Peter James - Dead Like You

He was invisible!

He had learned that certain things were invisible to the inhabitants of the affluent world. There were invisible people, like road sweepers and office cleaners and navvies. And there were invisible vehicles, like milk floats and white vans and taxis. Drug dealers used taxis a lot, because they never aroused suspicion driving around late at night. But the van suited his purposes better than a taxi at the moment.

He smiled, increasingly aroused, his breathing quickening. He could still smell her Armani Code fragrance. He could smell it so strongly, as if his whole van was filled with it now.

Oh yes, you bitch! he thought. Oh yes! Oh yes! Oh yes!

He would enjoy breathing that in while he made her do things to herself with those shoes, and then when he did things to her too. Fear would make her perspire and her perspiration would make the scent even stronger.

He could imagine her coming out of her front door wearing those blue Manolos and smelling of Armani Code. He could imagine her sliding into the driving seat of her car. Then parking somewhere safe, like she had done on Saturday, in an underground car park.

He knew exactly when she would be wearing those shoes. He’d heard her in the shop on Saturday when she bought them. For an important speech, she’d told the assistant. The after-lunch thing for which she had bought a divine blue dress and now had the shoes to match.

It would be nice if Dee Burchmore came out of her front door now, he thought, except she would not be wearing those new blue Manolos today.

Very conveniently, she had a section on her website for all her social engagements. In addition, she had a Facebook site where she announced them. And she told the world her movements, sometimes hour by hour, on Twitter. She was so helpful to him!

She had confirmed on her website and on Facebook that her next big social engagement was on Thursday, when she was giving a speech at a luncheon in aid of the local hospice, the Martlets. She had already started Tweeting it. The great and the good of the city of Brighton and Hove’s female society would be attending. One of the guests of honour would be the wife of the current Lord Lieutenant of Sussex.

The luncheon was being held at the Grand Hotel, which had a big car park behind it.

That really could not be more convenient!

Monday 12 January

There was an insolence about the way Kevin Spinella entered Roy Grace’s office, shortly before ten minutes to midday, pulled up a chair, uninvited, and sat down. Spinella always irked him and yet at the same time there were qualities about the young, ambitious reporter that Grace couldn’t help, privately, liking.

Spinella lounged nonchalantly back in his chair on the other side of Grace’s desk, hands in the pockets of his raincoat. Beneath it he wore a suit, with a slack, clumsily knotted tie. A slight, thin-faced man, Spinella was in his mid-twenties, with alert eyes and thin black hair gelled into tiny spikes. His sharp incisors, as always, were busily working on a piece of gum.

‘So, what do you have for me, Detective Superintendent?’

‘You’re the man in the know,’ Grace replied, testing him. ‘What do you have for me?’

The reporter cocked his head to one side. ‘I hear that the Shoe Man’s back.’

‘Tell me, Kevin, what’s your source?’

The reporter smiled and tapped the side of his nose.

‘I will find out. You know that, don’t you?’ Grace said, his tone serious.

‘I thought you asked me to come and see you because you want to do business.’

‘I do.’

‘So?’

Grace held his cool with difficulty and decided to let the subject of the leaks drop for the moment. Changing tack, he said, ‘I want your help. If I tell you something off the record, can I have your word you’ll keep it that way until I tell you otherwise? I need to trust you absolutely on this.’

‘Can’t you always?’

No, not always, actually, Grace recalled. Although, he had to admit, Spinella had been good as gold during this past year.

‘Usually,’ he conceded.

‘What’s in it for the Argus?’

‘Possibly a credit for helping us to catch the offender. I’d certainly give an interview on that.’

‘Just one offender, is there?’ Spinella asked pointedly.

Shit, Grace thought, wondering where the hell he had got that from. Who had speculated about that outside of the briefing meeting earlier this morning? Was it one of his team members? Just where had that come from? Anger rose inside him. But it was clear from Spinella’s expression he would get nothing from him. For the moment he had to park it.

‘At this stage we believe there is one offender responsible for all the attacks.’

Spinella’s shifty eyes said he did not believe him.

Grace ignored that and went on: ‘OK, here’s the deal.’ He hesitated for an instant, knowing he was taking a massive gamble. ‘I have two exclusives for you. The first I don’t want you to print until I tell you, the second I’d like you to print right away. I’m not giving either of these to the press conference.’

There was a brief silence as the two men stared at each other. For a moment Spinella stopped chewing.

‘Deal?’ Grace asked.

Spinella shrugged. ‘Deal.’

‘OK. The first, not for you to print, is that we think there could be another attack this week. It’s likely to be somewhere in the town centre, possibly in a car park.’

‘Hardly rocket science if there have been three in the past two weeks already,’ Spinella retorted sarcastically.

‘No, I agree with you.’

‘Not much of an exclusive. I could have predicted that off my own bat.’

‘It’ll make you look good if it does happen – you can write one of those A senior detective had forewarned the Argus this attack was likely kind of pieces that you’ve been good at inventing in the past.’

Spinella had the decency to blush. Then he shrugged. ‘Car park? So you think he’s mirroring the same sequence as before?’

‘The forensic psychologist does.’

‘Dr Proudfoot’s got a bit of a reputation as a tosser, hasn’t he?’

‘You said that, not me.’ Grace’s eyes twinkled.

‘So what are you doing to prevent the next attack?’

‘All we can, short of closing down the centre of Brighton to the public. We’re going to throw as much resourcing as we can behind it – but invisible. We want to catch him, not drive him away and lose him.’

‘How are you going to warn the public?’

‘I hope we can get the support of the press and media at the conference we’re about to have – and warn them in a general but not specific way.’

Spinella nodded, then pulled out his notebook. ‘Now tell me the one I can print.’

Grace smiled, then said, ‘The offender has a small dick.’

The reporter waited, but Grace said nothing more.

‘That’s it?’ Spinella asked.

‘That’s it.’

‘You’re joking?’

The Detective Superintendent shook his head.

‘That’s my exclusive? That the offender has a small dick?’

‘Hope I’m not touching a nerve,’ Grace replied.

Tuesday 13 January

The old lady sat in the driver’s seat of the stolen van, at the start of the steep hill, with her seat belt on as tight as it would go. Her hands rested on the steering wheel, with the engine idling, but the lights switched off.

He stood beside her, holding the driver’s door open, nervous as hell. It was a black night, the sky densely lagged with clouds. He could have used some moonlight, but there was nothing to be done about that.

His eyes scanned the darkness. It was 2 a.m. and the country road, a few hundred yards to the north of the entrance to the Waterhall Golf Club, two miles from the outskirts of Brighton, was deserted. There was a half-mile steep descent, with a sharp lefthander at the bottom, the road winding on through the valley between the hills of the South Downs. The beauty of this location, he figured, was that he could see from the headlights if anything was coming, for over a mile in either direction. It was all clear for the moment.