Authors: Tania Carver
G
hosts, thought Phil. No. The Lawgiver wasn’t a ghost. Whatever he was, he was real. ‘Which is, of course, impossible,’ said Phil. ‘So he can’t have done. CCTV must have him. Without his mask.’
‘We haven’t found him yet.’
Hopefully when John Wright comes round he can give us a better description.’
‘Denise Nettleworth already did,’ said Sperring. ‘But don’t get your hopes up. It’s the same as the last one. Some kind of boilersuit thing, boots, gloves and a gas mask. Could be anyone in there.’
Phil shook his head. ‘Okay. But we keep looking. We keep going. CCTV must have him on there somewhere. Somehow. It’s just a matter of finding him. He must have disguised himself in some way. He’ll have been carrying a bag with his gear in. Look for that.’
‘We have been,’ said Sperring, the strain showing in his voice, ‘but it’s a hotel. Everyone’s got a bag. And some people aren’t too happy about us raking through them without a —’
‘Without a warrant, right,’ said Phil. ‘Too many TV cop shows to blame for that. And of course by the time you’ve argued with them…’
‘It’s tiring,’ said Sperring. ‘But we’re still doing it.’
‘Good. Something should turn up. Somehow.’
Before he could say anything more, DCI Cotter jumped in. ‘Phil, I just want to stop you there,’ she said.
Phil stopped.
She stood up, took the floor before the team.
‘As you’re all probably aware, the Lawgiver…’ She paused, shook her head. ‘Bloody ridiculous name. Just tells you the level of person we’re dealing with here.’ She continued, the name repeated with heavy sarcasm. ‘The Lawgiver has developed something of a connection with DI Brennan. We don’t know why. Phil himself doesn’t know why. But he has so we have to work with it. He’s called here, asking to speak to DI Brennan personally. Built a rapport and become personally involved. It’s clear that he’s a very disturbed, possibly deranged, individual so we have to tread carefully. If the calls are to continue then obviously a psychologist could be of help to us in this instance, helping us to guide the conversation. I believe that DI Brennan’s first choice of psychologist,’ she glanced at Phil, a small smile curling the sides of her mouth, ‘is unavailable at present. So we’ll hang fire on that one.’
‘I think we have a fair idea of the personality we’re dealing with here,’ said Phil.
‘Indeed,’ said Cotter. ‘Deranged and narcissistic. And that’s just for starters. As you know, he has asked DI Brennan to appear on TV to make a direct address to him.’
‘That’s narcissism for you,’ said Sperring.
‘Quite,’ said Cotter. ‘Now, usually I wouldn’t allow that kind of behaviour. That kind of pandering. But given what he’s already perpetrated and the fact that we seem to be no nearer to catching him, this would seem to be an extreme situation.’
She turned to Phil. ‘You media trained, Phil?’
He seemed surprised by the question. ‘Bit rusty, if I’m honest. I try not to do it if I can help it.’
Cotter nodded. Took in his attire. ‘And you’ll have to smarten yourself up for it.’
Phil inwardly groaned.
She turned back to the room. ‘DI Brennan and I already spoke about this before the meeting. He’s agreed to talk to the media. And hopefully, directly to the Lawgiver. But obviously everything that he says will be agreed in advance.’
‘And can I just say,’ said Phil, ‘that since this person seems to have developed, or tried to develop, some kind of attachment to me I’m going to be reviewing all my previous arrests to see if anyone might fit the bill for what’s happening here.’
‘Good,’ said Cotter. She scanned the room once more. ‘Anything else?’
‘Yeah,’ said Sperring, sitting forward. ‘Moses Heap. I know we got off to a bad start with him but I think he’s connected to all this in some way. Want me to keep looking into it?’
Cotter stared at him. Phil knew what his own answer would have been but he didn’t have the floor at that moment. Cotter seemed to be mulling over the proposition.
‘Discreetly, if you can, Ian. I don’t want a repeat of yesterday. If you think he’s involved then we have to have cast-iron proof before confronting him. He’s a media figure. And he’s got that heinous lawyer in tow.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Sperring smiled to himself.
‘Anything else?’
No one spoke.
‘Good. I’ll hand you back to DI Brennan.’
Cotter resumed her seat. Phil stood up from the corner of the desk he had been perching on. He glanced at his coffee. Cold. He would need another one. He looked at the team. Knew he had to find something to say that would energise them. Concentrate them, motivate them.
‘You’ve all seen how this Lawgiver operates by now. You know what we’re dealing with. Someone driven, someone unstable. A self-righteous narcissist who thinks he’s on some kind of crusade. But, crucially, one who for all of that is very clever. We can’t underestimate him, just dismiss him as some kind of nutter. He’s cunning and clever. He hasn’t left any DNA or forensic evidence at the crime scenes, or at least none that we’ve found yet. We don’t know what we’re dealing with. We don’t know who he’s going to target next. What we do know is that there will be another target. He’s not going to stop. He’s just getting started.’
He scanned the faces once more. The team were listening.
‘Go through the files. Old cases. Cold cases. Anything. See if anyone or anything sticks out. Cross-reference criminal names with political agitators. He can’t have come from nowhere. He must have built up to this. He must be known to us in some way, somehow.’
A final scan of the room.
‘Let’s find him. Before he claims another victim.’
‘W
ell, you must be able to do somethin’, man. I mean, they’re violatin’ me human rights, if nothin’ else…’
Glen Looker stared at his client, face impassive. Jesus, he thought. Never gets any easier. Darren Richards lay in his hospital bed, propped up on pillows, drips still going into his body. The hospital had insisted that he was strong enough to leave but Looker had argued that yes, they may want the bed, and in fact have someone who desperately needs it, but his client had been through a traumatic experience, one so profoundly horrific that most people could only imagine in their most terrible nightmares and he prayed it never happened to them, God forbid, so he needed to be somewhere safe and tranquil where he could rest a while. He wouldn’t want to be discharged too soon and have a relapse, would he? And he was sure the hospital didn’t want that. A lawsuit could be very costly. The hospital staff had, grudgingly, ceded to his demands.
But now, looking at Darren Richards lying there agitated and angry, expecting everyone to do everything for him, Looker was wondering why he had even bothered arguing.
If you’re strong enough to argue, he thought, you’re strong enough to leave.
‘Violating your human rights. Well, we don’t want that, do we?’
‘Fuckin’ right we don’t. I mean, she was sittin’ there, right where you are, the black one —’
‘Whoa, whoa,’ said Glen Looker. ‘No racial discrimination. It’ll rebound on you.’
‘What did I say?’
‘Black. You defined her by the colour of her skin.’
‘But she is black,’ Darren said, incomprehension etched on his features. ‘What else am I supposed to call her?’
‘DC Oliver. It’s her name. You’ve got to remember these things.’
‘Whatever. She’s Five-0, ain’t she? They’re all the same. Anyway, she was talkin’ to me, all nice like, an’ then I tell her what happened in the warehouse. With Chloe an’ Shannon, an’ that. And then she starts on me. Walks away eventually, like I’m filth, or somethin’.’
‘Darren, you shouldn’t have spoken to her without me being here. You should know that by now.’
‘Yeah, I know. But I thought this was different, you know. Me bein’ the victim this time, an’ that.’ He sighed, his mouth turned downwards in an almost cartoon parody of a sulk. ‘Turns out it’s no different. Still treat me like shit, whatever.’
‘So let me get this straight,’ said Looker. ‘You told them that this hooded character offered you a choice.’
‘Wasn’t hooded. Masked.’
‘Right. Masked. Whatever. This person had a crossbow pointed at you and gave you a choice. And you chose to live.’
‘Yeah. Right. Did what anyone would’ve done if they’d been me, didn’t I?’
Glen Looker didn’t have an answer for that. Not an honest one, anyway. ‘Right. So now you think… what?’ He shrugged.
‘They’re gonna do me, ain’t they?’
‘Do you?’
‘Manslaughter, an’ that. Cos I let them die.’
‘But they’re not going to charge you with that. How can they?’
‘You weren’t there, were you?’ His voice rose, his arms flung about, almost ripping out the drips. ‘You didn’t see her face… I’m tellin’ you, man, they’re gonna do me. An’ you gotta stop them.’
Glen Looker nodded. ‘Fine. I’ll have a word. But take it from me, they won’t do anything. After the exposure this has had, they wouldn’t dare.’
Darren Richards stared sullenly ahead. ‘Still not convinced.’
‘Leave it with me.’
Darren gave a reluctant nod.
They sat in silence for a minute. Eventually, Glen spoke.
‘You still grieving, then?’
‘What?’ Darren frowned, like he hadn’t understood the words.
‘Grieving. Are you still grieving?’
Darren still frowned. ‘What d’you mean? Grievin’?’
‘For Chloe. And Shannon.’
‘Oh.’ His eyebrows lifted as he understood. ‘Right. Yeah. Gotcha. Grievin’. Yeah.’ He shrugged. ‘Yeah.’ His features were blank, almost non-committal.
‘You sure?’
‘Yeah, you know.’ He shrugged. ‘Miss them, an’ that.’
Glen Looker nodded.
‘So when you gonna talk to the cops for me, then?’ Darren’s face was animated once more. ‘Today?’
Glen Looker stood up. ‘Leave it with me.’
‘Better be fuckin’ today. Better be.’
‘I’m glad you’re feeling better.’
Glen Looker turned, walked from the ward.
As he approached his car, the opening bars of Robin Thicke’s ‘Blurred Lines’ blared out from his suit pocket. Two nurses walking past stopped to look at him and smile. He returned the smile thinking they must be impressed by his taste in tunes, but the expressions on their faces told a different story. He hurriedly took out his mobile before any more of the song could play, checked the display.
MOSES
HEAP
.
He suppressed a groan, answered it.
‘Yes, Moses, what can I do for you?’
‘Listen, man, just wanted to say thanks for steppin’ up for me yesterday. Five-0’s on to me like a fucking rash.’
‘Yes, well, that’s what they do.’ He tried opening his car door as he spoke. ‘You know that by now.’
‘Yeah, man, but I’ve not done anything this time. Not any more. You know me.’
‘Yeah, Moses, I know you.’
‘Yeah. Well, I’m just saying. New man, an’ that. But they’re not giving up on me just yet. Don’t think of going anywhere in the next few days ’cause I just might need you again, you get me?’
‘Don’t you worry, Moses, I have no plans to go anywhere.’
‘Cool, man. Take care, yeah? Speak soon.’
He hung up.
Glen got into the car, let out a heavy sigh. He looked down at the passenger seat, saw the holiday brochures piled up there. Some old, dog-eared and well-thumbed, some new, just picked up off the travel agent’s shelves a day ago. He collected them. Stared at the photos of far-away places: white sand, blue sky and perfect tranquillity. Proving money bought you happiness. Knowing the price of where he wanted to go, where he could find peace, was far beyond what he earned.
‘Not thinking of going anywhere,’ he said out loud. ‘God, I wish.’
He pulled away, Daft Punk cranked up as loud as possible so he didn’t have to think while he drove.
‘C
ase study.’ Marina repeated the words back to Fiona Welch. ‘Case study.’
Fiona Welch remained silent.
‘And what kind of things were you studying? Hmm? What aspect of Joanne’s psychological make-up interested you in particular?’
Fiona Welch’s nostrils flared as she inhaled and exhaled, but she still didn’t speak.
Marina felt her hands shaking. She kept her voice steady. ‘I’d really like to know.’
Fiona Welch turned to her. Spoke slowly and deliberately. ‘I’m sure you would.’ She smiled. ‘You’re getting old, Marina. Old. It must be hard to try to keep up with the latest theory and practice, I would think. You must get set in your ways. Each generation comes up with better, more dynamic theories than the previous one. Discrediting everything that’s gone before. It must be very difficult for you.’
Marina’s voice began to rise. ‘You haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.’
Fiona Welch went on. ‘It must also be hard trying to maintain a man’s interest when you’re ageing. When there is a younger generation coming along. Better. More dynamic. It must be very difficult for you.’
Before Marina could speak, Anni stood up. ‘This is getting us nowhere.’ She turned to Fiona Welch. ‘I get the point. You’re a fake but clearly quite a decent one. I don’t know why you want to be Fiona Welch, why you picked on that particular low-life, and quite frankly, I don’t care. I don’t know who you really are. But do you know what I think? What I really think? Just between us three girls, of course.’
Fiona Welch affected boredom but Marina could see that she was genuinely interested to know. And also, if her expression was anything to go by, a little scared. She shrugged.
‘I just want to know if you were responsible for Joanne Marsh’s death. That’s all. Like you said, that’s all I do. I’m not interested in anything else. How clever you think you are. What you’re doing this for. Not interested in the slightest. In fact, if anything I find the whole charade boring. So stop playing games and tell me. Did you have anything to do with Joanne Marsh’s death?’
‘Yes. She did.’
They all turned. Mickey had entered the room. Stood quietly at the door, listening. He moved forward to join them.
‘She is responsible for Joanne Marsh’s death. Definitely.’
The fear was ramping up in Fiona Welch’s eyes. She began to bluster. ‘What d’you mean? You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I do,’ he said. ‘Mind if I sit?’ He pulled out a chair, looked at it. ‘Actually, no, I think I’ll stay standing. You’re responsible for her death. You were careless. You were stupid. You left a witness.’
Fiona Welch said nothing, her eyes blazing.
He continued. ‘Yes, a witness.’
Fiona Welch found her voice. ‘No I didn’t. I couldn’t have because I didn’t do it.’
‘All right then.’ He folded his arms. ‘Does this sound familiar? Do it and you’ll be at peace. They’ll never let you out. You’re never going to see your men again. You’ll be at peace.’ He unfolded his arms, looked directly at her. ‘Ring any bells?’
Fiona Welch began to tremble.
‘I’ve been talking to the other patients,’ said Mickey. ‘Including Eloise Brownley. She was in Joanne’s room last night after you’d been in. She told me what you’d said to Joanne, how you told her to kill herself. And that Joanne was upset about it but was going to do it. Eloise Brownley’s not all there but she’s credible. And a jury would find her so if it came to that.’
She stood, stepped up close to him.
‘You’re good,’ said Mickey. ‘But we’re better.’
Her breathing deepened, her teeth were bared. ‘You bastard.’
And she was on him. Clawing at his face, screaming. Trying to pull his hair out, rip his clothes from his body.
Anni jumped up, leapt on her back, began twisting her arms, pulling her away from Mickey who regained his balance and joined his partner in restraining her. Marina could do nothing but watch.
Fiona Welch kicked and screamed. Tried to punch and bite the two of them, screaming all the while, her ferocity huge. Eventually they managed to hold her face down on the floor and pull her hands behind her back. Mickey, sitting on her, took out his cuffs, fastened them over her wrists.
‘There, gotcha…’ he managed to gasp.
Once he had finished fastening the cuffs he stood up. Fiona Welch tried to stand, to crawl, anything to get away. ‘Call a nurse,’ said Anni to Marina. ‘See if they’ve got any more restraints on the ward. Place like this, they’re bound to have.’
‘No…’ said Fiona Welch, her movements lessening. ‘No – I’m… I’m all right…’
‘Pleased to hear it,’ said Anni. Then to Marina, ‘Get the restraints.’
‘No,’ Fiona Welch said again, louder, more shrill this time. ‘I’m… I’m calm. I’m calm. I’ll… I’ll not give you any more trouble. I promise.’
Mickey and Anni stood back, wary. Ready to pounce once more if needed.
But it was unnecessary. Fiona Welch had regained control of herself. She lay still on the floor. Mickey and Anni shared a glance.
‘Shall you do the honours or shall I?’ he said.
Anni smiled, gave an elaborate hand gesture, bowing as she did. ‘Be my guest.’
Mickey pulled Fiona Welch to her feet, placed her in the chair he had almost sat in. Looked straight into her eyes. ‘Your little holiday here is over,’ he said. ‘Fiona Welch, or whoever you really are, you have the right to remain silent…’
She stared straight back at him. The feral quality of a few moments earlier had completely disappeared. Now her face was calm, almost relaxed. As he talked, she smiled.
And that, thought Marina, was the most frightening thing the woman calling herself Fiona Welch had yet done.