The Jackdaw (29 page)

‘Amputated,’ Sean interrupted. ‘You mean cut off?’

She looked him up and down. ‘Whatever word you prefer,’ she told him, ‘but it wasn’t hacked off, if that’s what you mean. The wound is relatively clean. It’s a shame we don’t have the finger – we could probably have sewn it back on. Other than that he’s suffering from a degree of shock – nothing life-threatening − and mild blood loss, although he won’t need a transfusion. Must have been a terrifying experience though. He may need some psychiatric assistance at some point in the near future.’

‘Can we see him?’ Sean quickly moved on.

‘Very well,’ she agreed, ‘but usual rules – not too long and not too much.’

‘Fair enough,’ Sean conceded.

‘Cubicle ten,’ she told them and started to move away before Sean stopped her.

‘One more thing.’ Mantel turned towards him without speaking. ‘Does anyone know he’s here – friends, family?’

‘His wife’s been informed.’

‘How?’ Sean asked, confusing her further. ‘Did he call her – on his mobile perhaps?’

‘No,’ she answered. ‘We called her. He said he’d had his mobile taken from him.’

‘By his abductor?’

‘I really don’t know,’ Mantel told him with growing frustration. ‘Such things aren’t my concern. Now if you’ll excuse me.’ She turned on her heels and headed off along the sterile corridor.

‘Not exactly a bundle of information, was she?’ Sally complained.

‘Once Goldsboro’s signed his medical release form she’ll be more forthcoming,’ Sean reminded her. ‘Whether she likes it or not.’

He gestured that she should go first and they both walked the short distance along the corridor to the cubicle marked with a ‘10’, the thick, light blue curtain pulled across the entrance. Sally pulled it open only slightly and half stepped inside.

‘Mr Goldsboro? Jeremy Goldsboro?’ The well-built man in his early fifties lying on top of the bed, still wearing his own blood-spattered clothes, looked up at her with sharp grey eyes, although they were slightly bloodshot and tired.

‘Yes,’ he told her in a stronger voice than she’d expected, his well-spoken accent matching his square jaw and straight nose. ‘I’m Jeremy Goldsboro.’ Despite his pallor and dishevelled appearance, Sally could imagine that on any other day he would be handsome and healthy looking.

‘We’re from the police,’ she told him, moving deeper into the cubicle with Sean following her in. She pointed at herself. ‘Detective Sergeant Sally Jones and this is Detective Inspector Corrigan from the Special Investigations Unit. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?’

Goldsboro looked at Sean. ‘DI Corrigan. That name rings a bell.’

‘Coincidence,’ Sean suggested.

‘I don’t think so,’ Goldsboro replied, before wincing with pain and holding his heavily bandaged hand across his chest. ‘Ah yes. I remember now. You’re in charge of catching the man who did this to me, aren’t you?’ It almost sounded like an accusation.

‘I am,’ Sean admitted.

‘Pity for me you didn’t catch him sooner,’ Goldsboro added.

‘I’m sorry,’ was all Sean could say.

‘Don’t be,’ Goldsboro told him and sounded like he meant it. ‘If you could have, I’m sure you would have.’ He winced again. ‘Please – ask your questions – anything you like if it’ll help catch the bastard. Damn animal cut my bloody finger off, for Christ’s sake.’

‘I know,’ Sean answered. ‘I’m sorry for what you’ve been through.’

‘What’s happened, happened. It’s over now and I’m still alive where others are not. I won’t let this ruin my life.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Sally told him, ‘but sometimes the worst effects of what we’ve been through don’t manifest themselves until days, even weeks later. If you begin to feel a little … down, don’t wait. Get help straight away.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ he assured her. ‘Once I get home and things settle down, I’ll be fine.’

‘We need to know where you were abducted from,’ Sean changed the subject, keen to press on, ‘and how it happened.’

Goldsboro took a breath and tried to sit more upright until the pain seemed to stop him. ‘I was just coming to the end of my evening stroll in Holland Park – it’s right next to where I live – and was crossing the small car park there when he stepped out from behind a tree and pointed a shotgun at me. He was already wearing the ski-mask pulled over his face and spoke through the voice-altering thing he had across his mouth.’

‘What happened next?’ Sean asked.

‘I’m trying to remember,’ Goldsboro told him, looking more confused now. ‘It’s more difficult than you’d think.’

‘Take your time,’ Sally encouraged him. ‘It’ll come.’

‘He threw me a hood,’ Goldsboro continued, ‘and told me to put it over my head and face. I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen – just kept pointing that damn shotgun at my head and telling me he’d blow my head off if I didn’t hurry. Needless to say, I put the hood on. Next thing I’m being pushed across the car park – can’t see a bloody thing. I hear a car or more likely a van door slide open, definitely a sliding sound, and he pushes me inside. He strapped my ankles and wrists to some sort of leather-bound restraints and pulled the hood off. My first thought was that he wanted me to see that he was going to kill me, but instead he slapped a piece of sticky tape over my mouth and pulled the hood back on. Then we drove for what seemed like hours before we stopped. He took me out of the van and frogmarched me into some kind of building. It was cold inside and smelt of damp, like it had been long since abandoned. We went up some stairs and he pushed me into a chair and taped me to it. I didn’t hear the tape being ripped, so I guessed he’d already prepared it. He left the hood on me and the tape across my mouth. I guess he didn’t want me to see or say anything, but I could hear sounds like he was turning on electrical equipment that made the sort of whirring sound computers and digital cameras make when they’re warming up. A few seconds later he started going on about greedy, criminal bankers and how we’ve been stealing from “the people” and all that nonsense. Then the bastard grabbed me by the arm and demanded I hold my fingers out. I thought maybe he was going to start breaking them or pull my fingernails out, but then I felt the cold metal closing around my finger and … well, you know what happened next.’ He looked down at his bandaged hand. ‘At least he strapped a basic bandage around it before taking me back to the van.’

‘He strapped it?’ Sean asked.

‘Yeah,’ Goldsboro confirmed. ‘Not properly, but enough to stem the bleeding.’

‘Then what?’

‘Back on with the hood and back out to the van. Again we drove for what seemed like forever, a motorway or dual carriageway at first, and then the traffic got slower and heavier, so I guessed we were somewhere in town. Eventually I heard him get out and slide the door open. He undid my wrists, but then taped them behind my back before releasing my ankles and removing the hood. Christ, I thought I was going to suffocate in that damn hood. Once my eyes adjusted to the streetlights I saw I was in some residential street. He gave me a shove and I kept walking in that direction while he got back in his van and drove off in the other. I was confused and disorientated. I guess I wandered about until somebody found me and called the police. It was only later I realized I should have just called at the nearest house.’

‘That’s understandable,’ Sean reassured him before quickly following it with another question. ‘When you were in the van, could you tell if he was separated from you?’

‘He definitely was,’ Goldsboro answered without hesitation. ‘The driver’s cabin was cut off from the rest of the van by what looked like wooden boarding and the section I was in looked and felt like it had been padded.’

‘Soundproofed,’ Sean spoke to himself.

‘Could have been,’ Goldsboro agreed.

‘Was there anything about him that looked … familiar?’ Sean asked.

‘In what way?’

‘In any way,’ Sean told him. ‘Anything at all.’

‘You’re asking me if I think I
know
him?’

‘I have to consider it,’ Sean explained.

Goldsboro shook his head slightly as he considered the question, his eyes squinting with concentration, taking his time before answering. ‘No. Nothing. If there had been I would have noticed. My powers of observation are well known. I don’t know this man.’

‘Then what about his other victims?’ Sean asked. ‘Paul Elkins and Georgina Vaughan. Do you know them?’

‘No,’ he told him a little unsurely. ‘Paul Elkins sounds vaguely familiar. I may have crossed his path when I worked in the City, but it’s been years since I was there. Georgina Vaughan means nothing to me.’

‘What about someone who may have had a personal grudge against you?’

‘Not that I know of,’ Goldsboro answered. ‘I had my fair share of threatening emails and letters when the banking system had its little wobble, some more personal than others, but nothing too close to home – all just sniping from a safe distance, although … there was one who was a little more
troubling
than perhaps the others were.’

‘In what way?’ Sean asked.

‘I had plenty of threats to do this and do that, even threats against my family, but they were all so over the top you knew they weren’t serious – not really.’

‘But?’ Sean encouraged.

‘Well, there was one who was always a lot more specific, and calm … cold. There was structure to his threats – I don’t know, an intelligence about him, I suppose, and he seemed to know personal details. Nothing too specific, but enough to cause concern.’

Sean and Sally glanced at each other. ‘Can you remember his name?’ Sean asked.

‘No,’ Goldsboro told him. ‘It was a long time ago now. I gave the City of London Police a statement, just like we all did and let them get on with it. I heard later he was arrested and charged or cautioned – I don’t remember which. I’m sure they’ll still have a record of it somewhere.’

‘
Like we all did
?’ Sean repeated Goldsboro’s words.

‘Yes,’ Goldsboro confirmed. ‘Apparently I wasn’t the only one he threatened.’

‘OK,’ Sean promised. ‘We’ll look into it, but right now you look like you could do with some rest. They may keep you in for the night, but you should be home by tomorrow. I’ll send one of my team round to take a full statement, if you’re up to it.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Goldsboro assured him.

‘Sorry,’ Sean said, shaking his head. ‘Before I forget, did you have a mobile phone with you, when he first approached you?’

‘Yes,’ Goldsboro told him. ‘He took it off me just before he forced me into the van.’

‘I see,’ Sean replied. ‘Oh well – we may yet find it. He may have thrown it close by. You get some rest.’

He headed for the curtained exit before Goldsboro stopped him. ‘You will keep me informed, won’t you, Inspector? My wife, you see. She won’t sleep now until he’s caught. Anything I can tell her to ease her fears.’

‘Of course,’ Sean agreed and once more made for the exit before pausing and turning back to Goldsboro. ‘One last thing, Mr Goldsboro – are you right-handed or left?’

Goldsboro frowned slightly at the question. ‘Right-handed. Why? Is it important?’

‘Probably not,’ Sean answered, not knowing whether he was telling the truth or not yet. ‘Goodnight, Mr Goldsboro.’ He escaped back into the corridor with Sally in pursuit.

‘What’s with the right-handed, left-handed question?’ she asked, struggling to keep up with Sean.

‘What?’

‘The right hand, left hand question,’ Sally repeated.

‘Goldsboro’s right-handed,’ he told her, as if that alone would answer her question.

‘And?’

‘But our boy cut his left little finger off.’

‘Which matters why?’

Sean stopped and looked at her. ‘Doesn’t that strike you as being a little odd?’

‘Odd how?’

‘Our boy tells the world he wants Goldsboro to be reminded of his greed every time he looks down at his hands as he’s counting his cash – so why take his left finger and not his right?’

‘I doubt he was even thinking about it,’ Sally argued. ‘When you’re about to hack someone’s finger off I don’t suppose you’d be worrying about whether they’re right-or left-handed.’

‘I suppose not,’ Sean agreed and started walking again. ‘But perhaps he did consider it and decided to take the left finger as a sign of … mercy. Perhaps he’s losing the stomach for what he’s started, or …’

‘Or what?’

‘I’m not sure,’ he told her. ‘Not yet. Best thing I can think of is he’s trying to send us a message. By de-escalating the level of violence in his crimes he’s trying to tell us something.’

‘Like what?’

‘That he’s not insane or that he’s had enough. That he’s trying to stop.’

‘Or maybe he’s just messing with us,’ Sally suggested. ‘Breaking a few rules to keep us off balance.’

‘Maybe,’ Sean replied without conviction, swooping through the ambulance bay exit and unlocking their car.

‘What now?’ Sally asked, opening her door.

‘Where else?’ Sean answered with a question. ‘Holland Park.’

Sean parked in Abbotsbury Road, Holland Park, he and Sally walking the short distance to the small car park inside the park itself where they showed their warrant cards to the uniformed constable guarding the taped-off entrance and ducked under and inside. They could see someone moving around inside the car park, shining a torch at the ground as they did so, as if searching for something. Sean already knew who it was.

‘Paulo,’ he called out, pulling his own mini-Maglite torch from his belt pouch as Sally did the same. ‘Over here.’ The beam of light froze in the darkness, then bounced its way towards them, the shadowy figure becoming clearer until it was close enough to be recognized.

‘Guv’nor,’ Zukov greeted him before quickly turning to Sally, ‘Sal.’

‘Been here long?’ Sean asked.

‘Long enough,’ Zukov moaned.

‘Forensics?’ Sean questioned.

‘Be here in a couple of hours,’ Zukov answered. ‘DS Roddis is sending a couple of his team over and technical support are sending over some lighting, but they won’t get down to the nitty-gritty of it until morning.’

‘And have you found anything?’ Sally asked.