Luke Delaney - Cold Killing

“Prove that, can you? That I killed him? Do you really have indisputable evidence of that? My fingerprints on the murder weapon? My DNA on his body? Maybe CCTV of me in the act, so to speak? But you don’t, do you?”

Sean sat silently considering how best to play his final trump card, trying to guess how Gibran would react. Would he grow angry and reveal his true self? Would he be humbled and confess? Would he continue his calm ambiguous denials? Slowly, deliberately, he pulled a transparent evidence bag from the pocket of his jacket, hanging over the back of his chair. He casually tossed the bag containing Sally’s bloodied identification across the table.

Sean saw Gibran glance down at the bag. For the first time he thought he saw a hint of confusion in his face.

“DS Jones’s identification,” he said. “Found hidden under the lining of a desk drawer in your home. How did her ID find its way into your house?”

Gibran lifted the evidence bag and studied the contents. “It appears I’ve underestimated your determination,” he said.

“How did it get there?” Sean repeated the question he knew Gibran couldn’t answer.

“We both know that’s not important,” Gibran answered. “You will try and convince a court that I took it as a trophy. That I took it because of a need to maintain a connection to my victim. That I used it to help relive the night when she should have died. They may believe you. They may not.”

“And what will you tell the court?” Sean asked. “What will you tell them to convince them you’re not what I say you are?”

Gibran leaned forward, smiling confidently. Sean thought he could begin to smell the same animal musk leaking from Gibran he’d smelled on Hellier.

“For that, Inspector,” Gibran said smugly, “we’ll all have to wait and see. Won’t we?”

Donnelly joined Sean in his office, where the pair of them sat listening to the recording of Gibran’s interview. When it concluded, Donnelly was first to speak.

“He told us fuck all.”

“He was never going to talk,” Sean said. “But I needed to be near him for a while. To watch him. Listen to him.”

“And?” Donnelly asked.

“He’s our man. No doubts this time. Hellier was nothing more than his pawn.”

“Jesus,” Donnelly said. “He must have spent years planning this. What sort of man spends years planning to kill strangers?”

“One who never wants to stop,” Sean answered. “He knew we would catch him eventually, unless we weren’t looking for him, and we’d only stop looking for him once we had someone locked up. Someone we were convinced was guilty of the murders. It nearly worked too. I took the bait like a fool. Let my feelings toward Hellier blind my judgment. I almost sent the wrong man to prison.”

“No one would have cried too much for Hellier,” said Donnelly.

Sean shook his head. “That’s not what bothers me,” he said. “The only safe place for Hellier is behind bars, but I almost missed Gibran, almost handed him the whole game. If Sally hadn’t survived, who knows? Maybe we would never have caught him.”

“But we did catch him,” Donnelly reminded him. “ You caught him.”

“I know, but how many people would still be alive if I hadn’t wasted so much time chasing Hellier?”

“None of them,” Donnelly answered unwaveringly. “Gibran was a bolt of lightning. He came from nowhere. We couldn’t have caught him any sooner. It wasn’t possible. We did what we always do. We followed the evidence, concentrated on the most likely suspect. We shook trees and waited to see what would fall out. And eventually the right man did.

“If it had been anyone else in charge of the case, Gibran would still be out there and Sally would be dead. You need to know that.”

“All the same, this doesn’t feel like a success.”

“Does it ever?” Donnelly asked.

“No. I suppose not.”

“By the way, Steven Paramore turned up.”

“Who?” Sean asked, the name wiped from his memory.

“Remember, the guy recently released after serving eight for the attempted murder of a gay bloke?”

“Yes. Sorry. I remember now.”

“Immigration nicked him coming back into the country on a false passport. He’d been enjoying the pleasures of Bangkok for a couple of weeks. Another suspect eliminated-not that you ever thought he was, right?” Sean didn’t answer. “How did you know, by the way? How did you know Gibran went after Sally?”

“Something Hellier said, that it could only be one man. Only one man knew so much about him. Then I remembered Sally telling me about her meeting with Gibran, the things he’d said about Hellier, deliberately feeding our suspicions. It suddenly became so clear to me. Clear who the killer was and even clearer that he would have to get to Sally, even if it meant revealing that Hellier wasn’t the real killer. At least he’d have stopped us discovering it was him. You know, if Sally hadn’t survived the night she was attacked, Gibran would still be out there and we wouldn’t have a bloody clue. Sally getting out alive collapsed the foundations of everything Gibran had built.”

“Why do you think he chose Hellier?” Donnelly asked.

“Somehow he knew what Hellier was. The moment he met Hellier, he knew. There was no way he could have pinned his crimes on some clean-living man on the street. He needed someone we would believe in. Hellier was perfect. Maybe he even found out about Hellier’s real past. Who knows? But once he found him, he showed his patience, his control. He spent years watching him, learning all he could about him. Even made sure he was employed by Butler and Mason so he could keep him close. And Hellier never suspected a thing, not until right at the end.

“I can’t prove it yet, but I’m pretty damn sure Hellier’s solicitor will turn out to be a company man too. Butler and Mason would have been picking up his tab, not Hellier. No doubt he was all too happy to keep Gibran informed of the investigation’s progress.”

“That would have been useful,” Donnelly said.

“Very,” Sean agreed. “All we have to do is try to prove it, somehow.” He shook the doubts away, for now at least.

“The hairs from Linda Kotler’s flat?” he asked. “I’m still waiting for someone to explain how Hellier’s hairs found their way into the crime scene.”

“Aye,” Donnelly said sheepishly. “I was meaning to tell you about that. Remember when we met Hellier at Belgravia?”

“Of course.”

“We took his body samples. .”

“I’m listening.”

“Including some head hair. .”

“Oh dear,” Sean said with a wry smile. “Whose idea was that?”

“Mine. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to keep a couple of hairs for ourselves, leave them at an appropriate scene if things started getting desperate.”

“So you planted them at the Kotler scene for Dr. Canning to find? Very nice.”

“No,” Donnelly said, “not me. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t convinced about Hellier, so I held them back, but. .”

“But what?”

“I gave them to Paulo to look after, just until we needed them. .”

“And Paulo was convinced about Hellier and decided not to wait?”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“He told you all this?”

“Aye. Once you nailed Gibran, Paulo ’fessed up. No need to panic, though-I’ve already made it look like an administrative balls-up. As far as anyone will ever know, Paulo accidentally sent the wrong samples to the lab. He mistook the samples taken from Hellier for hairs gathered from the Kotler scene, so no surprise they found a match. But it’s covered. Trust me.”

“I take it he understands he’ll have to explain this administrative balls-up in court at the trial?”