The Advent Killer (25 page)

‘I’ll walk from here,’ the suited man shouted over the pneumatic drill’s clatter, ‘and you can stick this up your arse.’

He slammed the cab door and thrust his money through the open passenger window. Then he vaulted the railings near to where Hawkins stood.

‘Fucking traffic,’ he barked to nobody in particular. ‘Evolution moves faster.’

He strode away, pausing to vent at the workmen and their equipment blocking both of Victoria Street’s westbound lanes.

Then, as if choreographed, the temporary lights changed and the traffic moved on. Hawkins watched the black cab cruise past the suited man, no more than a hundred feet from where he had exited. She grinned when an arm appeared out of the driver’s side, at the wave that turned into a V sign.

She scanned the fresh set of gridlocked cars when they came to a halt; traffic heavy on the last working day before the New Year break, but the black Mercedes she was waiting for wasn’t among them. She checked her watch: still five minutes early. She returned her attention to Friday morning’s
Daily Mail
.

Thanks to Danny Burns, the
Mail
’s front page screamed
its exclusivity almost as loudly as its headline:
KILLER TARGETS BOYS IN BLUE
. She cringed at the media term used whenever they wanted to paint the police in a positive light. It wasn’t even accurate, given a detective’s lack of uniform, but it got the point across. Below it were images of Connor and Barclay.

Inside was Vaughn’s message, signed off by the commissioner himself. The message was aimed at a public readership whose affection for all things celebrity now seemed to extend even to serial killers. It confirmed that Nemesis was known to be responsible for the death of one officer, and was believed to be behind the abduction and possible murder of a second. It sought to remind them that, for a man who claimed moral incontestability, and one who courted media hype with such success, Nemesis was still a murderer.

Its primary function, of course, was to piss the killer off.

Having accepted the strategy’s merits, Hawkins would have preferred to see the message carried by every paper. But she’d suggested that Vaughn contact Danny Burns, aware that every message from Nemesis so far had been sent to him at the
Mail
: they couldn’t afford to wait for the killer’s future messages to appear in print, simply because they hadn’t offered Burns exclusive rights to their own.

Maybe Nemesis was right about morality being dead.

Inevitably, Vaughn had accepted; he knew there was no point throwing away a day’s head start. And, as frustrating as Danny’s terms continued to be, the reporter had stayed true to his word. Hawkins had received a call just before 6 a.m. that morning.

Danny had another email from Nemesis.

That fact alone pretty much confirmed that the killer wasn’t some religious nut, for the simple reason that Advent was over, and therefore any sufficiently obsessive perpetrator would have stopped with Summer Easton. Thankfully, however, it also made it doubtful there was an as-yet undiscovered victim from the first Sunday of Advent.

But it also meant that, unless they stopped Nemesis, there were likely to be more attacks.

The lights changed again and the traffic crawled on. Seconds later, a horn sounded to her right, and Hawkins looked up to see the Mercedes CLS draw to a halt fifteen yards away. She raised a hand to let the driver know she’d seen him, then folded her paper before picking her way through the stationary vehicles to open the passenger door.

‘Am I late?’ Tristan Vaughn killed the radio, cutting Bruno Mars off mid-chorus.

‘Not at all. I was early.’

They filled a few moments with idle chatter about the impossibility of trying to get anywhere during rush hour, before the lights changed and Vaughn eased the car forwards. He cleared his throat as they passed the road works.

‘So, how’s the case?’

Which one?
Hawkins nearly said. But while the babysitter’s expression was pleasant enough, she sensed cracking jokes would still be premature. ‘Fine.’

‘Any news?’

Hawkins’ instinct said only an idiot would mention the Curtis Rickman lead. Yasir and Walker had spent all of
yesterday evening at the snooker hall in Deptford that Karin had told them about, asking after him. Explaining why she hadn’t called Vaughn at the time about such an important development would be difficult enough even now, let alone if and when they got him.

But she needed that arrest on her record instead of Vaughn’s, especially if Rickman turned out to be the killer.

She explained her suspicion regarding the spiritualist link between the victims, and their discovery of Emilia Jeffries. She also mentioned that, in light of the death threat, she’d convinced Jeffries to move into a local safe house, where she was now under the protection of armed police. But she carefully avoided mentioning the two names provided by the prospective victim, or the resulting lead on Rickman.

She finished by telling Vaughn they’d also gained a few more potential witnesses thanks to
Crimewatch
’s screening of the security video from Summer Easton’s house. There was nothing solid yet, but they’d know more when the team reported back at the morning briefing.

A sultry woman’s voice interrupted, telling Vaughn to keep straight ahead onto the A302 through Grosvenor Gardens.

‘And,’ Hawkins continued once the sat nav had finished, ‘I’m sure you know about the DNA reports from Barclay’s flat.’

Vaughn’s raised eyebrows said he didn’t. Hawkins marked down a mental
one-nil
, despite having called in another favour at the lab to get the results early. The call had come twenty minutes ago.

She explained that, despite extensive sample analysis from Barclay’s flat, the most recent traces were all from
one individual, presumably John himself. This included the blood on the table top. Given the degradation of other forensic evidence from the address, it looked like nobody else had been there since August at least.

If Nemesis was to blame for Barclay’s disappearance, the killer clearly hadn’t forgotten how to cover his tracks.

The results also indicated that, thanks to their recent workload, the trainee detective constable probably hadn’t had social company since he moved in; which, Hawkins omitted to mention, made his private life tragically similar to her own.

Vaughn listened intently until she finished, but made no direct response.

Hawkins swallowed as the lull stretched, willing something to break the silence in the whisper-quiet Mercedes. Even Marilyn ‘sat nav’ Monroe would have done.

Was Vaughn simply digesting the information, or was he aware of the Rickman lead? Obviously the news about Barclay was tempered by the fact that the missing persons team had gleaned nothing from John’s neighbours the previous day. Bearing in mind their average age was above sixty, no one had seen visitors come or go, nor heard a commotion on the day he disappeared.

She bit her lip and stared out of the window.

‘OK.’ Vaughn spoke suddenly. ‘I’m sure something’ll break soon.’ He pointed up at a large, art-deco style building. ‘I think this is the place.’

He turned left onto Derry Street, and then right into the entrance of an underground car park. They stopped at the barrier, where a security guard stuck his head out of the control cabin.

Vaughn lowered his window. ‘We’re here to see Danny Burns.’

‘Hold on, mate.’ The guard walked round to the front of the car and checked the Mercedes’ plate against his clipboard. Then he returned to his post and the barrier began to rise. His head appeared out of the window. ‘Go to the back of this level. Mr Burns will meet you by the lifts.’

Vaughn nodded and drove on. Hawkins saw the reporter waiting towards the rear of the car park and pointed him out.

Danny picked up the briefcase standing beside him and wandered over to meet them.

‘You must be Tristan.’ He shook Vaughn’s hand through the window. ‘Hi, Antonia.’

‘Good to meet you.’ Vaughn nodded at the back door. ‘Are we OK to do this here?’

‘No worries.’ Danny opened the rear door and climbed in. He leaned forwards between the front seats. ‘Sorry you had to come down here, but it’s all kind of top secret. These days I have to get written permission to take a piss if it’s got anything to do with Nemesis. Emailing this message is a sackable offence.’

‘It’s fine,’ Hawkins replied. ‘We understand how valuable these exclusives are.’

‘Exactly.’ He pointed to her newspaper. ‘So what do you think of our coverage?’

‘Just what we wanted,’ Vaughn said. ‘It’s good to have you on side.’

Danny grinned. ‘Everyone’s a winner, right? And by
tomorrow, every other paper will be talking about your message instead of his.’

‘Speaking of which.’ Hawkins was keen to move things on. ‘Do you mind if we see it?’

‘Sure. Sorry.’ Danny pulled the briefcase onto his lap. ‘I have to say, the man knows what he’s doing. The messages arrive between 5 and 6 a.m. every Friday morning, comfortably too late to make that day’s headlines, but giving us plenty of time to reserve the next day’s front page.’

He produced a sheet of paper from the case and held it up between them. Hawkins forced herself to let Vaughn take it.

‘And he knows you won’t release details to the TV news people until after the paper’s gone out, so he gets synchronized coverage, thereby creating a more intense reaction.’

Vaughn finished with the message and passed it to her. ‘At least we get our timing right sometimes.’

She began to read.

Police

I assured you my message would be heard.

 

I hope you now realize the futility of trying to deter my campaign.

 

As I have demonstrated, those who attempt to do so will be dealt with.

 

My next target has already been selected.

 

This Sunday you will witness my greatest demonstration yet.

 

Nemesis

 

‘I think you should consider dropping the case.’

Hawkins spun. ‘Where did
that
come from?’

‘Whoa!’ Mike nearly ran into her with the trolley. ‘Look, I’m just saying, we’re all at risk here, even you. And we’ve already seen what this asshole’s capable of.’

‘Keep your voice down,’ she hissed, smiling apologetically as a scowling mother ushered two young kids away from them down an adjacent aisle.

They were in the fruit and veg section of Hawkins’ local supermarket. She’d offered to cook dinner for them both, hoping to get their differences patched.

It wasn’t going well.

‘Sue me.’ Mike held up his hands. ‘But someone’s gotta watch your back.’

‘I’m not going through this again, especially not in bloody Sainsbury’s.’ Hawkins leaned towards him, her voice hushed. ‘I’m serious about my career. I’m certainly not about to give it up because some fruit-loop threatens my team, or because
you
want me to play house.’

She strode off towards the meat aisle.

‘Toni, hold on.’ Mike caught up with her.

‘Are these all right?’ She held up a pack of chops, her tone more curt than she had intended.

‘Forget the damn pork. This isn’t about you and me. I
said
consider
dropping the case. But you tell me your mind’s made up, then I’m behind you all the way.’

‘It is.’

‘All right, but we gotta come clean about Rickman if we don’t get him soon. This lying business isn’t fair on the others.’

He had a point. Tristan Vaughn had insisted on attending the morning brief after he and Hawkins had collected the new email from Nemesis. She’d only just managed to collar Yasir and Walker in time and convince them to keep a lid on the search for Rickman.

They hadn’t been impressed.

‘I know,’ she conceded now, ‘but I’ve only got one basket left, and I’m running out of eggs to put in it. Rickman’s my only chance of coming through this with any credibility. If we don’t get him, I’m probably out of a job anyway … are you listening?’

Mike didn’t respond. Instead, he was staring into the distance over her right shoulder. ‘No way.’

‘What?’

‘Is that your
ex
?’

Hawkins spun, catching sight of Paul’s back as he queued for the basket-only checkout.

‘No,’ she lied. ‘That guy’s too tall, and the clothes are all wrong. Come on, we need peas.’

‘It
is
Paul. We should say hi.’

Hawkins dumped the chops in the trolley, using it to block his path. ‘And rub his face in what we did, while we’re
shopping together
? Could we look any
more
like a couple?’

Maguire accepted she was probably right, and allowed himself to be dragged to the frozen foods aisle, where Hawkins prevaricated until she was sure her ex-fiancé had gone. The delicate peace between her and Mike wouldn’t last long if Paul mentioned his early morning visit before she did. She’d have to explain the lack of boxes in her hallway at some point, but it would be better if Paul weren’t actually there at the time.

They paid, and headed out into the dimly lit car park. Hawkins’ mobile rang as they reached Mike’s car. She searched her bag. ‘This had better be good.’

But her hunger evaporated when she looked at the display. She answered as they both climbed into the car.

She hung up after less than a minute. ‘How soon can you get us to Hounslow?’

‘Twenty minutes if busting the speed limit isn’t a problem for you. Why?’

‘Dinner will have to wait. I think we just located Curtis Rickman.’