Authors: Fiona McIntosh
In her early planning, she had simply hoped to use Jack to get close to the case and find out how much the police knew. She’d got herself into New Scotland Yard by pretending to be a mature student enrolled in a forensic psychology degree. It was easy enough to gain entry to the admin unit, and from there to ingratiate herself with key members of staff. One in particular, Elaine, PA to the head of the operations planning
division, had been most helpful in explaining how the bigger cases were assigned. DCI Hawksworth’s name had come up as one of the Yard’s rising stars and Elaine had been unable to help herself when Anne had probed as to whether there were any juicy cases about to be assigned. It seemed Jack was a favourite across the board and Elaine couldn’t resist speculating that the dishy DCI would probably head up the investigation into a suspected serial killer case that was about to break.
It had been trickier finding out where DCI Hawksworth lived, but Anne had managed to track him home to the mansion apartment building one evening, and from there it had been relatively simple to enter his life. She hadn’t imagined for a moment that her intention of using him for information would be replaced by genuine pleasure in his company. What had seemed so easy and tactical had become dangerous and highly impractical to her cause. Jack was now a liability to her mission, and she realised with a deep sadness that they would not have another night together. Again she was reminded what a curse she was and how everyone she loved ultimately deserted her. Jack would be no different. She could already imagine how his expressive face would contort into despair and disbelief once the truth came out — and it would, she knew that now.
She shook her head free of thoughts about Jack — there was no more time to dwell on what might have been. She piled the mess that had been Billy’s lips on top of the quivering flesh in his hand. ‘And now you have a permanent smile, Billy. You don’t need your clown mask any more. Although I’m sorry that it’s
changed your looks so dramatically,’ she said, wiping the blade on his trousers.
There was just one more task. She reached for a small can.
‘I would have preferred you to do this, of course,’ she said to Billy’s now ruined face. ‘I made Mikey and Clive smear the paint on their faces themselves while I explained what it meant. But we ran out of time for you. The police already know you were my next target, which means I have to get rid of you fast, so I’m going to do the paintwork for you and then we’re going on a short journey — your last journey, Billy — so I can lay you to rest at St Ann’s Well Gardens. It’s not Hove Park, but that’s not for anyone else to know, is it? This is between us alone, Billy. You and me and the rest of the Jesters Club. All of us know what this is about.’
She smoothed back his hair from his forehead and, using a screwdriver, eased the lid from the sample pot of paint. She dipped two gloved fingers into the bright blue liquid and carefully daubed it on Billy’s cheeks.
‘You see, Billy, real clowns refuse to wear blue in any of their make-up. They’re highly suspicious of the colour. Strange, isn’t it? I love the colour myself. It’s the colour of the ocean and the sky, of glaciers — the very essence of nature. It’s also the colour of Rohypnol, I suppose, and the pale hue of death. I thought it fitting that all of you clowns should be painted with the unlucky blue of your profession. Your luck ran out when I found you, Billy . . . or should I call you Coco? I haven’t forgotten those names. I know who Pierrot is now, and I think Bozo was Clive, Mikey was Blinko, and that leaves Coco and Cooky. Phil was always so enamoured of food I think we’ll leave Cooky to him.
I’ll look forward to calling him by his jester name. Now, you of course, are dark and tasty like chocolate. Yes, I think Coco suits you, in spite of the spelling.’
Anne wiped her hands clean and sat back to admire her gruesome handiwork. Treacherous thoughts of Jack returned to taunt her. Did he doubt her? Kate was unfriendly — did she suspect Sophie of lying? The conversation with the nosey female detective had been fraught with danger: talk of the weather in Devon, the mention of West Pier — both were stupid, damaging slips. Everyone makes mistakes, she wasn’t perfect, but she shouldn’t have been drawn on it, even though she knew all there was to know about West Pier, the location of her personal tragedy. But surely neither of them would piece anything together yet, although her lie about the train might undo her. If Jack didn’t believe her and checked the schedule, he’d soon discover there was no earlier train. Why would he doubt her though, unless nosey Kate started stirring trouble? Jack had no reason to mistrust her. As far as he was concerned, she’d be home tomorrow and he’d cook her dinner. She’d have to keep that pretence going. ‘But it will never be the same,’ she whispered to herself. ‘That’s why I took down the photographs.’
Was it insurance against immediate discovery . . . or was it some kind of subconscious attempt to lead him to her? Anne wasn’t sure, couldn’t answer her own question.
‘We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?’ she said to herself as she leapt lightly from the van’s back doors. She returned to the driving seat and gunned the engine.
35
Jack stood on the threshold of the second bedroom, unable to move. Kate was looking at him with a mixture of alarm and sympathy. His face had lost its expression of disbelief. Now he just looked shocked.
‘Perhaps there’s a reasonable explanation,’ she tried.
‘Rehabilitation, you think?’ he replied darkly.
Kate nodded, embarrassed. She felt as though her breathing had become constricted such was the tension swirling around them.
‘I somehow don’t think a person in Sophie’s condition is capable of using most of this training equipment,’ he went on, ‘but thanks again for trying, Kate.’
‘Sir . . .’ She reached out to lay a hand on his arm but Jack stepped back as if burned.
‘Don’t touch anything else. Ring the Yard, get that warrant and a full forensics team into this place. Let’s get out of here,’ he ordered.
‘Right,’ she said, feeling more bleak than she’d thought possible. She moved past him, intending to leave him to his misery for a few moments, but then paused. ‘I’m so sorry.’
All he did was nod, and she left him to his thoughts while she made the call, returning with the news that the warrant was ready.
Jack stalked away from the bedroom that had revealed Sophie’s secret. ‘Good, have it served. You and Brodie handle it. In the meantime, get the word out that we’re looking for a woman who goes by two names. I can provide a detailed description, although I suspect she’s employing various disguises.’ His voice was leaden.
‘Yes, sir. I’ll just turn off the computer.’ She did so, feeling the tension in the room rise behind her. When the computer had sighed into silence she turned back. ‘Shall we go?’
‘I’m going to call her.’
‘Is that wise?’
‘It would be normal. I don’t want her to think we’re on to her.’
‘I’ll be outside then.’
‘Get Sarah to coordinate a small team to trace passports for Anne McEvoy or Sophie Fenton.’
‘She could be using an alias.’
‘I realise that. But, for now, let’s get those names into Immigration’s security checks and across to Interpol. I want a full ports warning sent out immediately.’
As Kate was turning to leave, Sophie’s home phone rang. They both froze.
‘What shall we do?’ Kate looked spooked.
‘Leave it, she has an answering machine. It may divert to her mobile, of course.’
They waited for five rings and the answering machine picked up the call. Jack heard Sophie’s gentle
voice apologising for not being available and asking the caller to leave a message.
Kate spoke over Sophie’s voice. ‘I could pretend to be her,’ she offered tentatively.
‘No warrant covers that,’ he replied. ‘Let’s just listen.’
A shaky voice, an old woman it sounded like, spoke through the machine’s receiver. ‘Sally? Are you there? Oh dear. Look, it’s Mrs Shannon here, luv. I don’t want to sound ungrateful about our arrangement but the news reports are asking about a white van that this murderer has been using. It’s in the papers and on the telly — I’m sure you haven’t missed it, luv. Now, I do like the money, and you’ve never given me a moment of bother, but I’m a bit nervous that the police are going to come poking around when they hear I store your van in my garage. And it’s white, dear, you get my meaning. I know it’s silly but I don’t want the police knocking on my door, what with me telling fibs to Social Security. Don’t bring your van back here, luv. I hope you understand and don’t think too badly —’ The answering machine beeped loudly, cutting the old girl off before she could finish what she was saying.
‘Oh my god, Jack, it’s definitely her,’ Kate whispered, her hands flying to cover her mouth.
Jack stared at the answering machine, ashen. All hope was gone. ‘Get someone to trace that call. We have to find that woman in case she knows where Sophie is.’
He simply couldn’t bring himself to call her Anne . . . not yet.
Operation Danube was thrumming with excitement. It was nearing seven and although everyone had
worked a long day when they hadn’t expected to, and most had gone without anything more nourishing than tea or instant coffee and stale biscuits, no one had any plans to go home.
Jack had just retreated to his office to call the Superintendent, having closed a meeting with the team. Each had their jobs to do and every scrap of information on Anne McEvoy and Sophie Fenton was being collated now. He listened to the phone ring at his boss’s house. Although he felt sick at heart, he knew honesty was the only way to deal with Sharpe.
‘Hello?’
‘Cathie, it’s Jack.’
‘Hello, dear, how’s everything?’
‘A bit frantic, actually, I won’t lie.’
‘It always is, Jack. Martin said you might call over, although apparently we can’t twist your arm to stay for a meal.’
‘That’s right and now it’s all gone pear-shaped, Cathie, I’m so sorry. It’s why I’m calling. Something’s broken on the case.’
Her voice changed instantly from sweet and welcoming to brisk and professional. Cathie had been a senior policeman’s wife for too many years not to recognise the tone of her caller’s voice and that he needed her husband swiftly. ‘I’ll get Martin.’
‘Thanks,’ Jack said into the vacuum as Cathie put him on hold.
Barely a minute passed before Sharpe’s voice growled into his ear. ‘Tell me we’ve got a good lead, Jack.’
‘Yes, sir, we have. We believe we know who our killer is.’
‘Hell’s bells! Wait, I’m going to take this in my office. Hold a sec, Jack.’ The line went dead again and Jack closed his eyes, wondering how Martin was going to react to the news. ‘Tell me,’ Sharpe said eagerly, returning to Jack.
‘Her name is Anne McEvoy,’ he began, and told his boss everything he knew about Anne’s trauma-ridden childhood and brought him up to date.
‘She’s held a grudge for thirty years?’ Sharpe asked incredulously.
‘We’ve spoken to Tandy. He seems to feel it’s plausible that some fresh emotional disturbance in her life could have reopened the old wounds that she thought had healed, or at least had managed to push away for all of this time.’
‘So where are we with this? How close to putting her in custody?’
‘We believe she’s in the Brighton and Hove area again, sir. We fear that she might already have Fletcher captive, although that’s still open to question.’
‘What’s your gut tell you, Jack?’
‘I think she has him, sir. I think unless something happens very fast to enable us to find this van of hers, then we’ll be looking at another corpse.’
His Super gave a sound of deep disgust. ‘How could she know what we were doing? From what you told me this morning, the Hastings boys were all but on top of Fletcher.’
‘It’s not that she knows what we’re doing, sir, I think it’s more that we’ve been playing catch-up and she sensed we were getting close and most likely sped up her own activities.’
Jack stared at his diary, noted that someone’s red pen had left giveaway dots near the heart he’d doodled a few days ago. It had to be Kate and he felt his gut twist. Today he had been accused of sleeping with one of his DIs, and he hadn’t thought it could get worse until he’d worked out that, despite all the heated denials to her fiance, she was in fact carrying a torch for him. Now, as if life was deliberately kicking him while he was down, he had discovered the woman he was sleeping with was the serial killer Britain was hunting. He imagined what kind of headlines it would make in the press if word of this got out. He closed his eyes in shame as the Super ranted.
‘. . . and now we’ve lost Phillip Bowles. That’s all four of them she’s effectively killed.’
‘I don’t think it would be fair to blame her for Bowles, sir.’
‘Not in legal terms, no, but you know what I mean, Jack.’
‘Yes, sir, I do.’
‘So where do we go from here?’
‘I’ve got Swamp heading over to St Albans where this Mrs Shannon has apparently been garaging Anne McEvoy’s van. We traced her call to Anne’s answering machine, and although I doubt she knows very much, there could be something.’
‘What else?’
‘The housekeeper from the Castle Hotel has been located. She’s been on a trek of some sort — no telephone contact. She verifies that a woman claiming to be an old friend of Michael Sheriff ran into him on the evening he disappeared.’ He heard his Super let out an angry breath. ‘I won’t go into the details, sir, but we
suspect this was Anne McEvoy, as also the hoax call from the hospital.’
‘Right,’ Sharpe said. ‘Any more good news?’
‘Brodie’s found the roadster that she picked Clive Farrow up in outside the fish and chip shop. She hired it in Manchester apparently and drove it south, returning it two days later.’
‘Why has it taken us this long to find that bloody car?’
Jack took a steadying breath. Martin Sharpe hadn’t yet heard the worst, and he wasn’t going to take it at all well if the roadster was forcing his blood pressure up. ‘Sir, it was a small boutique rental place — she chose cleverly. The guy who owns it has been in the Caribbean for the last two and half weeks and has only just seen the call to action. He came up with the details pretty swiftly on his return, but that explains the hold-up on that piece of the puzzle.’
‘Okay, so how does this help us now?’ the Super said, somewhat wearily. ‘Do we have an address we trust?’
‘Yes, sir.’ He swallowed. ‘It’s in Highgate.’
‘Highgate, London?’
‘I’m afraid so, sir.’
‘Good grief!’ Sharpe exclaimed.
No turning back now. ‘It’s worse than that, sir, far worse,’ Jack said, lowering his voice. ‘Any chance we can meet?’
‘What’s up, Jack? I don’t like the sound of this.’
‘And won’t, sir, when you hear it all, but I can’t tell you over the phone.’
Sharpe understood. His protégé needed to speak off the record where no conversations were monitored.
‘Where?’
‘Fancy a pint?’
‘I’ll see you at the Star in half an hour.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Jack put the phone down, grim-faced, and looked up to catch a soft glance of concern from Kate. She was at her desk, listening to someone on the phone. He gestured for her to come in when she was free. She arrived moments later.
‘That was news from Fletcher’s mother. Seems he did say something to her about meeting an old schoolfriend.’
Jack sighed. It was already too late for Billy, he suspected. ‘I told the Super. Well, that’s not true. I haven’t told him everything yet, but he’s meeting me shortly to hear it all. He knows there’s something unpleasant coming at him.’
Kate nodded.
‘I want to tell the team,’ Jack went on.
‘Are you sure?’
‘I have to. I’d expect any one of you to come clean with me.’
‘Yes, you’re right. But only the core members need to know.’
‘Get them together, will you. I’d order cakes for a coffee break but I’m not in a party mood.’ ‘They aren’t either. We’re all holding our breath and waiting for news of another body. I told them as much as I could . . .’ She trailed off, uncomfortable to say more.
He nodded glumly. ‘I have to find out how Sophie learned about me being appointed to the case. She moved much too fast not to have inside information.’
‘I agree. Want me to look into it?’
‘You don’t have time.’
‘I’ll make time,’ she insisted, adding more gently, ‘I want to.’
‘Okay, see what you can dig up. The commissioner would have sent out the directive, but I know Commander Drewe was on the SMT that set up Operation Danube as soon as Farrow’s body was discovered. But I know how these things work. When Sheriff's body was discovered, the mutilations would have alerted the decision-makers that this killing had the potential to be repeated. They’d have taken steps on the off-chance that another similar murder occurred. I know Superintendent Sharpe recommended me to head up the case if required, but I don’t think anyone from Sharpe upwards would have said anything to anyone about me until it was formally announced at the media conference. It was coincidence that the apartment in my building was free, but irrelevant really. She could have moved in anywhere close by and achieved the same result.’
‘Accidentally on purpose bumping into you?’ Kate offered.
‘Any number of scenarios leap to mind. A pretty blonde and me single. How could I resist? That said, Sophie had to have had at least four or five weeks’ notice to get set up in the apartment before I met her.’
‘So, admin staff, right?’ Kate asked, frowning. Jack nodded, pleased as usual with the DI’s fast-moving mind. ‘Why don’t I begin with the Super’s secretary.’
‘Helen, yes, good idea. She’s much too wily to be bandying around information, but she will know who the gossips are, where the leak might have occurred, and will certainly point you in the right direction.’
‘Do I tell her why I’m asking?’
‘Hell, yes. She’ll learn soon enough anyway.’
‘I’m on to it. See you in a minute then.’
Jack waited for her to go and then finally found the courage to dial the number he’d wanted to for the past couple of hours.
She answered almost instantly. ‘Jack, hi, I’ve been longing to hear from you.’
‘How was lunch? How’s Mrs Fenton?’ he asked as casually as he could.
‘Lunch was sufficiently terrific that Mrs Fenton’s sleeping it off.’
He’d got what he wanted from her. She was pursuing the lie.
‘You sound out of breath,’ he commented, doodling hard on his pad to keep his mind empty of the anger.
‘Yeah, I hurried — if you can call it hurrying at my speed — to pick up the phone,’ she said, taking a furtive glance behind her at Billy’s corpse.
‘Are you outside?’ he asked.
‘I’m in a hire car now,’ she said, slamming the van door and putting the phone on loudspeaker. She quickly started the engine.
‘I didn’t know you drove. You’re okay to talk?’
‘I’m not a complete cripple, Jack. Of course I can drive. And, yes, I can even talk at the same time, but forgive me if I’m a little distracted while I’m managing things in the car.’ She laughed but he didn’t. ‘Jack, are you alright?’
‘Just a big day. I’m still at the office.’
‘How’s it going?’
‘Not great.’
‘No progress?’