Mark Pearson - Death Row

Delaney snorted, shaking his head with disgust.

‘… Peter Garnier led a group of detectives to Mad Bess Woods, a wooded conservation area outside Ruislip. No bodies were discovered but, as Sky News revealed to you exclusively earlier, someone fired a shot at Garnier, injuring our cameraman in the process. It can be no coincidence that only a few hours later a child of around the same age as Garnier’s previous victims was abducted from Carlton Row. Police sources have also revealed that an ongoing police investigation into the leaks …’

Diane Campbell strolled into the briefing room, her loud voice cutting across the reporter’s. ‘Someone shut that woman up.’

A remote was pointed at the television and muted the sound.

‘Okay, everyone. Listen up.’

Any muttering and whispered speculation subsided as the DCI walked up to the front of the gathering and swept her gaze around the assembled staff, uniforms and detectives alike.

‘Paddington Green are taking the lead on this, for obvious reasons. We are not treating today’s events as pure coincidence. Somebody tried to take out Peter Garnier, and someone else, or the same man, has decided to copycat him.’

‘We don’t know that yet, boss,’ Delaney spoke out.

‘If you’ve got something to share, detective, don’t wait for the speaking stick.’

Delaney shrugged. ‘It’s been an hour or so. The kid could yet turn up. The grandfather says he nodded off in his shed for just a minute.’

‘Yeah. Just like Ellie Peters did in 1995.’

‘The difference is that Ellie Peters was an alcoholic junkie who couldn’t have told you the time of day if you shoved a cuckoo clock up her arse and set the chimes for twelve.’

Laughter rippled around the room and Diane glared at her detective. ‘Save the jokes for when we get the little boy back, safe and sound. All right?’

‘I was just saying maybe we should wait till we start joining dots and get a picture that is completely different from what we think we should be looking at.’

‘Here’s the dots, cowboy. 1995, two kids are abducted from Carlton Row. 1997, Peter Garnier, a serial predator, a child rapist and murderer is arrested by chance. Clothing and DNA connect him to the missing children. 2010, he takes us to where he claims to have buried the bodies and someone takes a shot at him. A couple of hours later a kid in the age range he prefers is taken from the same street. What does that tell you?’

‘That maybe he had a partner in crime all those years ago.’

Diane looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Did he tell you anything in your interview with him this morning that we don’t know about?’

‘He told me that God killed children and that the world is designed as a place of chaos, and that by trying to impose order upon it we are going against God’s divine will and therefore the misery and pain and loss we suffer we have called down upon our own heads as a direct consequence of it.’

Diane looked at him for a moment. ‘Have you been drinking this morning, Jack?’

Delaney’s voice thickened, the soft Irish burr of his childhood accent becoming more noticeable. ‘I swear when I left that man’s presence I felt like taking a bath in surgical spirit and downing a bottle of Bushmills without benefit of glass, ice or soda, boss. But the answer to your question is no, I have not had a drink this morning.’

‘Then do you mind translating what you just said into English?’

Delaney shrugged impassively. ‘It’s what he told me. I am a simple detective, Diane. Not a charmer of snakes or a reader of the offal he has cast in his own brain to see into the future.’

‘You’re anything but simple, Jack. What do you think he meant?’

‘Exactly what he said. He is a sociopath. The worst kind of degenerate sociopath. He was telling us that he operates without a moral compass.’

‘We already knew that.’

‘He was telling us he can do anything he likes and we are powerless to stop him. And he can do it because he has a true understanding of the real nature of the universe, and the Divinity that created it is on his side.’

Diane shook her head, disgusted. ‘God help us, another politician.’

Delaney nodded. ‘You make a good point, ma’am.’

Diane Campbell turned back to the room. ‘Like I said, Paddington Green are taking the lead on this — serious crime unit because of the possible links to Garnier. We’ll be assisting with CID backup and uniform, likewise uniform from Harrow, Pinner, Wealdstone and the Met generally. It may well go national. The main thing is that we find this missing boy and we find him quickly.’

Chairs were scraped back as people stood and the hubbub started again as they took this as a sign of dismissal.

Diane held her hand up and spoke loudly. ‘One other thing before you go. Someone on the force has been leaking information to the press. That person will be identified … and if I find out it’s someone from our watch then I will personally have them strung up and left to dangle. And Jack, Paddington want to speak to you asap. Detective Inspector Robert Duncton. I believe you know him.’

Delaney nodded. ‘Tell him I’ll be at Carlton Row. Come on, Sally, get your chauffeur’s cap.’

As Sally hurried off to get her jacket, Delaney turned to Kate, who was standing nearby talking to Bob Wilkinson. ‘Sorry about lunch.’

‘You’re good for a rain check.’

‘Believe it.’

‘And Jack …’ She hesitated.

‘Go on.’

Kate stepped in closer and spoke quietly. ‘Your cousin Mary. She’s tied up in this somehow, isn’t she?’

Delaney looked around the room, then leaned in and put his hand on Kate’s upper arm. ‘I’ll explain later.’ He gave her arm a squeeze and headed out, followed by Sally Cartwright.

DI Tony Bennett watched him leave, deep in thought. Kate caught the look on his face and he smiled broadly. ‘Seems like I picked an interesting day to move to White City,’ he said to her.

‘Well, you know what they say.’

Bennett bent an enquiring eyebrow. ‘What?’

‘If you’re tired of White City, you’re tired of life.’

‘Who says that?’

‘Nobody who lives here,’ said Bob Wilkinson.

*

A light but steady rain had started to fall and Sally switched the windscreen wipers on, the rubbers scratching loudly at first before settling into a gentle swishing rhythm that was almost hypnotic.

Delaney looked out of the passenger window as they slowly progressed west, snarled in heavy traffic that was the norm now on Western Avenue.

‘You ever think about how many hours you’ve wasted on this particular stretch of road, Sally?’

‘Not particularly, sir.’

‘You’re young yet. If I was to sit and add up all the hours I’ve wasted sat in traffic on this miserable stretch of tarmac I’d probably cry.’

‘I like to keep my mind active, sir. Use the time to think.’

‘And what conclusions has that active brain of yours come to?’

Sally turned to him and smiled. ‘Take Peter Garnier, for example.’

‘What about him?’

‘The fact that he lied about taking us to find the bodies. The fact that he wanted to speak to you.’

‘Go on.’

‘He’s interfacing with us, sir. He hasn’t done that for fifteen years.’

‘So?’

‘So he’s on the radar. We only catch them if they’re on the radar, don’t we? If they’re in the system somewhere, somehow. There are hundreds of them out there that we don’t know about. Thousands. Some we never catch. Hundreds of crimes we don’t know about. Rapes. Assaults. Murders we’ll never know about.’

‘And this is good? Why?’

‘Well, it’s not good, is it, sir? That’s my point, that’s what you should take from what you told us Garnier said to you.’