Death Call (21 page)

‘Credit card. I’ll pay by credit card. Just take off your clothes.’

Sammy smiled. He wasn’t an old guy like she was used to getting. This one was young, and had an athletic body. Okay, so he was going a little thin on top and had a few tattoos, but he was quite handsome in a rough sort of way. This, Sammy thought, wouldn’t be hard at all, as she slipped out of her short black skirt, revealing a pair of hold-up stockings.

‘Well, Edward, or shall I call you Eddie, how would you like to start? A half and half is a nice way to get things, how would you say, going,’ Sammy smiled seductively.

‘What’s a half and half?’ Edward asked.

‘Well, you take you clothes off and I’ll show you. I promise that you’ll like it....’

The man began to unbutton his jeans and shirt, as Sammy got down on her knees in front of him, playfully rubbing his crotch with her hands. She could feel his penis through his underwear as he lowered his trousers. Sammy took a condom from her handbag, opened the packet and placed the condom in her mouth.

He looked down at her approvingly. Taking his penis in her hand she slowly massaged it to life until it stood proudly quivering in her hands. Looking up at her client, Sammy placed her mouth around his penis and put on the condom.

Within minutes, the man had pulled her away from his penis and turned her around. Sammy didn’t see him remove the condom before he entered her from behind. He began his thrusting in earnest. All she could feel were his hands on her back, unfastening her bra strap. He was pounding away heavily now, Sammy thought, hoping that he would shortly come.

Removing her bra, the man placed his hands on Sammy’s breasts, massaging them roughly. Sammy felt a little uncomfortable, but said nothing, hoping that he would soon finish.

As the man began to cry with the pleasure of orgasm, Sammy felt him place the bra strap around her neck. At the height of his orgasm he tightened the strap until Sammy began to struggle. Still, he pounded away, all the time tightening the ligature around her neck. Sammy’s vision began to dim as she struggled to remove the strap from around her neck. She could feel the fabric of her bra cut into her throat.

Sammy’s body went limp within two minutes and she was soon dead.

Chapter 22

Carroll and Grant had been hard at work all day getting what information they could on the businesses on their list. With the ten business addresses to visit, Carroll, Grant, Wheeler and Thompson had their work cut out for them. It was just a matter of going through the list, but that would take a good day’s work, if not longer. And if nothing turned up, well, it was back to the drawing board, unless the Chief Superintendent’s plan to release the suspect’s details drummed up any information.

On the Friday morning Carroll and Grant had taken half of the list and set about making their initial inquiries, being careful not to arouse the suspicion of anyone at the companies on the list.

Starting at the top of their list, the two detectives called on Motorman Vehicle Services on Liverpool Road, where they were met by a rather gruff looking man of about fifty, wearing overalls and covered in what Grant presumed to be axle-grease or oil. His name was Kellerman, he had said, and that explained the ‘Motorman’ in the business name. Or at least that’s what Carroll thought.

Joseph Kellerman was busy and he didn’t like the cops nosing around. Grant understood why. Less than three months previous to this, Kellerman’s company had been found to be involved in the ‘ringing’ of stolen cars, replacing their identification markings with those of written off vehicles of a similar make. A suspended sentence had seen an end to the matter, along with a rather hefty fine. Joe Kellerman, as Grant remembered him, had reason to be suspicious when the cops were around. He was probably up to his old tricks again.

‘We’d like a quiet word with you, Mr. Kellerman,’ Grant said on entering the small office, situated beside the front gate of the premises.

‘About what?’ Kellerman immediately replied.

‘Just a routine matter. It’s about your car – the purple estate. You see, a car bearing a distinct resemblance to yours was seen to be involved in an accident last week and we just wanted to eliminate you from our inquiries. Simple as that,’ Carroll said.

‘So what do you want to know?’

‘Well, has your car been involved in any accidents recently?’

‘Not to my knowledge,’ Kellerman said, looking from Carroll to Grant and back again.

‘May we have a look at the car?’ Grant asked.

‘Yeah, sure – but I told you, it hasn’t been in any accidents recently....’

‘Who drives the car on a regular basis?’ Carroll asked, looking around the grimy little office. There were pin-ups plastered all around. Not the kind of place that a woman would gladly work, Carroll thought, running his fingers over an exhaust system that dangled from the ceiling.

‘I’m the only one insured to drive the estate. The tow truck has the company insurance so anyone here can drive it – so I’m the only one....’ Kellerman replied.

‘Can you tell us where the car was last Monday afternoon?’ Carroll asked, eyeing the bare chest of a model plastered on the office door.

‘Monday afternoons are usually quiet – I’d have been here all day. Where did this accident take place?’ Kellerman asked.

‘Do you have anyone who can back up that you were here?’ Grant asked.

‘My son, Tommy. He was here all afternoon – except for one pick-up he had to do out in Holloway.’

‘How old is your son?’ Carroll asked.

‘What is this, are you guys just looking for something to do or is this personal?’

‘There’s nothing personal about this Mr. Kellerman. We just need a description of your son, that’s all. It’ll help us eliminate him from our inquiries.....’ Carroll said reassuringly.

‘He’s about the same size as me – maybe a bit lighter around the girth. He has black hair and crooked teeth,’ Kellerman said, wondering all the time what exactly the two coppers were after.

‘How old is he?’ Grant asked, as the office door swung open. A young man walked in.

‘Ask him yourself, why don’t you. Tommy – the police want to know how old you are,’ Kellerman said to the young man.

Carroll looked at Grant, and Grant at Carroll. There was no way on earth that the young man stood before them could’ve had anything to do with the two murders. He was only about twenty, if that.

‘I’m twenty two,’ the young man replied. ‘What’s this all about?’

‘Never mind,’ Carroll said. ‘Your father was just helping us with our inquiries, that’s all. Thank you for your time, Mr. Kellerman,’ Carroll said, gesturing to Grant that they should leave.

‘As long as you don’t go making a habit out if it. I’ve paid my fine and I’m clean now. No more dodgy business. So you can leave me alone, okay?’ Kellerman shouted after the two detectives as they left his office. Tommy looked at his father, confused.

The next four hours saw Carroll and Grant visit the four other business premises on their list. At Drop-off Couriers in White Lion Street, they were told that the van was driven by a member of their female staff named Tracy Spalding, from Romford. She was blonde, twenty nine and getting married in three weeks time to the boss’s son, Charlie. The car, a Vauxhall, hadn’t been involved in any accidents in the last year. And that, according to the dispatch operator, had nothing to do with Tracy’s driving – it had more to do with the Gods smiling on her. Carroll laughed, Grant smiled.

A different story came from Xpress Parcel Deliveries on Pentonville Road. The dispatch operator, a guy named John, said that the estate was written off a few months before, and was parked out the back, where it was being dismantled for spares. The company had seven similar estate cars, all of the same make but in different colours and, according to John, the purple estate came in handy for spare parts. Grant informed John that the car should be registered as being written off, and left it at that.

From the moment that Eileen, the Irish hooker, had said that there were two aerials on the car, Carroll had a sneaking suspicion that the killer may be a taxi driver of some description. Or at least a hackney driver – especially when she mentioned the magnetically mounted aerial. Because of this, Carroll had insisted that they visit the hackney company on the list next.

A1 Hackney Services on Roseberry Avenue was a busy little place. The base controller was permanently on the go, with a young woman ferrying cups of coffee to him. He seemed to be buzzing with the caffeine and had trouble keeping still. Moreso when he heard that the two guys weren’t looking for a hackney.

‘What, what can I do for you?’ the base controller asked, looking up at Grant.

‘I’m Detective Constable Grant and this is Detective Sergeant Carroll. We’d like to ask you a couple of questions about one of your vehicles.’

‘Jesus, I told Harry to pay those fuckin’ parking tickets last week. I knew you’d get on to us!’ the man said.

‘It has nothing to do with parking tickets, Mr...?’

‘Greene. Jimmy Greene. I own the business.’

‘We’re interested in one of your vehicles. We have reason to believe that one of your cars may have been involved in an accident last week.’ Grant said. Carroll kept quiet and decided to watch how Grant worked the guy.

‘None of my cars have had a bender recently. Which car are you on about?’ Jimmy Greene asked, scratching his head and taking a drink of coffee.

‘A purple estate car. I think it’s a Ford,’ Grant said, looking down at the list in his hands.

‘Naw, the estate’s fine – we haven’t had any damage to it. What’s supposed to have happened?’

‘Well, we’re not sure if it was your car, but wee need to know where it was last Monday afternoon. It’d help us a lot....’

‘Just a sec,’ Greene said, turning to the young woman. ‘Bring us over that black diary over there,’ he said, pointing to a book on top of the filing cabinet. The girl brought the diary to her boss and turned away. ‘It’s great, this youth employment programme – look what the Jobcentre sent me! Can’t find girls like this everyday, can you?’

‘Last Monday afternoon,’ Grant said. ‘Around four o’clock. Where was the car then?’

‘Just a sec....’ Greene said, thumbing through the diary. ‘Ah, here it is. Car four – that’s what the estate’s called. Car four was sent out to Tottenham at three thirty and went out to Heathrow. It wasn’t free till half four, and it had a job in the City.’

‘Where in the City?’ Grant asked.

‘The Liverpool Street area, I think. I can’t read my own bloody writing sometimes. We’re so busy at the moment you’d never believe it, and getting good drivers is absolutely impossible....’

‘Who was driving car four last Monday?’ Grant asked.

‘That’d be Giri Patel. He’s out on a call at the moment.’

‘Is he Asian?’

‘Half my bleedin’ drivers are.... Like I said, it’s hard to find good drivers these days....’

Carroll looked over at Grant and shook his head. One more call and that would be it. From then on, it would be up to Wheeler and Thompson, who were also working the list.

Jim Murney’s Heating and Plumbing Co. on Dalston Road was closed on the Monday in question and Jim Murney was the only one involved with the company. It was a one man operation, so to speak. Murney was around forty five, with a broad Scottish accent. Besides, Carroll had said to Grant, he had thick, wiry red hair. Jim Murney wasn’t the killer – of that much they were certain. It was time to clock off for the night and leave the rest to Wheeler and Thompson.

‘Fancy a pint?’ Carroll asked, unbuttoning his coat as he got into the car.

‘I’m not drinking at the moment. Besides, I’m going to see my wife and kids tonight....’

‘Well, you can’t say that I didn’t ask you – extending the hand of friendship and all that rubbish....’

‘No, man, thanks for the offer, but it’s just that I want to keep my head straight for tonight. She said she had something special to tell me and that she wanted me there for dinner at seven....’

‘Sounds ominous. What do you reckon she wants?’

‘I don’t know. But I do know that she’s not seeing her boyfriends anymore – the kids told me on the phone the other night....’

‘Well, I hope it goes well for you. You deserve to be back in there. Will you drop me off at the King’s Head?’ Carroll asked, rubbing his chin thirstily. ‘I could murder a pint!’

‘Well, as long as that’s all you murder,’ Grant replied with an unexpected grin on his face. He was clearly expecting good news at home, Carroll thought, as the they drove up Essex Road.

‘I may well murder a few,’ Carroll said. ‘I think I could become a serial killer – after a fashion....’

‘Take it easy, man,’ Grant said, as he stopped the car outside the King’s Head.

‘See you tomorrow, Tonto, and don’t be late!’ Carroll said with a smirk.

Grant shook his head and pulled out into the traffic. Once the car had been dropped off at the station, he could start making his way home. A shower, a shave, and he’d be ready. Whatever Victoria had on her mind, it had to be good, Grant thought, drumming his fingers on the dashboard.

Already three weeks had passed since Joanne McCrae’s body had been found by a paperboy in Horseferry Road. Time was marching on and the clues were mounting up, yet still they hadn’t made a positive ID. And with the details about to be released to the press, Carroll and Grant were under increasing pressure to catch the killer.