Cold Killing: A Novel (30 page)
N
one of it matters to me anymore. The police. My wife. My children. Staying here, in London. I always knew it would only be a matter of time before I had to move on, but it’s not quite come to that yet. There’s one more game to play.
My target has been selected. Nothing can save them now. It will happen exactly as I have pictured it. But don’t feel sad for them; be sad I have not chosen you. Once my hand touches them, they’ll be more in death than they had ever been in life.
The next will be the most difficult and therefore the best yet. It will be worth the risks. Besides, I’ve made allowances. The police are drinking from a mirage. I will let them fill their bellies with sand.
I wish I could reveal myself to you. Let you share my secrets. Unfortunately I cannot. For the moment, all I can give you is the gift of my nature.
I would like nothing better than to put my name to my work, but so few of you would be capable of understanding. You should sing my praises as a genius, but instead you would put me in a cage. How your psychiatrists and psychologists would like that. They could waste their time poking and prodding me. Would they tear up their textbooks when I tell them I had a happy childhood? That I never bit my classmates or tortured animals? Never killed the family cat and buried it in the woods?
I don’t hear voices in my head. I won’t claim God ordered me to kill. I’m not a disciple of Satan. I don’t believe in either. I don’t hate you. You are simply nothing to me.
I scored well in my exams. Took part in school plays. Played hockey and cricket for my county. Was the favorite brother to my sisters, son to my mother and father. I went to a famous university and obtained a degree in accountancy. I was admired by my peers and respected by my tutors. I had several girlfriends, some serious, some not. I got drunk on Fridays and felt sick most Saturdays. I took my washing home for my mother once a fortnight. I was popular.
None of it meant a thing.
I’m not sure how old I was when I first felt it. Maybe five, maybe younger. I constantly checked the mirror. How could I look the same when clearly I was so different? I was both scared and exhilarated. So young to be absolutely alone. So young to be freed from the mediocrity and pointlessness of a normal life.
Despite my age, I knew not to mention it to anyone. Not to talk to anyone about it. I had to bide my time. Fit in. Imitate those around me. I did very well in school, but was careful not to excel. Not to stand out.
The years passed painfully slowly. Still I resisted the temptation to explore my growing strength. I waited patiently. I didn’t know when the time would come, only that it would.
As I grew older, I continued to gather the trinkets of normal life. A job. A wife. A house. Children. They were my sheep’s clothing. My smiling mask. And all the while I was waiting.
Then, a few months ago, I awoke. I looked in the mirror and knew the moment had arrived. To everyone else I seemed the same, but not to myself. A new creation stared back upon itself. At last.
My first instinct was to slaughter my family, but I quickly realized I wasn’t strong enough yet. I had only just been born. I was still covered in Nature’s afterbirth. I still needed their protection. But with each visit I grow stronger and stronger. I become more complete, what I am meant to be: not a man, but a man above men. A different evolutionary strain of man. To you, almost a god.
Friday
S
ean had kept the briefing quick and simple. They would drive from Peckham to Hellier’s house in Islington. Sean would arrest him. Sally would direct another search of the house. He knew the audience of bleary-eyed detectives wouldn’t be able to absorb much information at 6
A.M.
—most looked like they’d opted for one last drink instead of stocking up on the most precious commodity to a detective: sleep. If they felt tired now, it would be worse for them later.
Donnelly banged on the front door of Hellier’s Georgian town house. The thick black paint shimmered like water with each knock. Sean and Sally were right behind him. The rest of the arrest team stood farther back. No one expected Hellier to fight.
James Hellier appeared in front of them. He was almost fully dressed and ready to leave for work. He looked good. Fit and strong. Immaculately groomed. He was casually threading a gold cuff link through his sleeve.
Sean stepped forward, and before he spoke he could smell Hellier’s expensive cologne. It seemed to take Hellier a second to recognize him. When he did, he began to smile.
Sean held his identification close to Hellier’s face. He didn’t back away.
“James Hellier. I’m Detective Inspector Sean Corrigan; these other officers are with me.”
“Please, Inspector,” Hellier cut in. “There’s no need for introductions here. I think we all know each other.”
Sean wanted to hit him. If Hellier didn’t stop smiling, he thought he probably would. Instead he pushed him back into the house and spun him around to face the hallway wall. He could see Elizabeth Hellier coming down the stairs.
“Who is it, James?” she called out. “What’s going on?” she asked, her panic growing.
“Nothing to worry about, darling,” Hellier called up to her. “Just call Jonathon Templeman and tell him I’ve been arrested again.” He turned to Sean. “I am being arrested, aren’t I, Inspector?”
Sean pulled Hellier’s arms behind his back and clipped a handcuff tightly round each of his wrists. “This time you’re mine,” Sean whispered into Hellier’s ear. He stepped back and spoke so everyone could hear, especially Hellier’s wife. “James Hellier, I’m arresting you for the murder of Linda Kotler.”
Hellier was still smiling. “What?” He didn’t attempt to hide his disdain. “This is pathetic. I’ve never heard of the woman.”
“You do not have to say anything unless you wish to.” Sean spoke over Hellier’s protests. “But it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court.”
“Tell me, Inspector,” Hellier was almost shouting, “are you going to arrest me for every crime you can’t solve?”
“Anything you do say may be used as evidence,” Sean continued.
Hellier craned his neck so he could see Sean over his right shoulder. “You’re a damn fool. You’ve got nothing on me.” His smiling face and sweet breath made Sean feel nauseous.
“Who are you?” Sean asked him. “What the fuck are you?”
Hellier’s grin only broadened. He spat the words into Sean’s face:
“Fuck you.”
S
ean peered through the peephole into Hellier’s cell. The smug bastard was sitting bolt upright on his bed, as if in some kind of a trance. If only there were some way to find out what he was thinking. Sean moved away from the cell door and headed back to his office. He would interview Hellier when his solicitor arrived.
He sauntered into the inquiry office. The team sensed his mood. It transferred to them. Sean had the upper hand now.
“Any news from the lab, Stan?” Sean shouted across the office.
“Three days for a DNA match, guv,” Stan called back. “Two, if we get lucky. They’ll need our suspect’s samples by midday if they’re to have any chance of doing it that fast, but it’ll only be an initial comparison, which won’t give us a definitive match. A full comparison and definitive match will take a week. Minimum.”
“Not good enough,” Sean replied. “Call the lab back and tell them one in forty thousand isn’t good enough. I need better odds than that and I need them by this time tomorrow at the latest.”
The phone in Sean’s office was ringing when he entered. He snatched it up. “DI Corrigan.”
“Morning, sir. It’s DC Kelsey, from SO11 telephone subscribers’ checks. You left some coded numbers with me a while ago. I said I’d have a play with them.”
“Go on.”
“Well, I worked out the code,” DC Kelsey said matter-of-factly. “It was relatively simple, but effective.”
“Have you run the subscribers’ checks too?”
“Yes. Some are overseas numbers, so we don’t have them back yet. I’ll e-mail what I have across to you. Be warned, there’s a fair few to go through.”
“Thanks. And good job,” Sean said warmly. “Let me know when the overseas numbers come back.”
“No problem.”
“And thanks again.”
Sally appeared at his office door. “Hellier’s attorney’s here,” she announced. “They’re in consultation.”
“Good. When they’re ready, you can help me interview.” Sally made a show of checking her watch. “You need to be somewhere?” he asked.
“As a matter of fact, I have a lunch appointment today. I was hoping Dave could do the interview with you.”
“Lunch appointment?” Sean sounded surprised.
“It’s not what you think. I’m supposed to be meeting Hellier’s boss, Sebastian Gibran. His idea. I can only assume he wants to discuss Hellier.”
Sean studied her in silence for a while. “I’m not sure about this, Sally,” he said. “These people look after their own. I doubt he wants to help us. Unless he has some other motivation for meeting you.”
“Such as?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I guess you never know your luck.”
Again Sean studied her for a while. “Okay. Meet him. See what he has to say.”
“There’s something else too,” Sally continued. “Remember the suspect Method Index turned up—Stefan Korsakov?”
Sean shrugged his shoulders. He thought that little problem had been dealt with. “Yes.”
“I’ve been trying to put it to bed, but it hasn’t been that easy.”
“In what way?”
“His conviction prints should be at the Yard, only they’re not.”
“Borrowed?”
“The original investigating officer told me the prison holding Korsakov had requested the prints, only I checked with them and they didn’t.”
“So he’s lying to you. Any idea why?”
“Not yet.”
“Do you want to get Ethics and Standards involved?”
“Maybe,” Sally answered. “But maybe we should start treating Korsakov as a viable suspect, until we know for sure he isn’t?”
“Fine,” Sean agreed. “But if he does start looking like a reality, you tell me straightaway. Don’t go running off solo, trying to be Cagney without Lacey.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
Sally turned on her heels and headed out of the office. “By the way,” Sean called after her, “have a nice lunch.”
H
ellier and Templeman sat close together in the interview room that served as their private consultation room.
“I need to be out of this fucking dungeon by six at the latest,” Hellier told him. “No excuses, Jonathon. You have to get me out.”
“It’s difficult to make that promise,” Templeman answered nervously. “The police won’t tell me much. Until I know what they’ve got, I can’t be expected to judge our position.”
“
Our
position?” Hellier asked. He put his hand on Templeman’s thigh and squeezed hard. Templeman winced. “No matter what, you’ll be walking out of here. It’s me they want to nail to the wall. Keep that in mind.”
Hellier released his grip and gently laid a hand on Templeman’s shoulder. He knew the man was scared of him. “I know you’ll do your best.” He spoke softly. It only added to his menace.
Templeman swallowed his fear and spoke. “Before we can even think about bail, we have to prepare for the interview. If they’ve rearrested you, they must have something. If you know what that could be, you need to tell me now. They want to start the interview as soon as they can, but they’re only telling me the minimum they’re legally obliged to. You have to help me to help you. We don’t want to walk into a trap. You should answer everything ‘No comment.’ ”
Hellier could barely disguise his contempt. “Trap! You think they’re clever enough to trap me? They’ve got nothing, and Corrigan knows it. He’s trying to make me panic. Well, let him do his worst. You just keep your mouth shut and try to look professional. Let me do the talking and follow my lead. If Corrigan wants to play, fucking let him. Tell them we’re ready to be interviewed.”
S
ean began the interview with the usual formalities, Hellier responding with a nod when asked if he understood the caution and his other legal rights. He nodded again when Sean repeated why he had been arrested for the suspected murder of Linda Kotler. His face was expressionless.
In an effort to gain credibility with Hellier, Templeman immediately went on the offensive: “I would like it recorded that it has been almost impossible for me to properly instruct my client, as the investigating officers have told me nothing about the allegation. Nothing about any evidence they may have that indicates my client could in any way be involved in this crime.”
Sean had been expecting as much. “The allegation is one of suspected rape and murder. It occurred less than thirty-six hours ago. I’m sure your client will be able to answer my questions without being given prior knowledge.” Sean waited for a protest. None came. “I’ll keep the questions simple and direct.” He and Hellier locked eyes across the table, then Sean launched into the interrogation: “Did you know Linda Kotler?”
“No,” Hellier answered.
“Was that a no comment or a no?”
“That was a no. I don’t know anyone by the name of Linda Kotler.”
“Have you ever been to Minford Gardens in Shepherd’s Bush?” Sean was trying to shut him in.
“I don’t know. Maybe,” Hellier answered.
“Maybe?”
“I’ve been to Shepherd’s Bush, so maybe I’ve been there.”
“Minford Gardens?” Sean repeated.
“Wherever.”
“Have you ever been to number seventy-three Minford Gardens?”
“No.”
“Sure?”
“Positive.” Hellier sounded bored.
“Are you absolutely sure?” Sean had to be precise. Any ambiguity now would be exploited later by the defense. Hellier didn’t answer. “I’ll take that as confirmation. But you’re lying. You have been there,” Sean continued.
Hellier gave no reaction other than raising one eyebrow slightly. Sean noticed it.
“You met Linda Kotler. You met her the same night you killed her.”
“Really, Inspector,” Templeman jumped in. “If you have evidence to support your allegation that my client was involved, then why don’t you just say so and tell us what it is. Otherwise this interview is over.” Sean ignored him. Throughout the interruption he maintained eye contact with Hellier.
“Where were you the night before last?” Sean asked.
“You mean you don’t know?” Hellier tormented him. “All those policemen following me and you have to ask me where I was. How galling that must be for you.”
“No games.” Sean was trying to keep the pace going. “Where were you?”
“That’s my business,” Hellier snapped.
Good. His calm was breaking.
“And now it’s mine,” said Sean. “Who were you with?”
“No comment.”
The questions and answers came quickly. Templeman kept on the lookout for a break, a chance to object, but he knew neither Sean nor Hellier would listen to him. This was between the two of them. Personal.
“If you’ve got an alibi, you’d better give it now,” Sean told him.
“I don’t have to prove a damn thing,” Hellier retorted.
“You weren’t at home.”
“Your point?”
“And you weren’t at work.”
“So?”
“So between seven
P.M.
and three
A.M.
the next morning, where were you? During the time Linda Kotler was murdered, where were you?” Sean’s voice was rising.
Hellier fought back. “Where were you, Inspector? That’s what people will really want to know. Would she be alive now if you’d done your job properly? You’re desperate and it shows. You stink of fear. It’s blinded you. What have you got? Nothing but theories.
“So you don’t know where I was the night this woman was killed. That proves nothing.” Hellier leaned back, satisfied.
“How long did you watch her for?” Sean suddenly asked. “For a week, like you did with Daniel Graydon, or was it longer? Did you spend days and days fantasizing about killing her, the images in your mind growing ever more vivid, until you could no longer wait? You followed her home, didn’t you, James? Then you watched her windows, waiting for the lights to go out. And when they did, you waited until you were certain she was asleep before you scrambled up the drainpipe and climbed through her bathroom window. Then you knocked her unconscious, tied her in your favorite bondage position, and raped and sodomized her. And when you were finished, you strangled her—didn’t you?”
Hellier made as if to answer, but Sean held up his hand to stop him as the images in his mind revealed further details. “No, wait, I’m wrong—you didn’t strangle her
after
you’d raped her. You killed her while you were still inside her, didn’t you? That’s how it had to be for you, wasn’t it?”
Hellier’s eyes raged inside his stony face, the muscles in his cheeks visibly flexing as he fought to keep control. Finally he spoke. “That’s a nice little story you’ve cooked up, Inspector. But it proves nothing—nothing whatsoever.”
“You’re right.” Sean sounded humble. “It doesn’t prove a thing. But these will.” He slid a copy of a form across the table. “Item number four,” Sean said. “Item number four should be of particular interest to you.”
Hellier scanned the list of items submitted to the forensics laboratory. He saw that item number four was two hairs. He shook his head as if he failed to realize their importance. “This concerns me how?”
“We need samples of your hair and blood, for DNA comparison,” Sean informed him.
“You’ve already taken samples.”
“I can’t use those. This is a different case. I need fresh samples.”
