Friends to Die For (40 page)

Vogel surveyed his team. There was a palpable excitement in the air at the prospect they might just have their man in custody. But excitement could be dangerous in these circumstances. It could
lead to some vital clue being overlooked. He was determined that no such mistakes would be made in this case.

‘If we don’t come up with some hard evidence, we will have no option but to release George Kristos. And I do not want to be responsible for putting a killer back out there on the
streets.’

Two hours later, just as he was considering having another crack at George, Vogel heard that Karen Walker had been killed.

The first report was that she’d thrown herself in front of a train at Leicester Square tube station and had died instantly.

PC Jessica Harding in Command and Dispatch phoned Vogel with the news as soon as the response team first on the scene called in their report. Karen’s body had been identified by the
contents of the wallet removed from her handbag. The body itself, Harding told Vogel, was in a condition which would have made any other immediate identification almost impossible.

Vogel was stunned. He did not believe for one moment that Karen had committed suicide. His immediate reaction was that she too had been murdered, presumably by the same individual who killed
Marlena and Michelle Monahan.

‘When did this happen?’ he asked PC Harding. ‘Presumably as Karen Walker went under a train, we have a precise time of death?’

‘Yes, guv,’ answered Jessica Harding. ‘Transport police have logged the incident at 10.25 a.m. this morning.’

Vogel leaned over his desk and buried his face in his hands. Had he really got everything so wrong? He and Parlow had arrested George Kristos at 9 a.m., and he was still in custody. Kristos
could not possibly have pushed Karen Walker under a train at 10.25 a.m. For the second time a suspect would have to be released because he was in police custody when a murder occurred. The
investigation seemed to be going round in circles.

Vogel reconsidered the possibility of suicide. Karen Walker had been extremely distressed by recent events, not least by her own and her husband’s arrest the previous day on suspicion of
murder. Even so, she’d seemed so devoted to her children that he could not imagine her leaving them motherless. And in spite of the anger she was feeling towards her husband after discovering
that he’d had dealings with Tony Kwan, Greg and Karen had previously enjoyed a good and solid marriage.

No. The detective still did not believe that Karen Walker had committed suicide.

As Vogel saw it, he’d failed once more. The killer had claimed a third victim. And that victim was female, like the previous two – or four, if you counted the 1998 murders. The
removal of the reproductive organs certainly indicated that gender was a factor. Should he have arranged for Karen Walker to stay at a safe house instead of returning home?

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Nobby Clarke. She told him to get himself to the scene, leaving her to handle the deployment of the rest of her MIT. Vogel ordered Parlow to
commandeer a CID car, for the second time that morning, in order to rush them both to Leicester Square.

In the car he steeled himself for the task ahead. He had once before attended the scene of a train death, and the sight which had presented itself, that time on an over-ground line, remained
with him still.

As Vogel had expected, Karen Walker’s body was in a horrific state. Both legs had been removed from her body when the train hit her. Worse still, she had been decapitated.

Her body had already been tented off by the time Vogel arrived at Leicester Square station, and the platform closed. It seemed that the British Transport Police were accustomed to such events
and handled them with an efficiency born of tragic familiarity. Three BTP officers were on sentry duty stoically preserving the scene. The Home Office pathologist was not yet there, but the SOCOs,
who had apparently arrived just before Vogel, were already beginning to go about their business.

The first thing Vogel saw inside the tented area was Karen Walker’s head, distorted and discoloured, like a watermelon on a bloodied stem. It lay several feet from the torso to which it
had once been attached. And its bulging eyes seemed to be staring at Vogel.

The detective felt his stomach lurch. His head began to spin and he felt sure that this time he would pass out and fall over onto the railway, or maybe onto a bit of the body. The more he tried
to fight the disorientating giddiness rising within him, the more consuming it became.

He decided he had no choice but to beat a fast retreat. He backed quickly out of the tent and hoisted himself up onto the platform, trying to breathe deeply and evenly. It was probably half a
minute or so before his head stopped spinning, and only then did he become aware of Parlow standing alongside him. The detective constable had obviously taken the opportunity to emulate his
superior officer’s exit. His skin was a sickly shade of green, and Vogel noticed that he was wiping his mouth with a paper tissue. He glanced down at the grey concrete. Parlow had been
sick.

‘Sorry, sir,’ said the DC.

‘Not to worry,’ Vogel told the embarrassed officer. ‘Could have been much worse. I knew a rookie PC once who, first time on a murder, threw up right over the corpse. SOCOs
weren’t at all pleased.’

‘Bloody ’ell,’ said Parlow.

Vogel smiled. ‘Right, let’s go back in and get this over with,’ he said, just as Dr Fitzwarren arrived.

‘Good morning, gentlemen. Everything under control?’ she asked, glancing pointedly at the mess on the ground by Parlow’s feet.

Vogel waited ’til she was out of earshot then told Parlow to take no notice.

And it was with some satisfaction that, as they returned to the tented area, this time following the pathologist, he became aware that even her detachment and iron control seemed to falter when
she took in the scattered parts of Karen Walker’s body spread across the track.

‘First impressions?’ he asked.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Vogel,’ she replied.

‘Things are not always as they seem,’ said Vogel.

‘How very cryptic,’ responded Patricia Fitzwarren. ‘Have you ever considered compiling crosswords for a living?’

‘Yes,’ said Vogel.

He didn’t know why they were indulging in banter in the face of such horror. But perhaps it was because of it. This kind of behaviour was a common reaction among police officers, doctors,
and indeed the staff of all emergency services.

‘I bet you have, too,’ responded the pathologist. ‘Look, we don’t need to ponder too much on the cause of death, do we? It’s more a question of did she jump or was
she pushed – and looking at the state of the poor woman I doubt we’ll be able to throw much light on that. But I’ll do what I can here, then we’ll complete the post-mortem
back at the morgue. D’you want to come?’

‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ responded Vogel, who found post-mortem examinations even more disturbing than crime scenes and preferred to avoid attending.
‘I’ll wait to hear.’

He left then, Parlow at his heels, wondering why he’d rushed to Leicester Square tube station in the first place. He wasn’t sure he had learned anything, and he’d certainly
been of no assistance at all.

There was another even more unpleasant task to be performed for which he had absolutely no appetite. The one every copper dreads. The death call.

‘Right, Parlow, we’d better go see Greg Walker,’ he said. ‘Break the news.’

Unless he already knows, Vogel pondered to himself but did not add. For he could not yet rule out the possibility that Greg Walker had been the one who’d killed her.

Greg was in no danger of finding out anything. After his wife had left he’d gone back to his makeshift bed on the sofa and laid there, enveloped in misery. He supposed it
was his own fault that she’d walked out on him and left him in this state. He should have entrusted Karen with the truth about his past when they’d first met. But he hadn’t been
able to. And as the years had passed it had become more and more impossible to do so. He’d told her he’d messed about with gangs and been involved in the odd punch-up down the market,
and that his pal Wiz had died following an accidental fall. The reality had been far worse. The punch-ups down the market had been knife fights. Wiz, another young Triad recruit, had been shot by a
couple of Kwan’s henchmen after being caught out in some act of betrayal or disloyalty. Greg had never been told the details. But because it was known that he was Wiz’s friend, he had
been ordered to help dispose of the body. Kwan’s heavies had stood over him giving orders as he dismembered Wiz’s corpse and placed the body parts in bin bags. He’d then delivered
the remains to an East End pet-food factory run by Kwan’s uncle. As Kwan intended, the horrific experience had proved a most effective warning, one Greg had never forgotten. His participation
had given Kwan a hold on him, and made him terrified of the consequences if he ever tried to break free.

Karen’s anger and frustration when she learned of Greg’s association with Kwan had been understandable. But she had no idea what Kwan was capable of, so it was incomprehensible to
her that Greg couldn’t just turn his back on the man. The miracle in Greg’s life was that he’d been allowed to move on as much as he had. Yet the shadow of the Triads had never
really gone away, and it never would. How could he explain that to Karen without telling her everything, forcing her to share with him the dreadful burden of what he had done?

Unable to face going to work or even getting up off the sofa, Greg had stared up at the ceiling trying to figure out a way to salvage his marriage. His phone rang twice shortly after
Karen’s departure. He checked the display panel just in case it was her who was calling. Or, heaven forbid, Tony Kwan. But the first call turned out to be from his dodgy whisky supplier and
the second from Bob. He had no wish to speak to either of them, particularly Bob, so he ignored both calls. He supposed later that he had heard the whine of police sirens and the noise of
ambulances arriving at the tube station a couple of streets away, but such sounds were a normal part of city life. He paid them no heed. After an hour or two of torturing himself about both his
past and his now uncertain future, the sleep Greg had denied himself in the night finally overcame him and he drifted into blissful nothingness.

He was woken by the entryphone. With a start, he sat bolt upright on the sofa. Maybe Karen had come back. She had her own keys, but she could have forgotten them. Especially given the state
she’d been in. He hurried to the phone and spoke into it hopefully.

He was disappointed to hear Vogel’s voice.

‘We need to come up and see you, please, Mr Walker. I’m afraid there is something we have to speak to you about.’

Greg felt no particular sense of foreboding. He was merely irritated. He assumed the detective had more questions, and that was the last thing he needed right now.

But he opened the door to find Vogel grim-faced. And an equally grim-faced CID man accompanying him.

‘I think you’d better go and sit down, Mr Walker,’ said Vogel.

Greg led the two policemen into the living room and perched himself on an upright chair at the table by the window. It was obvious that Vogel had something important to say, but the policeman
seemed to be having difficulty finding the words. Alarm bells were now ringing loud and clear in Greg’s head. This was serious, he thought, very serious. Yet it did not occur to him that this
latest police visit concerned his wife until Vogel spoke again.

‘I am afraid I have some bad news, Mr Walker,’ said Vogel.

It was like being struck by a bolt of lightning. Suddenly Greg knew. Beyond any doubt, he knew.

‘Karen,’ he said. ‘Karen. She’s dead.’

It wasn’t a question. He didn’t need to ask a question. It was a statement.

Vogel nodded. ‘I am afraid she is, Mr Walker,’ he said. ‘And I am so sorry to be bringing you this—’

‘How?’ Greg interrupted, his voice unnaturally high. ‘Was she murdered? If she was, I’m going to get the bastard. You lot can’t do it, that’s bloody obvious.
But I will. I’ll get the bastard.’

‘Mr Walker, we do not know yet whether your wife was murdered, not for sure anyway.’

‘What happened? Just tell me, will you. Tell me exactly what happened to my Karen.’

Vogel did so. He explained that while the cause of death seemed clear, it was not known exactly how Karen came to fall under the wheels of a train, that inquiries were ongoing, CCTV footage was
being checked, and so on.

‘What do you mean, you don’t know how she came to fall? She must have been bloody pushed. I mean, after what happened to Marlena and Michelle it’s obvious she’s been
murdered. It’s not fucking rocket science, is it?’

‘Clearly we are investigating that possibility,’ said Vogel.

Greg stared hard at him. He sensed that the policeman believed Karen had been murdered. All this business about keeping an open mind was just Vogel playing it by the book.

‘We can’t rule out at this stage that Mrs Walker’s fall was accidental. And then again, it could have been . . .’ Vogel paused to take a very deep breath. ‘It has
to be possible, I’m afraid, Mr Walker, that your wife may have taken her own life.’

‘What? My Karen? Top herself? No fucking way, mate,’ said Greg.

Vogel glanced pointedly at the sofa. There was a pillow at one end and a crumpled blanket tossed carelessly across the middle. It was obvious someone had been sleeping there.

‘May I ask if you and your wife had a recent disagreement, Mr Walker?’ Vogel asked.

‘Oh my God,’ said Greg. ‘You seriously think my Karen went and topped herself because we had some bloody silly row? Is that what you’re saying? That’s rubbish.
Rubbish, do you hear?’

Vogel seemed to take pity on him. Certainly his reply was uncharacteristic in that it revealed more information about his own attitude than might have been prudent at that stage.

‘Actually, that isn’t what I think, Mr Walker,’ he said. ‘I believe, in all probability, and given the circumstances involving other recent incidents with which you and
your wife have connections, that Mrs Walker was murdered. But our inquiries are still proceeding, and I must say again that we do have to investigate all possibilities.’