The Jackdaw (7 page)

‘Yes. Fucking yes.’ He pumped his fists in front of him. ‘Interview the bastard. Just him and me. Sensational, Geoff my old son – fucking sensational, but how? How am I gonna get one on one with this joker?’

And even if I do, how am I going to keep the police off my back?

Sean and Donnelly arrived back at the Yard and headed towards their offices, but Sean froze in his tracks when he saw Anna sitting in his. Featherstone had warned him she’d be attached to the investigation, but the sight of her so close still made his stomach tighten and his head feel suddenly cloudy, if only for a few seconds.

‘You all right?’ Donnelly asked. ‘Look like you’ve just been made Addis’s new bag carrier.’ He followed Sean’s eyeline until he saw Anna. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Well, you did tell me she was going to be with us again.’

‘I know,’ Sean answered, still looking decidedly uncomfortable.

‘Jesus,’ Donnelly told him. ‘She’s not that bad.’

‘No,’ Sean agreed. ‘No she’s not.’

‘Aye, aye,’ Donnelly teased. ‘I’ll leave you to it then.’

Sean watched Donnelly head toward his office and Sally, before following suit and walking the short distance to his own. Anna still hadn’t seen him when he reached the office door.

‘Hello,’ was all he could think of to say, but at least it made her look up from her file.

‘Sean,’ she smiled. ‘Not too much of a shock seeing me here I hope?’

‘No. Superintendent Featherstone told me you’d be with us. It’s good to see you again.’

‘Thank you, although I sense a
but
in there somewhere.’

‘No. Not really. Just I’m not sure this particular case warrants your input. Your expertise.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning I don’t see a psychiatric angle here – not particularly, anyway.’

‘You have an offender who’s killed someone live on the Internet. I would have thought a psychiatric evaluation would be just what you needed.’

‘This one’s no Thomas Keller, Anna – no tortured childhood and history of abuse. He’s pissed off and he wants revenge. Nice, straightforward, old-fashioned motivation.’

‘That simple?’

‘Why not?’

‘Because he shares his revenge with the world. How does that fit into his motivation?’

‘Because,’ Sean tried to explain, ‘he sees the majority of the public as fellow victims – victims of the system that he believes protects the rich and powerful – no matter what they do. He wants to be their … spiritual leader.’

She looked him up and down before continuing. ‘You may well be right, but it’s a little soon to be settling on one theory and one theory alone – don’t you think?’

‘I’m not settling on anything,’ he told her, sounding frustrated. ‘I’m just leaning towards what the evidence supports.’

‘Of course,’ she agreed, ‘and I hear you found the victim’s body in the Thames.’

‘Correct.’

‘So he took the time and effort to remove the body from the scene – meaning he may well offend again.’

‘Really? I hadn’t considered that yet,’ he lied.

‘Yes you have. You know this isn’t going to be his only crime, so why don’t you just tell me why you don’t want me involved in the investigation?’

He studied her for a few seconds, trying to give himself some thinking time so that the next thing out of his mouth wouldn’t be harmful and wounding to them both. Finally he held up his hands and allowed himself a slight smile. ‘You know what, I’m sorry,’ he told her and meant it. ‘It is good to see you again. I’m sure we’ll catch this one quicker with you than without you.’

‘It’s good to see you too.’ She took the olive branch.

He pushed himself away from her and walked quickly from his office and into Sally and Donnelly’s.

‘Time to brief the team,’ he told them. ‘Care to join me?’ He turned without waiting for the answer and headed to the whiteboard that had a smiling photograph of Paul Elkins attached to it, with some details and notes scribbled all around it. As soon as Sally and Donnelly entered the main office he began.

‘All right everybody, listen up,’ he called across the room. Within a few seconds everyone had stopped talking or typing – calls put on hold or phones hung up. ‘You’ve all seen the murder that was shown live on Your View some time yesterday evening and by now you all know it was genuine – not some staged publicity stunt or sick joke. We recovered the victim’s body from the Thames earlier today. We haven’t had the body officially identified yet, but I’ve seen it and can tell you it’s the body of Paul Elkins.’ Nobody argued.

‘What we know so far is the victim was wealthy. Very wealthy. He worked for a bank in the City and lived in Chelsea, with his wife and two kids. He was abducted by a solitary male late yesterday afternoon – in broad daylight from his own street as he made his way home. He was bundled into a white panel van and driven away. Two witnesses saw the abduction and one provided a registration number.’

‘I’ve got an update on the vehicle,’ Sally interrupted.

‘Go on,’ Sean told her.

‘It’s been checked out by the local CID who cover the address of the registered keeper. Turns out it belongs to a painter and decorator in Guildford who reported having his number plates nicked a couple of weeks ago. The locals say it checks out. Dead end, I’m afraid.’

‘Not quite,’ Sean explained. ‘Put out a national circulation – anyone reports having their number plates nicked off their van we want to know about it immediately.’

‘No problem,’ Sally agreed.

‘Some time later the victim pops up on Your View, with our masked killer who gives anyone who cares to listen a lecture on the wrongs of being overly wealthy and in particular gives it to the bankers and the banking system. He encourages people to vote online as to whether they think Elkins is guilty of greed, corruption, God knows what. The vote goes against Elkins and he’s murdered – we all know how. So … ideas.’

‘Check with his company and wife to see if he had any death threats or other threats. Emails, letters, phone calls,’ Sally suggested.

‘Yeah. Good,’ Sean agreed. ‘Anything else?’

‘Check if anyone’s been seen acting suspiciously outside his home or work,’ DC Alan Jesson offered. ‘Maybe there’s a record of someone causing trouble or some other incidents.’

‘Fine,’ Sean told him. ‘Check it out.’

‘Check the rope around the victim’s neck,’ DC Maggie O’Neil joined in. ‘It might be a rare type.’

‘Unfortunately the killer didn’t leave us the rope,’ Sean told her. ‘He removed it from the body before he dumped it, but I’ll have Dr Canning check the marks around the victim’s neck anyway. He may be able to re-create the rope’s pattern and then yes, we might be able to tell if it’s exotic. Anything else?’ he asked the room.

‘Search the area where the body was found for the scene – this white room he used for the killing,’ DC Ashley Goodwin added.

‘Could be anywhere,’ Sean dismissed it. ‘We don’t have anything specific enough to target an area, but we can circulate a request Met-wide asking everyone to keep their eyes open. Get that out to surrounding forces too, will you, Ash? I don’t think he went outside the southeast.’ Goodwin nodded.

‘This white room,’ DC Fiona Cahill interrupted, ‘looks pretty unusual. If he’d prepared it in advance someone else might have seen it – a builder, a caretaker. Maybe it’s been seen by someone and the suspect doesn’t even know.’

‘Worth a chance,’ Sean agreed. ‘Get that out to the media as an appeal for assistance. Anyone thinks they might have seen anything like it to get in touch. Anyone else got anything?’ The room was silent, the detectives looking at one another, but no one spoke. ‘All right,’ Sean told them. ‘Dave, find me someone who’s a bit of a whizz with computers and the Internet and all that stuff. We’re gonna need a bit of help with this one.’

‘Where from?’ Donnelly asked.

‘I don’t care,’ Sean told him. ‘Anywhere. Try the Cyber Crime Unit. They must have someone they can spare.’

‘If we look outside the Met I might be able to find you a real expert,’ Donnelly argued.

‘And wipe out our unit’s budget for the entire year?’ Sean complained, ‘I don’t think so. Let’s make do with someone who’s homegrown and knows what they’re doing and keep a little money for a rainy day.’

‘Fair enough,’ Donnelly agreed.

‘And we’re going to need to monitor Your View around the clock,’ Sean continued. ‘Dave, you sort out a shift pattern so someone’s always got it covered.’ Donnelly nodded he understood. ‘OK, that’s it for now,’ but the meeting didn’t disperse as quickly as he expected, telling him something was wrong. ‘Problem?’ he asked them as a group.

‘This could be a complicated investigation,’ Donnelly spoke for them.

‘So?’ Sean queried.

‘So how’re we supposed to investigate it properly when Douglas Allen’s trial’s about to kick off at the Bailey?’

‘Don’t hang around at court,’ Sean told them. ‘Keep your mobiles on and the CPS will call you when and if you’re needed to give evidence. Go to court – give your evidence and get back here.’

‘They’ll want us there,’ Donnelly reminded him, ‘for the exhibits alone.’

‘We’ll manage,’ Sean insisted, holding his hands up, palms out, to let everyone know it wasn’t up for further discussion. ‘We don’t have any other choice but to manage, so let’s get on with it.’ There were a few moans and groans as the meeting finally broke up, but Sean knew they’d be fine. They just needed to become immersed in the new investigation – move on from the last case. It would do them all good to have Douglas Allen out of their heads. He just wished he could get Anna out of his.

Assistant Commissioner Addis stood looking out of his office window on the top floor of New Scotland Yard, over the vast city he had ambitions to be the next Commissioner of – so long as he could outmanoeuvre his rivals. They had their high-profile marches to police, getting their faces all over the TV news, but he had Special Investigations, ensuring he’d be overseeing every prominent murder, abduction or anything else he deemed fit to assign Corrigan and his team. So long as he kept a tight control over media access to information and press conferences, the TV and paperboys would have to come begging to him or miss out on the story. If they kept him nicely in the eye of the public and politicians, he’d keep them up to speed on the hunt for the Your View Killer.

He just needed Corrigan to do what he seemed able to do better than anyone else and get a quick result without blowing up and turning his trump card into a liability. That was why he wanted to keep a close watch on things – a tight rein. He was pleased with himself for integrating Anna into the team, but would she remember where her loyalties lay? And would Corrigan’s team become suspicious of her and start feeding her misinformation? He knew detectives could be a cunning lot – suspicious and instinctive. Anna would be no match for them if they sensed she was there for any other reason than to observe and advise. Maybe it was time he had someone even closer to Corrigan on the unit – someone who was already in place and trusted. Maybe only another detective could be completely relied on to provide him with what he needed.

The landline phone ringing on his desk broke into his thoughts and he turned and strode across the office, grabbing the phone as he sat in his large leather chair, back straight, head high.

‘Assistant Commissioner Addis speaking.’

‘Assistant Commissioner,’ the voice began. ‘My name is Nick Poole – I’m the CEO of Your View.’ Addis’s eyebrows arched high on his brow.

‘And what can I do for you, Mr Poole?’

‘Well, as you’re no doubt aware, in the light of our site being used by what I can only describe as a sick and evil individual, we gave a lot of consideration to
temporarily
closing it down.’

‘And then decided not to,’ Addis cut in, fully aware of the situation.

‘It’s just we felt it improper to be dictated to by this individual and hugely unfair to our other users, the vast majority of whom are responsible, decent people.’

‘Quite,’ Addis agreed, losing patience. ‘So why are we having this conversation?’

‘Because,’ Poole continued, ‘we’ve met with our technical people and they tell us it would be possible to close the site practically the second this lunatic appears on Your View – should he try to use it again.’

Addis sank back in his chair to consider the offer for a few seconds before leaning forward again. ‘No,’ he told Addis. ‘We’d rather see what we’re dealing with, and tracing the source of the broadcast could be our best chance of finding him quickly. No. Should there be another broadcast – let it run.’

‘I’m not sure,’ Poole complained. ‘People might start accusing us of being complicit. We’ve already had a lot of complaints about the one he’s already broadcast. I’m, shall we say, very uncomfortable with giving this
person
a platform to preach from – let alone to commit more serious crimes on.’

‘My call,’ Addis told him. ‘Tell your complainants you’re acting on instructions given to you by the police. Absolve yourself of the responsibility if you like, but if he uses Your View again, we want to be able to monitor it. Understand?’

‘OK, but it’s your call.’

‘Of course it is,’ Addis told him and hung up. ‘It’s always my call.’

Sean and Sally arrived at the offices of Fairfield’s Bank in Leadenhall Street in the heart of the City of London. It was getting late, but the Acting CEO had agreed to stay and see them. His boss had been murdered live on the Internet – what else could he do? An elegant woman met them in reception and told them her name, although Sean forgot it immediately, his mind wandering to the meeting ahead. They rose high through the tall building in the elevator until they reached the top floor and were led to a large but simple office where a slim man in his late forties rose from his chair to greet them, pushing back his longish, sandy blond hair with his left hand while holding out his right. He wore a dark blue pinstripe suit, the jacket of which hung over the back of his chair. His bold red tie and braces contrasted sharply with his pale blue and white striped shirt.

‘Simon Damant,’ he told them, eagerly shaking their hands in turn, as if he’d been desperately awaiting their arrival. ‘Acting CEO.’