Jack Slater - No Place to Hide

‘Depends if anyone knew about it, doesn’t it?’ Pete said, unfazed. ‘The way I see it, we’ve got two choices here. You talk to me or I put out an appeal to the public for information on whoever might have supplied our man with the sux he used on his latest victim. What do you think he’s going to do then, eh? If I were him, I’d be coming after the supplier straight away. One, to shut him up and, two, because he fits the profile of the victims we’re looking at. So, two for the price of one.’

Petrosyan’s thick lip curled. ‘You think I’m scared of some college punk? I could have him for dinner and spit out the bones.’

‘Oh, I doubt you’re scared much of anybody, Gagik. But, looking at his previous victims, I think maybe you should be. He’s clever as well as vicious. The last one, he burned alive. That’s what the sux was for. To keep him conscious while he burned.’

The sneer had died on Petrosyan’s face. Now it twitched in what could have been disgust. ‘I don’t know who this guy is that you’re talking about.’

‘But you know he’s a college punk.’

‘Aren’t they all?’

Pete shook his head slowly. ‘Not serial killers like this one.’

Petrosyan grunted.

‘So, what do you know, if not his name?’

‘What, you think I’m some sort of street dealer? I don’t know him. I never seen him.’

‘But you know who does know him, who has seen him.’

‘You want me to give you a dealer?’

‘We both know they’re ten a penny. You’d just replace him with another. Allegedly.’

‘I am not the man you think I am,’ Petrosyan said stubbornly.

‘OK. I’ll just go back to the station and get onto that press release then. Let our killer help us clean up the streets a bit more before we take him off them. Have a good day, Mr Petrosyan.’ He saw the doubt flash in the Armenian’s eyes as he nodded to the others to back off, let him go. But Petrosyan had face to save. Scowling, he walked doggedly away.

Pete and his crew came together on the narrow forecourt behind the retreating figure.

‘He knows,’ Dave said.

‘Of course he does,’ Pete agreed. ‘But he can’t be seen to back down to us, can he? His reputation could get ruined. And then his hold on his organisation would be gone.’

‘You reckon we’ll hear from him, though?’ asked Jane.

‘One way or another. Might be worth getting a tap on his phone, though.’

‘With the protection he’s got?’ Dave snorted. ‘Fat chance.’

‘So, we’re just going to leave him out here as bait?’ asked Dick.

‘Why? You feeling sorry for him?’ Dave countered.

‘No, but it does seem a bit . . .’

The low sun flashed on Jane’s ginger hair as she swept it back with one hand. ‘Harsh? Unethical? What do you think about what he does for a living, then? Pushing poison to our kids.’

‘I know, but . . . They have a choice, whether to get into it or not.’

‘So did he. And he had a choice of whether to talk to us or not,’ Pete said firmly.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Pete waited until they were all back in their cars, then took out his mobile and dialled.

‘Jane. We might not be able to put a tap on his phone, but I want surveillance on that bloke, from now on. I want to know who visits him or where he goes if he leaves the house. Get hold of Jill and Sophie Clewes. I’ll clear it with the uniform squad. And don’t let either of them tell anyone what they’re up to.’

‘You seriously think he’s got a source on the force?’

‘He’s still walking the streets, isn’t he? I don’t know what he’s got, but I’m not prepared to risk losing him at this stage so, bearing in mind his paranoia, be careful setting this up, right?’

‘Right, boss.’

He ended the call and dialled the station. ‘Bill, who’s the duty sergeant today?’

‘Andy Fairweather.’

‘Patch me through to him, would you?’

‘OK.’ There was a click, a pause, then a dialling tone. A phone was picked up. ‘Sergeant Fairweather, Exeter Police.’

‘Andy. Pete Gayle. Sorry for the short notice, mate, but I need to borrow Constable Clewes again.’

‘How long for?’

‘Not sure yet. Probably just today. Assistance with a surveillance op.’

‘All right. I’ll adjust the rota and get hold of her. Where should I send her?’

‘That’s OK. My DC will give her a call.’

‘Fair enough.’ Fairweather didn’t sound too happy at being kept out of whatever was going on, but Pete couldn’t afford to be oversensitive now.

‘Thanks, Andy. I owe you one.’

‘Another one.’

Pete nodded. ‘Yeah, I know. I’ll return the favour one day, if only by sending Fast-track on his way to an early grave with stress.’

‘You won’t stress that bugger. Cast iron, he’s made of.’

‘Damn brittle, that stuff, though.’

Andy laughed. ‘Good luck then.’

‘See you.’

Pete started his car and headed back to the station.

He pulled into the car park just moments behind Dick Feeney and Dave Miles. They were heading for the back door as he stepped out of his car. ‘Oi,’ he called.

Both men turned and Pete beckoned them across with a tilt of his head. They gathered beside Pete’s car.

‘Before we go inside,’ he said, ‘you realise that what we’ve done this morning could flush out Petrosyan’s contact here?’

‘Yeah,’ Dave said. ‘Or it could just make him run like a scared rabbit.’

‘Jane’s setting up covert observation on Petrosyan. Nobody outside of us and those directly involved is to know about it. I just told Andy Fairweather I needed someone for a surveillance op.’

‘OK.’ Dave nodded.

‘I don’t like this,’ said Dick. ‘Looking into our own oppos. It feels wrong.’

‘If you’re not comfortable with it, Dick . . .’

Feeney grimaced. ‘It just seems creepy, that’s all – that one of the guys is . . . well, bent.’

‘It is,’ Dave said. ‘But, there’s no point having a force that can’t be trusted. Unless you’re Robert Mugabe or Bashar al-Assad, I suppose.’

Dick grunted. ‘Which Fast-track isn’t, is he?’

Dave laughed. ‘I reckon he’d like to be though. Only way he’s going to get the respect he thinks he deserves.’

‘Also while we’re out here,’ Pete said, bringing the conversation back on track, ‘I want someone in the Blue Boar tonight, to see if Millic turns up there. If so, I want him followed. I want an address for him. But there’s a lot else to do before that. We’ve got a killer to catch.’

*

Pete draped his jacket over the back of his chair, sat down and switched on his computer. As he reached for the mouse, his phone beeped. He checked the screen. One missed call. Recognising the number, he called back.

‘Morning, Doc. You rang?’

‘I did. I have two exhumed bodies on the tables in the mortuary. And I think you ought to get here as soon as you can, Peter.’

Pete felt something swoop in his chest. ‘Any particular reason, Doc?’

‘Initial examinations suggest that our theory is probably correct.’

‘Ooh. OK, I’m on my way.’ He ended the call, switched off his computer and stood up again. ‘Going to the mortuary. The doc’s got something to show me.’

‘Careful, boss. Statements like that are what rumours get started on.’

‘Well, you concentrate on the other rumour we were talking about earlier and see if you can come up with something useful.’ He hooked his jacket off his chair and headed for the door.

*

Doc Chambers looked up from the steel cart he was working at, the overhead lights glittering on his short stubble of grey hair. He set down the large forceps he was using and stepped forward, stripping off his gloves to shake hands.