The Advent Killer (26 page)

Eighteen minutes later, Maguire pulled up outside a row of mid-range semi-detached houses, near to a dark blue Vauxhall Insignia. In the pale glow from a nearby streetlight, Hawkins made out two familiar faces in the front of the other car.

Mike locked the Range Rover, as they crossed the road and climbed into the back seat of the Vauxhall.

Hawkins went straight to business. ‘So which one of these lovely residences is Mr Rickman’s?’

‘Number 29.’ Yasir pointed over the steering wheel. ‘About forty yards down on the left.’

‘Good.’ Hawkins was relieved to see they had kept to a safe distance. ‘Any action since we spoke?’

‘Nothing.’ Walker rotated his considerable bulk in the passenger seat. ‘Unless you count fast-food delivery drivers. The whole street must be overweight.’

‘Take it from a Yank,’ Mike said. ‘Makes ’em easier to catch. How solid is this lead?’

‘Looks good,’ Walker replied. ‘We got the tip from a mate of Rickman’s who showed up at the place above the snooker club where the protestors meet. He was dismissive at first, but he came over all reasonable when we started showing an interest in the group’s activities. Turns out this protest lark’s like the bloody Masons. The guy
who owns this house, along with half a dozen others, said Rickman could use the place as long as he looked after his dog while he’s abroad.’

Hawkins leaned forwards. It was difficult to make out exactly which property was which, but nearly every downstairs window in the row was lit.

‘Good enough for me,’ she said. ‘Let’s get him.’

‘Er, chief?’ Yasir’s tone wavered. ‘If there’s a chance this man’s armed, shouldn’t we order some back-up?’

Hawkins knew she was taking a huge risk: four unarmed officers were about to attempt the arrest of a known violent criminal, who may also be a serial killer in possession of a powerful Taser weapon and a Glock 17 handgun. The odds of success weren’t good, which made this action difficult to justify, but she wanted the arrest.

Walker intervened before Hawkins had a chance to reply. ‘Come on, Amala, the chief’s trying to see some credit where it’s due here. By the time you get authorization for armed response, the bureaucrats will be all over it. We’ll be lucky to get a ruddy commendation.’

Yasir stared into space for a moment before she agreed. Hawkins made eye contact with Walker and nodded her appreciation.

After a short discussion to organize their approach, Walker produced from the boot two extra sets of body armour, which Hawkins asked him to organize in advance, and passed them through the rear door to her and Maguire, before he and Yasir headed for Rickman’s house.

Hawkins watched them go as she and Maguire removed their jackets and shrugged on the protective vests. She
noticed that the temperature had fallen further when they stepped out of the car, the clouds having moved on to reveal a sheet of stars. She lowered her gaze to the two officers twenty-five yards ahead: Yasir’s diminutive frame dwarfed by Walker’s tall, broad one.

The sergeant would be an imposing presence in any situation, but Hawkins’ pulse began to race as she saw them cut left along the path leading to the back of the houses. Memories of the night Eddie Connor died reared in her mind. At least this time none of them was alone.

She and Maguire reached number 29, the house where Hawkins desperately hoped they’d find not only Curtis Rickman, but in doing so, Nemesis as well.

Discovering Barclay tied up in the shed would be a bonus.

The seventies-style home appeared to be undergoing light renovation work: parts of the shallow roof were covered by gently flapping sheets of clear plastic, held down with planks of wood, while the garden contained various polythene-covered piles of bricks and other building materials. A light was on somewhere towards the back of the downstairs area, its glow visible through the front window. Otherwise the house was in darkness.

‘Your turn to knock,’ she told Maguire.

Mike led the way past a stack of what looked like dismantled kitchen units to the entrance. The whole front door assembly was held in place by wedges driven into the gaps around its edge. If nobody answered, it looked almost loose enough to lift out.

Mike blew into cupped hands before knocking firmly.

For a moment nothing happened, but then the light from inside brightened as a door opened and a shadow emerged into the hallway, its edges distorted by the patterned glass. The figure stopped.

Hawkins watched, senses alert.
Could this be Nemesis? And was he contemplating another break for freedom?

Suddenly the figure moved again, but not evasively as she’d expected. Instead, it came towards them.

She glanced at Mike. ‘Ready?’

Maguire nodded.

The figure arrived at the door, one ethereal arm reaching for the handle. It swung open to reveal a narrow hallway and a thin man wearing black jeans and a dark grey T-shirt. His hair was tied back in a ponytail.

Hawkins recognized Curtis Rickman from his file.

Rickman’s eyes narrowed. ‘Yes?’

Hawkins held up her badge. ‘Met Police. Sorry to turn up unannounced, Curtis, but if you will insist on being ex-directory …’

Rickman’s response was an attempt to slam the door, but Mike was too fast, jamming a steel-capped boot into the gap. The pinned door frame creaked, but it held as Rickman braced himself against the other side, managing temporarily to resist Mike’s strength.

‘Harvey,’ Rickman shouted from behind the door. ‘Here, now.’

Over Maguire’s shoulder through the glass, Hawkins caught sight of a second silhouette entering the hallway. Except that Harvey wasn’t some lackey with a crowbar; he was a dog. A big one.

‘Mike,’ she warned.

‘I know.’

Rickman was starting to lose the shoving match, but his next statement swung things in his favour.

‘
Burglars.
’

A sharp bark and a scrabbling of claws on wood preceded a snarling black and brown snout full of teeth appearing in the widening gap.

Rickman suddenly released the door, which swung open, Mike releasing his weight just in time to stop himself from falling forwards. Before them a Doberman stood rigid, emitting a low growl, daring them to advance.

Rickman backed away, reaching the understairs cupboard and releasing the latch. He leaned in and pulled out a black holdall.

Hawkins reassured herself that, even if the bag did contain Connor’s gun and the Taser, Rickman was less likely to use either now that his identity had been established. He could have no idea how many officers were here and, even if he escaped tonight, his face would be on every TV screen in the country within hours.

Leaving the cupboard open in his haste, Rickman instructed the dog to hold them as he moved past and began to climb the stairs.

Hawkins saw Maguire start forwards and put a hand out to stop him. If they attempted to enter, Harvey would take chunks out of them both.

‘Back up and shut the door,’ she whispered. ‘Slowly.’

Mike turned his head. ‘What?’

‘I know what I’m doing.’ She watched Rickman disappear onto the upstairs landing. ‘Just don’t close it fully.’

He nodded and edged the door shut. The dog seemed unsurprised by their apparent retreat.

When they were safe Mike asked, ‘So, what’s the plan?’

‘You know what they say about a good offense.’ Hawkins walked back to the nearest tarpaulin and fished out a cupboard door. She handed it to Mike and grabbed one for herself.

They moved back to the entrance and eased the door open again. The dog hadn’t moved, and resumed its threatening stance.

Hawkins and Maguire lined up their doors and advanced. The dog appeared confused by this and backed away. Held low and together, the doors spanned almost the entire width of the hallway, and by adjusting the angle and height in response to Harvey’s evasive efforts, they were able to maintain forward momentum.

Seconds later, they had backed the dog into the understairs cupboard, and Hawkins eased the door shut with her foot before clicking the latch closed. The dog began barking from inside as Maguire arranged the doors side by side on the floor to jam the cupboard closed, in case Harvey decided to test the latch.

At that moment, they heard the sound of a toilet being flushed.

Evidence.

Mike turned towards the stairs, but Hawkins stopped him, telling him to check the other downstairs rooms in case Rickman hadn’t been alone, while she let Walker and Yasir in through the back.

When the downstairs area had been confirmed clear, the four officers advanced up the staircase to the sound of another flush.

Maguire and Walker reached the top first, with Hawkins and Yasir close behind.

Three doors led off the landing: two were open; one closed. Maguire quickly checked the first, a shake of his head confirming it was empty.

Hawkins also checked the other bedroom. A few bits of furniture were piled in the middle of the room, wearing the same paint-spattered dustsheets that covered the floors. But there was nowhere suitable for anyone to hide among them, and the windows were latched from the inside, eliminating the chances that anyone else had escaped. She quickly moved back to join her colleagues on the landing, in front of the final door.

Maguire and Walker positioned themselves either side of the frame, while Hawkins guided Yasir into a corner.

This was it. She just had to hope that if he had a weapon and used it, he’d go for the torso. Beyond that, she’d have to rely on Maguire and Walker’s self-defence training.

She took a deep breath and nodded at Mike.

‘Open the door, Mr Rickman.’ Maguire’s tone was loud, authoritative.

Hawkins held up a hand, instructing them to wait. Any immediate reaction in this type of situation was likely to be violent. But there was no response. Downstairs, Harvey continued to bark from inside the cupboard.

‘Stand back, Mr Rickman,’ Mike shouted. ‘We’re coming in.’

The toilet flushed again. Maguire and Walker looked at Hawkins. She signalled for them to go in.

Walker raised his foot and Mike placed his fingers on the handle. Walker nodded, and Mike pulled the lever down as his colleague’s foot smashed into the door just above the handle. The door flew inwards, accompanied by a crunch as the lock surrendered.

Hawkins couldn’t see into the room as Maguire followed Walker in, but the sounds of the ensuing scuffle were short. Seconds later, the officers emerged, restraining Rickman by an elbow each, his hands cuffed behind his back.

‘Curtis Rickman,’ she told him, ‘you are under arrest for breaching the conditions of your parole.’

She led the way outside as Mike read Rickman his rights, waiting while Yasir collected the car.

Hawkins studied Rickman, noticing for the first time that he wasn’t wearing shoes; only socks. His feet must have been freezing against the pavement, yet he seemed oblivious to the cold.

He hadn’t said a word since his arrest. Nor had he resisted once the cuffs were in place. Killer or not, he was unfazed by his arrest, and Hawkins was trying hard to take that as a positive sign.

The Insignia pulled up at the kerb with Yasir at the wheel, and Walker followed Rickman into the rear seat. Hawkins watched the car leave before she turned to Maguire.

‘What was he getting rid of?’

‘Sorry, didn’t see. Wanna go back in?’

‘No, it can wait. We’ll call forensics in a minute.’

‘Think it’s him?’

‘Not sure. But if there’s evidence for that, I don’t think we’ll find it here.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, I’m not convinced that guns or Tasers will flush.’

The fly circled above his head, retracing its path again in the restricted space. The insect lacked the capacity to understand that the door and small window would remain securely closed for hours yet.

For the fly, an extended period in this enclosed room would result in death. For him, it was merely essential preparation for his definitive act. The irony was that, just like those of his human prey, the fly’s instincts told it to panic rather than adapt. And flaws like that inevitably led to the perpetrator’s demise.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on the forthcoming task, focusing his mind.

He pictured the people his message was designed to reach, the ordinary individuals he observed in the street. Their faces told him everything. They were beginning to understand.

But it was always to the strongest emotion that people responded first, which meant that most of the changes so far were due to fear. And those emotions were also those most quickly forgotten once danger had passed.

The seeds of change were planted. But if, as a by-product of his campaign, an ethical revolution was to be sustained, people needed to believe in it. Nemesis’ part was to continue highlighting the problem in a way that
society could comprehend, to make discussion essential, action imperative.

The modern world accepted injustice as part of life, and dealt with it by apportioning blame after the fact. Most people thought nothing of the way they treated others, which led to erosion of their self-respect. And so it went on.

Sacrifices were unavoidable if the circle was to be broken.

Once everyone had accepted that Nemesis could not be stopped, that their actions once again had tangible consequences, change would begin to spread. His only regret was that he hadn’t started earlier.

He’d been exposed to the depravities of human nature at a young age, to the suffering caused by abuse he was unable to repel. For a long time he’d accepted it, convinced that compliance would eventually pacify his abuser.

Then his mother had self-destructed before his eyes. Her last words had been indistinct, but she left him in no doubt as to her message: beware the absent enemy, for he is the most dangerous.

He remained determined not to repeat his parents’ mistakes, keen to impress on others the dangers of moral ineptitude. His words were often ignored, although he was content to be spreading a message of hope.

But everything had changed that day, nine years after his mother’s death, when his father’s posthumous letter revealed the true delinquencies she had orchestrated. He’d read the words over and over, stopping to think only when every one was etched in his memory.

Suddenly past events had become clear. His mother
had been evil in a way he’d never contemplated. But by ignoring a moral obligation to expose her, by condoning immorality through inaction, his father’s conduct had been just as destructive.

From that moment onwards, his view of the world had changed. The only way to fight injustice was through direct action – to force moral decline into reverse. He had begun straight afterwards with renewed enthusiasm. Making a difference felt good.

And then he had met
her
.

He’d been enchanted by her beauty, inside and out. Their ideals matched. The answer had appeared to be in their partnership, a flawless paradigm for society to follow.

But she had not shared his vision. She had defiled him, just as his mother had defiled his father.

Only then had his true calling become obvious. He wasn’t supposed to live in harmony with her. She’d been a test, a temptation for him to overcome. His destiny was to demonstrate to others that true morality demanded sacrifice.

He had turned his back on her, to begin his campaign. If society no longer enforced ethical behaviour, he would use targeted demonstrations to dispense justice to the morally corrupt. To lead others, however unwilling, by example.

Immediately, he’d known who his victims would be: five perfect examples of immorality at its worst. And with the four deaths so far had come recognition.

But while others were starting to listen, his personal torment had grown, ethereal flashes of memory arcing
across his mind like electricity. He gripped the thin mattress on which he lay, feeling the anger rising within – the unstoppable force that sustained his resolve.

He saw her face, every line in vivid detail. But while the image had once given him strength to believe she could be his, now it reminded him only that he was strong enough to dispose of her.

The fly buzzed onto the windowsill beside him, the sound of its wings lazy, as if nearing exhaustion. It bumped against the windowpane a few times before coming to rest.

He struck, crushing the insect, lifting his hand to reveal its broken, dead form.

A punishment similar to the one he would impose in two days’ time.

On
her
.