The Jackal Man (27 page)

For a few moments nobody spoke. Then Wesley broke the silence. ‘He’s not going to stop, is he, Guy?’

‘I’m afraid not.’ Guy looked down at his watch. ‘I’m sorry to be pessimistic but that’s my professional opinion. Look, I’ve
got students’ work to mark so I’d better be off. Call me if there’s anything new, won’t you?’

Wesley watched Guy leave. If he was right, there would be more deaths to deal with. More bereaved families to break the worst
news of all to. As he sat down opposite Gerry, Rachel hurried in. ‘I’ve just had a PC Smethwick on the phone. He arrived at
Neston Hospital to take over from the officer on night duty.’ She hesitated. ‘He reckons that Delaware could have got out
without anyone knowing.’

Wesley twisted round in his seat. ‘How?’

‘Delaware’s in a side ward – a single room. When Smethwick arrived he peeped into the room. Delaware was asleep – or pretending
to be – and when Smethwick walked over to the window he saw that it led straight out onto the fire escape. His clothes were
in the room so he could have got dressed and got out of the room any time he wanted during the night. The nurse told Smethwick
that Delaware’s fine – he’ll be discharged tomorrow.’

Gerry Heffernan stood up, looming there like a bear about to deliver a blow to a hapless child. ‘Didn’t anyone notice there
was a fire escape outside the room?’

‘No. The constable was stationed outside in the corridor and as far as anyone knew Delaware was in there asleep with no way
out because it’s on the second floor.’

‘And nobody thought to check the room?’

Rachel shook her head. ‘He could easily have got out, picked up whatever he needed and killed Naomi Hart, couldn’t he?’

Gerry slumped in his seat and it groaned under his weight. ‘You don’t need to say any more, Rach. We’ve cocked up. I
don’t suppose a nurse was taking his pulse at the time of the murder?’

‘No. He was last checked at nine o’clock.’

‘And Naomi Hart was found just outside the hospital,’ said Wesley. ‘He’s our man, Gerry. He’s got to be.’

Gerry stood up again. ‘We’ve got to get something concrete on Delaware before he has a chance to do it again. You heard Guy.
He’s been thwarted so he’ll strike again soon. Possibly tonight. He’s well enough to be discharged from hospital so I suggest
we bring him in again for questioning. And we have to find out how he picked up the sheet and the Anubis figure so all local
taxi firms need to be checked – he must be keeping the equipment somewhere we don’t know about. And get Forensic to go over
his clothing and the hospital room for any link to the murder scene.’

‘So we’re absolutely sure it’s Delaware?’ said Rachel.

‘Aren’t you, Rach?’

‘Everything seems to point that way.’

‘He knows all about John Varley’s killings and he’s copied every detail. Who else would know about that? If those sheets do
come from the castle he’s had plenty of opportunity to help himself. And if he’s using that missing mask, the world and his
wife and his dog have access to that church hall. He could easily have pinched it.’

‘How would he have known it was there?’ Wesley asked.

‘Maybe he went to the performance of the play, whatever it was called.’

‘
I Remember Cleopatra.
Are we discounting Raymond Seed then? He’s out on bail.’

Gerry shook his head. ‘An antiquities scam is a very different kettle of fish to this kind of murder. Delaware’s a loner obsessed
with John Varley’s killings.’

‘He gave Seed as his alibi for the first murder and he had the key to his flat. Seed admits they were friends.’

‘But Delaware didn’t know Seed was away in London, did he, so they can’t be that close. What more do you want from Delaware,
Wes? A signed confession?’

Wesley could see the strain on Gerry’s face. Because of police incompetence, the possible killer had been able to slip out
of his hospital room undetected. Naomi Hart’s blood might be on their hands. And Gerry was finding that hard to live with.

‘Right,’ Gerry said. ‘I want everyone who’s already been questioned to account for their movements. But that’s only a precaution.
We need to build a case against Delaware and that starts now.’

‘He must be keeping the mask and the sheets somewhere, not to mention the cord he uses to strangle the poor women. We know
he doesn’t keep these things in his flat on Ford Street and he wouldn’t have had time to fetch them from Varley Castle last
night so there must be somewhere else we don’t know about. A lock-up, for instance, or maybe he has an accomplice.’

‘Seed?’

Gerry shook his head and sighed as he leaned back in his chair. He looked tired, probably more from the weight of guilt about
being unable to prevent Naomi Hart’s death than any lack of sleep. It was a heavy burden to carry. Almost intolerable. Wesley
knew how he felt because he felt the same.

The sooner Robert Delaware was back in custody, the better.

On Monday morning Robert Delaware was due to be released from hospital. The doctors had found nothing
wrong with him and Wesley wondered whether his collapse had merely been a piece of theatre. Delaware had proved himself to
be a liar. But was he an accomplished actor too?

At ten o’clock, after delivering his customary briefing, Gerry Heffernan sat in his glass-fronted office at the edge of the
incident room like a controlling fat spider at the centre of a web. From time to time members of the team would hurry into
the DCI’s office to offer him morsels of information and then he would emerge from his nest to address his under-lings, bringing
them up to date with each new development. Wesley, sitting at his desk near the hub of activity, saw an expression of grim
determination on Gerry’s face. Whatever happened, he wasn’t going to make another mistake.

Wesley gazed out of the window. It was raining and drops of water chased each other down the glass. He could see the thick
grey clouds reflected in the river and the boats covered in their winter tarpaulins, bobbing up and down on its rough and
inhospitable surface. It was almost March and soon Tradmouth would emerge from its winter slumber. Around Easter the first
visitors of summer would arrive. And with them more crime. But Wesley really couldn’t see how things could get any worse.

‘Can I have a word?’

Wesley looked up and saw Tom from Scientific Support hovering by his desk. He was a tall, good-looking young man with short
hair, intelligent grey eyes and a glowing reputation as a maestro of the computer keyboard. Gerry Heffernan regarded his mysterious
talents with the awe afforded to a witch doctor by tribal elders.

Tom took a seat opposite Wesley which suggested that this was no flying visit. ‘I spent most of yesterday going through Isobel
Grant’s computer files,’ he began.

Wesley raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m impressed by your dedication. I thought you usually went diving on Sundays.’

Tom grinned. ‘I do most weekends but the weather was bad and Gerry called in a favour.’

Wesley gave him a conspiratorial smile. ‘Understood. He can be very persuasive when he wants to be. Find anything interesting?’

‘I did, as a matter of fact. Isobel Grant went in for computer dating and I managed to get names and addresses first thing
this morning.’ He placed a sheet of paper in front of Wesley. ‘They’re all there – the men she’d been in contact with. And
I’ve printed out some of her emails – the personal ones that could be useful – and I’ve requested the addresses from the service
providers. I’ll let you have them as soon as I get them.’

Tom took a sheaf of papers from the laptop case he was nursing on his knee. He selected one and handed it to Wesley. ‘You
can have a look through them at your leisure but I thought this one sounded interesting. And so is Isobel’s reply.’

Wesley took it from him and began to read. The email was from a Gemma Fielding, obviously a friend.

‘Izzy, it was good to see you yesterday but for God’s sake be careful. The idea of asking him for money is ridiculous and
I hope you weren’t being serious. I know it must be complete shit living with your mum but there are easier ways of getting
a deposit to buy a house. Personally, I’d rather sell my body … if anybody would buy it (ha ha). Please tell me you were
joking. Don’t do anything daft. Love Gemma.’

The reply was printed underneath. It was dated a couple of days before Isobel’s murder.

‘Don’t worry about me – I can take care of myself. And what I told you is definitely not for sharing with anybody … even
Matt. I wouldn’t have said anything if we hadn’t had that extra bottle of Chardonnay. In vino veritas, eh? But seriously,
swear you won’t say a word to anyone. See you on the twenty-sixth. Love, Izzy.’

Wesley looked up. ‘We need to talk to Gemma Fielding. While we’re waiting for her address I suppose we could e-mail her.’

Tom frowned. ‘And if she’s the sort of person who doesn’t want to talk to the police she might not answer. She might even
do a runner.’

Wesley was rather surprised at Tom’s jaundiced view of human nature. He had always thought that that level of suspicion was
confined to police officers. ‘You could be right. Any more interesting e-mails? Any asking someone for money, for instance?’

Tom shook his head and placed the printouts on Wesley’s desk. ‘They all seem to be from friends – normal stuff about jobs
and boyfriends and people they know. She moans a lot about having to live with her mum and Tradmouth’s dire social scene.
You might find out more from her text messages if you’ve got her phone.’

‘We haven’t. The killer took it along with her clothes.’

‘I’ve also looked at her Facebook page but there’s nothing there that she wouldn’t want to share with the world. It’s only
that e-mail from Gemma that suggests she might have been involved in something iffy.’

‘So if she did ask someone for money, she must have done it over the phone or even to their face.’

‘Or sent a letter … or maybe she took Gemma’s advice
and chickened out.’ Tom hesitated. ‘She was a teacher, wasn’t she?’

Wesley nodded.

‘Then she’d probably have had more sense.’

‘My mother-in-law’s a teacher and she’s the stupidest woman I’ve ever met.’

Tom began to chuckle. ‘Point taken.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll let you have those addresses as soon as I get them.’

As Tom hurried off with a satisfied expression on his face Wesley began to leaf through the e-mails on his desk, looking for
anything suspicious. Or anything connected with Ancient Egypt. But there was nothing. Just gossip between friends, most of
it tedious to anyone who didn’t know the people involved. Gemma Fielding was the only person who had written anything out
of the ordinary.

Until he’d read her e-mail he’d assumed Isobel Grant was a straightforward young woman, a teacher living with her mother,
so keen for love and escape in a small town with a probable dearth of eligible men that she’d accept a date with a stranger
– a stranger who turned out to be Alan Jakes. But those few words from Gemma printed in Times New Roman on an A4 sheet of
paper had opened up new possibilities: Isobel was planning to ask somebody for money, possibly in an attempt at blackmail.
But could that have anything to do with the recent murders? All the indications were that the unfortunate victims had just
been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He walked into Gerry’s office and, after clearing a space amongst the clutter of files and forms, he placed Gemma’s e-mail
and the reply on the desk in front of him.

Gerry’s verdict was as he expected. ‘If it’s some madman who gets a kick out of killing and mutilating young women,
I can’t really see that this is relevant, Wes. But follow it up if you want to. You never know your luck.’

‘Tom’s getting Gemma’s details from the service provider.’

‘That’ll keep him out of mischief.’ He sighed heavily. ‘It’s a pity the murderer took their mobile phones along with their
clothes. I wonder what he’s done with them?’

‘Kept them as souvenirs probably,’ Wesley said quietly.

‘Or chucked ’em in the river.’

‘Maybe. In which case they might be washed up at some point. Unless he weighted them down.’

‘He’s clever. He’ll have weighted them down.’ Gerry sounded despondent.

‘He’s bound to make a mistake sooner or later.’

‘If it’s Delaware, he’s laughing at us.’

‘If it’s Delaware, we can reel him in any time. He says he’s going straight to Varley Castle and Neil’ll be there to report
if he gets up to anything suspicious. We’ll circulate his car number to all patrols so if he makes a move, we’ll know about
it. And once we have the evidence to charge him, we’ll bring him in.’

Wesley remembered the fire escape but hopefully the same mistake wouldn’t be repeated. He sifted through the other papers
Tom had given him and came across a list of men Isobel Grant had contacted via a dating website. In the excitement of finding
the e-mail from Gemma, he’d almost overlooked it. But now he scanned the names and the sight of one in particular made his
heart beat a little faster.

He pushed the list towards Gerry. ‘These are the names of the men Isobel contacted on the dating website. Recognise anybody?’

Gerry picked up the sheet. ‘Well, well. Who’s a naughty
solicitor then? I thought Vicky Page would have been enough for any man.’

‘And don’t forget his wife.’

‘I don’t think I’ll forget Suzie Crest in a hurry.’ He continued to examine the list, a wide grin fixed on his face.

‘I wonder how much she knows about her husband’s extra-marital activities?’ Wesley suddenly had a thought. ‘What if Isobel
met Clive and she asked him for money to keep quiet about his infidelities? That could be what Gemma meant.’

Gerry looked up. ‘Put him on our list. And we’d better get statements from the other men too.’

With these new developments and the prospect of questioning Delaware further once he’d been released from hospital, Wesley
was trying to feel optimistic … even though Guy Kitchener’s prediction about another death still lurked at the back of
his mind.