Paul Finch - Stalkers

‘Suppose that what Margaret Price actually saw was a mass of scar tissue?’ Heck argued. ‘That might explain why he was hooded all the time. Look, it’s partly a hunch, I admit … but Shane Klim would be an excellent fit.’

He’d brought Shane Klim, a repeat rapist from the Midlands, to his superiors’ attention previously, on the basis that while escaping from Rotherwood high security prison on the Fylde Coast four years ago, Klim had been attacked by guard dogs and had had his face very badly bitten (in fact ‘torn to bits’ was how one witness described it). Though Klim killed two of the dogs and got clean away, it was deemed highly likely that his face would be disfigured afterwards. The problem was that Klim had not been seen since, so no one really knew how badly he’d been scarred.

Gemma pondered what little they knew. ‘And you’re absolutely sure there’s no one else in the system with that extent of facial damage?’

‘No one matches that profile at all,’ Heck said.

She assessed the most recent image they had of Klim; a custodial mugshot taken before his escape from Rotherwood. It portrayed a brutish man with wide cheekbones, heavy brows, a broken nose, piggy eyes, a shaven head and jug-handle ears. ‘Do you have any info on his whereabouts yet?’

‘Not yet, but I soon will.’ Heck handed over the third and final picture. ‘Because this is our next new lead. I only came up with it the other day, but I think it’s a goer. Take a look at Ron O’Hoorigan, a habitual house-breaker. He was in Rotherwood prison at the same time, and I’ve now learned that he shared a cell with Klim for nearly two years.’

O’Hoorigan didn’t look quite as mean as Klim, but Gemma knew how looks could be deceptive. He had a lean hatchet-face, with thick, dark sideburns and longish dark hair which hung to his shoulders in a greasy mop.

‘You think he may know something?’ she asked.

‘Cons talk, especially when they’re banged up together twenty-three hours a day.’

‘Heck, you seriously think Klim told O’Hoorigan he was planning to escape?’

‘It wouldn’t be the first time that happened.’

‘Even if he did, he’s hardly likely to have told him where he was going afterwards, or what his plans were for the continuation of his criminal career once he’d got out.’

Heck looked frustrated. ‘We won’t know unless we ask O’Hoorigan, will we?’

‘Is O’Hoorigan still inside?’

‘No. He was released eight months ago. As far as we know, he’s now on his home patch in Salford, Manchester.’

‘That’s your old hunting ground, isn’t it?’

‘That was a long time ago,’ Heck said. ‘But I know the area, yeah.’

She handed the photo back, saying nothing.

‘So what do you think?’ he asked. ‘I know there are a few assumptions here, but have we wound things up prematurely, or what?’

‘Come on, Heck, this is a hundred to one.’

‘Yeah, but if I’d given you this lead a few weeks ago, wouldn’t that have changed things?’

‘Not necessarily. Look … at the end of the day it’s about money. There’s nothing here to justify so much further expense.’

‘Have I ever been wrong about stuff like this before?’

‘On other cases, no, but on this one it’s different.’

‘All respect, ma’am, but we can’t say that yet. Look, this one isn’t finished. Not as far as I’m concerned.’

She got up and walked agitatedly around the room. Finally she rounded on him. ‘If I’m going to play ball with you on this, and write your leave down as a front so that you can continue undercover while you follow this new lead, you’re not going to disappoint me, are you?’ She fixed him with so intense a gaze that at first he barely heard her. ‘I mean, you’re not going to let me down, Heck?’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Well you’re not leaving me much choice. The other day I said you looked knackered, and I meant it. You still do. You look shot. But I know you, Heck … you’re not going to let this drop under any circs, you’re going to press on regardless, despite it being the most flagrant breach of procedure I’ve ever known. So if you don’t get killed because you’ve got no back-up, you’ll probably end up losing your job. Either way, I’ll finish up without the services of one of my most experienced detectives. And that’s something I can’t afford right now. Not that I appreciate being blackmailed like this.’

‘What about Laycock? He’ll never sign off on it.’

‘Need-to-know basis.’

‘You’re going to go over his head?’ Heck was astonished.

‘There is no over Laycock’s head. Not in NCG. I’ll have to go behind his back.’

‘Yeah, but that won’t last. How’re you going to justify me being in deep cover? I mean, deep cover from whom? Someone else in the job? That’s how he’ll see it.’

‘Leave me to worry about that.’

‘I’m serious, Gemma.’ Heck got to his feet. ‘He’ll have to know about this at some point, and then what’s he going to think?’

‘Just make sure we’ve got a result to show him. Then he won’t have any gripes.’

Heck mulled it over. The stakes were suddenly drastically high. Much higher than he was close to being comfortable with. ‘And no one else is going to know about this?’

She shrugged. ‘If I have to, I’ll let Des know … but aside from him, no one. You report directly to me, okay?’

He nodded.

‘Promptly and regularly,’ she said.

‘And you’ll do the paperwork?’

‘I’ll do the paperwork.’

‘That’s always music to my ears. But you know … I wouldn’t rush to put anything on paper just yet.’

‘You mean in case this goes belly up?’ She stared at him. ‘Don’t let it.’

‘You’ll lose deniability.’

‘We’re not all rule-bending maniacs, Heck. I can’t live that way.’ She grabbed her car keys. ‘Now look … just this one lead, okay? I’m serious. You run this new lead to ground and you do it low key. And after that, zip, kaput, it’s over.’

He nodded, but said nothing.

At the door, she turned and looked at him again. Briefly the domineering force was absent. She seemed concerned, but also a little disappointed. ‘You realise this is more trust than I’ve ever put in anyone, Heck? And the irony is that you’re one of the least trustworthy people I know.’

Leaving him with that thought, she turned and descended the stairs. Heck watched her from the top, until she’d left the building. Then he went back into his flat, closing the door behind him.

When he went into work that morning, Ian Blenkinsop felt as if he’d just got up after a night of heavy drinking. His stomach was hollow, his head throbbing.

On arrival, he was greeted cheerfully, as always, by his secretary Sally, which made him feel positively nauseous. It wasn’t Sally’s fault. She was forty, but very well kept, with a sizeable bosom, slick, chestnut red hair and handsome, feline looks. Many was the time he’d nursed an erection in the lavatories while thinking about her. He’d once had similar designs on Sally to those he’d had on Louise; in fact he’d told himself a couple of times — usually in his cups — that should the ‘thing’ with Louise go okay, he’d generate a plan for Sally. Now the mere thought of that was unbearable to him.

He closed himself into his office, which was not his custom — normally he’d leave the connecting door open between his and Sally’s work areas. Then he walked to the window, which ran floor to ceiling, and opened the blind, admitting the morning sunshine that was breaking through the thin wash of clouds in ethereal shafts.

From this side of the building, the dome of St Paul’s cathedral dominated the skyline. To Blenkinsop’s mind it was still the most majestic structure in London. Born from the ashes of the Great Fire, it had withstood everything the centuries could throw at it: time, the elements and of course Hitler’s aerial onslaught, which had flattened so much of the surrounding city. He realised that he’d taken its magnificence for granted until now. What a dauntless symbol it was: of man’s fearlessness in the face of tragedy, of his devotion to the might and mystery of God — things that Ian Blenkinsop felt hugely distanced from at this moment.