James Carol - The Quiet Man

Jefferies went quiet for a second, then nodded. ‘Okay, let’s do this before I change my mind.’

He turned and started walking. Winter and Anderton fell in line behind him. Matthews was standing off to one side, out of his depth and happy to let the grownups make the big decisions. Jefferies made them wait at the kerb while he went inside the house to find Freeman. Winter kept getting strange looks from the people milling around outside the house. These were different from the looks he usually got. It made him wonder who else had seen the interview. He was beginning to wonder who hadn’t seen it.

This was another reason he avoided talking to the media. Unwanted attention made him uncomfortable. Why did people chase fame? It made no sense. He could see Delaney getting organised on the public side of the barrier. The woman was a moth who would bash herself up against the limelight until her dying breath. Why? What was missing from her life? He just didn’t get it.

It was another four minutes before Freeman and Jefferies appeared. Freeman was dressed from head to toe in a white forensic suit. He removed his face mask and let it dangle around his neck, then he pulled down the hood and walked over. Even though his hair was ruffled from the hood he would still have looked great on TV.

‘You have one minute,’ he said.

‘I need to see the crime scene,’ Winter told him.

‘Goodbye.’ Freeman turned to leave.

‘Let me take a look. There’s going to be something there that your people will miss. I guarantee it.’

Freeman turned back. There was anger in his face, impatience in his stance. ‘Are you saying that my people are incompetent?’

‘No, what I’m saying is that this is my specialty. You guys have got no experience of dealing with serial killers. I do. What’s more, I’m happy to be used and abused. In fact, I welcome it. Anything to catch this guy.’

‘Read my lips: it’s not going to happen.’

Winter motioned to where Delaney was waiting by the barrier. ‘I’ve promised Ms Delaney an interview. She’s expecting an exclusive on how we’ve managed to uncover some new information that’s going to lead you guys straight to the killer’s door. That’s why she’s standing there salivating like one of Pavlov’s dogs.’

‘Except that hasn’t happened, has it? There is no miracle breakthrough.’

‘Which is why I’m going to talk about the way you’re screwing up this investigation. You saw what happened to Anderton. It wasn’t pretty. Now put yourself in her shoes.’

‘Is that supposed to be a threat?’

‘There’s no supposing about it.’

‘I want you to leave. If you don’t go voluntarily, I’ll have you escorted.’

‘Not going to happen. Delaney is desperate to fill up airtime, and I know how to give good media.’ Winter paused and waited for Freeman to meet his eye. ‘The thing is, so do you.’

Freeman stared over at Delaney while he worked through his options. Nobody liked to be forced into a corner, particularly when they were supposed to be in charge. He took a deep breath and forced out a sigh. His face was tight and he looked more pissed than ever.

‘Okay, you can see the crime scene, but Jefferies will be babysitting you the whole time.’ He turned to Jefferies. ‘Do you understand? Don’t let him out of your sight. Not for a second.’

‘Yes, sir.’

He turned to Anderton. ‘You don’t get to go anywhere near the house. Do you understand?’

‘That’s fine with me, Peter.’

He stared for a second longer, then turned back to Winter. ‘Anything you discover, you share. Do you understand?’

‘That goes without saying.’

Freeman stomped off toward the house, pulling the hood and the mask back into place as he walked. Winter watched him go, considering the possible repercussions, then deciding he didn’t care. All that mattered was that he’d just got his hands on that elusive Golden Ticket.

The Tyvek suit was too big and rustled whenever Winter moved. His breath was hot and moist from being bounced back by the mask. Jefferies was dressed the same and looked just as uncomfortable. Winter followed him up the path to the house and stopped at the front door. There was no evidence of a break-in, which was consistent with the earlier murders. According to one of Anderton’s contacts, the current theory was that the killer had knocked on the door sometime yesterday evening, and the victim had opened it and let them in. This wasn’t so far-fetched, not if the victims had known the killer. If that was the case then it was good news. The point where their lives had intersected hadn’t been found yet, but it would.

Even if the victim hadn’t known the killer, the theory might still hold. The key case was Ted Bundy. He hadn’t charmed his way into his victims’ homes, but he had charmed them into the back of his van by faking a broken arm. The point was that serial killers could be incredibly persuasive. This killer was profiling as being on the small side of average, so he wouldn’t be physically intimidating. It wouldn’t be too difficult for him to come up with a plausible sob story. And maybe he didn’t need one. Maybe he posed as a delivery driver or a pollster, or maybe he wore a cop uniform. Because the terrifying truth was that most people were more than happy to open their door to a complete stranger.

Except that couldn’t have happened here. The problem was Cody. It was possible that the killer had waited for him to go to bed before making his move. Possible, but unlikely. Again, the later and darker it got, the more suspicious you were going to be. The bomb had detonated at twenty after seven this morning. Working back, the most likely scenario was that the killer had got here in the early hours. The chronology didn’t work. No one opened the door to a stranger in the middle of the night, not without thoroughly vetting their credentials to make sure they were who they claimed to be. Which meant that he had not got in through the front door.

‘How did he get in?’ Winter asked Jefferies. ‘The back door or a window?’

‘The back door.’

‘Let’s go.’

Jefferies led the way to the rear of the property. The backyard was small and tidy. There was a trampoline and a freestanding basketball hoop. Like any ten-year-old, Cody would have energy to burn. Planters were arranged neatly on the decking and there was a barbecue under a green tarpaulin cover. The garden table had space for four. Winter could hear the ghost echo of summer laughter hanging in the air.

The killer had made a small circular hole above the door handle with a glass cutter, then reached through, unlocked the door and let himself in. A CSI was dusting the door for prints. It was patient, careful work. Time always stretched out in crime scenes, everyone taking it slow, the worry of destroying evidence hanging constantly at your shoulder. They walked past the forensics specialist and went into the kitchen. Unlike the earlier scenes, it was still intact. Winter looked at Jefferies.

‘I’m not seeing any devastation.’

‘He did it in the bedroom this time.’

‘Which is yet another change to his MO.’

‘You make that sound like a good thing.’

‘Not a good thing, the best. By understanding the reasons he changed MO we get an insight into his original intentions. By understanding those, we get to know him better.’

Jefferies was shaking his head, unimpressed. ‘That all sounds unnecessarily complicated. Like I say, give me a drive-by shooting any day.’

‘You’re loving this really,’ Winter said. ‘Go on, admit it.’

‘You think?’

Evidence of Myra and Cody’s last evening together lay scattered throughout the kitchen. The wine glass with the red stain in the bottom, the tablet charging at one of the wall sockets. The backpack on the table, zipped up and ready for morning. All four dining chairs were upright and pushed neatly into their spaces.