Stalkers (36 page)

Heck cracked open a can of beer and took a long sip. Lauren listened in silence.

‘As you can imagine, even with the Police and Criminal Evidence Act in force, it’s never been impossible for a ruthless copper to frame a suspect … especially if that suspect is a strung-out junkie who’ll say anything to get a fix. Well, the inevitable soon happened. Tom got leaned on hard, and eventually confessed. The next thing, he’s been charged and convicted. He was eighteen by this time, so he was sent to adult prison.’

Heck paused, sipped more beer. ‘He wasn’t up to
that
. He only lasted a month, but at a rough guess he must’ve been raped fifty times before he decided to call it quits. He went to the shower, took a razor and slashed both his wrists and both his groins. It took him two hours to bleed to death, and it was another hour before anyone found him.’

He gave her a long, level gaze. ‘You want to know what the most painful part of all that was, Lauren? About three weeks later – three weeks, that’s all – the real Granny Basher got caught in the act by two sharp-eyed uniforms.’

He shook his head, and finished the can.

All Lauren could do was stutter: ‘I hope, well, I hope your family got some compo?’

‘Course we did, but surely you of all people realise how little that actually means?’

‘Yeah, I do … but hey,
you
then went and joined the police. What the hell possessed you?’

Heck shrugged. ‘Exactly what my mum, dad and sister asked. I mean, after Tom’s death the police were
personae non gratae
as far as we were concerned. They were the biggest scrotes on Earth. And I just dropped everything and went off and joined them. You ask me why … I don’t know. It was vague, I suppose. I wanted to redress the balance, put right the grievous wrong that had been done to my family in the only way I could – by joining up and showing the useless bastards how the job
should
be done.’

‘Which you’ve been doing ever since.’

He chuckled bitterly. ‘And what a smart move it was. My dad never talked to me again ’til the day he died. My mum tried to understand, tried to forgive, but I don’t think she ever really succeeded. And Dana – well, you’ve seen the way things are between me and her.’

‘From what I saw, that’s mainly you.’

‘That’s because she feels guilty about it now.’ He munched on a sandwich, but didn’t have much taste for it. ‘She tries too hard to be all the things to me that she wasn’t during the years she ignored my very existence. Things got so bad that I didn’t just leave home, I ended up leaving town – I was in the Greater Manchester Police at the time, but requested a transfer to the Met. I basically gave up my entire world because my family weren’t prepared to let me live in it. And Dana played her part, let me tell you.’

‘So now you’re teaching her a lesson?’

‘I don’t mean to, but I can’t pretend I don’t feel resentful. Anyway … the upshot is that you’re wrong. I
do
know what it’s like to lose a loved one to violence. But grabbing a gun so you can fight those responsible in the urban jungle, like some hoodlum, is the worst thing you can do.’

‘Heck … whether we like it or not, we’re already in that jungle.’

Before he could answer, the phone beside the bed started ringing. They peered at it. It rang maybe four times before the answering-machine kicked in.

‘Talk to me,’ Deke’s pre-recorded voice said.

‘Deke?’ It was a man; by his accent, he was from the Midlands. ‘Might I remind you, we were expecting a progress report from last night. Anyway, contact us when you can. In the meantime, it’s a special for Alpha-Yankee-Zulu-Zulu-Zulu. Usual terms.’

The caller hung up. Silence followed.

‘“A special”?’ Lauren said. ‘Sounds a bit worrying.’

Heck crossed to the hidden panel they’d found the previous time, opened it and climbed the stair to the attic. When Lauren got up there, he’d already pulled one of the buff files and spread it open. A photograph showed a dark-haired man in his mid-forties. There was a sheet with typewritten information, including the address of the man’s home, which was in Hampstead, and his place of work, which was at an investment bank in the City. His name was Ian Terrance Blenkinsop.

Heck showed her the coded tag on the file cover. It read:
Ayzzz
.

‘Alpha-Yankee-Zulu …’ Lauren’s words tailed off.

‘Looks like we came to the right place after all,’ Heck said. ‘We’ve just found our next lead.’

When Ian Blenkinsop checked in for work that morning, he looked better than Sally had seen in some time: bright-eyed, clean-shaved, wearing a pressed suit. He was even smiling. But she was a little surprised when she saw that he was carrying an overnight bag instead of his briefcase, and especially so when he informed her that he was taking some unplanned leave.

‘I’m joining Yvonne and Carly at Lake Como,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I think I’ve been overdoing things a little and I need a break.’

‘Well … okay,’ she answered. ‘I mean, there’s probably nothing in your schedule that we can’t rearrange.’

‘Good, that’s excellent. Because I’ve got a flight booked for two o’clock this afternoon.’

‘I see.’

Sally wasn’t quite sure what else to say. This was a little irregular. Even someone as highly placed in the firm as Ian Blenkinsop occasionally had responsibilities that he couldn’t just drop on a whim. Of course there was no question that he’d been ‘off-colour’ the last few days; he’d almost gone through a personality change. This morning, though he’d only been in for a minute or so, he seemed a lot more like his old self.

‘I can’t wait to see them,’ he confided in her. ‘It isn’t a good thing being left on your own all summer, Sally. I think we’ll have to reconsider this arrangement in the future.’

‘Absolutely,’ she agreed.

‘Anyway, I’m just letting you know.’ He slipped an envelope across the desk towards her. ‘Here’s the appropriate paperwork. No doubt, Mr Brahms upstairs will have something to say about it. Just refer him to my mobile if he does. I’ll take full responsibility. Oh Sally, there’s one more thing … if any more police officers come and want to speak to me, I’m abroad but you’re not sure where.’

‘I’m sorry?’ She looked astonished.

‘To be honest, it’s all becoming a bit of a nuisance. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but that chap who was here yesterday, he’s from the Fraud Squad. They want me to witness for them in an embezzlement case. I’ve told them everything I know, which isn’t much. But they keep pestering. Frankly, I can’t be doing with it.’

Sally still looked astonished. ‘Is this wise?’

‘Whether it’s wise or not, that’s what I’d like you to tell them. From this moment on,’ and he checked his Rolex, ‘I’m officially on holiday.’

‘But Mr Blenkinsop, if it’s a pending court case …?’

Blenkinsop kept smiling, but suddenly his smile didn’t reach his eyes. There was a glint of sweat on his brow. ‘Sally darling, I don’t know anything. And if they need to go to the trouble and expense of tracking me down and sending a summons abroad, I’m sure they’ll finally realise that.’

Sally didn’t look placated, and he knew why. She’d probably be quite happy for him to take a few weeks off. It would mean she could keep lax hours and that all she’d really have to do was answer the phone and make coffee for herself – but now she might have to divert a police enquiry too. Well, it was tough. She could thank her lucky stars it wasn’t
her
disappearance they were looking into.

Blenkinsop left, but only after removing certain items from his desk. He extricated a diary from his top drawer, tore a single page from it and fed it carefully into the shredder. He nodded and smiled to her as he finally departed, but she had difficulty reciprocating, even though she intended to do as he asked. Sally knew which side her bread was buttered on. She was well paid here and Mr Blenkinsop was hardly a demanding boss. If it came to it, she wouldn’t be comfortable telling the police a lie. But then of course she’d only be following orders and couldn’t possibly be held to account for it. More than likely, as he’d repeatedly assured her before leaving, there was almost no chance the police would come to see him again.

But ten minutes later they did.

Sally descended to the lobby dry-mouthed with worry. It was a different officer from the one yesterday. This one was much younger, and, if he hadn’t looked rather beaten-up, he might’ve been quite handsome. He certainly dressed well. His suit was Armani, his tie by Yves Saint Laurent. He was seated on one of the sofas in the company’s waiting area, alongside a young black woman wearing baggy running gear.

‘Hello,’ Sally said. ‘I’m Sally, Mr Blenkinsop’s PA.’

The male officer stood and extended a hand. ‘Detective Sergeant Heckenburg.’

‘What can I do for you?’

‘Actually I was hoping to speak to Mr Blenkinsop himself.’

‘I’m afraid that’s not possible. He’s gone abroad.’

‘Ah. Whereabouts?’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know.’

Heck raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘You’re his PA, and you don’t know?’

‘Well, he’s on holiday … and it’s a travelling holiday. He likes to tour the continent with his family. He could be anywhere.’

Sally was rather pleased with that response. She’d come up with it on the spur of the moment, and felt certain it would deflect any further questions. But she was surprised at how frustrated the detective now looked.

‘When is he expected back?’ Heck asked.

‘I’m afraid I can’t say.’

‘Miss, you’re aware this is an official enquiry? Anyone deliberately hindering us …’

‘No please, you misunderstand.’ She spoke urgently, suddenly frightened. ‘What I mean is I can’t say
for sure
.’ This part was true. Before leaving, Blenkinsop had suggested rather vaguely that he might be away as long as three weeks, but he’d offered no specific dates on which to expect his return – which, now that she thought about it, did seem rather odd. ‘I would think he’d be three weeks or so.’

‘And in the meantime, do you have a contact number for him? A mobile maybe?’

‘He has his mobile with him, of course. But all I can do is leave messages, which he’ll pick up from time to time.’

‘Maybe if you’d give that number to me, I could leave him a message?’

Sally shook her head. ‘I can’t do that, I’m sorry. But I’ll help you any other way I can. I’ll ring him every day.’

Heck regarded her carefully.

She blushed. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s his private number and he
is
on holiday.’

‘Thanks very much for your help. We’ll be back in three weeks.’

‘You’re sure there’s nothing I can tell him in the meantime?’

‘It’s fine.’

Looking more relieved that she probably should have done, Sally turned and walked stiffly back towards the elevators. Heck slumped onto the sofa alongside Lauren.

‘You’re surely not buying that bimbo’s story?’ she said.

‘It doesn’t matter whether I do or don’t. As I’m not here in an official capacity, there isn’t much option.’

‘Maybe we can blag our way up to his office, give his desk a going over?’

‘Let’s keep this on a realistic footing, eh.’

‘Okay, we’ve got his home address. If he’s away on holiday, we’ll have all the time we need.’

‘You mean to commit burglary again?’ Heck sighed. ‘I’m getting tired of only making progress by committing criminal offences. You know, Lauren, I’ve never been much of a churchgoer – not after what happened to Tom. But it would be nice if, just once or twice, we got a spot of help from Him upstairs.’

‘Yeah,’ came a loud Cockney voice from the Reception counter. ‘That’s a taxi for Mr Blenkinsop. London City airport, yeah. Soon as you can, please.’

They turned to look.

The concierge, an elderly, ex-military type wearing a green frockcoat with golden braid at the shoulders, was on the telephone. ‘Yeah, he’ll be waiting in Mad Jack’s – you know that place, the pub on Cornhill? Ten minutes, that’s great. I’ll let him know.’

‘Ask and it shall be given unto you,’ Heck said quietly.

They crossed Cornhill side by side. As they entered the pub, they again checked the photo they’d taken from Deke’s file.

‘Think you’d recognise him?’ Heck asked.

‘I already do,’ Lauren said, stripping off her tracksuit top, regardless of the fact she only had a bloodstained vest underneath. ‘Look.’

It was only mid-morning, so there weren’t many people in the pub, but one or two men in suits were sitting at tables reading newspapers. One was standing by the bar, with a bag at his feet. He was a dead ringer for the guy in the photo.

‘Ian Blenkinsop?’ Heck said, using his best official tone.

‘That’s right,’ Blenkinsop said, turning and smiling – only for his smile to fade very quickly when he realised they were people he didn’t know. His smile faded even further when he saw Heck’s warrant card.

‘I’m DS Heckenburg from the Serial Crimes Unit. Can you come with me, Sir?’

Blenkinsop kept a tight grip on his half of bitter. ‘What’s … what’s this about?’

‘I assure you it’s very important.’

‘Am I being arrested?’

‘I’d rather hoped it wouldn’t come to that.’

Blenkinsop shook his head. ‘If I’m not being arrested, I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Sir …’ Heck spoke quietly, but leaned close, getting right into Blenkinsop’s personal space. ‘I’m assuming that many of the punters in this pub are people you do business with. Do we really want to make a song and dance out of this?’

Blenkinsop’s face had gone grey and sickly as melted snow. His lips had visibly dried. ‘I … I need to see your identification again.’

Heck showed his warrant card.

‘And hers.’ Blenkinsop nodded at Lauren, belatedly thinking it odd that one of these cops should be a young girl in a vest and running suit.

‘Everything alright, folks?’ Andreas the barman asked, leaning over the counter.

‘Everything’s fine!’ Lauren snapped. ‘Back off.’

Heck flashed his warrant card, and Andreas hastily retreated.

‘Listen, you piece of shit,’ Lauren hissed, crushing herself against Blenkinsop’s body. ‘Don’t fuck us around. We know exactly the sort of people you’ve been keeping company with and it’s all I can do not to waste you on the fucking spot. Now you walk out of this pub right now, or I’ll blow your fucking guts out.’