The Mentor (16 page)

“Let’s take my car,” he said to Adele, pointing to the SUV.

They jumped in and started after the blue car, turning on the siren and emergency lights installed on the dashboard.

“You may not use this car very much, but you’ve got it pretty well equipped!” said Adele, struggling to latch her seat belt while Eric accelerated and swerved around other vehicles.

The Volkswagen turned left on Gloucester Place, racing at high speed and cutting off another car coming from the right. A cacophony of angry honking filled the air just as Eric came racing in behind him and did the same thing.

The streetlight up ahead was green, but it turned yellow just as Garnish was crossing Marylebone, overtaking a van and heading toward Park Road. A moment later it turned red, but Eric didn’t slow down. The sound of screeching brakes accompanied them as they shot through the intersection. A motorcyclist heading into the intersection swerved, lost control of the bike, and tumbled across the pavement. The detective saw him get up in his rearview mirror and give him the finger. Evidently he wasn’t hurt too badly.

“We’re nearly to the A41. If he keeps going this way, we’ll lose him!” exclaimed Adele.

“Fuck! I know!” Eric accelerated, but the Volkswagen was much more agile in traffic than his hulking SUV. Sunlight streaming in from low on the horizon got in his eyes too, making his pursuit that much more difficult.

They reached a large roundabout and headed onto Wellington Road. Ahead of them, but not by much, the streetlight turned green. Garnish had plenty of open road and accelerated even faster. At that very moment a pedestrian stepped into the crosswalk. Garnish’s car swerved just in time, smashing into a low sign on the traffic island. This slowed the car just enough for the light to turn yellow, but Garnish accelerated again.

At the next intersection, he was blocked by a bus, while the right lane was partially obstructed by a delivery truck pulling out to turn around. The bus slowed down to stop at the light.

“Gotcha!” said Eric, smiling to himself.

But Garnish wasn’t going to give up that easily. He slammed on the brakes, pulled to a stop, and jumped out of the car. He left it there on the side of the road and took off running across the street.

Eric stopped behind the Volkswagen and jumped out, gun in hand, ready to chase after him.

“Eric!” cried Adele. Then came the sound of the door slamming and footsteps behind him.

Garnish seemed to be in excellent shape. He leapt and slid across the top of a car maneuvering to park, angering its driver, then headed down Circus Road. Running down the sidewalk, he slammed into two girls, knocking them both down.

“Police!” cried Eric. “Move aside! Stop right there!”

The suspect kept running. When he reached the second block, he turned right.

Shaw, who had just made it to the end of the first block, heard Adele’s voice behind him, but when he turned around she was nowhere to be seen. He couldn’t stop now.

He followed Garnish down a parallel street, which was much narrower than the one they’d been on and completely empty. The man had gained quite a few yards on him, and Eric could feel his lungs burning. His legs refused to move as quickly as he wanted them to.

He realized the street Garnish was on was a dead end. He was trapped. But Garnish dashed to the right, disappearing from view. Eric ran as quickly as he could, finally reaching a little pedestrian alley that ran between two buildings. Garnish had almost reached the far end. If he made it, he’d be out on a much larger, busier avenue.

Eric had lost him. He couldn’t keep up.

Suddenly a small figure stepped out, blocking the end of the alley and aiming a gun directly at Garnish.

“Race is over,” said Adele.

Garnish slipped and almost fell, trying to come to a stop. He started to raise his hands.

“Don’t move!” shouted Eric, coming up behind him. Now that they were close, he could see that Garnish was somewhat shorter than he was. Probably around five foot nine, just like the black figure in their videos.

The suspect laughed humorlessly. “Hey, hey, hey . . . No need to point that thing at me,” he said, keeping his eyes on Adele.

Shaw was patting him down, his sides, his legs. He was clean.

“I almost wish you would move,” said Adele, her gun steady, pointed directly at Garnish.

The man laughed again. “I’m unarmed, and I haven’t done anything. Unless I’m mistaken, it’s not illegal to go running.”

“It is if the police have ordered you to stop,” said Eric, taking out his cell phone and bringing it to his ear.

“Terribly sorry. I must not have heard you.”

He was playing with them, and neither one of them was enjoying it. After their mad dash through the streets of London, Shaw would gladly have punched his lights out, but a group of curious onlookers was gathering not far behind Adele.

“Stern,” replied the officer at the other end at last.

“We’ve got Garnish. Send those reinforcements to the corner of Cochrane Street and . . .” He looked around. What the heck was the name of this alley?

“Cochrane Mews,” said one of the bystanders. They could already hear sirens screaming in the distance.

CHAPTER 14

Miriam pounded both fists on the table in the interrogation room, playing yet another turn as bad cop. She stuck her face in close to Christopher Garnish.

“We know you killed those three people. You’d better come clean about it!”

“Oh yeah?” said Garnish, challenging her. “If you had any proof, I’d already be formally arrested, but that doesn’t seem to be the case, does it?” He acted sure of himself, but a large bead of sweat was trickling down past his temple, betraying his true state of mind.

“It’s just a matter of time,” said Miriam calmly, throwing Eric a glance. Shaw was sitting facing the suspect, saying nothing.

Eric’s hands were folded on the table, a file underneath them. Three photographs of the victims were spread across the tabletop. He kept the photo of the last victim close.

“At this very moment, officers are turning your apartment inside out, and I’m sure they’ll find something,” continued Detective Leroux.

“Don’t be too sure, darling,” said Garnish. He brought a hand up to his chin and cradled it. He seemed almost bored. Every once in a while he glanced at his wristwatch. Then a perplexed look came over his face. “My apartment?” he said. “How do you know where I live?”

“I think I’ve seen your car somewhere before,” said Eric, speaking for the first time. That blue Volkswagen was really familiar. He’d seen an identical one just the day before when he’d gone to pick up Mills near Arsenal stadium. It hadn’t been hard to describe the precise location to the officers. The owner of the house where the Volkswagen had been parked immediately recognized a photograph of the suspect.

There was a knock on the door; it opened and an officer stuck his head in. He motioned to Miriam.

“Excuse me a moment,” she said, then left the room.

“So, Detective, how’s life?” Garnish asked mockingly.

There was something in the man’s voice, but Eric couldn’t quite tell what it was.

“As long as we’ve got time to kill while we wait for my lawyer, we might as well have a nice little chat!” Then he laughed.

Shaw shook his head just a little, then opened the file. He took three photographs out and tossed them in front of Christopher.

Garnish froze, tense, but did nothing else.

“See any resemblance?” Shaw asked.

Garnish’s face relaxed, his mouth widening into a smile. “You believe I should?” Now he was the one challenging Eric.

“This family was massacred in 1994.” Eric pointed to the photographs he’d just tossed on the table. “Incredibly enough, each family member was killed in the exact same manner your friends were.”

“Goodness gracious. Well. Looks like you’re perfectly right, officer.” He pretended to examine the photographs carefully, as if he were truly interested. “Except for the fact that these three losers, and I’m including my uncle in that list, weren’t my friends.”

“You and I both know it was you.”

“Detective, Detective,” said Christopher, taking him to task, “I’m perfectly familiar with your
alternative
methods, but I’m sure you’re not so skilled that you can pin murders committed twenty years ago on me.”

“But I
can
connect you to the ones committed over the past couple of weeks,” Shaw said, staring Garnish dead in the eyes, though Christopher didn’t seem particularly bothered by his words. “Including the murder committed last night,” he added, tossing a photo of Daniel Pennington’s body on the table in front of the suspect.

This time he got an immediate reaction. “What the hell’s this supposed to mean?”

“All the murders were committed with the same weapon,” said Eric, pointing to each photo in turn. “All I need to do is connect you to one of them, and then you’re screwed.”

Now Garnish seemed unsettled, agitated. “No.” He shook his head. “It can’t be.” He took a deep breath and met Shaw’s gaze. “I have an alibi,” he added, resolute. “Last night I was with Lorna Dillon, my girlfriend. All night long. She can confirm that.”

“What about the night between Friday and Saturday? What about the night between last Monday and Tuesday? How about June 12 around five thirty?” Eric shot questions rapid fire, one after the other, raising his voice a little with each one.

Garnish’s mouth began to tremble just a little. “I was with her, every night . . .”

Yes, of course he was. Eric smiled. He could tell Garnish was cracking.

Suddenly the door swung open.

“We’re done here,” said a thirtysomething gentleman with an arrogant manner. He was dressed in an elegant, trendy suit and held a little leather briefcase in one hand. Unquestionably a lawyer. “I’m John Meyers, Mr. Garnish’s lawyer.”

What a surprise.

Christopher smiled at the sight of his savior.

“If you cannot place my client at the scene of the crime, then I’m afraid you have no further reason to keep him here,” the suit said to Shaw.

He was right. Up until now they’d been biding time in order to give the other officers a chance to conduct searches, but in reality they didn’t have the authority to keep Garnish in custody in the meantime. And without any proof, the crown prosecutor wouldn’t even accuse Garnish. Other prosecutors had attempted to bring Garnish to justice in the past—tried and failed. The current prosecutor wasn’t willing to waste time trying to bring him down again or make himself look ridiculous in the process.

“Therefore, Mr. Garnish and I are leaving. Right now. Come along, Christopher.”

Garnish leapt to his feet and rushed to his lawyer’s side. He was saved, but he still rubbed his fingers nervously across his stomach.

Eric was furious and doing everything he could not to smack this
insolent boy
in the face. He hated defense lawyers, especially those that hung around with shady characters like Garnish.

He looked at the two for a moment, then noticed Miriam standing out in the corridor behind them. She spread her arms and shrugged. She couldn’t do anything about it.

The lawyer and his client disappeared into the hallway, followed by Detective Leroux.

At that point Eric lost control, knocking all the photos and paperwork off the table with an enraged sweep of his hand. They flew all over the room, fluttering against the two-way mirror and down onto the floor.

Turning around, he saw Adele standing at the door, staring at him with mild astonishment in her eyes.

Shaw grunted with disappointment. “Fuck!” he yelled. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, leaning against the wall with one hand.

Adele walked over and embraced him.

That simple gesture slowly but surely calmed Eric down. He hugged her close and waited for his breathing to slow.

Adele lifted her head and looked up at him. “You’ll see. It’s not over yet.”

“You can bet on it,” he said. His frustration was dissipating. That was right, though. The bastard wouldn’t get away with it. He ran a hand over his hair. “You’re tired,” he said to her.

“I’m okay,” murmured Adele.

“No.” He pulled the keys to his car out of his pocket and handed them to her. “Go home. You shouldn’t even be here, not today. I’ll meet you there later.”

Adele was clearly reluctant, but she took the keys anyway. “Okay.”

Officer Gordon opened the door to the blue Volkswagen and sat down in the passenger seat. Now what?

A tow truck had brought the car to the scientific investigations lab, and now he and Officer Smith were supposed to inspect it from end to end. A first scan hadn’t revealed anything. The car seemed clean, including the glove compartment, which held nothing more than the vehicle documents and a few old CDs.

His colleague was going through the trunk, which was full of absurd items. Unlike the interior, which was practically immaculate, the trunk was stuffed with all sorts of things: work tools, snacks that seemed to have fossilized in their packaging, a rolled-up rug, paint cans and brushes, a bag full of jogging clothes. The bag, when opened, enveloped the criminologist with a foul wave of rotting sweat. The man, accustomed to handling much worse, coughed a little and fought back nausea.

Inside the car, in the meantime, Gordon was already resigned. He would have to take this thing apart piece by piece. He got out and pushed the seat he’d been sitting in all the way back, then took out his flashlight and knelt over to take a look underneath.

Nothing there.

He got up and walked around the car, doing the same with the other seats. Each time he walked around the rear end of the vehicle, he took a look at the things that Smith was pulling out of the trunk and checking, one by one.

Gordon opened a rear door and reached out for the lever that would bring the seats down. He found it and pulled, but the seats wouldn’t budge, so he put his little flashlight in his mouth and grabbed the seat with both hands, yanking on it. No use; it was stuck.

“Fuck me,” he muttered, crouching down and using his flashlight to try and see what silly little bit of nothing was stuck in the tracks, preventing the seat from moving.

And there it was.

“I can’t believe it!” He reached out with one gloved hand and tried to touch the object, regretting he wasn’t limber like his younger colleagues.

Finally he got ahold of it and pulled the object out. “Smith, I’ve got something,” he said. His colleague stuck his head around the back of the car and found Gordon holding up something metallic with two fingers. The nine-millimeter.

“Fuck me too!” exclaimed Smith. “Look what I found hidden underneath the carpeting back here!” He was holding up one arm with a long black outfit draped over it, while his other hand held a small, dark metal cylinder. A silencer.

“I’ll give you a hand.”

Eric turned around as soon as he heard Jane’s voice. She was holding a few pages of the file he’d tossed across the interrogation room.

The woman bent down to pick up the other pages, then stood up slowly, her eyes fixed on what she now held in her hands. “What’s this? Where did you get this from?”

Shaw flopped down into the chair, exhausted. At this point he might as well tell her everything.

Detective Hall gathered up the other photos and spread them all out on the table, comparing the crimes. She raised a hand to her mouth, then turned to face her colleague and wait for an explanation.

“It’s a case from twenty years ago,” Shaw said, no longer seeing the point in keeping it secret anymore. But he was still reluctant to dig into every little detail of what he had been up to.

“Why didn’t you say something to me before?” asked Jane, blinking furiously and glancing back and forth from the pictures to Eric. They usually shared everything they knew about cases with each other, and it was normal that his behavior would confuse her.

“I wasn’t sure about it,” he lied. “Not until I connected Garnish to the case.”

“Is Garnish involved in these murders too?” She was barely able to contain her surprise.

Eric shrugged. “There’s not enough proof to convict him. Back then he was interrogated because he worked at a nearby house, but there was no reason to think he was actually directly involved.”

“But the Black Death cases are connected to him! This changes everything!” Jane couldn’t stop looking at the photographs.

“Yes, in theory. But we need physical proof; otherwise our hands are tied.”

Jane flopped down in the other chair as if Eric’s fatigue were contagious. “Something doesn’t add up,” she said, a perplexed furrow forming on her brow. “Okay, these crimes look a lot alike, but what does the murder of Daniel Pennington have to do with them?”

Eric’s cell phone rang, and he took it out of his pocket to answer. “Shaw.”

“Boss, Gordon here, from down at the garage,” said an excited voice on the line.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, Eric came racing out and headed straight across the atrium. “Miriam!” he shouted as he went.

She was standing just outside the entryway, watching Garnish walk across the well-lit courtyard toward the main gate, accompanied by his lawyer.

Miriam’s head spun around quickly when she heard his tone of voice.

“We found the weapon!” shouted Shaw, running toward her. “Stop him immediately!”

Miriam looked confused for a fraction of a second, almost as if she needed a moment to absorb the meaning of his words. Then she turned back toward Garnish, pulling her gun from its holster with her right hand and pointing it across the courtyard. “Stop right there!” she yelled, running toward their suspect.

Garnish’s expression was twisted by anger. The lawyer stepped aside immediately once the detective reached them, her gun aimed steadily at his client.

“Hey, darling,” said Christopher, outwardly calm. “No need to get all worked up. I’m not going anywhere.” His eyes moved to meet Eric’s, who was just now coming up behind Miriam. Then, with a swift, sudden movement, Garnish grabbed Miriam by her right wrist, yanking her between himself and Shaw.

“No!” shouted Eric, pointing his own gun at Garnish.

Garnish punched Miriam in the face, sending her reeling, and took advantage of her confusion by grabbing her gun and pulling the woman in close to use as a shield. He raised his right hand and drove the barrel of the pistol into her temple, hugging her close with his other arm.

Eric groaned inwardly. That’s where he’d heard that voice. An image of the man who had attacked Adele the other night outside the pub began to take shape in his mind. He was holding Miriam the same way. The voice was the same voice.

Even more enraged than before, Eric took two steps forward, pointing his gun threateningly at the criminal.

“You sure you want to do this?” challenged Garnish. “You have to be sure you’re going to hit me and not her.” He put his head even closer to Detective Leroux’s, making her grimace. A line of blood threaded its way down her cheek from the corner of her mouth.

There was shouting in the distance. Police officers were running toward them from all directions. Christopher glanced quickly left and right, evaluating his next move.

“Give up. You know there’s no way out,” said Eric. In reality, he was afraid the criminal would drag Miriam out through the open gate, which was directly behind him, but unless Garnish happened to have a car parked and waiting for him just outside, he couldn’t possibly get very far.