Authors: Elena Forbes
‘That’s what we assume.’
‘OK. Let’s also say you’re right about the method of torture. We’ve all read about waterboarding in the papers, but we tend to forget why it’s used. The main point is it’s very effective, it leaves next to no physical trace and it gets results incredibly quickly. Apparently even the most hardened of individuals fall to pieces in a matter of seconds. So, the killer gets what he wants, the victims are now surplus to requirements, and he tops them in a quick and effective way. Single bullet to the head, point blank range, no risk of Logan or Khan surviving and bearing witness.’
‘It takes guts to look a man in the eye and pull the trigger like that,’ Tartaglia said. ‘There’s no physical signs that he hesitated in any way, so it looks like he’s done it before.’
Harper nodded. ‘He did it cold. If you wanted to hire a killer, this is the sort of bloke you’d be looking for.’
‘If you knew where to find him.’
‘Yes. Which poses another question that we’ll leave to one side for the moment. The killer knows his game, he’s unfazed by it and is very unlikely to panic. So far, the behaviour is a hundred per cent consistent. The word that springs to mind to describe this individual is “efficient”, like a machine. There’s nothing spare or superfluous about his actions.’
‘The way you describe it, he sounds like a pro.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then how does that tally with the rest of it? The emails, the dumpsites, etcetera, it’s almost amateurishly theatrical.’
She smiled. ‘I’m just about to come onto that. When he’s done, you’d expect him to dispose of the body quickly and efficiently and make his getaway, right?’
Tartaglia nodded. ‘Instead, he wants the bodies to be found and he mutilates both Logan and Khan.’
‘Yes. The choice of sexual organs is significant, also the fact that he puts the man’s penis in his mouth. He emasculates him first, then he ridicules him. It’s highly symbolic and, in other circumstances, ritualistic. This is contradictory with what we know of our killer: both actions are unnecessary, they achieve nothing practical.’
‘What about sending a message to others, some sort of a warning?’
‘Surely killing him would have been enough, if that’s the aim? No, it’s a spiteful, petty action, and more than anything it reveals emotion. As you know, this sort of thing is incredibly rare in real life. Last time I saw that sort of thing was in a gangland killing many years ago. It was done as a form of post mortem humiliation of the victim. Anger and revenge were the driving forces. It turned out the victim had got a bit above himself and had been messing around with his boss’s wife. Unfortunately, the boss was a well-known hoodlum with all the characteristics of a sociopath. What happened to the wife wasn’t pleasant either, although we don’t need to go into that. Going back to Logan’s killer, we have another contradiction. The choice of dump-site isn’t efficient. We know it’s not accidental, as it was selected in advance, so it must have some special significance, which warrants significant additional effort and risk. This again indicates some form of emotional engagement.’
‘Unless he was just following orders.’
‘That’s very possible.’
‘What about the way the bodies were positioned?’
‘You mean, sitting?’
He nodded.
‘Again it serves no practical purpose, but I can’t read anything into it at the moment.’
‘And the missing phones?’
‘You said all the information was backed up elsewhere, so there’s no reason to take them. It sounds like someone was having a bit of fun, which again doesn’t ring true to character. Let’s move onto the emails. Why send them? What’s the point?’
‘To frighten the victim in some way?’
She nodded. ‘But how? It doesn’t make me quake in my boots. We’re not talking about a series of emails here, building to a climax.’
‘There may have been others we don’t know about, which were deleted.’
‘Possibly. Even so, let’s look at Joe Logan’s actions. They may be able to tell us something. Imagine you’re Logan for a minute. By all accounts he was intelligent and he must have been perceptive about life and human behaviour to be a writer. What would you do if you were in his shoes and you thought your life was in danger?’
‘Come to us, or run away.’
‘Yes. You wouldn’t just stay put as though nothing had happened, would you? Clearly Logan didn’t see the email or emails as life-threatening.’
Tartaglia frowned. ‘It must have meant something to him, otherwise why bother sending it?’
‘Maybe the message wasn’t that clear to him either.’
‘It’s not exactly a bullet in an envelope or a dead horse’s head on the pillow, I agree,’ he said, still puzzled.
‘Exactly. It’s not straightforward or efficient at delivering its message. Again this doesn’t fit. The person who put the bullet in his head wouldn’t mess about with sending a message that’s hard to interpret.’
‘You’re right,’ he said, feeling that he had been a little slow. ‘They wouldn’t send one at all. They wouldn’t want to risk Logan running away somewhere they couldn’t find him.’
‘Nor would they want him running to you lot and giving the game away. They just want something from him and then when they get it, bang, he’s gone. Same with Khan. End of story.’
‘You’re absolutely right. I hadn’t looked at it that way.’
Harper shrugged. ‘You’re so close to everything, it’s sometimes difficult to see the wood for the trees. Going back to the email itself, the message warns of what’s going to happen, or at least it points to the place where the body will be found. We know that now with the benefit of hindsight, but it does so obliquely. Have you thought that it may be more for your benefit than the victim’s?’
‘I wondered, but I still don’t see the point of them. Maybe they have nothing to do with the killings.’
‘Come on, Mark. Neither of us pays much heed to coincidence. Things happen for a reason. I think we have to assume that the emails are linked. Have you spoken to any of Logan’s friends? They might be able to shed some light on his reaction.’
‘He was pretty much a recluse, from what we can tell. There’s someone, but he’s done a runner.’
‘That’s interesting.’
He nodded. Finding Alex Fleming had become the top priority, but he seemed as difficult as smoke to pin down. His flat was now under surveillance in case he came back, and they would have a warrant in the next hour or so to search it. But in the meantime, he seemed to have flown the coop.
‘Whoever’s doing this has a specific reason. You should concentrate all your efforts on finding the link between the two victims. There will be a link and it will lead you back to him.’
Tartaglia sighed. While some things were clearer, without any idea of the motivation, they were no further to finding the killer. ‘Without having a clue what he’s after, it’s impossible to know if he’s likely to do it again.’
‘I’m afraid so. The sort of person we’re talking about won’t stop until he’s done, or he’s dead . . .’
‘Or we catch him.’
Harper gave him a sympathetic smile and inclined her head. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and took it out. It was Jane Downes’ number. ‘Excuse me a minute,’ he said to Harper, as he took the call. ‘What is it, Jane? I’m in a meeting.’
‘I’ve been cross-checking Joe Logan’s contacts with Paul Khan’s, and I’ve got a few hits, so it seems they knew some of the same people.’
‘Good work.’
‘There’s more. I went through the phone records, starting with the last two months. One name pops up on both. It’s a man called Tim Wade. Joe Logan rang him a couple of times before he died, as did Paul Khan.’
‘Again, good work,’ Tartaglia said, remembering the deep, resonant voice on the answer machine of the man called Tim who had also mentioned an ‘Alex’. ‘Have we got an address?’
‘Yes. Both home and work.’
‘Don’t call him first, just get someone over there right away. And if you find him, take him straight over to Kensington and call me immediately.’ As he hung up, he looked over at Harper and smiled. ‘I think we may have found the link.’
22
‘So you really know nothing about these emails?’
Tim stopped pacing the carpet and glared at Danny, who was gripping the arms of his chair as though he were in a boat on a rough sea. He stuck out his chin. ‘I told you I didn’t send them, and I don’t know who did, so shut the fuck up about it.’
They were in Tim’s study with the door firmly closed and Alex watching from the comfort of an armchair in the corner, feeling like the umpire in a tennis match as they batted around the arguments and accusations. Tim’s desk and the floor around it were littered with papers and files from the case he was working on and there was barely room to move. The room was hot, claustrophobic, and Alex hoped he wasn’t going to have another nosebleed. Danny was wearing the same clothes as the day before and looked as though he hadn’t been to bed at all. He reeked of stale smoke and booze. The way Alex saw it, Danny seemed to be telling the truth, answering consistently and not slipping up however hard Tim tried to wrong-foot him. Tim clearly thought otherwise. Alex wondered why – was Tim trying to deflect the spotlight from himself for some reason . . . ?
He had knocked on Tim’s front door just after two that morning and had found him still dressed. With barely a word, Tim had shown him straight to the spare room, provided him with an airline packet of toothbrush and paste and a clean towel, then said he was going back to work. Alex had slept soundly until the screaming of one of the children had woken him, but his dreams had been horribly vivid and he felt as though he hadn’t slept at all.
‘Sit down, will you, Tim?’ he said. ‘You’re making my head spin and this isn’t getting us anywhere. We need to work out what to do.’
Danny shrugged. ‘What can we fucking do?’
‘Don’t you care?’
‘Of course I care, but what do expect me to do about it? I’m all out of ideas.’
‘Joe and Paul are dead, which leaves us three. If we’re all telling the truth and none of us sent those emails, then somebody’s talked.’ Seeing Danny again now, he thought he was the most likely leak, although he probably had no recall of what he said when high.
As if reading his mind, Danny glared at him. ‘If you’re talking about Ashleigh, I never said a word. It’s just as likely to be you or Tim from where I’m sitting. And anyway, it was all a long, long time ago. Even if someone did find out, what are they going to do now? I mean, what could they prove?’
Tim sighed and shook his head. ‘You don’t get it, do you?’
‘Yeah, I get it. Just ’cause I’m not some fucking ponced up QC, you think I’ve nothing to lose? Is that it?’
‘Calm down,’ Alex said. ‘Tim didn’t mean that.’
‘Well, it sounded like it to me. Some people never change.’ Danny reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cig arettes.
‘You can’t smoke in here,’ Tim said.
‘Come on, I need a fucking fag.’
‘No.’
‘Just one. I can’t concentrate.’
‘I said no.’
Danny pulled a face and tucked the cigarettes away. It was true, Alex thought, some things never changed. They were all still obediently doing what Tim told them to do.
‘What I don’t understand is why Joe and Paul had to die,’ Alex said. ‘What happened was an accident, wasn’t it?’ He looked at Tim.
‘You were there, for Christ’s sake. You know it was.’
‘I’m just asking the question.’
Danny was nodding slowly. ‘Yeah, it was an accident. You know that, Alex. I don’t know why you’re being funny about it.’
‘OK, then why are Joe and Paul dead? Answer me that. I think we need to look at every possible angle.’
‘Keep your voice down,’ Tim said forcefully. ‘I don’t want Milly to hear. Naturally she doesn’t know about any of this and I don’t want to worry her.’
‘That’s the least of your problems, surely. You may be next on the list.’
‘I told you to stop being so bloody melodramatic.’
Alex held up his hands. ‘Look, unless we can work out who’s doing this and why, it could be you next, or Danny, or me.’ Unless the killer is one of us, he thought. He heard the sound of the doorbell.
‘There’s something I still don’t get,’ Danny said, scratching his beard. ‘Ashleigh was nearly twenty fucking years ago. If you’re right and there’s a connection, why’s this happening now, after all this time?’
‘I agree,’ Tim said. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Maybe it’s got nothing to do with Ashleigh.’
Alex shook his head. ‘There’s something we’re missing, something important.’
‘Well, I’m buggered if I know what it is,’ Tim replied, flopping down on the chair behind his desk. ‘Let’s try and look at it logi
cally. Joe and Paul never met before Bristol, did they?’
‘No,’ Alex said. ‘Definitely not.’
‘And they weren’t best buddies in the first couple of years, right?’
‘Yeah. They only really got to know each other properly when we all moved in to Ashleigh.’
‘I asked you to come and live with us and you insisted Joe had to come too. He was your mate. I’d only met him a few times before that.’
‘Are you trying to blame me?’
‘Of course not, Alex. Stop being so sensitive. I’m just trying to establish the facts. You said you wouldn’t move without him.’
‘That’s right,’ Alex said, not sure where he was going with this. ‘We’d shared a flat together in the second year and we were really good mates by then. I didn’t want to ditch him.’
‘OK. So they got to know each other in year three. Then didn’t he and Paul share a flat, or something when they moved to London?’
‘What’s the point of this?’
‘You’re a bit slow this morning. If it’s not to do with Ashleigh, maybe it’s something that happened in London.’
There was another ring, this time longer and more insis tent.
‘Shouldn’t you answer the door?’ Alex said.
Tim shook his head. ‘It’s probably the postman. Milly will get it.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ Alex said, ‘although I can’t think what either of them could have done to get themselves killed. But then explain the email sent to Joe. It talked about some sort of a crypt. It reminded me of the little church at Ashleigh.’
‘Most churches have crypts.’
‘Ones that flood?’
‘Crypts are damp. They’re underground.’
‘I’m not stupid, you know.’
‘Guys, guys, calm down,’ Danny said, waving his hands. ‘Just cool it. We’ve been coming at it all one way. I think Tim’s got a point, Alex. Joe shared Paul’s flat in London for a few months, before he moved in with Fi and Sally.’
Tim nodded. ‘They had some sort of a row, which is why Joe left. Do you know what it was about?’
There was a loud knock at the door and Milly burst into the room. She was wearing a dressing gown over a long, trailing nightdress and she was barefoot. Her face was flushed and her eyes were red and puffy, as though she had been asleep. In the background, the wail of a small child started up like a siren. ‘Tim, it’s the police. They want to speak to you.’
‘Me? Did you tell them I’m here?’
‘Yes. I said you were busy but they won’t go away.’
Tim gave a heavy sigh and glanced at Alex, then at Danny. ‘I’ll handle this. You both stay here. Keep the door shut and don’t, for God’s sake, make a sound.’
‘I understand you know Alex Fleming,’ Tartaglia said.
Tim Wade nodded. ‘We were at university together.’
‘Have you been in touch with him recently?’
‘I spoke to him only yesterday. Naturally we were both very shaken up by what’s happened to Joe.’
‘And Paul Khan. You know him too?’
‘Yes, of course. He was also at university with us. I assumed that was why I’m here.’ He looked at Tartaglia enquiringly.
‘I see,’ Tartaglia said, thoughtfully. ’I was wondering what the connection was.’
Wade was a big man, a good six-foot-three or four, with broad shoulders, a powerful handshake and a deep, resonant voice that must be a pleasure to listen to in the courtroom and carried with it a natural authority. Whether due to his size or his personality, he made the interview room at Kensington Station feel cramped. Minderedes sat beside Tartaglia taking notes. Wade had made no fuss about going with them, offering to assist in any way he could, although he had also made it clear that as a senior member of the Bar, he knew his rights. What he didn’t know, and didn’t need to know, was that Minderedes had just returned from searching Alex Fleming’s flat. Fleming’s flatmate had conveniently returned earlier that morning and given them access without the bother of a warrant, but the search had yielded nothing of interest. Fleming, like Joe Logan, seemed to be a man of few possessions, none of which seemed to relate to either Logan or Khan.
‘That’s what makes what’s happened particularly odd,’ Wade continued. ‘When I spoke to Alex, we were wondering what exactly happened. There wasn’t a lot of detail in the papers. And why them? One death, however sad, you can dismiss as bad luck, or something, but two, well, it looks like—’
Tartaglia stopped him. ‘Were Joe Logan and Paul Khan close friends?’
‘They used to be, a long time ago, but they had some sort of a falling-out soon after university and they never patched things up, as far as I know.’
‘What was it about?’
‘To be honest, I never quite got to the bottom of it. But they were oil and water. Reading between the lines, there was probably an element of jealousy. Coming from an immigrant family, Paul was very driven, almost to the exclusion of anything else. Joe, on the other hand, was less focused, a bit of a drifter and a dreamer, if truth be told. I think part of him admired Paul’s energy, but I’m not sure he shared his values.’
‘But you were friends with both of them?’
‘Yes. I liked them both. There was no need to take sides.’
Tartaglia nodded. Wade’s calm, open manner gave a ring of truth to everything he said, but it was something they would crosscheck as soon as possible.
‘Going back to Mr Fleming, we need to speak to him. Do you have any idea where he is?’
‘I can give you his phone number and address, if you like.’
‘We already have them, thank you. But he’s not at home and he isn’t answering his phone.’
Wade smiled. ‘Knowing Alex, he’s probably staying with some woman. Have you tried the restaurant where he works? He’s there most days.’
‘I thought he was an actor.’
‘He is, but work’s pretty slow at the moment. The restaurant’s name is L’Angelo and it’s in Notting Hill, near the Portobello Road, not far from here.’
Minderedes made a note then looked up at Wade. ‘There’s something that’s puzzling me, Sir,’ he said. ‘I bumped into your friend Mr Fleming on the canal, just along from Mr Logan’s boat.’
‘When was this?’
‘Wednesday last week.’
‘The day Joe’s body was found?’
‘Yes, Sir. He was asking all sorts of questions about Mr Logan.’
‘That’s right. He mentioned it when we spoke. From what I remember, he’d gone over there to see Joe – they’d arranged to meet – and he found you lot there instead. You must have been the one who told him Joe had had an accident. Funny sort of accident, if you ask me, or maybe he was so shocked, he didn’t remember that bit clearly.’ He gave Minderedes a hard look.
‘Did he also mention the fact that when I asked for his name, he gave me yours?’
‘Mine?’
Although he masked it well, Tartaglia saw that this was news to Wade and that he didn’t look pleased.
Minderedes nodded. ‘Any idea why he would do that, Sir?’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘He gave a false phone number and address as well. You can understand how it looks, Sir.’
‘Of course. What a very silly thing to do. Maybe he panicked, for some reason.’
‘What reason?’ Tartaglia asked. ‘Was he feeling guilty about something?’
‘Come on, Inspector. What’s happened has naturally unsettled him, and even the most sensible people behave like complete plonkers sometimes, particularly when dealing with the police. I see it all the time and I imagine you do too.’
‘OK, let’s say we give him the benefit of the doubt for giving my constable a false name, address and phone number. But he was one of the last people to see Joe Logan alive. He also called him several times in the week he died and those calls are logged. When we leave messages asking him to get in touch and he doesn’t return any of our calls, it looks, well . . .’
‘It looks bad, I agree.’
‘I’m glad you see our point. And now it seems as though he’s done a runner.’
‘We don’t know that, Inspector. I’m sure there’s a simple, innocent explanation. As I said, he’s probably playing away.’ Wade leaned forwards across the table with an ingratiating expression and folded his large hands. ‘Look, I’ve known Alex since we were boys. We were at school together, then university. I know him like the back of my hand and I can vouch for him. He may be a bit fey at times, but he’s a decent, honest bloke and he wouldn’t hurt anybody, particularly not Joe. They were very close. When I spoke to him he was incredibly upset. I guess if he’s deliberately avoiding you, which isn’t proven, that may be the explanation. Perhaps he feels he has nothing to add.’
‘We still need to talk to him,’ Tartaglia said. Whatever Wade said, Fleming’s behaviour was suspicious.
‘Of course. If I speak to him again—’
‘You mean when, surely?’
‘OK, when I speak to him again, I will explain to him exactly why he’s got to get in contact with you. But he’s not a suspect, is he?’
‘At the moment, no.’
‘Good. I’m glad we’ve cleared that up, because there are absolutely no grounds for you to think he is.’ He looked at Tartaglia meaningfully, then sat back in his chair. ‘Naturally we all want to find whoever’s done this horrific thing and we’ll help you in any way we can.’
‘So you have no idea who would want to kill your two friends, or why?’
Wade shook his head and put his hand to his chest. ‘Hand on heart, Inspector, I haven’t a clue and nor has Alex. It’s the question we keep asking ourselves. Are the two deaths linked? Is that your thinking?’
‘We’re keeping an open mind for the moment. The fact that the two men knew each other may or may not be significant.’
‘Well, neither Alex nor I can think of a reason why. I’m not a great believer in coincidence, Inspector, but sometimes it’s the best explanation.’