Luke Delaney - Cold Killing

I’m at work again; boring, but necessary. I read the papers and watch the news endlessly. I have to be sure they haven’t linked any of my so-called crimes.

I’ve been considering looking outside of London for my next subject. Can’t say the idea appeals much, though. London lends itself so well to my imagination. It truly is a magnificent backdrop, so I think I’ll stay for now. But it’s almost inevitable I’ll have to leave before too much longer. Sooner or later some bright spark will make a connection. They’ll never connect them all. Impossible. But they’ll connect two, maybe more, and then they’ll start to take things seriously and that won’t be good for me.

Wednesday

By 7:30 A.M. Sean was back at work. A few hours’ sleep, a shower, and clean clothes had partially revived him. He would be briefing half the team soon. The other half was still across London, watching Hellier’s office. Apparently Hellier hadn’t gone home all night. He’d stayed in his office. He was definitely up to something.

Sean’s office phone rang. “DI Corrigan speaking.” He tried to disguise his tiredness.

“Morning, sir,” a voice on the other end replied. “I’m DC Kelsey, calling from SO11.” The name meant nothing to Sean. “You sent some numbers to us. Telephone numbers in an address book taken from a James Hellier. You wanted subscribers’ checks on them?”

Sean remembered. “Yes, of course. How can I help?”

“Just a courtesy call, really. To let you know we did the checks and none of them came back as a trace. Basically, they’re not telephone numbers as such.”

“ ‘As such’?” Sean asked.

“Yeah. I think they could be telephone numbers ultimately, but they’re probably coded.”

Sean stood up. He’d expected as much. So that was why Hellier denied having Daniel Graydon’s number in the book. If he’d admitted to that, he would have had to declare his code and then they could have deciphered every number in the book. They could have traced all his secret contacts. It would have told them a great many things. Hellier was careful. The killer was careful.

“Could you decipher the code?” Sean asked.

“We don’t do deciphering at SO11,” DC Kelsey replied.

“Any idea who does?”

“There isn’t anywhere specific that I know of. You need to find your own expert. MI5, a university lecturer, something like that.”

“Tell me you’re joking?” Sean said, without knowing why he was so surprised.

“Afraid not. But I get some quiet spells, sometimes. I could have a play with them for you, if you like.”

“You’re a good man,” Sean replied. “Call me as soon as you get anything.” He hung the phone up only for it to immediately ring again. At the same time Sally appeared at the door. He held his index finger up to stall her and grabbed the phone.

“DI Corrigan.” Still early morning and already his telephone-answering manner was degenerating.

“Guv’nor, it’s Stan.” It was DC Stan McGowan, the detective in charge of the second makeshift surveillance team. “I don’t know what happened here last night,” he went on, “but someone on the other surveillance crew fucked up.”

“What’s going on?”

“I was told Target One didn’t leave the office last night.” Stan used surveillance language to describe Hellier.

“That’s what I heard.”

“Then why did we just see Target One enter it?”

Sean sat slowly. “Impossible.”

“Impossible or not, I’ve seen him with my own eyes. It’s been confirmed by observation posts one and three. And he’s wearing fresh clothes too. Sorry, boss. Someone fucked up.”

Sean knew what it meant. Hellier had been running free again. All night. Would there be a price to pay for their mistake? Had it cost someone their life?

Donnelly appeared in his doorway as he was slamming the phone down. “Problem?” he asked.

Sean gave a long sigh before answering. “Whoever was covering Hellier last night lost him.” He sprang to his feet and began moving toward the briefing room. Donnelly and Sally followed.

“No way,” Donnelly insisted. “Not while I was covering him, no fucking way. He made it easy for us and stayed at work all night, too scared of the press to show his face.”

“Sorry, Dave.” Sean spoke without looking at him. “It’s been confirmed. No mistake. Hellier slipped past you. I need you to work out how that could have happened and when it could have happened.”

“I don’t fucking believe this,” Donnelly protested.

“It’s done, Dave.” Sean still didn’t look at him. “Let it go.”

Sally tried to help. “There were no murders last night. I’ve already checked.”

“You mean there were no murders discovered last night,” Sean pointed out. “There’s a difference,” he added unnecessarily. “Let’s hope there’ll be no more cock-ups today.”

“Wait a minute, guv’nor,” Donnelly protested. “I said this half-baked surveillance was a waste of time. I had five tired detectives to cover a target. It was never going to be enough.”

Sean realized his mistake. “Okay. Okay. I know you and the team would have done your best. Maybe there’s another way out of the building?”

“There is,” Donnelly snapped. “Through a basement car park, but we had that covered.”

“Something else then.” Sean wanted to leave the subject.

“Maybe,” Donnelly conceded.

They swept into the briefing room. There were only five detectives waiting for them. Sean was running out of people. The surveillance effort was putting pressure on his resources.

What chatter there had been died down quickly. Everybody automatically took a seat. Sean decided not to mention that Hellier had slipped through their surveillance. He’d let Donnelly tell them later. He knew where Hellier was now, so there was no point in making more of it. He could ill afford divisions in his team.

Conscious of time closing in on him, he got straight to business: “We may well have linked our boy to another murder,” he informed the small audience of detectives. There was a murmur around the room, but no looks of surprise. Sean had told Donnelly the night before. He must have spread the news already.

“On what grounds?” Donnelly asked.

“Three things,” Sean replied. “The lack of usable forensic evidence. The fact that a shoe print belonging to a plain-soled shoe approximately the same size as those found at our scene was recovered. And the type of victim.”

“Hold on there, guv’nor,” Donnelly said. “I thought the victim out east was a teenage girl.”

Sean felt the eyes of the room watching him, waiting for a response. “I don’t think the sex of the victims is relevant.” He knew he had to convince his team that he was right. It was vital that he took them with him. If he lost their confidence now, he would be alone. Isolated.

“Okay,” Donnelly said. “How we going to move this thing forward?”

“Publicity,” Sean answered. “It’s the one tool left in the box that we haven’t used. It’ll spread the inquiry wider than we can without it. I’m hopeful it’ll turn up a key witness. Someone placing Hellier at or near the victim’s home on the night of the murder. Maybe he used a cab. Maybe we’ll get lucky.

“You sort out a press conference, Dave,” Sean continued. “But make sure you keep our Press Bureau informed. I don’t want to piss on anybody’s chips. Sally, you’ll take care of Crimewatch .”

“Gonna be a TV star, eh, Sally?” Donnelly teased. Sally flicked him a middle-finger salute.

“The Murder Investigation Team investigating the East London killing will do their own press stuff,” Sean announced. “At this time we’re not going to mention there could be a link between the two.”