A Need To Kill (DI Matt Barnes) (48 page)

“
Don’t be fuckin’ daft.  There was no proof.  An’ if I’d said anythin’, then I would ’ave got the same treatment, or worse.”

Matt
used back roads on the return trip.  He was in no hurry.

It was Beth who saw the
FOR SALE
notice outside a cottage in the village of Woodford Wells.

“
Looks nice,” she said as they passed by the thatched cottage.

“
By ‘looks nice’, do you mean let’s go give it the once over?” Matt said, indicating and pulling on to the hard shoulder.

“
Wouldn’t harm.  If you still want to pool resources and buy a des rez out in the sticks.”

Matt
made a three point turn and headed back, to make a right into the lane that the property was on the corner of.  He parked on the grass verge – that was faeces free – and got out.

Beth joined him, and they surveyed the outside of the substantial dwelling.

“Looks a little rich,” Matt said.  “Houses in this area are much sought after, as the estate agents would say.”

“
We can stretch to it,” Beth said.  She walked down the lane and looked over the fence into the large back garden.  There were fruit trees and a fish pond.  And there was decking that ran the length of the rear of the cottage.

Too late, she saw the silver-haired man approaching her from a
wooden shed that was all but invisible beyond the small orchard.

The old man raised a hand in greeting and
said, “Are you lost?”

Beth
gave him her best Sunday smile.  “Er, no.  We were passing by, saw the sign and stopped to look.”

Matt
appeared behind Beth.  Nodded at the man, who he took to be the owner, but realised could just as easily be a pensioner earning a few quid extra as part-time gardener.

“
I’m Harry Fletcher,” Silver-Hair said, addressing them both.  “If you want to give the old place the once over, feel free.”

“
I’d like that, Harry,” Beth said.  “I’m Beth, and this is Matt.”

It was timeout.  They spent an hour looking round the spacious cottage.  It was everything they were looking for, and in an ideal location for commuting into town.

Harry made tea, and they sat out in the conservatory and made small talk.

“
Lost my wife two years ago,” Harry said as if he felt the need to explain his being alone in the house.  “Thought I’d just stay here and live with my memories.  But they’ll be with me forever wherever I lay my head.  I decided to lighten the load and move on.  My son and his family have a farm in Ireland with an annexe that has my name on it.  And I’d see a lot more of the grandchildren.”

“
Sounds a good move, Harry,” Beth said.  “You get a new life, and your son has a live-in babysitter.”

Harry laughed. 
“They’re both teenagers, Beth.  I see me playing a lot more golf, and getting a taste for Guinness.”

The last thing mentioned was the price of Orchard Cottage. 
Matt asked outright what Harry would accept, and how long it had been on the market.

“
The sign only went up last Thursday,” Harry said.  “And I’ve had one comedian offer twenty thousand under the asking price.  Come up with five under, and you’ve got it.  I won’t hang about and turn it into an auction.”

They drove away with a good feeling about the place.  Beth had a copy of the details, and was already worrying that they might lose it.

“You can’t lose what you haven’t got yet,” Matt said.

“
I know, but I think it’s perfect.  Do
you
like it?”

Matt
shook his head.  “No, Beth,” and after a long pause.  “I love it.”

“
You swine, Barnes,” she said, reaching across to nip the inside of his thigh.

“
Hey, stop that.  You can’t interfere with a cop, especially when he’s driving.”

“
What are you going to do, arrest me?”

“
No.  I need you to be free and in full, gainful employment, to pay your half of the mortgage we might end up lumbered with.”

“
Lumbered?”

“
Stuck with, encumbered by, whatever terminology you prefer.”

“
I prefer to think of it as a solid long-term investment.”

“
That was what I meant.  We’ll put an offer in tomorrow that Harry won’t refuse.”

Beth leant across and kissed him. 
“You need a shave,” she said.

“
It’s designer stubble.”

“
It’s got grey in it.”

“
Shit!  I’ll shave.”

The conversation turned back to the case.

“Did anything that Sandra had to say give you more insight into Downey’s personality?” Matt said.

“
Not really.  It confirmed that the way we were assessing him was right, though.  He was starved of love, and had all the goodness in him squeezed out, to leave him sapped of the ability to be emotionally stable.  Maybe Sandra was his last chance to be able to relate with people in any meaningful way.  She might have been telling us the whole truth.  Or perhaps she cheated on him and sent him over the edge.  I doubt that we’ll ever know.  Can you believe everything a junkie tells you?”

“
No.  But I still come down on the side of the victims.  No one forces him to do what he does.”

“
Downey is a victim as well.  He was shaped by the suffering he was made to endure.  I know that you would rather just think of him as another bad guy.  But he is probably not mentally capable of being anything but what he is.”

“
We’ve been on this merry-go-round before, Beth.  Going round in circles doesn’t get anyone anywhere.  I don’t have any empathy for killers.  And we can’t go back and make all the Brenda Downeys’ of this world fit mothers, who will love their children and rear them to be solid citizens.  It’s helpful to have as complete a picture as possible of an offender’s personality, but at the end of the day their disorders don’t buy any favours.  My job is to stop them, using any means at my disposal.”

“
Is that the same
you
who can get inside their heads and know how they think?”

“
Yes.  Many of them have IQs that negate the need to treat them like mad dogs. They’re capable of reasoning, and choose to take lives.  That makes them guileful and wilful.  I just wish we could spot them before they start up.”

“
We have all the data, and know that many of them come from the same sort of dysfunctional background.  The average serial killer has a history of abuse, and could be recognised as being high risk if enough people were looking for it.  As a child he would be a loner who might show his sadistic tendencies by harming animals, or bullying other children.  A lot of them are fascinated by fire and become arsonists.  There are patterns and signs as bright as neon.  Trouble is, parents are the first line of defence, and they sure as hell don’t admit to maltreating their kids.  Other agencies don’t have the resources to specifically monitor a phenomenon that is so rare as to be financially impractical.  You can’t put every problem child under a microscope for years, on the off chance that he might turn out to be a Lucas Downey.”

“
Tell the loved ones of victims that it’s down to funding: that their sons and daughters might not have been sexually abused and ripped to pieces by a psycho if the will had been there to have a system that would nip these mental mutants in the bud.”

“
People like me do the research, Matt.  You know that.  We pass our findings on to government and law enforcement agencies.  But we don’t have the clout to make the powers that be implement a strategy to prevent something that might not happen.”

“
I know that.  Thing is, you sometimes make me feel as though I’m some kind of paid executioner.  Truth is, cops like me are the last line of defence.  We have to clean up what everyone else has missed until it’s too late.”

“
And I understand that, Matt.  I know just how much a case takes out of you.  But you still need to try and back off a little.  Be able to accept that shit always has and always will happen.”

“
I try to keep it simple.  I’m a cop, not an undergraduate studying criminal psychology.”

“
You’re as sharp as me when it comes to interpreting a killer’s personality.  You just like to hear me affirming what you’ve already decided.”

“
Not true.  You work with them every day.  I learn a lot of how they think from what you tell me.”

“
Enough of heaping praise on each other.  Let’s go back to your place and celebrate finding Orchard Cottage.”

“
What with?”

“
Champagne, and then bed.”

“
I’m fresh out of champagne.”

Beth grinned. 
“Never mind.  One out of two ain’t bad.”

It was the next afternoon by the time they had a complete list of all Vincent Walters
’ properties.  Those that were being rented were put to one side.  Only vacant properties were initially considered.

Beth had joined
Matt, Tom and Pete in Matt’s office, to sift through them and attempt to come up with a short list.

“
I think you can safely discount apartments, and any property in a built-up area,” Beth advised.  “Downey will only feel safe away from people.  He’ll want to be in an isolated spot with total privacy.”

“
Like a fox going to earth,” Tom said.

Beth nodded. 
“Exactly.  He won’t want to be on the beaten track.  We need to prioritise anything that is in a very secluded setting.”

Pete kept the coffee coming, hot and strong.  And as they judged properties with the zeal of
The Voice’ panel trying to find satisfactory contenders, Marci knocked at the door.  Matt waved her in.  Could tell by her expression that she had good news.

“
Make our day, Marci,” he said.  “What have you got?”

“
A murder, with a link to Downey.  The victim is one Ralph Hilton.  He was a doorman at a night-club in Camberwell.  Didn’t show up for work last night, or answer his phone. The club’s manager went round to check on him this morning.  He was a pal of Hilton’s, and knew that if he’d been able to, he would have given him a bell.  Anyhow, he couldn’t get an answer, so went around the back, looked through a gap in the curtains and saw Ralph lying on the kitchen floor in a pool of blood.  He broke in, confirmed that he was dead, and rang the police.”

“
What’s the link, Marci?” Matt said.  “The suspense is killing me.”

“
Sorry, boss.  He had a few Celtic tattoos.  One of the attending uniforms asked the right questions.  The club manager, Cornelius Earl, stated that Ralph had got the tattoos done at Downey’s studio.  The grabber is, Ralph’s Volvo 850 saloon is missing.  And his place is only a five minute walk from Ink Magic.”

“
You just won yourself a free coffee, Marci,” Matt said.

“
Gee thanks, boss,” Marci said, and handed the paperwork to Matt with all the relevant details.  “But I’ll take a rain check on that.  Do you want me to put an APB out on the Volvo?”

“
No.  We don’t want to spook him.  This is about containment.”

“
If we can put the stolen car and one of these addresses together, then Downey is dead meat...figuratively speaking,” Tom said as Marci went back out into the squad room.

They got it down to fifteen addresses that
fitted the bill.  Then Tom left it to Matt and Beth to sift further.  The list came down to six that were good possibilities.

“
You think it’s one of those?” Tom said.

“
Yes, if we had a complete list of everything Walters owns,” Beth said.

Matt
didn’t feel the buzz.  Usually when he was close he seemed to light up inside and everything felt right.  This didn’t.

“
What?” Tom said.

“
We’re missing something,” Matt said.  “It seems the logical way to go, and yet I know it isn’t going to be this easy.”

“
What is your gut instinct telling you?” Beth said.

“
It’s saying that Marjory Walters is the key.  The more I picture her, the more I’m certain she knows exactly where Lucas is.  She’s not stupid.  Will figure that we’ll look at everything on her hubby’s books, which tells me that this might be a waste of time.”

“
It’s all we’ve got,” Tom said.  “We have to go with it.”

Matt
pushed his chair back and got up.  “You go with it, then.  Beth, Pete, come with me.”

“
Hold it,” Tom said with a steely edge to his voice.  “Whatever notion you’ve got, run it past me.  I want to know exactly what you plan on doing, and where you intend to go.”