Хилари Боннер - Deadly Dance

‘Forensics must have got Terry Cooke’s sample mixed up. I can’t think of anything other explanation. I know there is supposed to be every precaution in place and it would be highly unusual, but it wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened. They’ll deny it, of course.’

‘They can deny all they fucking like, but heads are going to roll over this, Vogel, and I sure as hell do not intend one of them to be mine.’

‘No sir,’ murmured Vogel formally. ‘Will that be all, sir?’

‘For the moment. Just sort this bloody mess out as soon as, Vogel, do you hear?’

‘Yes sir,’ said Vogel, who was already halfway out of the door.

Back in his own office, he called in Willis and Saslow to give them the bad news.

‘I can’t believe it boss,’ said Willis. ‘How could a mistake like that have happened?’

‘There’ll be an inquiry of course,’ said Vogel. ‘Meanwhile, we can only start from where we are and it pretty much means starting again, but this time with even more cards stacked against us. We’ll be liaising with the Met, but they’ve got bugger all themselves, so far.’

‘Are we going back to regarding Al the paedo as our number one suspect then, boss?’ asked Saslow.

‘He could be our only suspect, certainly our only lead, however weak,’ Vogel replied morosely.

It was nearly ten at night. The DI was exhausted and bewildered. He had little of his usual energy. He was having to push himself, but he couldn’t even face the walk and the train journey home. He asked if there was a squad car free to take him to Sea Mills, something he almost never did. Vogel didn’t think tax payers should be paying to get police officers home. Particularly not police officers who were stupid enough never to have learned to drive. He believed squad cars had rather more important purposes, but on this occasion, he gave in to his total weariness of mind and body and asked for a ride home.

His mood, driven both by his personal and professional dilemmas, was blacker than ever by the time he arrived. It felt as if his entire life was in a mess. The Melanie Cooke case was in total disarray and the revelation that he had been adopted continued to torment him. Then something else happened, the very rarity of which made it all the more horrible. He had a row with Mary. A nasty silly row, which was entirely his fault.

She began to ask about his day, ready to listen and to support him like she always did. He bit her head off.

‘Can’t you see I’ve had enough,’ he snapped. ‘I’m living and breathing this damned case and now there’s been a major cock-up, which I’m likely to get the blame for. Do you think I want to bring it back here with me?’

‘Well, you usually say how much it helps you to talk things through with me,’ Mary began reasonably.

‘Well not this time. You should be able to bloody well tell.’

‘Really?’

Mary was a good woman, totally supportive of her husband and an exceptionally reasonable and understanding wife. She was not a saint.

Vogel caught the note of icy warning in her voice, but didn’t care.

‘Yes, bloody really ,’ he stormed. ‘I’m dog-tired. I just want to sleep, for a week if I could.’

‘David, stop taking this out on me, do you hear?’ Mary shouted back. ‘Now. Right now. You’re going too far.’

‘Taking what out on you, for God’s sake?’ Vogel muttered.

‘You know very well what. The Melanie Cooke case may be a nightmare, but you can always cope with your work. Always. What you can’t cope with is learning that you were adopted and that you weren’t even born a Jew. And you aren’t going to cope with it until you come to terms with it.’

‘Indeed? As easy as that, is it? And what do you suggest I do about it?’

‘I never said it was easy. What you do is your business, but sweeping the whole thing under the carpet isn’t going to work. Perhaps you should at least get in touch with your sister and your birth mother. Maybe arrange to meet them. You never know. It might help.’

‘Might it? Well, if you’re so bloody wise why don’t you bloody well do it. I’m too busy for any of this. I’m in the middle of a murder inquiry which has gone totally pear-shaped.’

‘Fine. I might just do that. If that’s what you really want, I’ll call them tomorrow!’

‘You know what Mary, I don’t care what you do about my bloody birth mother and my bloody half-sister. I’m too tired to care. I just want to go to sleep and I’m sleeping right here.’

He pointed at the sofa.

Mary said nothing more. She simply headed for their bedroom in silence.

Vogel curled up on the sofa as he had threatened, wrapping himself in his coat.

It was not the first row Mary and David Vogel had had in their marriage, but it was the first ever to end with them sleeping apart.

The next morning, Vogel remained more than a little preoccupied with the events of the previous evening. This was most unusual for him when he was working and on such a major case, especially one so disturbing in so many ways. He had just decided that he would call Mary and try to put things right, when his desk phone rang. His mind was still largely on Mary as he answered it.

‘Vogel,’ he said absent-mindedly.

Within seconds, his whole body language changed. He sat bolt upright in his chair, clearly listening intently.

‘My God,’ he said. ‘That’s extraordinary.’

Then he added: ‘Right. Yes. It gets curiouser and curiouser, indeed.’

He spoke for a few minutes more, before replacing the phone in its holder, then he called Willis and Saslow into his office.

‘I’ve just had a call from Bob Farley at Trinity Road,’ he began. ‘He’s now leading the team over there on the Thai girl murder case. They’ve just had the DNA results back. Another direct match. Actually two direct matches — with both the DNA taken from Tim Southey and from Melanie Cooke.’

‘Jesus,’ said Willis.

‘Are they sure they’ve got it right, boss?’ asked Saslow.

All three knew that was a rhetorical question. A mistake within forensics on the scale they had witnessed was not going to happen twice, let alone three times.

‘So, boss, we are looking for just one perpetrator for all three murders,’ said Saslow.

‘It would seem so.’

‘But they’re so different. I mean, you’d come up with a totally different profile for each, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes.’ Vogel concurred. ‘Firstly, we have someone whose target was a gay man. But, from what we know, Tim Southey’s killer is a homosexual himself, as there was plenty of evidence of sexual activity. We don’t know for sure how Southey met him, but the lad did have gay dating apps on his phone. Secondly, we have a killer who murdered a young Thai woman. One whom he had contacted through the net, allegedly with a view to a long-term relationship. The woman apparently thought she was coming here to marry him. Meanwhile, our third killer is a paedophile weirdo, who also met his victim through an online dating site. So, besides the DNA matches, the use of dating websites is the only thing we have so far that might remotely link the three killers. If it really is one man, then that’s extraordinary. It’s quite unheard of.’

‘Presumably there are no other DNA matches on record?’ queried Saslow.

‘No,’ Vogel agreed. ‘No matches and our perpetrator clearly knows there won’t be. He has not exactly been careful about avoiding giving us samples. Although, if the paedo is the same man who’s been staking out primary schools he always kept his stolen vehicles free of prints for some reason. Habit maybe. Or just good paedophile practice.’ Vogel stretched his lips into a humourless smile.