Luke Delaney - Cold Killing

His mobile phone began to ring, the display telling him the number had been withheld. Something told him he should answer.

“James Hellier speaking.”

“Mr. Hellier. You are in great danger.” It was him again.

“Like I said earlier-you were supposed to meet me last night.” Hellier sounded strong. He knew how to dominate. “I don’t like being fucked around.”

“I just want to help you,” the voice said. “You must believe me.”

“Why?” Hellier demanded. “Why do you want to help me? You don’t know me.”

“Are you sure of that?” the voice asked.

Hellier didn’t answer. He was thinking. The caller sensed his doubt.

“Corrigan. I can give you something, show you something that’ll keep him away from you. Keep them all away from you.”

“I’m not worried about the police.” Hellier sounded insulted. “They can’t touch me.”

“Yes, they can,” the voice replied. “Corrigan. He’s not intending to take you to court. He won’t risk that.”

“What are you talking about?” Hellier began to sound more concerned. “What do you mean?”

“Meet me tomorrow night if you value your neck as much as I think you do.”

“Where?” Hellier asked.

“Somewhere in Central London. I’ll call you again tomorrow. At about seven. And don’t bring the police. They’re still following you.”

“Wait a minute.” Hellier was too late. The line was dead.

The three unmarked cars drove down the middle of Bayswater Road. Traffic on both sides yielded to their sirens and madly spinning blue lights. They were heading toward Knightsbridge. Toward Hellier.

Sean had the forensic evidence he’d been praying for. The killer had made a serious mistake, but it was too early to say anything other than that the hairs appeared to be the same color as Hellier’s. Sandy.

Sally drove while Sean sat in the passenger seat. She broke the silent tension. “Maybe we should process the hair first, guv’nor. Get its DNA profile and compare it to the DNA database?” She had to shout to be heard above the screaming sirens.

“Hellier’s not on the DNA database, remember. He’s got no previous,” Sean argued.

“Maybe the hairs aren’t Hellier’s,” Sally persisted. “We could process them first and have them compared to profiles on the database. It could show they belong to someone other than Hellier and then we’d have a cast-in-iron suspect. And if we don’t get a hit on the database, then it’ll point more strongly toward Hellier being our man.”

“Believe me,” he reassured her, “Hellier’s our man.

“Then why don’t we compare the samples to the ones we’ve already taken off Hellier?” She referred to those taken in the Belgravia police station at the beginning of the investigation into the murder of Daniel Graydon. “Then before we even arrest him we’d know he killed Linda Kotler.”

“You know we can’t use them,” Sean shouted above the noise inside the car. “That was a different murder. We’d be slaughtered if we were ever found out.” It was true. They couldn’t use elimination samples taken from a suspect or witness for one crime to prove they were involved in another. The suspect would have to be told specifically what investigation their samples were being used in, or they would be deemed to have been taken illegally.

“Maybe we could do it so no one would know?” Sally continued. “Just do it so we would know for sure it was Hellier. Don’t tell anyone. Don’t mention it in his initial interview, keep it to ourselves, then do it legally. Take new samples, whatever we have to, but at least we would know it was him. Interview him and let him hang himself with lies.”

“No.” Sean shook his head. “I can’t risk that. We do it properly. It’s Hellier, I know it. There’s no need to take shortcuts.”

Sally gripped the steering wheel harder and said nothing.

Sean tapped the number of the surveillance team leader into his mobile.

“DS Handy.” Sean could hear the radio chatter in the background.

“Don-Sean. Where’s my man?”

“He’s on the move,” said DS Handy. “Just left his office on foot.”

“Heading home?” Sean asked.

“Heading to the tube station.”

“We’re on our way to you,” Sean told him. “We’re gonna take him out.”

“Wait a minute,” DS Handy said, “he’s hailing a cab.” There was a pause. “Want us to take him out for you?”

“No,” Sean said. “Can you follow the cab?”

“Shouldn’t be too difficult. Given that it’s lime green with a giant packet of Skittles on its side.”

“Follow it,” Sean said, making the decision. “But keep me up to date. You follow him and we’ll follow you.”

“No problem.”

Sean could feel Sally looking between him and the road as she drove fast through the traffic.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, sir,” she said.

“There’s more out there for us, Sally. This could be our last chance to let Hellier lead us to something.”

“What more do we need? We have his hair. His DNA will match.” She was nervous for both of them. Sean was taking a risk. Maybe one he didn’t have to take.

“We have hairs,” Sean pointed out. “Not necessarily Hellier’s. And they bother me. Too easy. All of a sudden he drops two rooted hairs right where we can find them. Hellier’s smart. Certainly smart enough to plant someone else’s hair at the scene. Imagine what that would do to any case against him. His defense would have a fucking field day. We’d never even get it to court. If I think I can get more, I’ll take the chance.”

“Just because it was easy doesn’t mean it’s not right.”

Sean didn’t answer her. She tried again.

“The law says that when we have evidence to arrest, we should arrest,” Sally said, quoting the Police and Criminal Evidence Act. She was right and Sean knew it.

“Only until he goes home,” Sean said, seeking to assure her. “If he doesn’t lead us to something before then, we arrest him.”

Sally exhaled and tried to concentrate on the road ahead.

Bryanston Street. Marble Arch,” Hellier calmly told the cabdriver, who gave a nod and pulled away without speaking. Hellier tried to relax in the back, but he knew he was being followed again and there were more of them this time-he’d already counted fourteen. He could run around the tube system, but there was a chance they would have enough bodies to stay with him. He would try something else.

The cab drove into Bryanston Street. Hellier tapped on the glass screen designed to keep the drunks and psychotics at bay. “Here’s fine,” he said. The taxi pulled into the curb. Hellier poked a ten-pound note through the screen, got out, and walked away without waiting for change. He entered the Avis car rental shop. He knew they were still watching.

Sean’s phone rang, startling him. He was walking a tightrope that left him feeling wired.

“DS Handy, guv. Looks like your boy’s about to hire a car.”

“Problem?” Sean asked.

“No. I’d rather he was in a car than running around on foot.”

“Fine. We stay with him until I say otherwise.” Sean hung up. Sally said nothing.

Hellier rented the largest and fastest car they had. He used the driver’s license in the name of James Hellier and paid with an American Express Black card in the same name. He would miss James Hellier.

The black Vauxhall slipped into Bryanston Street. The three-liter V-6 engine gave a reassuring growl. Hellier began to relax a little as he listened to the engine’s cylinders gently thudding above the low revs.

At the end of the road he turned left into Gloucester Place and joined the three lanes of traffic all heading north. He kept pace with the traffic, but no more. He stopped carefully at traffic lights and showed no hurry to pull away. He didn’t need to check his mirrors. He knew they would be following, running parallels along the adjacent streets, leapfrogging to the junctions ahead, changing the cars immediately behind him as often as they could.