The Jackdaw (28 page)

‘Bit jumpy tonight, Geoff?’ his colleague asked. Jackson turned to face him, the colour drained from his face. ‘Christ. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘Something like that.’

‘Wait a minute,’ the other journalist caught on. ‘That was him, wasn’t it – on the phone, just now. It was the bloody Jackdaw, wasn’t it?’

‘Maybe,’ Jackson answered.

‘You meeting him again?’

‘Maybe,’ Jackson said again.

‘You are, aren’t you? Jesus, Geoff. That’s bloody risky.’

‘Yeah, well,’ Jackson shrugged, ‘I’ve already rolled the dice on that one.’

‘Why not just interview him on the phone?’ his colleague asked. ‘Who cares if the police are eavesdropping? Might even be a good idea to have them close by.’

‘You joking?’ Jackson asked, a look of disbelief on his face. ‘On the bloody phone? Make sure the Old Bill are close by? The public want to know I sat opposite a stone-cold killer – they want to know I could have been taped to that chair any second and had my throat cut. They need to be able to taste the fear – feel the danger. They want a show, not a fucking telephone conversation. And that’s exactly what I’m going to give them. The Jackdaw and The Showman. What could possibly go wrong?’

‘He could kill you,’ the journalist reminded him coldly.

‘He could, but I don’t think he will.’

‘Don’t
think
he will! Bloody hell, Geoff, it’s one hell of a risk to take just for a story – no matter how big it is. I know you’ll make a nice few quid out of the book and TV stuff, but is it really worth it?’

Jackson leaned back in his reclining office chair, flipped his feet up onto his desk and wrapped his hands around the back of his head. ‘It’s not about the money,’ he explained. ‘It’s about the story and the
prestige
, my old friend. Always about the
prestige
.’

Sean’s arrival back in the office went barely noticed, such was the buzz of detectives collating information and getting on with their assigned tasks. The entire team seemed to be there. Clearly everyone had seen the latest Your View video and were desperate to move the investigation forward as fast as possible. He moved quietly across the room gathering Donnelly, Sally and Anna with taps on shoulders and nods of his head as he went, leading them to his office where he threw his coat over a hook on the back of the door, slumped in his chair and rubbed his face with the palms of his hands before looking up at the others.

‘All right,’ he asked them. ‘What do we know for sure?’

‘First things first,’ Sally told him. ‘Are Kate and the kids safe?’

‘Yeah,’ he assured her. ‘Local CID are round there now checking it out. They phoned me when I was on my way here to let me know. Thanks for arranging it, by the way.’

‘No problem,’ Sally replied.

‘Wouldn’t you rather be at home?’ Anna asked. ‘Just to be sure?’

‘He’s not coming after my family,’ he told her, ‘or me. That’s fantasy. That’s films and TV shows. Kate knows that.’

‘He mentioned your name in the video,’ Anna reminded him unnecessarily.

‘So he read my name in a newspaper and spouted it out during one of his rants,’ Sean suggested. ‘Big deal. He’s not coming after me or my family and the best way I can stop Kate from worrying is to catch him sooner rather than later. And to do that I need to be here, not sitting at home. So, like I said, what do we know for sure?’

‘Victim’s definitely this guy Jeremy Goldsboro,’ Sally told him. ‘We’ve had literally dozens of calls from people saying they know him or knew him, so we have no reason to think otherwise, and we know he’s a retired banker – left his job as one of the vice presidents of …’ she checked her notebook, ‘King and Melbourn Capital Associates, one of the City’s big boys, apparently. He went for his evening walk in Holland Park, close to where he lives, and wasn’t seen again until he was seen on Your View.’

‘Wasn’t his wife worried,’ Sean jumped in, ‘when he didn’t return home?’

‘Apparently it’s not uncommon for him to go for very long walks,’ Sally explained, ‘so she wasn’t unduly worried.’

‘Poor bastard,’ Donnelly added. ‘He must have heard about the other victims and been thinking, thank Christ I got out of the City before this lunatic hit the scene. Next thing he knows he
is
the next victim.’

‘Has he been found yet?’ Sean asked.

‘No,’ Sally told him.

‘Well, if our killer sticks to his usual method it won’t be long before he turns up wandering around some park or common somewhere. Has the park Goldsboro was taken from been secured?’

‘It’s closed and locked after dark,’ Sally explained, ‘but the locals are babysitting it for us until we can get to it.’

‘Good,’ Sean answered just as he spotted DC Bishop wandering past his open door. ‘Bishop,’ he called out, making him take a couple of steps backwards before he popped his head around the corner of Sean’s office.

‘Yes, guv’nor?’

‘You got a trace on this joker’s location yet?’ Sean asked.

‘Not yet, guv, but I’m working on it – getting closer and closer,’ Bishop answered. ‘I’m as sure as I can be the signal’s coming from somewhere in east Surrey or thereabouts. He’s trying plenty of tricks to cover himself, but I’ll get him eventually – it’s only a matter of time.’

‘Did you try to borrow some gear off the CIA like I told you to?’

‘I phoned the embassy,’ Bishop explained.

‘And?’

‘They told me to go fuck myself,’ Bishop told them.

‘So much for the special relationship,’ Donnelly added.

‘OK,’ Sean told Bishop. ‘Just keep on it.’

‘Will do,’ Bishop assured him and headed off. Sean turned back to the others.

‘In the absence of a positive trace what else have we got?’ he asked them.

‘The new video,’ Sally reminded them.

‘The new video,’ Sean repeated, leaning forward to turn on the laptop and calling up the latest Your View footage, the picture frozen where he’d left it after folding it shut in the restaurant, showing the victim slumped in his chair with blood dripping from the wound where his little finger had been severed. He clicked on the replay icon and watched with the volume turned down from the beginning. ‘Christ. What’s going through his mind?’ he questioned. ‘Why change his … his reaction again?’

‘His reaction?’ Sally asked. ‘In what way?’

‘The relatively minor injury caused to the victim,’ Sean suggested, ‘despite the fact about fifty per cent of viewers voted guilty.’

‘I don’t know,’ Donnelly reminded him. ‘That was a nasty wee video. It was pretty brutal. Maybe he decided it was enough to get people’s attention?’

‘But he already has people’s attention,’ Sean argued, ‘and what’s this about – it’s about crime and punishment, isn’t it? And this victim’s “crimes” seem much more significant than Georgina Vaughan’s. He’s an ex-vice president, whereas she was just a project manager, yet her “punishment” was arguably more severe than his. So why is he easing off?’

‘It could be a sign he’s becoming increasingly media savvy,’ Anna suggested. ‘He would have seen that people are voting to spare the victims in as many numbers as they are to punish them. He would see this as a direct vote against him and what he believes he’s trying to do. It’s possible he’s trying to appease his audience.’

‘So he’s moving away from more gratuitous acts,’ Sean recapped. ‘Relatively small, but nasty acts of violence.’

‘That would be my guess,’ Anna answered.

‘Wait a minute,’ Donnelly suddenly told them. ‘He met with that slippery bastard Jackson, right?’

‘So?’ Sean asked.

‘I bet he bloody well briefed him,’ Donnelly explained. ‘Told him to ease off on the gratuitous stuff if he wanted to keep the public, or at least a significant section of it, on side. This was all bloody Jackson’s idea.’

‘Well, if it saves lives …’ Sally spread her arms.

‘If it is Jackson’s idea, he’s not doing it to save lives,’ Sean told them. ‘What d’you think, Anna? Think Jackson could persuade our man to tone things down for the sake of positive press?’

‘He’s always been publicity minded, otherwise why use Your View, why publicize yourself at all?’ Anna explained. ‘Just quietly go about your business of revenge, or retribution, or whatever it is he’s motivated by.’

‘But his first victim was murdered,’ Sean reminded her. ‘A serial offender whose crimes get less and less serious or brutal? I’ve never come across that before. They always escalate.’

‘Then you’d be assuming he’s just another serial offender driven by his desire and need to kill for killing’s sake,’ Anna pointed out.

‘Is that what you think?’ Sally asked Sean. ‘That this is all an act, a camouflage for something a hell of a lot more basic – that underneath all this he’s just another serial killer?’

‘I don’t know anything for sure right now,’ Sean admitted. ‘I’m neither buying into the whole avenging hero persona, nor am I discounting it. I’m just trying to keep an open mind until we know more. What I do know for sure is the shit’ll hit the fan once the top-brass get wind of what’s happened, assuming they don’t already know.’

‘So what now?’ Sally asked.

‘No need for an office meeting,’ Sean told her. ‘Everyone’s seen the latest video and they all look up to speed. Bishop seems sure the location of the broadcasts is somewhere in east Surrey, so let’s get the area swamped with whatever the Met and Surrey Old Bill can spare. He has to be using a derelict building or something similar and it must be rural or someone would have seen or heard something by now. There can’t be that many places left to check. Get on to it, will you, Dave?’

‘No problem, boss,’ Donnelly assured him.

‘Anna,’ he told her. ‘Keep working on the suspect’s profile. I’ll take anything you can give me that’ll help me get in his mind.’

‘OK,’ she agreed, but quickly looked away. Sean knew what it meant: did he really want to be in the mind of another killer? DC Jesson suddenly appeared at the door and distracted him before he could challenge Anna.

‘Guv’nor,’ Jesson said urgently.

‘What is it?’

‘They’ve found the victim,’ Jesson announced, ‘walking around the back streets of Acton – hands tied behind his back, mouth still taped over. A good Samaritan found him and called us. Local uniforms took him straight to Charing Cross A&E. No life-threatening injuries.’

‘He let him go then,’ Donnelly said what they were all thinking.

‘A man of his word,’ Sally added. Sean was already standing, once more pulling on his raincoat and loading his pockets. ‘Charing Cross, I presume.’

‘Yeah,’ Sean told her, ‘and you’re coming with me.’

Sean and Sally entered the A&E department at Charing Cross Hospital through the entrance used by the ambulance crews wheeling patients on stretchers. They had their warrant cards already in hand on the off chance someone challenged them, although they knew the staff would know exactly what they were, even without their IDs.

‘You all right?’ Sean asked Sally. ‘You were a little quiet in the car.’

‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ she lied. ‘It’s just … I haven’t been here since my final outpatient visit. I wasn’t planning on ever coming back.’

Sean remembered all too well the months Sally had spent in the hospital. Intensive care at first and then a private room on a ward – recovering from the wounds Sebastian Gibran had inflicted on her.

‘Unfortunately,’ he told her, ‘given your line of work, that was never going to be likely.’

‘No,’ she answered. ‘I don’t suppose it was.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ he encouraged her as they approached the main nursing station where three female nurses wearing a variety of uniforms sat behind the large desk. After being ignored for what seemed a long time the youngest nurse eventually looked up.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

Sean and Sally both let her have a long look at their warrant cards. ‘We’re here to see Jeremy Goldsboro,’ Sean told her without saying who they were or where they were from. He knew she wouldn’t be interested in the details. The nurse looked at her colleagues without answering him.

‘Do you know where Dr Mantel is?’ she asked the other nurses, one of whom leant forward and picked up a phone and spoke into it after a few seconds.

‘Can you page Dr Mantel for me?’ she asked whoever she was speaking to. ‘Let her know the police are here and want to see one of her patients. OK. Thanks.’ She hung up and nodded to the only nurse who would speak to them.

‘She should be here in a few minutes,’ the talkative one told them. ‘You can take a seat in the waiting area outside.’

‘It’s OK,’ Sean told her. ‘We’ll just wait here.’ The nurse looked at her colleague who’d made the phone call; she shrugged.

‘Fine,’ she replied and sat down without saying anything further.

Sean and Sally moved far enough away that their whispers couldn’t be heard. ‘Looks like somebody’s been briefed not to speak to the Old Bill,’ Sally suggested.

‘It’s not their fault,’ Sean excused them. ‘If they accidentally say too much they’ll be in the shit with the hospital board. Better to say nothing.’

‘I remember there was a time a visit to an A&E department was a guarantee of a cup of something warm,’ Sally reminisced.

‘A long time ago, maybe,’ Sean reminded her. A very slim woman in her thirties, brown hair tied in a ponytail, wearing glasses, grey trousers and a white blouse with a stethoscope draped around her neck, drew his attention. He watched her pause at the desk and talk briefly with the nurses before turning her head in their direction. ‘This is our doctor,’ he told Sally and walked towards her, warrant card once more in hand. As they came near the woman seemed to stiffen.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

They both showed their IDs. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Sean Corrigan and this is Detective Sergeant Jones from the Special Investigations Unit, Metropolitan Police. Are you the doctor who’s treating Jeremy Goldsboro?’

‘I am,’ she answered curtly.

‘Can you tell me anything about his condition?’ Sean asked, before quickly adding, ‘Sorry. I didn’t catch your name.’

‘Dr Sara Mantel,’ she told him, ‘and Mr Goldsboro appears to be fine, more or less. His left little finger has been amputated …’