby to join the growing crowd who were by now waiting for the police to arrive.’