Alone with the Dead: A PC Donal Lynch Thriller (11 page)

‘Yes, Guv.’

‘And tell me what conclusions you made please, on that night, about the crime?’

I chose my words carefully, as if being cross-examined in court: ‘Well I assumed she’d let her killer in. There were no signs of a forced entry or a struggle, either at the front door or at the door into their flat. We found her at the top of the stairs on the landing, with her keys, post, coat and a handbag that hadn’t been touched. I think she let her killer in.’

‘Precisely,’ boomed Shep, sitting bolt upright, ‘she must have let the person or people who killed her into 21 Sangora Road. Marion knew this person or these people so well that she even stopped to pick up her post as they chatted. She then unlocked the door to her flat and invited them inside.’

I sensed that this clandestine rendezvous wasn’t about my career after all but nodded eagerly, just in case.

‘But of course DS Glenn doesn’t think so. Or at least the so-called criminologists he surrounds himself with don’t think so. They think that she was murdered by a maniac who barged in when she unlocked the front door. What do you think of that, Lynch?’ he barked, like a Headmaster challenged by an upstart pupil.

‘Well it’s a possibility, of course. I assume he has other supporting evidence to pursue that line?’

‘Shall I tell you what DS Glenn is, Lynch? He’s a politician. And you know what politicians do?’

I shook my head.

‘They jump on bandwagons, Lynch. And they try to ride them all the way to the top.’

Shep registered my confusion.

‘DS Glenn has been seduced by cod science,’ he spat. ‘He’s been bringing in these forensic criminal profilers on his investigations. Have you heard about those, Lynch?’

I’d read all about profiling in the criminology correspondence course I’d failed to finish. The results had impressed me.

‘Yes, Sir, I’ve read a lot about it, as it happens.’

‘What do you think of it, Lynch? Be honest with me now.’

I knew that I shouldn’t be honest with him, now or probably ever, if I was going to get that promotion.

‘Well, Sir, in the cases I read about, profiling certainly helped narrow down the list of suspects.’

‘Precisely,’ boomed Shep, he loved that word. ‘It narrows down the list of suspects but it doesn’t go out and gather evidence against them and catch them, does it?’

I shook my head, trapped as I was in the eye of his rhetorical storm.

‘Most of it is plain common sense, isn’t it? I mean if there’s a serial rapist out there, then of course he’s going to be aged between twenty and forty-five, ugly, awkward with women, loves his old mum, lives alone, bashes off to porn, has a menial job, poor personal hygiene and no friends. I mean you don’t fucking say?’

I had to laugh. Shep enjoyed being a comedian. I then realised that, at certain points in my life, I matched five if not six of the characteristics he’d just listed. I stopped laughing.

‘You don’t need to spend seven years studying a pile of “ologies” to tell me that, do you, Lynch? But, if you believe the Scotland Yard PR machine, profiling is the future of detective work. Have you seen the articles about DS Glenn and his “progressive, groundbreaking work” with Professor Richards? Of course the Commissioner loves it. Makes us sound like we’ve cracked some sort of secret code to catching baddies. There’s a room full of the fuckers now at Scotland Yard, taking up desks that should belong to detectives.’

I wondered where all this was heading, and hoped it would get there soon. Lately, at any time of the day, there was a good chance I might nod off.

‘DS Glenn and all these careerists have pulled off a very clever trick, Lynch. They are abdicating responsibility, by stealth. It’s now up to these profilers to lead us to the offenders. When we arrest a suspect these days, it’s up to the Crown Prosecution Service to press charges. This used to be the responsibility of senior officers like me. But slowly they’re redesigning it all so that nothing can come back on the big chiefs. If you don’t have to make any decisions then you can’t make any mistakes. This is the new hands-off, political world we’re living in, Lynch.’

I could see Shep winding his mind back pre-rant, to what we were supposed to be talking about.

‘So of course DS Glenn is now in thrall to this Professor Richards. Anything Professor Richards says is gospel. So Professor Richards has decided that Marion’s murder was the work of a Lone Wolf Killer, who’d stalked her for days. They’re linking it to these other attacks in South London later that week. A Swedish nanny got harassed on the Common. And a woman living about a mile away reported a down-and-out running up to her, verbally abusing her and pushing her back through her front door. Now I might not have gone to university, Lynch, but I know a crock of shit when I see one. Anyway, guess what, it’s not DS Glenn’s problem anymore.’

‘Has he been taken off the case, Guv?’

‘The Commissioner doesn’t want his star pupil bogged down in a boring old murder enquiry when he could be doing something trendy and media friendly, like developing strategies to apply criminal profiling to everyday crimes. So, after three weeks investigating the insides of Dr Richards’ hole, DS Glenn is taking his annual leave, then returning for his promotion.’

I was almost scared to ask: ‘Promotion, Guv?’

‘Oh yes, DS Glenn is being made Commander. I’ve been left to take over his buggered investigation.’

‘Good luck with that, Guv.’

‘I don’t want it, Lynch. Whoever killed Marion has had four weeks to destroy any incriminating evidence and to copper bottom their alibis. I’ve got to go in there now, re-motivate his knackered team and start again, from scratch. As far as I’m concerned, today is day one of a lost cause.’

He sighed for fully six seconds, sniffed then looked at me, properly, for the first time.

‘Anyway, you’re probably wondering what all this has to do with you?’

I tried not to nod too eagerly.

‘They’ve told me I can bring across three of my own. I’m a man short.’

He looked at me expectantly. ‘What do you think?’

‘Well you’ve really sold it to me, Guv,’ I smiled.

He frowned: ‘I’ve been following your progress, Lynch. You’ve done okay. I said you’d make a decent detective. I’ve pulled a few strings. If you feel you’re up to it, you can start at Clapham CID Thursday, Acting Detective Constable. What do you say to that?’

I’d never been lost for words before. My first thought was Mum: how proud she’d be. I then remembered Marion Ryan’s crazed nocturnal assaults on me every time I’d attended the scene of her murder, and my innards cringed. Her spirit, or whatever it was that came to me, must have known all along that I’d wind up on this investigation. That must have been why she came to me in the first place. Another point on the side of the supernatural.

‘I’d love to.’

I then remembered Gabby’s friend Lilian and cursed to myself: ‘There is just one thing, Guv. Thursday mornings I’m booked up for a weekly one-hour session with a specialist that I have to attend. I’ve got one that morning.’

‘Physical?’ asked Shep.

‘More psychological, Guv,’ I said, in a way that made it clear I didn’t care to expand on the matter. Shep tilted his head sideways, either in mockery or sympathy, it was hard to tell.

‘Look, son, I don’t know if a priest had a fiddle with you, or your uncle or whatever, but you know you can talk to me, in confidence. You don’t need to be seeing quacks.’

‘It’s an insomnia thing actually …’

‘I mean I’ve had Irish colleagues, Christ, arses like colanders! They’d more sex before twelve than I’ve had in my entire life so, you know, don’t think you’re alone.’

I nodded: ‘Thanks, Guv. It’s good to have someone who listens.’

‘So, Thursday, I’ve arranged for you to read all the statements, the forensics and pathology reports with a fresh eye, but I want you to assume that Marion’s husband Peter is either the killer or he knows the killer. Understand? I’ve given the rest of the team leave until Friday to recuperate, so it’ll be nice and quiet. When you’ve finished with the paperwork, maybe take a walk around Sangora Road, check it out. You need to know the geography inside out. I want you to call me when you finish that evening and highlight any areas you feel we should re-investigate. Here’s my card with my home number. I’ve called a briefing for the whole team for midday Friday.’

‘I really appreciate it, Guv,’ I said, getting to my feet.

‘Well you can thank your brother actually. He heard I’d been landed with this and gave me a call.’

‘God, I’m in shock,’ and truly I was. I’d no idea Fintan and Shep knew each other. I was about to say so but Shep stood and spoke first.

‘There’s one condition to all this, Lynch. The moment you walk out this door, you don’t know me, right?’

‘Guv?’

‘Glenn’s team know I’m bringing over a couple of people from my team. But they won’t be able to make any connections between you and me. Let’s keep it that way.’

He read my confusion.

‘As far as everyone else on the team is concerned, you’re a random recruit, drafted in by management. You don’t know me. This way, you can be my eyes and ears on the ground in the incident room, okay? Tell me everything you hear, everything you see. I’ll work out a way for you to meet me, regularly and in confidence.’

‘Yes, Guv.’ I held out my hand. He gripped it, pressed hard: ‘From this point on, Lynch, your bony little arse is mine. Understood?’

That rather took the sheen off my dramatic new promotion.

The Feathers, London SW1

Monday, August 5, 1991; 22:00

I paged Fintan to let him know I was in the Feathers. To ensure he turned up, I announced that I’d be standing him a towering great stack of pints.

‘Congratulations on your promotion,’ said Fintan, spoiling my surprise.

‘How did you … anyway, thanks. I hear you put in a good word.’

‘What are older brothers for, Donal, if not to grease the ladder for those who trail behind?’

It had been preying on my mind: what was in it for Fintan this time? Did he really wield influence over a senior officer like Shep? If so, how and why? When I worked here, I’d assumed Shep was in the Ghost Squad. That’s why I’d helped him.

Now I wondered if Shep was one of those cops Fintan had told me about that afternoon, outside Buckingham Palace. One of his ‘sources’ who used the press to get the public onside. Were he and Shep ‘off-the-record’ allies, running stories that suited both their agendas?

I didn’t want to be a pawn in any more sleazy plays.

‘I didn’t know you were so tight with Shep,’ I said.

‘All crime reporters try to get to know Shep. He’s one of those refreshing exceptions who refuse to put a positive spin on any fuck-up. He’s not so much a loose cannon as a primed, one-man Armada. The Commissioner soon put a stop to him, of course. Officially, Shep’s banned from talking to the media.’

‘Officially?’

Fintan shrugged: ‘You can’t stop a grown man talking.’

‘What’s he like to work for?’

‘From what I hear, Shep likes to see himself as one of the boys,’ said Fintan, lighting up a cigarette to help him reflect, ‘a trap that middle- or upper-class senior officers never fall into. And he tries hard to be funny. Nothing matters more to Shep than making his team laugh, often, which is probably quite exhausting.

‘He has this distrust of anyone well-spoken or university-educated, and don’t even get him started on the new breed of Oxbridge graduates or ethnic minorities being fast-tracked through the ranks,’ he laughed.

Fintan suspected he secretly harboured dreams of making Commander. Maybe even Commissioner. ‘Not a chance. He’s a decent enough cop – in an old-school, all-guns-blazing kind of way. And he’s probably the most determined senior cop in the force. When he gets a sniff of a collar, he goes proper psycho. Like a bloodhound.’

Fintan stubbed his fag out: ‘You’ve got to be careful with him though. By giving you this break, he’ll feel like he owns you. He likes to own people. All of the guys in his team owe him in some way. One is a recovering alky. Another got suspended a few years back for battering someone at the Christmas party. Shep picks up waifs and strays and turns them into his bitches.’

‘Great, so you’ve sold my ass to a man with a God complex.’

‘I wouldn’t go that far: dictator, definitely! Bottom line is, you have to run Shep, but make him think he’s running you.’

I decided to store that away, even if I didn’t entirely understand what he meant.

None of this explained Fintan’s motives for recommending me, or why Shep had agreed to give me the break. Fleetingly, I indulged in the idea that maybe Shep liked me. I knew Fintan well enough not to bother with direct questions. Getting information out of him demanded a complex game of give-and-take. ‘You know Shep used to come to the Feathers every night?’ I said. ‘He’d go off and have these secret conflabs with Seamus.’

‘What, thick Seamus? The manager?’

I nodded. Fintan looked surprised, always a triumph.

‘That’s strange. Maybe Seamus was a snout. You know he left literally two days after you did?’

My turn to be surprised. I knew he’d left, I didn’t know in such a hurry.

‘Where did he go?’

‘No one knows. One Monday morning, neither Seamus nor the weekend takings could be found anywhere.’

I thought back to what I’d told Shep. Had he warned Seamus off? As usual, I struggled to see the angles.

‘I thought Shep was in the Ghost Squad.’

Fintan laughed hard.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘No one knows who’s in the Ghost Squad. That’s why it’s called the Ghost Squad. Look, stop fretting will you? You’re worse than Mum. Shep likes you. He’s giving you a break. You’ll do fine. Life’s finally working out for you, bro. Now, what’s this about you owing me pints?’

Fintan was right: I should be celebrating so I bought two more and a pair of scotch chasers.

‘Anyway, how’s it going with Gabby?’ he said as I planted four glasses on our table. ‘Have you had your wicked way with her yet?’

How I wished I’d never mentioned her when we last met.

‘It’s not like that. I’m just helping her out.’

‘Out of her knickers if you get your way. I can see it in your eye. You’re like a sex-starved wolf.’

‘You can’t help yourself can you?’

‘What?’ he laughed.

‘Reducing everything to a base tabloid level.’

‘Your big mistake, Donal, was stopping that guy from stalking her. If Big Dom was still rampaging around her back garden every night, she’d be far more appreciative of your attentions. You’d be well in there.’

I couldn’t help wondering if his rampant success with women was the root of his apparent disdain for them.

Several rounds later, drink took hold and I spilled. It began with revelations about my ghostly Marion Ryan encounters. But my drunken confessional slide took me all the way back to those Tony Meehan apparitions, including how I’d witnessed him attacking Eve.

Fintan seemed particularly transfixed by the fact that these apparitions took place on the days I’d been either close to their dead bodies or the places where they’d met their violent ends.

His verdict: ‘It’s tempting to assume you are simply unhinged, but that’s too simplistic. Obviously you don’t possess any kind of supernatural gift.’

He lit a cigarette to focus.

‘The only conclusion I can come to is that, in your subconscious mind, you’re still trying to save Eve Daly.’

I wondered sometimes if the sole point of siblings is to remind you of past failings.

‘If you only ever take one piece of advice from me,’ he drawled, pissed but, for once, deadly serious, ‘stop trying to save Eve Daly.’

‘I’m not trying to save anyone. I’ve moved on.’

‘Well she certainly has,’ he sneered.

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Go on, spit it out. I can tell you’re dying to.’

‘I’ve heard that she’s shagging someone else.’

‘What?’ I said, confused by my own sense of shock.

‘You’re waiting for a woman who’s already moved on. I’m telling you, Donal, forget about her.’

‘How can you know she’s actually shagging this guy?’ I protested, probably too much. Would he now work out that Eve and I had engaged in pretty much everything
except
full penetrative sex?

‘Well maybe they’re stuck at second base, I don’t know all the lurid detail. The point is, she’s seeing someone.’

‘Who is he?

‘I don’t know. Someone from her legal team, I think they said. Look, it doesn’t matter who. You’re stuck in a fucking time warp and you need to move on.’

I nodded. But my gut knew I hadn’t seen the last of Eve Daly.