Paul Finch - Stalkers

‘Who’s he supposed to have murdered?’ she finally asked.

‘A local burglar.’ Palliser filched some notes from his inside pocket. ‘Seems he hung the bastard upside down, slit his belly open and left him to bleed out.’

‘And what’ve they got on him?’

‘Well … a lot.’ Palliser re-read his notes. ‘Thanks to Heck’s VRM being caught on numerous security cameras and his prints getting left on a broken bottle, he’s now been positively identified as someone who went yesterday to the victim’s home address, asked questions about his where-abouts, and finally tracked him to a nearby squat, where the aggrieved party was later found hanged and gutted in what might be, quote, “a ritual homicide”.’

‘The AP … he wasn’t by any chance a certain Ron O’Hoorigan?’

Palliser arched a disbelieving eyebrow. ‘You know about this?’

Gemma shook her head with slow-building fury. ‘I’m going to kill him. I’m going to bloody well kill him.’

‘Well it can’t be Heck, can it? I mean Heck’s a pro. If he’d gone to Manchester to top someone, would you expect him to leave a trail of clues as obvious as this?’

‘I wouldn’t expect him to top someone in the first place!’ she hissed.

‘Also …’ Palliser checked his notes again. ‘Do we know a girl called Lauren Wraxford?’

‘Not as I’m aware. Why?’

‘Because a vehicle she rented in Leeds, which is now overdue to be returned, is currently lying wrecked on some wasteland just outside Manchester.’

‘And what’s that got to do with this?’

‘Good question. Seems she’s an ex-squaddie. She’s got minor form as a juvenile, but she’s been clean for a while. However, she was with Heck yesterday when they got involved in a bar room brawl that left four men seriously injured.’

Gemma closed her eyes and squeezed the bridge of her nose, before taking a long sip of wine. ‘What the bleeding hell is he playing at?’

‘By the looks of it, he’s still following his last case.’

‘What’ve you told Manchester?’

‘What else? I’ve told them he’s involved in undercover work for us.’ Palliser stared at Gemma accusingly, clearly piqued that she hadn’t trusted him enough to keep him in the loop. ‘I’m guessing that’s the truth. I’ve also said that we’ll bring him in as soon as possible so that we can hear his side of the story.’

‘Are they alright with that?’

‘Not really. And I don’t suppose we can blame them. I mean, they’ve got a bloke on a slab who spent his last few minutes watching his breakfast drain through his own gizzards.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Gemma shoved a hand through her blonde curls, which suddenly looked wilder and more unruly than usual.

‘Do you want to tell me what’s going on?’ Palliser said.

She sighed long and hard, before admitting: ‘Heck had a couple of new leads, which he desperately wanted to follow.’

‘Good ones?’

‘Circumstantial mainly.’

‘So why’d you give him the nod?’

‘Because I’m weak.’ She banged the table. ‘And bloody stupid.’

‘Laycock’s going to love you for this.’

‘He doesn’t need to know.’

‘He’ll find out at some point.’

‘Let him.’

‘He specifically wanted this investigation shutting down.’

‘I’ve run this department successfully for four years, Des. I don’t need Laycock’s approval for everything.’

‘Yes, but if he didn’t have much ammunition before …’ and Palliser laid his notes on the table, ‘he does now.’

‘Why don’t you just drink your beer, and let me think this through?’ She drained her wineglass. When her sandwich was placed in front of her, she barely acknowledged it.

Palliser rubbed his beard. ‘Possibly a silly question, but have you been in touch with Heck by mobile … just to keep a check on what he’s up to?’

‘I’ve tried half a dozen times, but it’s been switched off. That said, he’s only been gone two days. I didn’t expect World War Three to have broken out.’

‘Whatever’s going on, he must realise his job’s on the line.’

‘His job ?’ Gemma looked amazed. ‘Des, the only reason I’m not putting an all-points on Heck right now is because I don’t want to believe he’s responsible for this. Laycock will have no such qualms. I’m not worried he’ll sack the bloody fool, I’m worried he’ll charge him with murder.’

They abandoned Heck’s Fiat in a multistorey car park in Cockfosters. It was on one of the upper floors, but there was a dank, cavern-like atmosphere, water dripping from the huge arches. At this time of day there were few other vehicles. The dimness of early evening spread between the concrete stanchions.

Before leaving, they again checked the address they had on the print-out.

‘Kingston’s a good hour from here,’ Lauren commented. ‘Even by tube.’

‘Well we’re not going to force entry by daylight, are we?’ Heck said.

‘We’re going to force entry?’

‘Unless you want to knock on the front door?’

‘Suppose there’s someone in?’

‘Don’t worry, we’ll play it by ear.’

They set off down the ramp to the main road.

‘What happened to the scrupulous copper I first joined forces with?’ Lauren asked. ‘The one who didn’t even want me with him because it was against the rules.’

‘He doesn’t want to get hung up by his feet and have his belly ripped open.’ Heck shrugged as if this was all in a day’s work, though he didn’t look happy. ‘It’s needs must, okay? I don’t like it any more than you, but at present we’re flying blind.’

From Cockfosters, they caught a train to Finsbury Park, changed to the Victoria Line, and alighted again at Warren Street, from where they crossed the West End on foot. Heck had decided that, if they went the whole distance by train, it would be easier for their progress to be tracked by station security footage. At Sloane Square, they boarded a westbound Circle Line train, changed to the District Line at Gloucester Road, got off again at Putney Bridge, and proceeded on foot, stopping once at a DIY store to purchase a roll of silver duct-tape.

It was close on eight o’clock when they finally reached Kingston upon Thames.

From Lauren’s perspective, this was the first salubrious neighbourhood the enquiry had brought them to. It was a mix of the old and new, handsome Tudor buildings fronting onto the river, alongside restaurants, chic bars and luxury apartment blocks — which was pretty ironic given that both she and Heck were extremely nervous about what they had to do here. They knew from personal experience that Eric Ezekial would be no pushover. Okay, there was no guarantee he’d be here — it seemed unlikely he could have got down to London ahead of them in this short time. But suppose he didn’t live alone; what if he had a family, what if there were business associates on his premises?

When they found six, Redbrook Close, it was a whitewashed terrace cottage, located in a small, quiet mews. There were no lights inside, but there were in the neighbouring cottages and in the cottages opposite, which meant that a frontal approach was out of the question. As they ventured around to the back, Lauren felt increasingly uneasy about Heck’s scheme.

‘You sure this is a good idea?’

‘When someone’s after me, Lauren, I like to turn the tables at the first opportunity.’

‘But suppose we’ve got it wrong?’

He shook his head. ‘If we’ve got it wrong about this being connected to the case, we’ve not got it wrong about Ezekial.’

‘Yeah, but even though we’re wanted for murder, your colleagues won’t just ignore what you tell them. You can give them enough for them to get a warrant and turn this guy’s place over legally. It could blow this thing wide open.’