The Night Stalker (12 page)

I
t was early
the next morning and, despite the hour, the heatwave had intensified. It seemed to have permeated the walls of Lewisham Row station. Despite the fans being on full power, the incident room was roasting. Moss was standing in front of the whiteboards, addressing Erika and the team.

‘There were no prints found on the picture frame in 14 Laurel Road, but we have had a positive ID on one of the young men seen by Gregory Munro’s neighbours opposite,’ she said. ‘Last night, Marie and Claude Morris were able to give us this e-fit image.’

Erika and the rest of the officers regarded the face which had joined the photos of Gregory Munro and Gary Wilmslow. It was of a young man with dark hair swept back off a high forehead and a lean, handsome face.

Moss went on, ‘DC Warren decided to broaden his horizons and spent the best part of the night cruising profiles on rent boy websites…’

There were several wolf whistles, and Warren rolled his eyes and blushed.

‘And we now have this…’

Moss pinned up a profile photo from a website called RentBoiz. It was remarkably similar to the e-fit image. The handsome young man who stared into the camera had the addition of green eyes and designer stubble. Moss paused and wiped her forehead with her rolled-up sleeve, and nodded over to Warren.

He stood, a little shyly. ‘Um, okay. His profile name is JordiLevi and on the website it says he’s eighteen years old and London-based. He charges £250 an hour, and it seems that he’ll do most things if the money is right. Of course, he doesn’t give his real name or an address. I got in contact with the website administrator, who said that registration is anonymous, so no joy there, but I’ll keep working on it.’

Moss gave him a wink and he sat back down. ‘Now, we can all agree that this looks like the same guy.’ She indicated the e-fit and JordiLevi’s profile picture. ‘I think this could be a real breakthrough for us.’

There was a round of applause. Erika got up from where she perched by the printers, her heart heavy.

‘This is great work, Moss and Warren, thank you. But I have to let you know that after careful review with Detective Chief Superintendent Marsh and the Assistant Commissioner it has been decided that this is a case for one of the Murder Investigation Teams who specialise in sexually motivated murders,’ explained Erika. ‘I’d like you all to ready your files and the data gathered so far, and this afternoon the case will be transferred over.’

‘Boss, can’t you see how huge this is? If we can track down this JordiLevi, he could be our direct link to the Gregory Munro murder. He could have witnessed something!’ said Moss.

‘We just need time, boss,’ added Crane, ‘and we wouldn’t need much. We’re gonna set up a fake punter profile on RentBoiz and arrange a meeting with this JordiLevi. He might be able to give us an e-fit of whoever it was who called round at Gregory Munro’s house and we’d have our suspect.’

‘I’m sorry, this isn’t a debate,’ said Erika. Moss sat back in her chair, folding her arms in frustration. ‘I don’t like this any more than you all do. Please have your reports and all data relating to the case ready by noon.’

There were a chorus of protests and Erika left the incident room. She went out in the corridor to the coffee machine, fed in the correct change and pressed the worn and faded ‘cappuccino’ button, but nothing happened. She thumped her fist against it and thumped it again and again, taking out her frustration on the stupid machine. She didn’t hear Moss approach.

‘All right, boss? Having a spot of caffeine rage?’

Erika turned and nodded.

‘Stand back.’

Erika stepped back and Moss raised a booted foot and kicked the machine under the picture of a steaming coffee cup which adorned the front. There was a beep, then a cup plopped out into the dispenser and began to fill.

‘You’ve got to aim for the saucer,’ said Moss.

‘Brilliant work, detective,’ said Erika. ‘Is there no end to your talents?’

‘I have to say that it also works with tea, and sometimes if you press the soup button.’

‘There’s a soup button?’

‘Yes, oxtail soup. I wouldn’t risk it.’

Erika grinned weakly and took her coffee out of the dispenser.

‘Can I ask you something, boss? Do you really think this case is better off with another team?’

Erika blew on her coffee. ‘Yes, I do.’ She hated not being able to talk to Moss about this. She’d always been loyal and a wise sounding board.

‘I hear there’s a superintendent promotion up for grabs,’ said Moss. ‘Nothing to do with you wanting to get rid of a tricky case, is it?’

‘I thought you knew me, Moss. That’s not my style.’

‘Good. So why, then? I know you. You don’t give up a case easily. You’re very Charlton Heston about it.’

‘What?’

‘“From my cold, dead hands”,’ said Moss, in a bad American accent. There was a pause. ‘Come on, boss, we’re bloody close, after banging our heads against the wall for so long.’

‘Moss, I’ve said all I want to say about this. My decision is final.’

‘Okay, okay. You can’t talk about it. What if you blink once for yes and twice for no?’

‘Moss…’ said Erika, shaking her head.

‘If you can’t tell me what’s going on, can I at least tell you what I think is going on?’

‘Do I have a choice?’

‘I think that we’re overwhelmed with cases and Marsh is under pressure to massage his figures. This case is getting more complex and a bit of a hot potato. He’s offloading it.’

‘Moss…’

‘I think that the only way we’ll find a motive is when a pattern emerges. For a pattern to emerge, there has to be another body.’

‘That figures.’

‘And I just know what’s going to happen when this case is out of our hands. If there’s another body, it will be classed as a gay bashing, and there will be no end of fear-mongering and debate about the gay community. There are ten times more murders committed by straight people. When men rape and kill women, people think they’re evil. But when someone gay does the same thing, it’s seen as an extension of their sexuality! Of their lifestyle as a whole!’

Erika had been watching Moss quietly as she got increasingly worked up.

‘Sorry, boss. It’s just… I’m sick of it. We were just getting started on this. If we’re overworked, then things are going to be no different in one of the other Murder Investigation teams? And I knew this case was in a good pair of hands with you. I can already see the headlines: “Gay Bashing in Suburbia”, “Gay Terror in the London Commuter Belt!”’

‘I didn’t know this was so personal to you.’

‘Not directly… Jacob’s school did a whole Father’s Day card-making exercise the other week, and his stupid teacher – who also happens to be married to the vicar – couldn’t get her head around the fact that he has two mothers. She got him to make a card for his daddy who was “out there somewhere”. Celia had to restrain me from going up there and slapping her. ’

‘Sorry to hear that.’

‘Shit happens. I just hoped I’d get to see this case through. And I hoped you would. You don’t take shit and you always know when to do the right thing. Well, until…’

Erika saw Moss had caught herself before she said ‘until now’
.
They stood in silence for a moment.

‘Do you know where Peterson is today?’ asked Erika.

‘He called in sick, boss.’

‘Did he say what was wrong?’

Moss paused just long enough to show Erika she knew something, then said, ‘No, boss, he didn’t. I’ll make sure everyone has their reports ready for you by noon.’

‘Thanks,’ said Erika. Realising that they both wanted to say things they couldn’t, she watched as Moss made her way back into the incident room.

T
he rest
of the morning passed in a depressing haze of an overheated incident room, and the dismantling of an investigation that had got under Erika’s skin.

What Moss had said kept running through Erika’s mind.
From my cold, dead hands…
Here she was, with an incredible lead in the Gregory Munro murder, her team poised to work their arses off, and she was going to give up on the case! Just before one, Erika was still sitting at her desk, staring at the computer screen, when Moss came over.

‘Boss…’

‘Yeah?’

‘Did you send the case files over yet?’

Erika looked up, ‘No. Why?’

‘We’ve had a call come in from uniform. White male, found naked and asphyxiated in bed in a house in Dulwich. No signs of forced entry or a struggle. Preliminary ID is that it’s Jack Hart.’

‘Why do I know that name?’

‘He hosts
The Jack Hart Show
, tabloid TV for the unemployed and stay-at-home parents. Celia watches it.’

‘And uniform think it’s the same guy who killed Gregory Munro?’

‘Uniform is waiting for someone from the murder investigation, but it sounds like him. Is this still our case?’

‘Yeah. Officially, it’s still our investigation. Let’s get over there,’ said Erika.

J
ack Hart’s
house was in an upmarket area of Dulwich, South London. The road climbed steeply, and then fell sharply away. A police cordon had closed off the road, and beyond it they could see five police cars, an ambulance and two large support vans blocking the street. Erika parked close to where three uniformed officers were manning the police tape cordon. A crowd was growing on the pavement in front, holding cameras and mobile phones aloft.

‘Christ, word travels fast,’ said Erika, when she and Moss got out of the car. They pushed their way through the crowd, which was made up of a large group of teenagers, a cluster of elderly ladies and a woman clutching a tiny dark-haired baby.

‘Is it Jack Hart?’ shouted a lad with ginger hair.

‘That’s Jack Hart’s house. I’ve seen him around,’ added a young girl with a pierced lip.

‘This is a crime scene, turn off your camera phones,’ said Erika.

‘It’s not illegal to film in public,’ said a small, ratty-haired girl with a pink fluffy handbag, and for emphasis she held up her phone to Erika’s face. ‘Smile: you’re on YouTube.’

‘What about having some respect? This is a crime scene,’ replied Moss, evenly. The elderly ladies remained silent, just watching.

‘He was a right bastard, Jack Hart. He good as killed that Megan Fairchild. He exploited people, so why shouldn’t I exploit him?’ asked a boy with a shaved head. Emboldened by his statement, more of the teenagers started to hold up their mobile phones.

‘Get this lot moved further back,’ said Erika to one of the officers.

‘But this is the police tape cordon,’ he replied.

‘Then use your common sense: move the cordon further back!’ snapped Erika.

Just then, a Sky News van arrived with a large satellite dish perched on the roof and parked on the opposite side of the road.

‘If you need extra officers, that’s not a problem. Just do it,’ said Erika.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said the officer.

Erika and Moss signed in, ducked under the tape and made their way over to the house.

E
rika and Moss
were met by a uniformed officer, who took them inside. The temperature in the hallway was cooler. It was tastefully decorated, with a large gilt mirror on the wall and a cream carpet leading up a set of stairs with dark polished wood bannisters. They followed the officer up the stairs, reaching a long landing where the cream carpet continued. The house was eerily silent. Erika realised it must be well insulated to block out the sounds of chaos from the street outside. The master bedroom was at the end of the landing. Sunlight streamed through the open door and particles of dust twirled lazily in the air.

‘Jesus,’ said Moss when they rounded the bedroom door. The victim’s naked body was splayed out on the mattress. He looked tall, with pale skin that was smooth and almost hairless. He lay on his back with a plastic bag over his head, tied tightly around his neck. His mouth was open and so was one eye, the lid squashed against the plastic. The other eye was badly bruised, so that it had swollen shut. His lips were pulled back, as if he were baring his teeth.

‘Who found the body?’ asked Erika.

‘A producer on his show,’ explained the officer. ‘She climbed up and smashed the window behind you to get inside.’

They turned and saw a large window, which looked out over the garden. There was a hole in the glass, surrounded by a spider web of cracks. The cream carpet under the frame was littered with broken glass.

‘So she’s confirmed this is Jack Hart?’ asked Erika.

‘Yeah,’ nodded the officer.

‘I thought his show was live every weekday? Today is Friday,’ said Moss.

They pondered that for a moment.

‘Okay. We need to get forensics in here fast,’ said Erika reaching for her phone.

I
saac Strong
and the team of CSIs arrived quickly and started work in their blue coveralls. A couple of hours later, Erika and Moss came back to the upstairs bedroom also wearing blue coveralls. A row of steel boxes had been placed around the bed to elevate the officers from contaminating any evidence.

‘Okay, Isaac. Do you think this is the same killer as Gregory Munro? There’s a plastic bag, he’s naked, a single male,’ started Erika.

‘Let’s hold off on that assumption for a moment,’ said Isaac, looking up at her and Moss from the other side of the double bed. A crime scene photographer leaned in between them and took a shot of the body. ‘He’s been dead for less than twenty-four hours. We can still see evidence of rigor mortis in the clenched hands, and the mouth and eyes. The house is east-facing and this room, in particular, benefits from shade throughout the day, so the temperature has facilitated a relatively textbook decay. And he was photographed arriving home late last night, so it’s more common sense than science. The plastic bag was tied under the chin…’ Isaac indicated where the drawstring had been tied tight and was biting into the skin. ‘There may have been a struggle; the left eye is badly bruised from a blow with a blunt object, perhaps a hand or a fist. There was an empty bottle of beer on the bedside table, which we’ve got going off for toxicology tests. Again, there is little sign of a struggle around the bed and in the room; it was all very neat and tidy. The victim could have been incapacitated… overwhelmed by whoever did this. There is no sign of sexual assault. As I always say, I’ll know more when I open him up.’

‘What’s this, on the sheet?’ asked Erika, pointing to a white-grey residue which covered the dark blue bed sheet next to the body. She crouched down and peered under the bed. There were a couple of discarded socks, and a thick layer of dust that had been disturbed.

‘Dust,’ she said, answering her own question. ‘It’s been disturbed under the bed and brought up onto the mattress.’

‘Jeez, someone was under the bed,’ said Moss. The crime scene photographer leaned in to take a close up of the victim’s body, firing off bright flashes. Suddenly, a flash of light came from behind them. Erika turned and saw a man crouching on the piece of flat roof outside the bedroom window. He was thin, with his hair shorn into a bright blue mohawk. He pushed his camera lens through the hole in the glass and fired off two more photos.

‘Hey!’ shouted Erika, pulling down her protective mask. She went to the window, but the man, who was dressed in denim shorts and a black AC/DC T-shirt, ducked down and took another couple of shots between her legs. He moved quickly to the edge of the flat roof and, with a tinkle of broken glass, started to climb down, clinging onto a wisteria growing in thick tangles around a gutter pipe.

‘Shit, who is that?’ said Erika.

‘Looks like paparazzi,’ said Moss.

They peered out of the window as the man reached the lawn below. There were no officers in the back garden. Erika looked at Moss and they darted out of the room.