Bye Bye Baby (2 page)

I added, ‘You remember what you did, don’t you, Mike? I can’t remember much myself — not that first time. I was so drugged, you see. Just like you’ll be again in a moment. But I wanted us to have this chat so you know what is happening and why. Now, I want you to take these. They’re stronger than the stuff I gave you before.’ I held out two tablets.

He shook his head, understanding dawning as the memories flooded back. He opened his mouth again.

‘A —’

‘No pleading, Mikey.’ I waved a finger at him. ‘I tried that too. It doesn’t work. So save your pride. Be courageous instead and go to your death bravely.’

‘Death? No!’

‘Mikey, I suggest you swallow these pills and save yourself the most exquisite pain, because even courage won’t get you through what I have in store. What I
gave you in the water was just a light dose, which is why you’re awake now. But, believe me, you don’t want to wake up in the middle of what I have planned for you. Oh, wait, before you take them, help me get your trousers down, will you, mate? Be easier if we did that first.’

I slapped the duct tape across his mouth so there would be no screaming, removed the knife from its sheath and began undoing his belt. It didn’t take much imagination for my captive to appreciate what I intended. He made mewling sounds behind the tape, his eyes flicking to the tablets I’d laid beside him.

‘Ah, I knew you’d see sense. Okay, I’ll help you with those in a moment, but help me here and lift your arse.’

He obliged, clearly terrified of antagonising me any further.

‘Oh, Mikey, still got the eczema, I see,’ I said, looking at his groin. ‘Must be itchy, eh? You poor sod. Now, are you going to yell?’ I grabbed the flaccid bundle between his legs. ‘Because if you are, I’ll cut you immediately and you can feel all the pain as you bleed to death. And then I’ll be obliged to punish you properly by killing someone you love. Diane, perhaps? Rob, Susan?’

His eyes became wider still as I named his wife and children, and he shook his head.

‘Alright then, Mikey. I’m trusting you not to begin shouting — not that it will help because we’re in the middle of nowhere, but I hate noise.’

I helped him to sit up a little straighter before I ripped the tape from his mouth and stuffed half a dozen of the tablets onto his tongue. The knife was frighteningly close to his face as he drank the sedatives down.

‘Swallow, Mikey, you want these to work, I promise you.’ He obliged, greedily drinking.

‘You’re a champ,’ I said. ‘Now, as Pierrot once suggested, let’s be friends and have a nice chat.’

‘Please ... we were kids, it was so long ago.’

‘That doesn’t excuse it. You’re right, we were kids. But then Pierrot came on the scene and it all turned nasty. I kept hoping you’d all come to your senses and rebel against him, but you didn’t. You let him do whatever he wanted. Do you remember him jumping on me? Have you any idea what that did?’

He began to blather. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. You began to cry and we got scared. We were cowards, I know. There was so much more we could have done but we were frightened. We were just kids. I’m sorry.’

‘I am too, Mikey, but it doesn’t change a thing. You see, you lot had a choice. I didn’t. You could have got help. You could have dragged him away — there were enough of you. You could have just said no. Twice you could have saved me, but you didn’t. Which of you killed my dog, by the way?’

‘What?’ he said, confused by the sudden change of subject.

‘Beano, my dog. One of you stabbed him. Who was it?’

‘It was him! Always him.’ Mike was sobbing now. ‘Phil did his best to save your dog — I think he even got cut quite badly.’

‘That makes me feel so much better, Mike, thanks for telling me.’ My sarcastic tone was sharp enough to cut through the drug haze that was claiming him.

‘I see the R2 is taking effect,’ I went on. ‘It’s called the “date rape” drug — did you know that? Today’s
version turns blue in liquid, so guys can’t slip it into girls’ drinks. But I saved these from my mother’s medicine cabinet all those years ago. They’re just like the ones Pierrot used on me.’

His eyelids were sagging. ‘Good, Mikey. Now it’s all easy for you. Just go to sleep and don’t wake up. It’s time for you to pay for your sins. I’ve been paying for them for decades. Why should I suffer alone?’

‘Why now?’ he slurred.

‘Because, Mikey, I need someone to blame for all the pain in my life. I need to fix it and set things right. I blame the Jesters Club — I still have your funny note somewhere.
Happy Birthday
, it said, and then,
Let’s face it, no one else is ever going to fuck you.
Signed:
Pierrot, Coco, Bozo, Cooky and Blinko
. Humorous, eh?’ I sighed loudly for his benefit. ‘I think I’ve entered what you’d call a psychotic episode. I can’t be sure, but my psychiatrist could probably throw some light on it.’

‘You seem so sane,’ he slurred, trying to remain awake.

I laughed bitterly. ‘So did Pierrot. But he was nuts and you all followed him like dumb sheep. What was his name, Mikey? I’ll pay him back for you, I promise.’

He slumped against the side of the van, unable to hold himself upright. ‘Flynn,’ he mumbled. ‘Don’t know the rest.’

He slipped into unconsciousness and there was nothing left for me to do but get on with my grim task.

My thoughts began spiralling into the dark of the past. The floodgates I had locked so very tightly these past thirty years opened and the memories gushed back as freshly as if the events had occurred only
moments ago. I could even smell the blood, as though it had just been freshly spilled.

And with the memories came a white rage that burned away the terror. Suddenly I was calm and precise; there would be no sympathy for my victim. I knew that killing the members of the mocking Jesters Club was the only way I could kill the suffering of so long.

‘This is for Beano,’ I said as the knife slid cleanly, easily, into Michael Sheriff's body. Mercifully, there was no spume of blood; his heart must have already stopped due to the drug overdose. I withdrew the knife and wiped the blade clean, then went to work.

The emasculation was easy and I placed the bloody pile in Mikey’s hands. It seemed as good a place as any, and would no doubt give the police something to think about.

I sliced through his fleshy lips to reveal his teeth and gums. The debris from his ruined mouth joined the glutinous mass in his hand. He grinned at me now with a horrible leer.

‘Now the final touch,’ I told him, and pulled a small paint pot from my plastic bag — a tester size with the romantic-sounding name of Santorini.

‘I’d like to go to Santorini,’ I said to Mike conversationally as I dipped his fingers into the pot and smeared the paint on his cheeks. ‘I’d like to ride a donkey up the hillside, and then look at that famous church’s blue-domed roof, just like I’ve seen in the travel brochures, and sip a chilled light red on a balmy night on one of the rooftop tavernas.

‘Perhaps I’ll go there when this is over,’ I said. But Mikey didn’t reply.

2

L
ONDON
, F
EBRUARY
2003

DCI Hawksworth shifted uncomfortably in a chair in his chief ‘s office. The striped shirt that his sister had sent him from one of her favourite stores in Australia felt itchy. He sighed, knew he should have washed it before wearing it, but it had arrived last night, wrapped in tissue paper and boxed. Today was his birthday and he’d felt obliged to wear it, even though it was clearly a summer shirt, and barely a crisp nine degrees outside. Thank goodness for his thick winter overcoat. He squirmed again as his Superintendent, Martin Sharpe, blustered in.

‘Sorry, Jack,’ he said, waving some files to explain the delay. Then he stopped. ‘Er, that’s a very . . . colourful shirt.’

‘It’s my birthday, sir. A present from Amy.’

‘Ah, how is she? Still hitched to that bloke down under?’ Sharpe said, lowering himself heavily into his chair, the polished buttons on his black uniform straining slightly at his belly.

Jack smiled fondly to himself, appreciating how Sharpe’s sweet tooth was taking its toll. ‘Robert, sir. Yes, I think we’ve lost her fully to the Aussies.’

Sharpe groaned. ‘Please don’t tell me she supports their First Eleven now.’

Jack grinned. ‘I’m afraid she paints her face green and gold at the cricket and has now adopted her own football team. Apparently Man United is no longer sexy enough. Have you ever watched one of those Australian Rules games, sir?’

‘Bloody rubbish — can’t make head nor tale of it. All that bouncing and catching, running with the ball and leaping into the air like fairies.’

‘I don’t think they’re fairies, sir. From what I see, it’s quite a rough game.’

‘Well, so long as they don’t try and introduce it here in the land of real football! Mind you, Sydney looked magnificent on all the Olympics promotions. Must go see it sometime.’

Jack Hawksworth made a sound of regret. ‘Amy begged me to go over for it. It’s a beautiful city, sir — in fact, she wants me to visit this year.’

‘Well, I don’t think you can go anywhere for the moment, Jack. We need you here.’

‘Something come up?’

Sharpe nodded, but before he could say anything further, his assistant, Helen, knocked at the door. ‘Coffee, gents?’ She smiled at Jack.

‘I love you, Helen, you know that don’t you?’

‘I’m immune to your charms, Jack.’

‘You must be the only woman who is,’ the Super chipped in and then winked at his colleague, who’d bristled. ‘Settle, Jack. I’d forgotten that it’s his birthday, Helen . . . we can tease him all we want.’

She smiled at Hawksworth again. ‘I’ll be back with
the coffee. And here’s the pathology report you wanted, sir.’

Sharpe nodded his thanks as she closed the door. ‘Don’t be too touchy, Jack, m’boy. Unless you plan radical plastic surgery, you’ve got to live with those looks . . . and their consequences.’

‘Was that a compliment, sir, or are we back to that old chestnut?’

His superior shrugged. ‘I’ve been telling you that for years, no need to get the hump, m’boy.’

Hawksworth sighed. He didn’t think the shadow of Liz Drummond would ever disappear. ‘Tell me about this case, sir.’

‘We don’t really know what we’ve got here.’ Sharpe pushed a file towards the man he’d been grooming for fifteen years to reach this senior role. ‘Lincolnshire Police found the body of a man named Michael Sheriff, from Louth, three months ago in the old quarter of Lincoln. No clues as yet to the killer, although he certainly left his calling card.’ Sharpe nodded towards the manila folder.

The younger man frowned, opened the file and reacted as Sharpe had anticipated to the series of photos.

‘No lips.’ He looked up, puzzled. ‘What’s the significance?’

The Superintendent shrugged. ‘We’re yet to discover. The genitals, as you can see, were removed and placed in the victim’s hands. We don’t know what the blue paint on the fingers and face mean, either.’

‘How did he die?’

Sharpe held up a finger and opened the pathology file that Helen had just delivered. Hawksworth studied
the photos again. The victim was broad, not especially tall, looked to be in his mid-forties perhaps.

Sharpe continued. ‘Ah, it seems the more artistic cutting work was done post-mortem. Alcohol and the presence of flunitrazepam suggest he was likely unconscious, if not dead, before being stabbed. It was a huge dose of the drug.’

‘So the stabbing was just to make sure,’ Jack commented, unable to take his eyes off the hideous lipless grin that left the victim’s teeth permanently exposed.

‘Don in pathology is suggesting that the killer is left-handed. We know the victim was married with two children; forty-four years of age. A teacher. Nothing out of the ordinary — not into anything known to the police.’ Sharpe pushed the pathology report across the desk. ‘Here, you can read it all.’

‘Sir, presumably the Lincolnshire boys have it all covered. What has this to do with the Yard?’

His superior lifted another file from his desk. ‘Because three days ago a forty-five-year-old male — a Clive Farrow — was found dead in the public toilet block of Springfield Park.’

‘Hackney Marshes? We shouldn’t be surprised.’

‘We should when the MO’s the same as for our killer from Lincoln. Farrow lived in Hackney just off Lower Clapton Road with his partner, Lisa Hale. They’d been engaged for four years. He was a year older than Sheriff.’

‘Identical death, you’re saying?’

Sharpe shrugged lightly. ‘Certain classic highlights — the lips removed, emasculation, presence of the identical drug.’

‘No alcohol this time?’

‘Seems not. Everything’s in this file.’

‘So we have a serial killer? Is that what you think?’

‘Who can say yet, but two bodies suffering a similar fate, seemingly at the hands of the same murderer, suggests a serial killing to me.’

The door opened and the smell of roasted coffee beans drifted in with Helen and her tray. She put a tiny pink fondant fancy in front of Jack. In its creamy centre she’d placed a pale green birthday candle. The garish colours echoed his striped shirt. ‘Couldn’t resist it,’ she admitted sheepishly, and squeezed his shoulder.

‘I can forgive you, Helen, but only because this is the real stuff,’ Jack quipped in response, loudly inhaling the aroma of the coffee.

‘Oh well, since Martin got back from Rome he’s been unbearable. Not even plunger coffee is good enough any more — I have to boil the stuff.’ She pulled a face of mock despair for Jack’s benefit before withdrawing.

Martin motioned for his subordinate to enjoy the treat. He sipped, sighed at the taste of properly percolated coffee, and gave his instructions. ‘This is now the Yard’s case — we’re pulling both events under one unit — and you’ve got the nod to run it. Get a team together, Jack. Obviously we need cooperation from the boys over in Lincoln, so I don’t need to tell you to move into their regions with a light tread. Who would you bring under your command?’

Jack frowned in concentration. ‘Brodie, he’s tough and he’s good, I trust him. Swamp — always reliable and adds the maturity an operation needs. I think Kate Carter’s as sharp as they come, I like the way
her mind works. I also got to know a young constable while she was in detective school at Hendon. She’s a whiz on our database, HOLMES, and a qualified indexer, which I need on the team anyway. DS Sarah Jones — she’d be great. A handful of PCs, of course. I’ll put together a list.’

The Super nodded.

Jack looked up from the notes he was scribbling. ‘Have we done a profile yet?’

‘No, but I’m sure John Tandy over at FSS will have a field day with this material. You can have whatever you need.’

Jack approved. Tandy was one of the better profilers out of the Home Office. ‘What are we telling people?’

‘We’ll be making a statement for this evening’s news. As little information as possible, of course. I want you there, Jack. Helen will let you know what time.’

Hawksworth nodded unhappily but said nothing. He sat forward to finish his coffee and felt the scratch of the new cotton again.

Sharpe continued, ignoring his protégé’s reluctance to appear on TV. ‘SCD has formally named your investigation Operation Danube.’

‘Another river?’ Jack groaned. ‘Can’t they dream up something more exotic for major operations?’

‘Consider yourself lucky it wasn’t Yangtze!’ Sharpe smiled apologetically.

‘Hmmph,’ said Jack as he drained his cup, then looked at his chief, waiting for the signal that the meeting was at an end. However, it seemed the Super had more to say and Jack guessed where they were headed.

‘This next bit has to be said, Jack.’

The DCI raised his hands, his expression one of pain. ‘Please, sir, you don’t —’

‘I do, though. This is my job, Jack. You get to catch criminals, I get to keep my personnel on the straight and narrow — none more important in my eyes than you. You understand what’s at stake here?’

‘I do, sir,’ Jack said, grimly.

‘I hope so, son. This is the test. Most don’t get a second high-profile chance. Your work is exceptional — we all agree on that. None more supportive than myself, but I’m biased. Since your mother and father . . . well, you know that Cathie and I have felt like parents to you. But we lost a man and everyone wants someone to blame in such circumstances. It was clearly not your fault, but I want you squeaky clean from here on. On the other hand, I’d suggest you don’t get too defensive. I know a lesson was learned when you were an up-and-coming detective. Now it’s time to let it go.’

‘Then why do I feel as though I can’t ever be too careful? That inquiry wanted to haul me over the coals, sir.’

‘You were exonerated,’ the older man said, peering over the rim of his glasses.

‘Mud sticks.’

‘Well, you just have to learn to be less prickly, DCI Hawksworth, and more slippery. Don’t give it anything to stick to.’

‘Liz and I,’ he began, then shrugged. ‘It was a mistake, sir.’

‘Don’t make it again,’ the Super said, his gaze searing, determined to leave an impression on the
younger man. ‘In light of that, are you sure Kate Carter is the right choice?’

Jack’s bowed head snapped up as if he’d been slapped. ‘Superintendent Sharpe, I don’t —’

‘DCI Hawksworth,’ the senior man interrupted gently, ‘this is not about whether
you
would seduce DI Carter. This is about DI Carter’s susceptibility. It’s about temptation, an extremely good-looking female detective and a rather too eligible boss. I may be sixty-four, Jack, but I have not forgotten the drive of a young libido. I also have spies everywhere, none more capable than Helen. She keeps her ear to the ground and we know just how much of a talking point you are with the females. Something like this could seriously compromise you. You’re the rising star of the Force, Jack.’ Sharpe paused before adding emphatically, ‘Don’t blow it!’

‘Sir,’ Jack said, through gritted teeth, ‘if we followed that theory I’d have to keep women out of this operation altogether, and then we’d be up for a different sort of inquiry! And just for the record, sir, DI Carter is engaged to be married.’ He held his temper as the old man chuckled, his mirth suggesting he didn’t believe that fact would stop a romance occurring.

‘It got ugly last time, Jack, and apart from the death of Paul Conway, the Met lost a very good DS in Liz Drummond. I was able to protect you then, but your profile is too high now. You have jealous colleagues and the desire to constantly cut someone successful down to size is alive and well at the Yard.’

‘I understand, sir.’

‘Look in the mirror tonight, Jack. Get some sense of the fact that your good looks are what nearly undid
you . . . and could again. Use them to charm the Met’s hierarchy, but save any amorous pursuits for women outside of the Force. Sleep with a schoolteacher, for pity’s sake.’

‘I hear you,’ Jack said, working hard not to show his exasperation. He stood, moved to the door. ‘I’ll get on, sir.’

‘One more thing, Jack.’

‘Sir?’

‘Try very hard to follow the rules on this one, eh?’

‘I was right on Operation Destiny.’

‘Yes, you were, but you took one too many chances. At the risk of being tedious, Jack, I’ll remind you again that a lot is at stake. This is your return to the big time — you have been given what is arguably the most high-profile criminal case the Yard has had to deal with in a long time. The media will go into a feeding frenzy once they get the first sniff of a possible serial killer. I want you to be hailed as a hero when you get this bastard, and I don’t want any dirty linen being aired in the Yard over your handling of it.’ His Superintendent gave a final warning. ‘And I don’t want a third lipless, dickless corpse on our hands, Jack. Move fast because the media will be onto this in moments.’

Jack didn’t need to be reminded. He could already see the first shrieking headline in his mind: K
ILLER
G
IVES
K
ISS OF
D
EATH
. He grimaced. ‘Well, let’s keep the details from them as long as we can.’

‘Happy birthday, Jack,’ Sharpe added, more gently. ‘Find this bastard for me.’

* * *

What a day! But he’d finally secured the operations rooms, set up the request for phone numbers, spoken to IT regarding all the equipment required — computer terminals with full CAD, NC and MSS capabilities, as well as additional PCs for HOLMES, the database. He had contacted the relevant webmaster to ensure the Danube home address with contact details was already in the public domain and ready to take daily updates. Most importantly, he’d ensured Joan Field was a cert as the operation’s receptionist and all-round mother figure. Joan was the best — kind, firm, generous, tough. All qualities that would anchor a team coming under intense pressure and would keep the baying dogs of the media, the public and their own hierarchy at arm’s length.

He had also set up a temporary office at Wellington House, where the new team would gather the following afternoon for their first briefing. Finally, he had called around the country and pulled in the team itself. Everyone had leapt at the chance to work on the high-profile case and he was delighted that each of the senior members — the DIs who would drive the investigation — were now attached to Operation Danube. SCD Reserve had been alerted. It was likely that he’d need to pull in officers and-or clerical staff from the 24-hour available roster at short notice. His mind was whirring with all the details as he finally set off from the Yard that evening.