Evil Valley (13 page)

‘You’ve got that cop outside haven’t you?’

‘My personal bodyguard? Yes, he’s still there, bored witless I suspect.’

‘Entertain him then. Get him to drive you. I’ll radio the order through now.’

Chapter Nine

T
HE YOUNG POLICEMAN, WHOSE
name was Tim, emerged from around the side of the flat smelling strongly of cigarette smoke. He jumped into the police car and drove too fast down to the city centre. Other cars blurred as they dodged out of the way. Dan sensed his driver was delighted to be relieved of the tedium of guard duty.

They pulled up at the Central Park Leisure Centre to the usual line of police cars and vans. The building was in semi-darkness, just a couple of lights showing inside its plate-glass front. The car park at the side of the building was cordoned off. It was half past eight on an autumnal Sunday evening and there was still a scattering of cars, perhaps late joggers or dog walkers in the park, that or local residents sneaking a parking space.

At the edge of the car park, a blue Skoda estate was surrounded by white-overalled figures, scrutinising it and crawling over the surrounding area. Three were concentrating on the passenger side door, dusting the paint with brushes and shining flashlights across it. One was on his knees, examining the seat with a torch. An occasional white flare lit the night as a police photographer captured the scene. A couple of uniformed officers were talking to a small knot of people who seemed to want to get back to their cars.

Dan overheard the odd soothing words; ‘sure it won’t be long, going as quickly as we can, might be an idea to call a taxi if you’re going to get cold after that run sir, can’t say exactly how long we’ll be …’

He spotted Adam by the car, talking to a group of plain-clothed men and women, most of whom he recognised from the Edward Bray and Death Pictures cases. So, the usual team specialising in hunting killers or other dangerous criminals had been assembled. The High Honchos must be worried. He waved at Adam, who beckoned him across. Dan pointed to the cordon, fluttering in the persistent wind and Adam strode over and walked him under it.

‘Very similar to the last one,’ he said. ‘A woman had been at an aerobics class in the leisure centre. She was on her way home. She’d just got into her car when the passenger door opened and the guy jumped in. He pointed a gun at her and he had a stocking over his head. His description matches the last one, so I’m sure it’s the same man. Not to mention what he did next. Let’s go and sit in the leisure centre and I’ll show you what he wrote.’

They walked past the policewoman guarding the double glass doors and into a café area. Dan could smell chlorine from the swimming pool, something that always reminded him of schooldays and the dreaded weekly swimming lessons. He’d never got the hang of swimming, a pathetic parody of the breaststroke was about all he could manage. The building was quiet and seemed to be deserted. They sat at one of the red, plastic-topped tables, still slightly sticky from the day’s spillages of tea and coffee.

‘He didn’t say anything, just the same as last time,’ began Adam, loosening his tie. He looked tired, his face drawn. ‘He just pointed the gun at the woman and put his fingers to his lips to tell her to keep quiet. She’s not in quite such a bad state as the last one, but she is pretty traumatised.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ said Dan. ‘What else did he do?’

‘He produced a note again. But this time it said “Credit card? Bankcard? National Insurance card? Business card?” She was scared stiff, so just fumbled her bag out and gave him her purse. He looked through it, and found her aerobics club card. It was at the front from using it for the class.’

‘And he took it?’

‘Yeah, he took it, seemed quite happy with it. Even the victim in her state said she was surprised by that. She’d expected him to take her money and bankcards. That … or worse.’

Dan knew exactly what he meant. A lone woman, a man jumping into her car and holding her at gunpoint, what must have been going through her mind about what would happen? He’d had to interview a rape victim before, heard about the fractured life in shattering detail. He would never forget it.

‘And he left another present?’ Dan asked.

‘Yep, he got it out of a plastic bag again. A pig’s heart. He put it on the dashboard. Lovely. And he left a letter too, addressed to you again.’ Adam reached inside his jacket pocket. ‘The actual letter’s with forensics, but this is a copy.’

He unfolded the paper onto the sticky table. On one side it said simply, “Dan”.

‘Not so formal this time,’ mused Dan.

‘Indeed.’ Adam turned the paper over. ‘He goes on to explain why.’

“Hello again Dan,

I hope you don’t mind me using your Christian name this time. It’s just, I think, because I feel I know you – I’ve seen you on the television often enough, and have made some study of your career too – and I have now introduced myself in my last letter. So I hope you’re comfortable with first name terms.”

Dan felt a shudder run across his back. The feeling of wanting to look over his shoulder had returned.

“Have you worked out what this is about yet? Have you managed to add it up? The clues are now all in front of you, if you look hard enough. I don’t think it’s a riddle quite as clever as that which Joseph McCluskey set you with his Death Pictures, (yes, I did get the idea from him, I happily acknowledge that) and you managed to solve that one, didn’t you? – eventually. So you should crack this too, I think. But just to make it more interesting and add a little twist of my own, this time I have introduced a tighter time limit and a far more pressing reason for you to meet your deadline. You will see what that is within the next day or so.

“You’ll notice an unusual feature of my crimes is that no one has been injured. I know Mr Breen (yes, I am sure he’ll be there with you reading this) will blanch there and say two women have been traumatised. I accept that and would like to apologise to them. All I can say is that I have tried to go about my work in a way which would cause minimum unpleasantness and suffering, and their help was, unfortunately, necessary.

“No one will be harmed in my little game Dan; that is if you beat the deadline I’m going to set you. I’m confident you’ll manage it. This is not about attempting to harm. That would make me as bad as those to whom I wish to teach this lesson. This is about justice. As a mere man on the street, I have only very limited ways of achieving that, but I will do the best I can. This – as you will no doubt come to realise – is more or less about making the law be sorry.

“Again I am afraid I cannot sign this, as it would interfere with my plans. But very soon now you will know my name, I promise. Until then.”

There was a silence as they both stared at the note. Dan struggled to shift his eyes from it.

‘Phew,’ he breathed, eventually. ‘I mean … well … blimey. I don’t know what to say. He’s … well, he’s getting madder. I take it there’s no chance you can still dismiss him as a crank?’

‘Not a hope. He’s got a plan and he intends to carry it through. We’ve got to get him first.’

‘He says no one will be harmed though. That must be a relief?’

Adam gave him a scornful look. ‘I’m not sure I’d believe a word he says, would you?’

No, thought Dan, who knew he was just trying to reassure himself, hoping hard that his stalker meant him no harm.

‘So … what do you do?’

‘Forensics are going over the car, heart and the letter, though I don’t expect we’ll get anything. Just like in the flat, I think he’s been careful not to leave us any clues. My detectives are working through what might link this woman to the last. It’s all the usual things, their friends, hobbies, work, clubs, all that stuff.’

‘He knows a lot about me, doesn’t he?’ said Dan quietly.

‘Yes, he does. I’d like that police guard to stay on your flat until we get him.’

Dan tried to hide his relief, but wasn’t sure he succeeded. ‘So why does he take a sports club card this time?’

Adam shrugged. ‘That is baffling. I might have understood a passport, like last time, as possibly being valuable, but not an aerobics club card.’

‘It’s not the value though, is it? It can’t be. If he’s leaving parts of a dead pig and talking about some plan, it’s got to be a statement, hasn’t it? It must be something symbolic.’

‘Like what?’

Now it was Dan’s turn to shrug. ‘Good question. No idea.’ He looked hopefully at the canteen bar but it was deserted. Shame, he could do with a strong coffee to give his brain a kick. That, and to keep the creeping fear at bay.

‘What do you make of all the talk of deadlines and knowing his name soon?’ he asked.

‘The next stage of his great plan, I assume. Some grand gesture which will mean his name’s plastered all over the media along with whatever perverted message he’s trying to get across. But not yet please, you’re still here as a witness, not a hack. Any coverage of this now could spawn copycats and muddy the waters. I want this investigation conducted quietly. Hopefully we can get him before he realises we’re on to him.’

‘Sure. So what’s this woman’s name and what does she do?’

‘She works in the finance department at the dockyard. Her name’s Jane. Jane Willen. She’s in her mid 30s, married, two kids, lives out at St Budeaux.’

‘Nothing remarkable about her?’

‘Nothing at all. Another Mrs Average.’

Adam’s words had triggered something in Dan’s mind. ‘Her name’s Jane you say?’

‘Yep, Jane Willen.’

‘And the first woman’s name was?’

‘Sarah. Sarah Croft.’

He tapped a finger on the table. There was a connection, flitting, teasingly elusive at the edge of his mind, but he couldn’t quite catch it. Dan tried a trick he’d learnt from long experience. When you know something’s there, don’t frighten it off by chasing it through the recesses of your brain, think of something else and it’ll come back when it’s ready. It was the mental equivalent of playing hard to get. He let his mind wander back to the afternoon, in bed with Claire, that dark bobbed hair falling across her face …

‘The Chief Constable,’ he said with a start.

‘What?’ Adam looked baffled.

‘The Chief Constable of Greater Wessex Police. Her name. It’s Sarah Jane, isn’t it? Sarah Jane Hill.’

‘Yeah, but so what? Are you saying he attacked these two women because their Christian names make up the Chief Con’s?’

‘Why not? It fits, doesn’t it? He takes apparently unconnected and worthless objects from the women. The only connection is they both have their names on. So he’s taking their name, isn’t he? That’s what he’s saying. That’s the symbolism. And then there’s that bit at the end of the letter about making the law sorry. And there are the pig organs too. He’s trying to punish the police for something they did. Or, to be more exact, Greater Wessex Police.’

Adam looked dubious. ‘It’s worth checking, but it’s a bit of a long shot. It could just be pure chance.’

‘He doesn’t sound like the kind of man who does chance, does he? He sounds like someone who’s been planning this for a while. And, if I’m right, it gives you a link between the two women.’

‘In which case, he’d have to know them well enough to know their Christian names, wouldn’t he?’ said Adam thoughtfully. ‘Now that is worth checking. You’ve half convinced me.’

‘Well let me try the other half. It could also give you an in to his next attack. I take it the Chief Constable has a middle name?’

‘Yes, she does. It’s Nicola.’

‘There you go then. Nicola’s your next victim.’

Adam shook his head. ‘Now that is a jump too far. What do you suggest I do? Find all the Nicolas in the area and talk to them? There are thousands. Put out a warning in the media for all women called Nicola to be on their guard as we think they’re in danger of being attacked by a madman wielding pig body-parts? Firstly there’d be panic. Secondly I’d look a bloody fool.’

Dan nodded. ‘OK, I can see the problem. But it’s worth considering isn’t it? And if you find the connection between these two women, is there another woman somehow linked to them both called Nicola? If there is, I’d certainly think about putting a guard on her.’

‘Yes … not a bad idea. We’ll get onto it. Right, I’d better get back to the inquiry.’

Adam went to stand up, then paused and turned back. ‘Just one more thing first. As you’re up to your neck in this already, the High Honchos want to know if you’d be interested in helping us out again, like you did on the Bray and McCluskey cases. You can come and join me and shadow the investigation. You can’t report anything without my say-so, but the publicity you gave us last time really helped. Do you think you’d be up for that?’

Dan smiled, couldn’t help himself. Lizzie had revelled in the reports they’d managed to produce on the two other cases. Exclusive stories, gripping insights into extraordinary crimes, just the sort of thing that saw the ratings soar and her mood with them. And come to that, if he was honest, he’d loved it himself too, hadn’t he? And now another bizarre criminal on the loose, and one who seemed to want to use Dan as his messenger.

‘I think we’d be delighted, Adam. I’ll check with my editor, but you can safely assume she’ll bite your arm off.’

‘OK then, you can start tomorrow morning. Now I’d better be off …’

They were interrupted by a man calling excitedly from the doorway. ‘Mr Breen! We’ve got something you should come and look at. It might be our break. The security guard here. He says he thinks he saw a man hanging around and acting suspiciously. He can describe him. And he reckons he saw the car he drove away in too, and he memorised part of the number plate.’

Claire sat in the CID office at Charles Cross police station, looking out on the ruined church below. Many times she’d sat here, at a loss with a case, and stared at the burnt-out stone shell, let her imagination slip back to the Blitz, the sirens and screams, fire and flames rampaging through the city, ravenously swallowing hundreds of years of history in hours. It was a destructive image, but it gave her brain space to absorb and organise the details of a crime. Pounding your head on a computer screen never brought inspiration, but a distraction often did.

Point one: did she even think a crime had been committed? Had Crouch broken the law? She’d been partially convinced by what he’d said, about having to make that split-second decision to shoot, believing someone’s life was in danger, doing the duty that society had asked him to perform. But then Whiting’s argument was persuasive too, wasn’t it? Two cases, so very similar, and a potentially powerful motive festering in Crouch’s past.