Luke Delaney - Redemption of the Dead

‘I hope it does,’ Sean told him. ‘But right now it’s not going to help us, so what are we going to do next?’

‘Nothing,’ Bannan admitted.

‘Nothing? But there has to be a way of getting them to hand over their evidence, or at least get a look at the lab report about the blood spray pattern. I’m convinced he put the doll on the sofa after he cut the victim’s throat, but before he did the rest. He wanted a fucking audience and he was in a hurry, so much of a hurry he forgot to put his gloves back on. The doll had a plastic face. He could have left us his prints.’

‘It’s an interesting theory,’ Bannan told him, but there was no excitement in his voice. Sean noticed it.

‘Wait a minute — you’d already thought of it, hadn’t you?’

‘I’d considered it,’ he admitted.

‘And did you tell anyone?’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘It wouldn’t have changed anything. No one would have been interested in my theories. They had McCaig and that was enough.’

‘But what about checking the doll for blood spray patterns, to prove he put it there?’ Sean asked.

‘It wouldn’t change anything.’

‘But it could indicate he’d touched it — left his prints.’

‘The doll was dusted,’ Bannan crushed him. ‘There were no prints on it other than the mother’s and the boy’s. If the killer touched it at all he didn’t leave his prints.’

‘Something else then,’ Sean insisted. ‘Something else they missed.’

‘Forget it, son. There ain’t nothing I can do about it.’

‘There has to be,’ Sean insisted. ‘We can’t just let it slide.’

‘Yes, we can and yes, we will,’ Bannan told him. ‘This is a big boys’ game. You have to suck it up and move on. It’s what we do. When we catch the Parkside Rapist, and we will, we’ll know we’ve got the man who also killed Rebecca Fordham. Even if we never prove it in a court, at least we’ll know — you and me.’

‘That’s not enough.’

‘Sure it is. And for what he’s done to the other women he’ll get life anyway, so all things will work out equal.’

‘Not if he kills again,’ Sean reminded him, ‘and he will — I know he will.’

‘Then we’d better catch him fast, hadn’t we, son?’ Bannan told him. ‘Before he has a chance to.’

‘We can’t,’ Sean warned him, ‘not without access to the Fordham evidence. Do you have any friends at the Lab? Someone who owes you a favour?’

‘I know what you’re thinking and the answer’s no — I’m not going to sneak up the Lab and have a crafty look at what they may or may not have. You just don’t do that, son — not for anything.’

‘Why not? If you know they’re wrong.’

‘They’re Old Bill, son — more than that, they’re detectives. We don’t shaft each other — remember that.’

Sean tried to work the tension out of his neck by rolling his head around his shoulders.

‘Relax,’ Bannan told him, ‘we’ll get him and soon. This ain’t no master-criminal we’re after, it’s just another sick-nutter. He’s about due to fuck-up and when he does — we’ll be waiting for him.’

‘If you say so,’ he finally agreed, even though his heart told him differently.

Two Weeks Later

Four thirty a.m. and Sean lay alone in the bed in his small flat, waiting for the alarm to break the silence in thirty minutes’ time. He’d been awake for a couple of hours, tossing and turning before giving in to the questions and fears that electrified his mind and made sleep impossible. He’d been this way since his visit to the flat where Rebecca Fordham had been killed, and he couldn’t help wondering whether Bannan was feeling the same or if he really could just blank it out and move on. Maybe one day he’d be able to push things to one side and forget about them, no matter how important they might appear to be. Maybe one day he’d be able to sleep like other people slept no matter what he’d had to deal with during the preceding day — but not yet — not now.

The oppressive silence of the dark, still, room was suddenly broken by the electronic shrill of a machine somewhere in the flat demanding his attention. In his tiredness he assumed it was his alarm clock, but soon realised it couldn’t be — He’d set it for five a.m., but it was still only four thirty. As his mind cleared he realized it was the phone ringing in the lounge. ‘Shit,’ he swore to himself. He jumped from his bed and jogged into lounge, composing himself for a second before answering. ‘Hello.’

‘PC Corrigan?’ the voice asked.

‘Who wants to know?’

‘It’s DS Melody. Jump through the shower and get yourself to work — there’s been a murder — a bad one.’

‘How bad?’

‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ Melody told him.

‘Is it linked to the Parkside attacks?’

‘Save the questions for when you’re here.’

‘What about Rebecca Fordham? Does it look like the same man?’

‘It’s too early to draw any conclusions,’ Melody warned him. ‘Just get yourself in to work.’ The line went dead just as Sean’s imagination came to life. He knew, somehow he just knew, the same man had committed both crimes. He dropped the phone and sprinted for the bathroom.

* * *

It was almost midday before Sean returned to the police station after hours of pounding the streets of Woolwich and hammering on council-flat-door after council-flat-door close to the scene where a young mother and her child had been murdered in their own flat. He’d been told almost nothing by DS Melody when he’d reported to the Enquiry Office just after six that morning. Any delusions he’d had of being taken into the heart of the investigation had been dashed as Melody handed him a pile of door-to-door enquiry forms and a list of streets he’d been designated to canvass. He’d spied Bannan deep in conversation with a huddle of real detectives, but he’d not even been able to catch his eye. He was back to being a very small cog in a very large machine. But he needed more — needed to see the scene and the victims who were still inside — needed to breathe it deep into his soul. Run-of-the-mill enquiries and tasks were no longer enough.

He slid into the Enquiry Office and dropped his paperwork off in the returns box before heading for the exit and the canteen. As he was leaving, he nearly walked straight into Bannan who was walking and talking with two other suited men. He looked at Sean almost as if he’d never seen him before, but when they locked eyes Sean sensed his sudden recognition. ‘Guv’nor,’ Sean greeted him.

‘Hello, son. Still with us I see.’

‘Guv’nor, can I have a word?’ He sensed the confusion in the other men’s faces that a mere plain-clothed-constable should be daring to ask for some of Bannan’s time — especially on a day like this.

‘Can it wait?’ Bannan asked without irritation. ‘I’m a little busy right now.’

‘Not really,’ Sean told him, his eyes burning with intensity of his need, something Bannan seemed to acknowledge as he turned to the men who were flanking him.

‘Give me a minute,’ he told them. ‘This won’t take long.’ The men nodded and gave him quizzical looks before moving away. ‘Alright, son. What is it?’

‘I need to see the scene,’ he almost demanded, prompting Bannan to gently take him by the bicep and lead him out of the Enquiry Office and into the empty corridor.

‘Listen, son — That’s out of the question.’ Sean went to protest, but Bannan stopped him with a raised hand. ‘Slow down,’ he told him. ‘The scene’s being forensically examined as we speak, even I’m not allowed in there at the moment.’