The Jackdaw (9 page)

‘Something about the Your View Killer. DS Donnelly told me.’

‘It’s all about the Your View Killer,’ Sean told him. Bishop visibly swallowed hard. ‘Can he be traced? Can we trace him to wherever he’s broadcasting from?’

‘Yes,’ Bishop answered, ‘but it’s not like on the telly – it can take a while. But why d’you need me? Can’t you use one of your own team?’

‘Sure,’ Sean teased him, ‘because my team’s full of Internet and computer experts. The Commissioner lets me keep them locked in a room for whenever I might need them – along with thousands of pounds’ worth of tracking equipment for the once in a blue moon when I might need that too. Bishop, this is the Metropolitan Police: you don’t get given anything until you absolutely need it and then you beg, steal and borrow it before handing it back to wherever it is you got it from. And right now I need you.’

‘Well then, I guess I’m all yours,’ Bishop gave in.

‘Good. Can we trace it even when it’s not on?’ Sean pressed ahead with his queries.

‘No,’ Bishop told him. ‘We can only trace him when he’s connected to the Internet. Every time he’s connected we inch a little closer to his location, but he has to be connected.’

‘What if he changes computers or changes the location of his broadcasts? Donnelly asked.

‘If we’ve already got a hook into his computer we can trace him even if he changes location – although we’d have to go back a few steps, which would slow us down. But even without a hard modem we can trace his wireless fingerprint via the—’

‘Stop. Stop,’ Sean interrupted. ‘Save the technical jargon for someone who gives a shit. Now try that again in English.’

‘Well, like I said, once we’re into his er … computer, we’ve pretty much got him, but it’ll take time, depending on how long he stays online each time. If he ditches the computer we’re buggered, unless he’s using er … something that sends the signal on that he also used with the original computer.’ Sean and Donnelly looked at each other. ‘It’s like at home, right,’ Bishop explained. ‘Most people have more than one device that can access the Internet, but they’re all getting that access through one modem, right, so even if they ditch the device, we’re still into the source. Get it?’

‘I get it enough,’ Sean told him. ‘Dave, get him a desk in the main office and put him to work.’

‘He can share with me and Sally. There’s enough room. He wouldn’t survive in that shark pool.’

‘Fine,’ Sean agreed.

Bishop’s eyes darted around nervously. ‘Excuse me,’ he began. ‘I know my way around computers and stuff, but I’m not qualified to call myself an expert and you sound like you need an expert.’

Sean looked him in the eyes. ‘Do you know anyone better than you who also happens to be employed by the Metropolitan Police?’

‘Er … well no, but—’

‘I didn’t think so,’ Sean cut him off again. ‘Listen, you can speak to whoever you need to speak to for technical advice, go and see whoever you want to see, spend whatever you have to spend – but I need you to trace the location of where this madman’s broadcasting from. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, but it’s just that I was right in the middle—’

‘You may be our best chance to catch a killer, and if you do, it won’t be forgotten,’ Sean encouraged him. ‘Are you my man?’

Bishop finally straightened as a sparkle came to his eyes. ‘Yeah,’ he answered. ‘Yeah. I’m your man.’

‘Good,’ Sean told him as Donnelly led him away to the next-door office. Sean hadn’t finished shaking his head when he saw Anna enter the main office and start to approach him. He felt a pleasant vibration in his chest and his head became a little light. He pushed the feelings aside and quickly stood, pulling on his coat and gathering his belongings, stuffing them carelessly into his pockets.

Anna entered without knocking. ‘Going somewhere?’

‘Yes,’ was all he said, aiming for the door where he’d have to pass close to her.

‘Mind if I ask where?’

He sighed before answering. ‘If you must know, I’m meeting Dr Canning for the post-mortem.’

‘Can I tag along?’

‘No.’

‘Oh.’

Sean realized he was being unnecessarily blunt and reminded himself it wasn’t her fault he felt the way he did about her. Being close to her made him feel uncomfortable, vulnerable; but he didn’t want to hurt her either.

‘I’m sorry,’ he explained. ‘It’s just Dr Canning doesn’t like additional people coming to his post-mortems. He likes it to be just him and me. Post-mortem’s his call. He’s the pathologist.’

‘That’s OK,’ she told him. ‘I understand. I’d probably be the same.’

‘Look,’ Sean continued. ‘I’ll tell you all about it when I get back. I’d be interested in your opinion.’

‘I’d appreciate that,’ she told him as he slid past. ‘I’ll see you later then.’

He walked quickly through the main office without looking back and was gone.

Georgina Vaughan sat on the corner of her desk on the seventh floor of Glenhope Investments in the City of London. She kept a sharp eye out for her boss who often stalked the floor looking for employees who were
engaging in social discourse rather than working.
She shared her limited working space with two colleagues, Nick and Oscar, and when they weren’t being spied on there had only been one topic of conversation that morning – the Your View Killer.

She peeked over the top of Nick’s screen. ‘So who do you think he’s going to do next?’ she asked in little more than a whisper.

He checked they weren’t being watched before answering. ‘I don’t know. Could be anyone. Could be you.’

She gave a short laugh. ‘Me? I don’t think so. You heard what he said – he’s only after the big fish.’

‘You’re a senior project manager and a rising star,’ Oscar joined in. ‘Maybe he’ll consider you to be a big fish?’

Again she laughed. ‘I doubt it. Not yet anyway. I reckon he’ll only go for CEOs. Probably doesn’t even know what a project manager is. By the time I’m a CEO he’ll probably be dead of old age.’

‘You’re on the senior management fast-track scheme – what more do you want?’ Nick reminded her in his slightly effeminate voice that matched his petite build and whiskerless complexion.

‘I’m thirty-fucking-three, Nick. Does that sound like fast-track to you? This whole job’s beginning to feel like waiting for dead-man’s shoes.’

‘Then you’ll be happy to see him dispose of a few of them,’ Nick suggested.

‘Ha, ha,’ she mocked him.

‘The higher you climb the less positions there are,’ Oscar chipped in. ‘Besides, with this lunatic running around out there, who’d want to be a CEO of anything?’

‘I would,’ she almost snapped at him in her clipped accent, her long, wavy brown hair falling forwards. ‘I just need him to bump off another couple of hundred and I should be fine.’

‘I doubt there’ll be any more,’ Nick argued. ‘I heard he was killed by some Eastern European gang he’d been laundering money for. Apparently his
rates
were beginning to piss them off so …’ He spread his hands as if an explanation wasn’t necessary.

‘That’s bollocks,’ Georgina told him. ‘Eastern Europeans would have chopped him to pieces.’

‘An expert on these matters, are you?’ Oscar asked.

‘I’ve heard things,’ she told them, trying to sound mysterious.

‘More like seen things,’ Nick teased her, ‘on the telly.’ Both he and Oscar laughed at her.

‘Well one thing’s for certain,’ she silenced them, ‘none of us have anything to worry about, sitting here doing these shit jobs. Nothing to worry about at all.’

Sean parked in the ambulance bay at Guy’s Hospital, leaving the police vehicle log on the dashboard to prevent his car being towed away. He strode off through a part of the grounds rarely seen by most hospital employees, let alone the public, and made his way to the mortuary where he found Dr Canning already examining the body. Canning looked up to see who had entered his domain.

‘Good morning, Inspector.’

‘Morning, Doctor,’ Sean replied, no feeling in his voice. ‘Here we are again then.’

‘Quite,’ Canning agreed. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve already cleaned the victim up. There’s plenty of photographic documentation as to the body’s state when it first came out of the river. I’ve already examined it for anything unpleasant the river left behind.’

‘D’you find anything?’

‘Not particularly. The usual organic life forms and other debris. I’ve taken samples and plenty of swabs for you. If there’s anything deeper in his throat, stomach or lungs I won’t find it until I open the poor fellow up later today.’

Sean moved closer and scanned the body slowly from head to toe, the man’s face close to unrecognizable from the image in the photographs Sean had seen – his expression in death a tortured grimace, the vivid rope-burn ring around his neck a stark reminder of how he died. The rest of his body was relatively untouched except for some reddening around both his ankles and wrists – from where he’d been taped to the chair, Sean guessed. Other than that the river had left its mark, but nothing of note, the victim’s clothing having protected his dead body from too much exposure to other floating debris.

‘These other cuts and marks,’ Sean checked, ‘they caused by being in the river?’

‘Almost certainly,’ Canning assured him. ‘I had a quick look and found most of them to be post-mortem and none that would have contributed to his death even if he had been alive before being disposed of in the river.’

‘He was, wasn’t he?’ Sean interrupted.

‘Was what?’ Canning asked.

‘Disposed of. Like he was nothing. Something to be rid of. An annoyance.’

‘Not like the last unfortunate victim we saw together,’ Canning reminded him. ‘Quite the ritual of guilt.’

‘Best not to think of it too much,’ Sean told him, trying not to let the images of the small boy on Canning’s autopsy table invade his mind.

‘Trial on that one must be coming up soon. Had a letter from the CPS putting me on standby.’

‘We’re just waiting for our slot at the Bailey to be confirmed and then the trial begins,’ Sean informed him. ‘I’ll try to make sure they don’t keep you hanging around too long.’

‘Appreciated.’

‘Anyway.’ Sean pulled them back to the matter in hand. ‘Apart from the rather obvious cause of death, can you tell me anything else?’

‘Ah,’ Canning began. ‘The cause of death is not as straightforward as you may think.’

Sean’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like surprises. ‘Meaning?’

‘Cause of death wasn’t hanging, it was strangulation.’

He had Sean’s interest. ‘I’m listening.’

‘Technically hanging is when someone falls from a height with a ligature around their neck, causing both a broken neck and fatal restriction of the blood supply. Death is more often than not instantaneous. Strangulation is the compression of the carotid arteries or jugular veins, causing cerebral ischaemia – which is the brain dying as a result of the lack of oxygen – while at the same time there is a compression of the larynx or trachea, causing asphyxia. Strangulation is a much more unpleasant way to leave this mortal coil than hanging. I’m afraid your victim was hoisted to a slow and painful death as opposed to being dropped to a relatively quick and painless one.’

‘Then he wanted him to suffer?’ Sean asked himself more than Canning.

‘I couldn’t say, Inspector. We both know that’s your domain, not mine. But I saw the Your View footage. The killer looked and sounded pretty angry at the world to me. The sort of person who would want to make others suffer.’

‘Maybe,’ Sean answered.

‘Keeping your options open, Inspector?’ Sean just shrugged. ‘Well, unfortunately the killer took the rope from around his neck before disposing of the body, so we don’t have that to work with, but from the video I could just about tell what sort of knot he used.’

‘Go on,’ Sean encouraged, glad to be discussing simple, tangible, physical evidence.

‘I’m pretty sure it was a poacher’s knot – used primarily in sailing.’

‘Sailing.’ Sean took the bait. ‘What type of sailing?’

‘All types of sailing,’ Canning replied. ‘Royal Navy, Merchant Navy, a yacht owner. Maybe he had a small dinghy as a child or a rowboat or … the possibilities are endless.’

‘I can’t see this one on a yacht,’ Sean told him, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing them with a pinched thumb and index finger. ‘Not a great look for a man of the people – sailing around on a yacht.’

‘No. I don’t suppose it would be,’ Canning agreed, ‘but it’s definitely the sort of knot someone would use out of habit – without thinking about it.’

‘Or they learnt it specifically so they could use it on the victim,’ Sean suggested.

‘I suppose so,’ Canning agreed, ‘but there are easier knots to learn, so why pick this one?’

‘God only knows, but you’re probably right – he knew this knot, so he used it. He could be ex-navy – merchant or royal, or even an ex-docker. Plenty of them have lost their jobs in recent years.’

‘Doesn’t really narrow it down for you, does it?’

‘No, but it might help me know if I’m heading in the right direction later on.’ Sean thought for a few seconds before speaking again. ‘When you watched the video, what did you think?’

‘Like I said,’ Canning answered, ‘the killer struck me as being very angry. Angry at the world.’

‘In what way angry? What specifically was angry about him?’

‘His words,’ Canning told him. ‘His words were angry.’

Sean thought silently again. ‘You’re right, his words were angry, but …’ He stopped, unsure of his own thoughts.

‘But what?’ Canning encouraged.

‘But the killing seemed cold and impersonal. More like an execution. It was slow and the victim suffered unnecessarily. That could have been because the killer didn’t know what he was doing … and why would he, unless he’s killed before?’

‘Do you think he has – killed before?’

‘No,’ Sean answered quickly. ‘No I don’t.

‘So what’s troubling you, Inspector?’

‘He preached angry words, even acted aggressively, pointing into the camera, accusing the victim, yet the killing was cold. Emotionless.’

‘How would you expect an angry man to kill his victim?’ Canning asked.