Authors: Fiona McIntosh
‘Yes, actually. But the deeper you get into these operations, the uglier it always is.’
‘So what have you turned up? Anything that will help you get this killer?’
He hesitated, wondering whether to bait Sophie. He opted not to at this stage. She’d tricked him with such ease that she was obviously far too smart to be deceived, especially when she was on the alert for hints of discovery.
‘I don’t really want to talk about the killer,’ he said. ‘I’d hoped you could cheer me up.’
‘I will tomorrow.’
‘So you’re definitely coming home tomorrow evening?’
‘Absolutely. I can’t wait to get away from Devon, to be honest.’
‘Well, that’s great. I’ll be waiting for you.’
‘You sound really odd, you know.’
‘Sorry. Guess I miss you.’
‘Ah, that’s more like it. Thank you. I’ve been thinking about you all day.’
‘Me too,’ he said truthfully. ‘I’ve got to go, Sophie. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ He ended the call, unable to keep the bile down a moment longer. He dialled Sarah’s extension. It was a pointless, last-ditch effort to understand.
‘DS Jones,’ she said, sounding distracted.
‘It’s Jack, sorry to disturb you.’
‘No problem, sir. I was just closing down some computer files — apparently there’s a meeting in a minute.’
‘There is. Can I ask you to look into something for me?’
‘Sure.’
‘Can you hunt down a Mrs Fenton who lives at North Molton in Devon? I’m pretty sure it’s a small enough place that not having her Christian name shouldn’t pose a problem.’ He gave her the address.
‘What am I tracking her for, sir? Is there anything specific to look for?’
‘Her existence,’ he said abruptly.
As the van idled at the lights, Anne allowed her thoughts to wander sadly back to Jack and the fact that there could never be a future for them. Everything about Sophie was fabricated: the bright gold of her hair, the cosmetic enhancements on her perfect teeth, the coloured contact lenses. Only the body was Anne’s, sculpted over years of hard training and careful eating, but even that had been disguised in the wheelchair. Sophie was simply a vehicle for Anne: a tool to get her close to the source, close to the one person she knew could get in the way of her full revenge. It was unplanned that she’d develop such genuine feelings for Jack, but, she told herself again, it was a relationship based on lies and misdirection and was always going to end. Had the end just arrived? Jack had sounded strained, remote. Granted, he had plenty on his mind, but he usually found some warmth for her, no matter what was happening at work. Had the bitchfaced sidekick set off warnings in his mind?
Anne tracked back through the day. The first bell that could have sounded the death knell of their relationship was almost certainly Jack not finding her on the train platform at Paddington. She thought she’d
sidetracked him adroitly but perhaps not. Jack was a police officer after all, and he didn’t get to the position of DCI without some genuine talent, no matter who was pushing his barrow. So perhaps he did some checking up on the timetable and discovered there were no earlier trains. It was the only trick she could pull out of the hat when he had put her on the spot and she’d known as she said it that she was laying herself bare to scrutiny. Nevertheless, more must have occurred for him to become suspicious enough to take it further. But Anne’s internal radar was giving off signals of dread; she was convinced Jack was on to her. Whether he had made the final connection she had no idea, but his edgy tone suggested something was amiss between them and, unless he had stumbled upon something, there was no reason for it . . . not even work stress. No, it had to be his nosey colleague, that Kate woman. And then daylight switched on in her mind as she realised the crucial error she’d made.
Cars honked with irritation that the van hadn’t lurched forward immediately the lights had turned green. She apologised, holding a hand to her rear-view mirror, and quickly pulled off the road into a parking spot to consider this new development.
How could she be so stupid! She’d become familiar with the phone system at Scotland Yard when she’d posed as a research student there:
Every phone call recorded. Every phone number flashing up on the consoles.
Now she understood how she’d given herself away to Kate.
‘Bitchface was smart enough to register I wasn’t calling from Devon,’ she murmured. ‘And she’s told Jack.’
That was it. It had to be. Kate’s jealousy, or whatever was driving that bitter tone in her voice when they’d spoken earlier today, had prompted the police officer to bring Sophie’s lie into the open. Kate could have left it alone, or she might never have noticed the number, but neither of those scenarios had occurred. Not only had Kate noticed the Brighton number — damn her — but she had decided she’d tell Jack to boot. And assuming he had checked the train timetables, this news would have set off a much bigger explosion in his mind.
Anne shook her head to clear her thoughts and tried to reassure herself that Jack couldn’t possibly have connected Sophie Fenton with the serial killer just yet, no matter how suspicious he might be about his new girlfriend telling fibs. But doubts persisted.
She rang Mrs Becker. ‘Hello, Traute, it’s Sophie here. How are you?’
‘Ah, Miss Fenton, I’m alright, thank you. I —’
Anne didn’t give the older woman the chance to get into one of her long conversations. ‘I was just wondering, have you seen Mr Hawksworth today?’ The older woman hesitated and Anne decided to help her along. ‘I’m not sure if you know this, Mrs Becker, but Jack and I are seeing each other. We blame you for bringing us together, actually,’ and she gave a soft laugh.
‘I can put two and two together,’ Mrs Becker replied in her thick accent.
Anne laughed again, began crafting the lie. ‘I figured you would. Anyway, I’m trying to reach him but I can’t find him at work or home and I’d promised him I’d call him this evening. I don’t know what to do. I thought you might have seen him,’ she prompted.
‘Well, that’s what I’m telling you, Miss Fenton. His people are here. They’re in your apartment.’
Anne froze. She felt as though she couldn’t breathe. ‘Pardon?’ she finally croaked.
‘Ja, your apartment has loads of police people walking in and out of it.’
‘Mrs Becker, what’s happening?’ Anne said, already guessing but needing to have it confirmed by someone else.
‘Mr Hawksworth came to the apartments with a woman — his colleague, he told me later — but I didn’t speak to them at first, just saw them out of the window. I’m on the first floor after all, with a very good view of the street, and you know I miss nothing.’ Anne wanted to reach down the phone and throttle the old busybody. ‘Anyway, he came banging on my door not very long later and told me not to be alarmed but a team of investigators — ja, that’s the word he used — investigators would be coming to enter your apartment.’
‘What time was this?’
‘About, ah, let me see, I spoke to him just after four perhaps and they were here from six-ish or so. I can’t be sure. What is going on?’
‘I have no idea but I will be finding out. I have to go,’ Anne said firmly. Jack had put all the sums together, it seemed, and come up with the right answer.
‘Do you want me to take the phone up to them?’ Mrs Becker asked and Anne could hear the greed in her voice, the desire for any excuse to get into that apartment and see exactly what all this excitement was about.
‘No, don’t worry yourself, Mrs Becker, but thank you. And don’t mention I called. I’ll find Jack and sort this out.’
‘I don’t want to be involved, Miss Fenton. I am simply telling you what I know,’ the woman replied, obviously offended that she might be considered overly curious.
Anne hung up, her breathing ragged. Jack wasn’t just suspicious, he was on to her.
She dialled the St Albans number. ‘Mrs Shannon?’
‘Oh, I’m glad you’ve called. Now, you won’t be bringing that van back, will you, luv? I don’t want any trouble with the police.’
Anne’s stomach did a flip. She was too late. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Nothing yet, but I’ve been seeing those reports as I told you on that machine and I know they’re going to come snooping around my house. I can’t be caught breaking the law, luv. I hope you won’t take this the wrong way.’
‘No, no, I won’t, but what do you mean about the machine?’
‘Oh, I left a message on that answering contraption of yours. I thought that’s why you’re calling.’
‘No, I haven’t been home yet, Mrs Shannon,’ Anne answered, her mind dull with rage.
‘Well, great minds then, luv. I’m sorry we can’t continue — I liked the cash, but I can’t have Social Security cutting me off and all that. I know you understand. Just post back the key, there’s a luv.’
Anne shook her head. It was all falling part and she was so close . . . just so close to her nemesis. She couldn’t believe he was going to elude her again.
‘Will do. Keep mum, Mrs Shannon — don’t tell them anything if they ask any questions.’
‘Why would they?’ the old girl demanded, freshly anxious.
‘I mean just in case any neighbours say they’ve seen a white van and all that. You have nothing to be afraid of.’
‘I’ll say it was my niece’s or something.’
Anne couldn’t care less any more. ‘Whatever. Goodbye, Mrs Shannon.’
She hung up, her mind already racing ahead. She couldn’t go back to Highgate, and she had to get rid of this van. But the truth was, she no longer had many choices. Fortunately, she’d packed cleverly — she had all she needed in her backpack and small luggage case. Again she counted her blessings at removing the most incriminating evidence from the apartment — the note from the Jesters Club — but they’d have worked out within minutes that the occupant of the fourth floor was no invalid and they would have decided that Sophie Fenton was the alter ego of serial killer Anne McEvoy.
Time was no longer on her side. She had to find the last pair of clowns and kill them in less than forty-eight hours. And in that same period, she had some important arrangements to make.
She gunned the engine again and suddenly her mind felt cleared. Jack was already in the past and all she could think of now was killing the final two and somehow finding Peter. If she could only look at him once, that would be enough, she assured herself.
36
Jack’s team stared at him in utter disbelief, but he kept his head high. There was nothing he had to hide from, other than his own shame of being gullible — and it could have happened to any one of them.
‘We know it’s definitely her, do we?’ Brodie asked, his expression stunned.
Jack let out his breath. ‘Her second bedroom served as a personal gym, Cam. This was a serious set-up with professional equipment. According to Sophie, she has no siblings, an ageing mother in Devon, few friends and no flatmate. Who do you think was using the barbells, the treadmill, the cross-trainer, the rowing machine? And if we believe that she is Anne McEvoy’s alter ego, then the gym makes sense. Confined to a wheelchair in public, she could hardly stay fit in all the normal ways. She used this equipment to train keep herself strong.’
‘She’d have to be strong to move the bodies around,’ Swamp followed up.
‘That’s right,’ Jack agreed. ‘The truth is, I haven’t known her long . . .’ He cleared his throat, keen to be honest with everyone but feeling hopelessly
humiliated. ‘And, well, I’ve never seen her arms naked. Now that I think about it, I believe Sophie deliberately kept her physique as disguised as she could. She has a very straight bearing, not necessarily common to invalids.’
He noticed everyone was looking down or away. Only Kate had the courage to look him in the eye but her expression was filled with sympathy. He pressed on. This was no time for self-pity or self-recrimination.
‘Anne McEvoy is drugging these guys. Now that I know who she is, what she looks like, how likeable she is, I can see that’s probably relatively simple for her. I fell for it, why not other blokes?’ This time everyone shifted uncomfortably. He ignored it, continued. ‘So she charms them, lures them into her car or van on the pretext of a lift or whatever, drugs them, waits for them to become unconscious. Then she does what she does, dumps the body, returns to her alter ego and waits for the news to break.’
‘So, for the killing of the first two victims, she didn’t need her disguise as such,’ Sarah said, thinking aloud. ‘Although she had dark hair for the London job.’
‘We probably have to presume that she used the Sophie alias only as a means of getting close to me so she could keep an eye on the police.’
Kate responded swiftly to this and Jack knew she chose her words carefully to protect him. ‘But you didn’t tell her anything about the case, did you, sir?’
‘No,’ Jack admitted wearily. ‘We discussed it only in the same sort of casual way that any of us might talk about a big case at home with our folks. I told her it had been a long day, that we may have found someone
with some information on a cold case that might help.’ He shrugged. ‘All very general. To my knowledge, I never once revealed anything about the case itself that the public hadn’t already learned, other than perhaps the mention of the blue paint — and, curiously, Sophie supported what Sarah had already discovered. I might add that I never discussed my colleagues either. The only reason she came into contact with you, Kate, is because you’ve happened to answer my extension on the two occasions that Sophie called me at the Yard.’
Kate nodded. ‘I’m glad I did now, sir.’
‘Me too,’ he said and meant it, although a difficult silence followed. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I know this is tricky and you’re all feeling a bit ill at ease about my involvement — perfectly understandable — but we have to move forward and do so fast. I’ve told you everything, and you can see for yourselves that I was set up by an extremely calculating and clever woman, who could have chosen to befriend any one of us in whichever manner she wanted. I’m meeting with Superintendent Sharpe in about ten minutes and I’ll be telling him everything. If he chooses to take me off the case, you all know what you’ve got to do, and I’ll be appointing DI Carter to run the operation, most likely with the Super’s more close supervision.’
He let that sink in. To their credit, Brodie didn’t baulk and Kate looked anything but triumphant.
He continued, ‘If he wants me to remain at Operation Danube, then I want you all to stop feeling so uncomfortable around me. I couldn’t know who Sophie was and, believe me, I hold enough despair about the hoax for all of us. You lot don’t need to beat
yourselves up over it because none of us could have known. She is a smart woman and she’s obviously able to plan meticulously and quickly, adapting as needs be. We’re dealing with a talented criminal here.’
‘Chief, I have to admit here, just between us, that I don’t really blame her.’
Jack could have hugged Brodie for saying aloud what he had felt, and Kate too, when the identity of Anne had first broken, but he was surprised when most of the others in the ops room began to murmur their agreement.
‘So you all feel like this?’
Heads nodded. Sarah looked around and spoke, it seemed, on behalf of the younger members of the team. ‘Sir, ever since Sergeant Moss told us about Anne McEvoy, I think a lot of us are working against our own inclination, which is to feel sympathy for her.’
‘I understand, and I’d be lying if I said I felt any differently. What these men subjected her to is unthinkable for most of us, and, yes, it might have been three decades ago, but they weren’t so young that they didn’t know exactly what was happening. They could have prevented the rape. But they were obviously gullible and easily persuaded by this faceless, nameless guy. He’s the true villain of the piece, and if he’s still alive by the end of this and we find him, I intend to nail him for serious sexual assault, abduction, kidnap, attempted murder and child abduction, as well as anything else I can get on him, including murder of the infant if we can learn more.
‘All of that said, it doesn’t escape the fact that Anne McEvoy is a ruthless murderer, and even though I will struggle for years to match her MO with the Sophie
Fenton that I’ve come to know and like so much, our job is to put her behind bars.’ He didn’t know when this had turned into a mini-lecture, but it needed to be said, especially to the younger officers. ‘We are police officers and we are not appointed to make judgements. We are appointed to apprehend and make available for prosecution anyone who breaks the law.’ He eyeballed the younger policemen and women as he spoke. None of the senior officers needed to be reminded of their duty, not even Brodie who’d expressed his regret. ‘Let me stress that none of you have to worry about whether or not I’m as anxious as the next person to do that.’
He felt rather than saw the collective relief amongst his senior team at what he’d just said.
‘Can I ask what we know about this last of the jesters?’ Sarah asked.
‘Absolutely zilch,’ Hawksworth admitted, ‘but I want us to go over the old files with a magnifying glass. There has to be a clue in there somewhere.’
‘What about Fletcher?’ Brodie asked.
‘The Sussex unit is doing everything it can.’ Jack sighed. ‘I’ve got an awful feeling it’s going to end badly for him. But we don’t give up yet. Roll your sleeves up, settle down to the long night. We trawl the facts over and over until something breaks. If I’m not mistaken, McEvoy is leaving clues with her every move. In fact, the murders themselves are clues to the past wrongs — we can see that now.’
‘Do you think she wants to be caught?’ Kate asked.
He shook his head. ‘I can’t say. But she’s no psychopath. She’s got a very deliberate range of targets and —’ He stopped abruptly, caught in a thought.
‘Sir?’ Kate coaxed, meeting the quiet glances from the other senior officers. ‘Chief?’
Jack refocused. ‘Swamp, tell everyone the Phillip Bowles suicide is to be kept inhouse for the time being.’
‘Sure,’ he said, frowning. ‘I’ll get on to it now.’
‘Cam, fancy a trip back to Hove?’
Kate looked between Hawksworth and Brodie and knew exactly where this was headed. ‘Oh, come on, you’ve just told us how smart she is, sir.’
Jack gave his DI a wry look. ‘Not so smart that she can guess how the voice of a teenager might have changed in thirty years — if she can even remember Bowles’s voice that clearly. Presumably she has no idea of his death at this point.’
‘It’s a good idea,’ Cam said. ‘How do we handle it?’
‘A sting. Nothing elaborate, she’s too clever. We simply lure her to the house with the bait she’s planning to prey on anyway.’
Kate shook her head. ‘She’s been too careful. She’ll know we’re watching.’
‘There’ll be no police presence in the street. Kate, you and Swamp can run the stakeout. Cam and I’ll be inside the house long before she arrives. We know Bowles is likely to be the next target.’
Kate wasn’t convinced. ‘What if she already knows about his death?’
‘How? And if she has already staked out the place and watched today’s events, then although we’re no closer, we’re also no further from her.’
‘But she’ll know we’re on to her,’ Kate insisted.
‘We have to do something that entices her closer to us. The public, the media, our superiors — they’ll all be demanding it.’
‘It’s worth trying,’ Cam said. ‘When?’
‘Tomorrow, but get on to Sussex now and get them to clear away all signs of a police presence at the house. I imagine Anne McEvoy’s a little preoccupied with Fletcher right now. She won’t turn her attention to Bowles until tomorrow.’
‘You hope,’ Kate warned. ‘Sir, you’d better get off to your meeting.’
Jack stood, nodded his thanks. ‘Okay, Cam, get everything set up. Swamp, Kate, get organised to be in Hove — we’ll leave in the early hours of tomorrow. The rest of you, please trawl the files for clues. We need the fifth person — we need to know what we’ve missed.’
He glanced Sarah’s way and both of them understood that he anticipated her expertise at detail would deliver them the break they so badly needed.
Everyone murmured their assent and Jack hurried away for what he knew was going to be an unpleasant meeting with his boss.
It was past eight-thirty and Anne had to think about where to dump the van. Without it, she’d have to risk killing Phil Bowles at his home, or worse, out in the open. Would she risk it? She began to feel it was too dangerous. Her main target was Pierrot. Perhaps Phil’s luck was in. He had been kind to Beano all those years ago, before the little dog’s brutal demise.
Nevertheless, Phil was as much to blame as the rest of them. He shouldn’t be given a reprieve because of a rare act of kindness that didn’t save Beano anyway. No, Phil should die too.
She sighed. Tomorrow was almost upon her and she was exhausted, but the van could undo her faster than
anything; she needed to rid herself of it. She toyed with the idea of finding a lock-up to rent and hiding the van in there. There were plenty of options sandwiched amongst the terraced streets past the London Road Station just north of Brighton. But the chances of finding someone to open up a garage late on a Saturday night and then forget her and it seemed relatively slim. Her next idea was to simply dump the van in the wilder region of Stanmer Park and hope it wouldn’t be found for at least three days, which should give her the time she needed. But she discarded this option because in winter Stanmer Park’s undergrowth wasn’t lush enough to conceal the van adequately. So, despite her fatigue, she sped off towards Gatwick Airport. She would leave the van in the long-term car park and hope it was a week or so before it was discovered. She could hire a car at the airport using cash.
Now that Scotland Yard was on to her, all pretence of being Sophie Fenton would have to fall away. Her new alter ego — the one she had taken the precaution of setting up several months previous — would be the last incarnation for Anne McEvoy. And it would have to come into effect immediately.
Superintendent Martin Sharpe eyed his protégé balefully, his pint of Ruddles sitting untouched on the table between them.
‘How did she mark you?’ he asked.
‘We’re trying to establish the leak. I’m certain she knew of my appointment before I did because she was already in the apartment on the day of our first press conference when the story of the serial killing broke publicly.’
‘Helen wouldn’t have —’
‘No, sir, I’m not suggesting she would,’ Jack hurried to assure the older man. ‘In fact, I’m hoping Helen may give us some insight as to who or where amongst the administration staff the information could have been accessed. All McEvoy needed was my full name and which part of London I lived in. The rest would be easy enough to hunt down. All she had to do really was follow me home from work one night. Who was privy to the info on the appointment anyway?’
Sharpe shrugged. ‘There were two commanders in on the decision and of course the Commissioner of Police. I don’t think you have to concern yourself with any of those officers. Far more likely is that the clerical staff have been blabbing to each other. You’re not exactly our most inconspicuous DCI. There are probably more private emails, texts and coffee room conversations about you than any other officer in the Yard.’
‘I’m getting very tired of that tag,’ Jack said with irritation. He flung down the cardboard coaster that he’d been fiddling with.
‘I don’t doubt it, Jack, but until some good-looking young gun roars up the chain of command, you remain the most eligible of our senior officers and the grapevine will continue to feed off you. What we need to focus on now is how to limit the potential damage of your relationship with the most wanted criminal in Britain.’
Jack flinched at his superior’s words. ‘I can’t see how we do that,’ he replied glumly.
‘By finding her, Jack! She’s in Brighton, she’s probably killing a man as we speak, and in her mind
she’s got two more to go. Your sting is the right option, considering we have so little to go on, but there’s potential for that to go nowhere as well. So you’ve got to get to this Pierrot guy first.’
‘Whoever he is,’ Jack qualified.
‘Yes, whoever he is. That’s our job. That’s police work. Somewhere, someone has a clue as to who he is. Find that clue and it will lead us to this killer.’
Jack stifled a yawn of intense fatigue. ‘We’re on it.’
‘So, you’re heading up to Hove, is that right?’
‘Yes. Everyone’s working around the clock at the moment. I’ll let DIs Brodie, Marsh and Carter get a few hours’ shut-eye and then we’ll head up while it’s still dark.’