A Matter of Blood (33 page)

‘Neither do I.’ Cass shrugged, keeping his shoulders loose. ‘He didn’t leave a message. Can’t have been important.’

The door opened and Hask’s huge frame squeezed into the empty space. ‘Sorry. Just had to print something out.’ He sent a beaming grin in all directions. ‘Have I missed anything?’

‘No, we waited for you,’ Bowman said. He gave the large man time to wedge himself into the second seat before nodding at Blackmore. ‘Let’s get everyone up to speed on what we’ve got.’

‘Okay, the first thing we chased yesterday was Claire’s possible Covent Garden link between the victims. Hannah West’s husband says she often stopped there on the way to her hospital shifts, but he didn’t know whether it was to browse the shops or have a coffee or what.’

Cass was pleased that Claire had been able to run with his suggestion. She glanced up at him and he winked. She obviously felt bad about taking credit, but he didn’t mind. She could hardly have told Bowman it had come from him. That would have gone down a storm.

‘We’ve had people out reinterviewing and it looks like there might be something in it. Emma Loines had temped at a solicitors’ office in Garrick Street. Carla Rae’s sister works as a waitress in Ponti’s, in the Jubilee Market, Amanda Carlisle had a disabled aunt she visited there, and Jade Palmer occasionally worked at a jewellery stall.’

‘So that has to be it.’ Bowman looked up. ‘It’s the only thing that we’ve found that connects these women. Somewhere in Covent Garden he’s selecting his victims.’

‘But where from?’ Cass frowned.

‘I doubt they’re random,’ Hask added. ‘He’ll be taking them from somewhere precise.’

‘We’ve borrowed some local constables to take photos out and see if people can remember seeing the women and where. They’ll be out for the next couple of days on the street.’ Bowman shrugged. ‘It’s the best we can do, and it’s better than nothing.’

Cass couldn’t argue, but he didn’t hold out much hope for someone remembering all five of them, especially as they’d gone missing at different times.

‘We’re trying to track that pay-as-you-go number, and we’re also calling all the animal sanctuaries in the Greater London region to see if any of them have had any drug thefts.’ Blackmore gave Cass a quick nod of acknowledgement. ‘We missed those first time round. The team have been on the phones all morning so hopefully we’ll get something.’

‘That leaves this phone call Cass was blessed with,’ Bowman said.

Was that a slight tinge of jealousy in Bowman’s voice. Psycho-envy? Cass thought he’d heard it all now.

‘Yes, this is interesting.’ Hask smiled. ‘He must see you as his adversary. I’ve got the notes of your conversation here.’ He was enjoying himself, and Cass didn’t blame him. There was a real buzz in tracking a killer, no one who worked on a murder could deny that. ‘Something prompted him to ring, and from what he says, it has to have been the press conference.’

‘Because we called him socially awkward and stupid?’ Bowman asked.

‘No.’ Hask shook his head and his jowls wobbled for a moment or two more. ‘I think it was because he expected to see Cass running it.’ His thick forefinger stabbed at the paper. ‘He said as much. But what really got my attention was this phrase: “I thought I had it all sorted out”.’ He looked at Bowman. ‘When did you start feeling ill, Detective Inspector? I’m guessing it was about the time this case started, maybe just before.’

Bowman slowly nodded. ‘About a week or so before the first body. I just ignored it for a while. Why? What are you implying?’

Cass stared at Hask. ‘Are you saying that this guy did something to get Bowman off the case before he’d even started?’ That hadn’t ever occurred to him. And what the killer clearly didn’t know was that there was no way the DCI would put Cass in front of the cameras. He’d had an occasional fuzzy photo in the papers, but even after ten years the last thing any of them needed was someone recognising him from the Birmingham fiasco.

‘It’s definitely possible.’ The profiler slapped Bowman cheerfully on the back. ‘Don’t panic. I think if he’d given you anything lethal then you’d be getting worse rather than better. What did they say you had in the end?’

‘Some gastric virus.’

Some of Bowman’s natural cockiness had slid away and Cass fought the urge to warm to the killer.

‘Maybe you’d better get over to the hospital and get yourself checked out once we’re done here,’ Hask said. ‘That would be a wise precaution. I doubt the hospital would have checked for a full spectrum of poisons or toxins - although I’m sure whatever it is has done its worst already.’

The sweat patches in Bowman’s armpits were growing. He didn’t seem too reassured.

‘But
how
would he have done it?’ Blackmore asked.

‘I’m not sure, but you policemen are creatures of routine. He just had to watch you for a while. Maybe he slipped something into your pint or wiped some toxin on your car door handle.’

‘Jesus,’ Bowman whispered.

‘He really did plan this to the letter, didn’t he?’ Claire said.

‘But as with every plan, you can’t factor in the unexpected actions of others. Cass took on the case, but after what happened with his brother’s family, Bowman had to come back.’

Cass liked the way the profiler skimmed over the minor details of accusations, murder, suicide and the planting of evidence without even skipping a beat.

‘Why Jones?’ Bowman asked. ‘Why does he want
him
on the case?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe when we find him, we’ll find out.’ Hask moved the papers and peered closely at them in a way that suggested he should be wearing glasses, before looking back up. ‘This comment about Bright is interesting. “
He looks for me, I watch him
”. ’ The profiler seemed unaware of the tension that rose, at least in the part of the room that Cass and Claire occupied.

‘It could hint at a potential for multiple personalities, in that he and Bright are one and the same . . . but I’m not convinced.’ He tapped his fingers on the table. ‘I think we need to take it at face value. It would certainly explain why your body turned up in the same flat the video was sent from.’

‘I don’t get it,’ Blackmore said.

‘It doesn’t matter if you do, or don’t,’ Cass cut in. ‘The Bright line of enquiry is closed down.’

‘Really?’ Hask watched Cass carefully. ‘That’s interesting in itself.’

‘Not really. The DCI says it’s not relevant.’ Cass gritted his teeth to force the next sentence out. ‘Bowman’s apparently solved the Macintyre case—’

‘No
apparently
about it,’ Bowman snapped. ‘We’ve got two of Macintyre’s men coming in this afternoon to give their statements. They were paid by one of the Eastern European firms trying to get in on Macintyre’s turf to say exactly where he was going to be that afternoon.’

Cass raised his hands. This was an argument for another time, after he’d heard back from Perry Jordan. ‘Maybe that came out wrong. What I meant was: as that’s looking closed, the need to find Mr Bright appears to those above to be a waste of resources.’

‘Even with the mention of him on the phone?’ Ramsey frowned.

‘Well, I actually mentioned him, not the caller.’ Cass shrugged. ‘But whatever the reason, he’s out of the immediate picture.’

There was a moment’s silence. They were all clever people, even Bowman, for all his sharp suits and smug veneer. This wouldn’t sit right with any of them, but if the headshed had spoken, there was nothing they could do about it.

‘I have to say I find your bosses’ motivation strange, but if that’s what they want, let’s move on.’ Hask sighed. ‘He calls himself “the man of flies”. This obviously ties in with the leaving of the eggs on the bodies, but it’s also an interesting variation on the Lord of the Flies.’

‘Lord of the Flies?’ Bowman asked. ‘Isn’t that a book?’

‘Yes, by William Golding. It’s an allegorical story about how society created by man will always fail. It explores our duality: that we have an instinct to follow rules, but at the same time, we desire to force our own will on others. Some literary theorists feel that the novel sums up the history of our civilisation.’

‘You think he’s trying to make a point about civilisation?’ Bowman was incredulous. ‘Jesus Christ.’

‘The phrase is also a more obvious variant of the Hebrew Ba’al Zebub, translated literally as the Lord of Things that Fly, or as we would put it, Lord of Flies.’

‘Ba’al Zebub?’ Claire repeated. She leaned forward. ‘Is that Beelzebub?”

Hask laughed, a light sound that didn’t match his physical bulk. ‘Got it in one. Once the god of the Philistines, and now considered interchangeable with Satan himself.’

‘Our man thinks he’s the devil?’ Blackmore said. ‘Oh, that’s great.’

‘No,’ Cass said, ‘he called himself the
Man
of Flies, not the Lord. There’s an important distinction there.’

The profiler folded his hands across his middle. ‘Perhaps he thinks he’s the devil’s chosen man on Earth. Someone to send his message out.’

‘It fits with him having some kind of religious connection, ’ Cass agreed. He frowned. ‘He just sounded so . . . sane.’

‘Some people would say that only the truly insane believe their own sanity.’

‘Enough,’ Bowman interrupted. ‘I want to get down to the hospital, so let’s leave the mind shit until later and keep to what you’ve got to tell us.’

‘Sorry.’ Hask smiled. ‘It’s just so interesting, I was curious about what he says about testing people and finding them wanting, how we are only ever interested in ourselves. This ties in with the concept of the duality of our natures, but perhaps it also ties in with his selection of victims.’

‘Maybe he’s tested the women somehow?’ Claire asked.

‘How could Hannah West be found wanting?’ Cass asked. ‘She worked with Strain II cases.’

‘I don’t know,’ Hask said, ‘but he’s been testing someone. He doesn’t say it’s the
victims
he was testing, but something’s happened to make him feel that nothing is sacred. He’s reached a personal conclusion about that. Oh, and I found something else out for you yesterday.’ He grinned at them all and pulled out a sheet of paper. ‘The music that was playing at the Carla Rae scene? It was a 1990s heavy metal band. The Dog-Faced Gods. They weren’t overly famous, from what I gather. The CD was called
Random Chaos Theory in Action
.’ He let out a short laugh. ‘You’ve got to admit that our man has a very dry sense of humour along with his paranoia and superiority complex. One of the songs is called “God over All”. ’

‘You think he’s being funny?’ Blackmore asked.

‘Maybe not funny ha-ha, but I think he’s definitely making a point.’

A quick rap on the door was followed by the appearance in the doorway of a uniformed constable, a tall, thin man in his twenties.

‘Sir—’ he started. His eyes darted around the room. He obviously wasn’t sure where he should aim his words. He settled on Bowman. Cass didn’t blame him. ‘We’ve got something. The pay-as-you-go phone was one of a batch that was ordered in bulk through the Carphone Orange Warehouse. They’re going through their records now to find where the order ended up.’

‘How long till we know?’ Cass asked. Carphone Orange Warehouse, with its irritating orange cow logo, was now the biggest mobile phone and web company in the country, having absorbed most of their weaker competitors over the previous year. He dreaded to think what their systems were like as they absorbed all the extra customer information.

‘They say this afternoon, but we’ll see. You know what phone companies are like.’ The constable came a little further into the room. ‘But that’s not all. We just had a call back from someone at the Limehouse Rescue Shelter. The big one? He said they reported a theft of pentabarbitone to their local station about three months ago. They never heard back.’

Cass looked over at Bowman, who frowned. ‘If it was in the system, then why didn’t it flag up months ago?’

‘It’s not in the system, sir.’ The young officer shook his head. ‘Whoever took the call mustn’t have logged it. The manager over at Limehouse said they reported it when her partner vet found it was missing. It was called in around four in the morning.’

‘Fucking great.’ Cass sucked air in through his teeth. The constable didn’t need to say any more. Some bloody night sergeant took the call and decided they had no chance of catching the thief, so what was the point of adding to their unsolved figures? He’d have given out a dummy incident number and left it at that.

‘The manager said she thought the police hadn’t paid much attention because there was no sign of a break-in, so it was the shelter’s problem to solve. And they didn’t notice it was missing until a week after it had been stolen.’

‘Taken by someone in-house?’ Cass’s stomach fizzed as the thrill of the chase kicked in. He looked at Bowman. ‘Do you want me to deal with this while you get yourself checked over?’ He kept his tone light, but he didn’t have to worry. Bowman had started to crap himself the minute Hask had mentioned that maybe the killer had something to do with the DI’s illness.

‘I solved your case. I guess you can have a go at solving mine,’ Bowman said.

God, he was a condescending bastard. Cass gestured to Claire. ‘Come on.’

‘Wait up.’ Ramsey followed them out into the corridor. ‘We take the laptop to The Bank on the way. My phone’s been buzzing in my pocket and I know who’s on the other end.’

‘What laptop?’ Claire asked.

Both Cass and Ramsey ignored her. ‘Tell you what, we’ll take it with us,’ Cass said. ‘But going to The Bank is going to have to wait.’

Cass grabbed his jacket and the laptop bag that was tucked under his desk. He held it up to Ramsey. ‘Funny the things you forget you have.’

‘Ha bloody ha.’

‘I can’t persuade you to stay behind?’

‘No chance.’

Cass laughed. ‘Well, let’s go then.’ With Claire’s slim frame between them, they strode out in the sunshine towards the Audi. Traffic willing they’d be at Limehouse by midday.