Cold Killing: A Novel (36 page)

“Go on,” Sean encouraged.

“He offered me a cut. All I had to do was make a few things disappear.”

“Like fingerprints and photographs?”

Jarratt shrugged.

“How much did he pay you?” Donnelly asked.

“Initially, ten thousand, with further installments to follow, but . . .” He paused. “The next time we meet, he shows me photographs. Some were of the two of us together, with me counting the cash.”

“He set you up?” said Donnelly.

“Yes, but there was more. He had other photographs—of my kids, for God’s sake, at school, in the park, in my own garden.”

“He threatened them?” Sean questioned.

“He didn’t have to,” Jarratt replied. “I knew what he was capable of. I wasn’t going to spend the rest of my life watching over my shoulder, waiting for the inevitable.”

“As soon as he did that, you should have stopped it, cut your losses and stopped it,” said Sean.

“And end up in prison? Old Bill don’t have it good inside. I decided to bide my time and hope that eventually Korsakov would move on and forget about me. Then all of a sudden your DS comes sniffing around, asking all the wrong questions. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Korsakov contacts me, asks me to get you off his back. It was like a nightmare coming true.”

“You warned him about DS Jones?” Sean accused. “Let him know she was asking about Korsakov?”

“No,” said Jarratt. “Why would I do that? If I’d told him, he would have asked me to do something about it. Things were bad enough without me making matters worse.”

“Are you saying Hellier didn’t know Sally was looking for Korsakov?” Sean asked.

“He had no idea, as far as I know. He was convinced I’d all but made his past disappear. I thought the same, until your DS came to see me and I realized I’d missed something. His file held at Method Index. I didn’t even know his details had been sent to them. Graham must have decided Korsakov would be of interest to them and sent them the details of his crime, but he never told me he had, so I never knew, until now.”

“He did,” said Sean. “I guessed you couldn’t have known about it, otherwise it wouldn’t still exist. So I asked Wright and he confirmed he was the one who sent the file to Method Index.”

“And the fingerprints?” Donnelly asked. “How did you make them disappear?”

Jarratt smiled for the first time since they’d met him. “Korsakov’s idea. I had Graham pull the prints for me, but we knew Fingerprints would want them back, so Korsakov had me destroy his real prints and replace them with another set, all correctly filled out on the proper forms, everything kosher. Only we used a novelty ink Korsakov bought at a joke shop. Within two days the ink disappears and you’re left with a blank piece of paper, or in this case a blank fingerprint form. When Graham returned them, they looked fine and no doubt got filed. Then they simply faded away to nothing. Korsakov thought it was hysterical.”

Sean and Donnelly stared at each other in disbelief.

“You are joking?” Donnelly asked.

“You know Korsakov?” Jarratt asked. “Or I suppose I should say Hellier. He’s as intelligent as he is vicious. Imaginative and dangerous, but he didn’t attack DS Jones and I doubt he killed the other people you think he did.”

“Why?” Sean asked.

“Because he would have told me.”

“Why would he want to do that?”

“To remind me of what I had become. To remind me that I belonged to him.”

Sean and Donnelly looked at each other in silence. Finally Sean spoke.

“Mr. Jarratt, it’s time you met a friend of mine.” A short, stocky figure dressed in a scruffy dark suit walked into the kitchen. “This is Detective Inspector Reger, Professional Standards and Ethics, or as you may remember it, Complaints Investigation.”

Reger casually showed Jarratt his identification. “Paul Jarratt, you’re under arrest for theft and assisting an offender. Get what you need—you’re coming with me.”

T
he two tape cassettes in the recorder turned simultaneously. Hellier had said nothing. He sat silently. Face badly bruised, his broken nose taped open to let him breathe. He refused to confirm his name. Let Templeman do the talking until he felt it necessary to speak himself. First he would wait and see if the police were wasting his time again.

DC Fiona Cahill sat at Sean’s side. He wanted to have a woman police officer in the interview, so he could see how Hellier reacted to the allegation that he’d attacked Sally. If his eyes darted to DC Cahill, it would be a good indication he felt some guilt. Could Hellier ever feel guilt?

Sean was looking forward to this interview. Until now, he’d been at a disadvantage, but the discovery that Hellier was Korsakov had tipped the balance in his favor. He completed the preinterview procedure, eager to get under way.

“Mr. Hellier, James, it’s time for you to talk to us,” Sean began. “It’s over.” Hellier said nothing. “It will go much better for you if you talk to us,” Sean continued. “Help me understand why you did these things.”

Nothing.

“Why did you kill Daniel Graydon?” Sean asked. “Why did you kill Heather Freeman? Why did you kill Linda Kotler? Why did you try to kill Detective Sergeant Sally Jones?”

Sean knew he had to keep going. He knew Hellier wouldn’t be able to remain silent much longer. His ego wouldn’t allow it.

“What did these people mean to you?” he persisted. “Did you know them? Had they done something to make you angry? Did they deserve to die?”

“You know nothing,” Hellier snapped.

“Why did you kill these people?” Sean demanded, his voice raised now.

Hellier regained his stoicism. “No comment.”

“She’s still alive, you know. DS Jones is alive—and she’s tough. She’ll pull through. She’ll confirm it was you who attacked her.”

“Really,” Hellier said.

“Yes. Really.”

“Ha,” Hellier said, laughing. “You’re a damn fool.”

“You’re just damned,” Sean countered.

“Probably.” Hellier seemed pleased at the prospect. “But right now I’m just bored.”

“Maybe I can get your interest? At your last interview, you gave us samples of blood and hair. Remember?”

“No comment.”

“You can answer that question,” Templeman advised. Hellier turned his head slowly to him. He stared at him, eyes slit.

“No comment.”

“For the benefit of the tape,” Sean explained, “Mr. Hellier was arrested yesterday on suspicion of having raped and murdered Linda Kotler. On that occasion he provided samples of hair and blood for forensic comparison to hair samples found in Linda Kotler’s flat. Does that refresh your memory?” Hellier feigned disinterest. “Those samples have since been analyzed at our forensic laboratory. It has been confirmed that the samples taken from the scene are a DNA match to samples provided by you.”

At this, Hellier focused on Sean, eyes narrowed, head turned slightly to one side. Sean noted the reaction.

“It’s over,” he said. “No more games. You can’t argue with DNA evidence. Like I said, it would be better for you if you start talking.”

Hellier said nothing. Sean spoke almost sympathetically: “Tell us about the things you’ve done,” he encouraged. “I want to hear about the . . .
exceptional
things you’ve done.”

“No comment.”

“What was the point in doing the things you did if you don’t tell the world?” Sean tried to appeal to his ego.

“You and I both know you’re lying, Inspector. You couldn’t have matched my DNA to this woman because I’ve never set eyes on her.”

Hellier’s response surprised Sean. He hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t expected such a definitive denial. He’d assumed Hellier would try and talk his way around the DNA evidence, as he had with Daniel Graydon. In spite of everything, the man was capable of knocking him back, souring what should have been his moment of triumph. No matter, the DNA evidence alone would hang Hellier.

Hellier studied Sean. His eyes twitched with the concentration.

“You think I’m lying?” Sean asked. “Mr. Templeman will confirm I’m not allowed to lie about evidence. Only suspects are allowed to lie.”

“I think we’re at the stage where you should be specific about the DNA evidence you have,” Templeman said.

“Two hairs,” Sean answered confidently. “Both recovered from the crime scene at Linda Kotler’s flat. One on the body. One next to the body. We could tell by their positions that they had very recently been deposited, and both those hairs belong to you, Mr. Hellier.”

Hellier was without emotion. “No comment.”

“Can you explain how your hair came to be in Linda Kotler’s flat?” Sean asked.

Hellier glared at him contemptuously. “No comment.”

“This is physical evidence from the scene. I want to remind you that if you fail or refuse to explain here and now how your hair came to be in Linda Kotler’s flat, then a jury can draw a negative inference from your failure or refusal to do so. Do you understand, Mr. Hellier?”

“No comment.”

Sean leaned across the table, closer to Hellier. “I don’t blame you for not answering. And I know why you won’t, because there is only one explanation, isn’t there? That you went to her flat and you killed her.”

“No comment,” Hellier answered quickly.

“You raped her and killed her.”

“No comment.”

“You raped her. You tortured her. And you killed her.” Sean’s anger was rising.

“No comment,” Hellier raised his voice to match Sean’s.

“Do one decent thing in your life,” Sean snapped. “If you can find one shred of humanity in your body, then use it to help the people whose lives you’ve shattered. Give the victims’ families some closure. Admit to these crimes.”

“If you have the evidence, then you give them closure,” Hellier taunted. “Charge me. Tell them you’ve put the man who killed their darling daughter or son behind bars. Why do you need me to confess? Do you lack belief, Inspector?”

“Belief’s got nothing to do with it, James—or should I start calling you by your real name, Mr. Korsakov? Mr. Stefan Korsakov?”

Sean waited for Hellier’s reaction. A slight smile, nothing more.

“Like I said, it’s not about what I believe. It’s about what I can prove, and I can prove who you really are and that ex–detective sergeant Jarratt has been helping you cover your crimes for years.”

“So the pig finally squealed,” Hellier spat. “How appropriate.”

“And that’s why you tried to kill DS Jones. You had to. You knew she was getting close to the truth. Jarratt warned you, so you had no choice. She was going to bring your whole house of cards crashing down, so you broke into her flat and you tried to kill her.”

“You’re delusional. You think I’d kill to protect Jarratt?”

“No. To protect yourself.”

Hellier leaned forward as close to Sean as the table they sat across would allow. “I don’t care if you think you know who I am, or even if you do know who I am. I can be anyone I want to be. I can go anywhere I want to go. Do anything I want to do. Jarratt, a corruptible cop—ten a penny, Inspector. Not reason enough to kill your little pet.”

Sean swallowed his mounting anger as best he could. “Nice touch, by the way,” he told Hellier.

“What are you talking about now?” Hellier asked. “More delusions, Inspector?”

“Using my name when you approached Linda Kotler. Telling her you were me. Did you have a false identification with you? Or did Jarratt provide you with a real one, in my name? Did you show her the card when you were telling her you were me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re insane, man.”

“No,” said Sean, icy calm. “Not me. It’s you who is insane. You have to be.” The room fell silent, Sean and Hellier locked in combat while Templeman and DC Cahill looked on uncomfortably, aware they were little more than intruders in a private duel.

“I think this interview’s gone on long enough,” Templeman interrupted, his head spinning with new revelations, even if Hellier’s was not. “Given the injuries Mr. Hellier suffered while being arrested, I feel this interview should be stopped until such time as my client has received further medical treatment.”

Sean’s broken hand was throbbing to distraction. The double dose of painkillers he’d swallowed two hours ago was wearing off. He was in no hurry. They would take a break. He checked his watch.

“The time is now one thirty-six and I’m suspending this interview so that Mr. Hellier can have his injuries examined by a doctor. We’ll continue the interview later.” Sean moved to press the off button. Hellier stopped him.

“Wait,” he insisted. “Just wait a second.”

What now? What the hell was Hellier up to? Was he finally ready to end the charade?

“I don’t care what your laboratory says or doesn’t say. I didn’t kill these people and I didn’t attack your precious Sergeant Jones.”

“We’re not getting anywhere,” Sean interrupted. “This interview is over.”

“We’re both being used, Inspector,” Hellier snapped back. “Last night, the night your sergeant was attacked, I received a call from a man. I received the call at about seven thirty. It was the same man who called me the night the Kotler woman was killed, at about seven
P.M.
He always called me on my mobile, except the first time. That was earlier in the afternoon, also on the day the Kotler woman was killed. On that occasion he telephoned my office. The secretary can confirm it.

“Whoever made those calls was ensuring I had no alibi. He always arranged to meet me in places where there was nobody about who would remember me, but he never turned up. He made sure I went to great pains to lose the police surveillance. He always insisted I lose the surveillance—and now I know why.”

“And I suppose this same mystery man planted your hair at the murder scene of Linda Kotler?” Hellier shrugged his shoulders. “I haven’t got time to listen to this crap,” Sean snapped.

“I’m afraid you have no choice,” Hellier reminded him. “It is your duty to investigate my defense statement, as I’m sure Mr. Templeman was about to point out. You have no choice but to try to discover who it was that called me on those days at those times, whether you think it’s a waste of your precious time or not. If you don’t, then there’s not a judge in the land who wouldn’t throw the case against me out of court.”