Keeping (14 page)

Detective Fairbrother was currently going through everything that had happened overnight for the benefit of those not in the know. Langham had been through it with him already, so he centered his thoughts on what was to come tonight.

It pained him to have to do something Villier had suggested—using her as bait—but if they were going to catch this man, they needed to orchestrate things so he did what Langham wanted, when he wanted.

He’d been thinking about profiles earlier that morning. Many serial killers admitted after being caught that they’d enjoyed reading about what they’d done in the newspapers. Now might be the time to try to rile the killer with a paragraph designed to make their man act out of character, change his pattern. A snippet of coverage on Cheryl was in order. He had a press conference scheduled a bit later, and after this meeting he’d go and write down exactly what he wanted the killer to know.

Villier wasn’t aware he was going to be taking her up on her offer. He’d soon see if she was all mouth and no trousers.

“Right then,” he said when Fairbrother had finished. “It goes without saying that we’re keeping Miss Witherspoon’s situation under wraps. The information stays in here,” he said, sweeping an arm out to encompass the room, “and in here.” He tapped his temple. “Anyone found to have a loose mouth at this stage in the game will be severely reprimanded. It is
crucial
we stick to what myself and Detective Fairbrother discussed in my office earlier this morning—I’ll be going over that with you in a second. No one talks to the press, understand? No one. If you’re caught slipping out any information, just be aware you won’t be working on my team in the future, possibly reduced to reception desk duties or other mundane tasks downstairs. Like cleaning pissed-up prisoners’ puke. Maybe even losing your job altogether. You getting the idea?”

Everyone murmured agreement.

“It’s a privilege to be on this team, not something you’re entitled to, so remember that if you’re approached by reporters or your other halves at home try and get you to talk about it. No one’s indispensable—everyone’s easily replaced. This isn’t the same case as it was before. We had no clues and it was cold, but now it’s hot as fuck and we need to work hard to make sure it doesn’t get any hotter—or not any hotter without it being something we’ve made happen. Which brings me to what we’re doing today and tonight. Day shift, you might want to ring home and let your people know you’ll be doing overtime, just in case we need you. Anyone who seriously can’t needs to let me know now so Detective Fairbrother can rearrange who is doing what while the meeting is in progress.”

He paused, looking at everyone in turn. No one raised a hand. No one sighed in frustration. Each face showed how determined they all were to see an end to this, to wrap it up and put it to bed.

“Good. I’ll thank you now for your dedication because I won’t have time to do it until this is all over.”

He looked at Villier, who stared back with an expression showing her steely fortitude to be a major player in this case. Langham knew she’d make a formidable detective, but he was fucked if she’d be on his team, his shift. If she made the grade he’d put in a quiet suggestion they worked opposite teams, different hours. The least he saw of her the better. She wound him up, and it was never good for a man to want to give a woman a face-palm.

“Sergeant Villier suggested yesterday about being used as bait,” he said.

He glanced at her to see if she looked smug or shocked. As he’d suspected, smug. She knew damn well what was coming and would use it to her advantage at the next detective opening that her suggestion had been integral to this investigation—hopefully that it had secured the killer’s arrest. Still, there was no time to get pissed off about how she’d act in the future—more smugness, more ‘I told you so’—because they had limited hours and a lot to get sorted.

“We’ll be taking her up on that offer—with a wig and contacts—using a sniffer dog for authenticity. What the killer won’t know is that dog is trained to attack with a simple click of the fingers and a one-word command. Any clue at all he’s our man and he’ll be taken down.” He looked at Villier. “You’ll be wired, we’ll be listening. You’ll be watched, we’ll be in various locations—outside Morrison’s in vehicles, in the forest. At no time will you be out of sight or earshot, understand?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, crinkling her crisp white shirt and making her black-and-white-checked tie curve like a capital C.

“You’ll need to come to my office to discuss the finer details later. Detective Fairbrother will be going home shortly for a quick nap then returning, but those others on the night shift only need to come in two hours earlier than usual. I’ll go over exactly where everyone needs to be in a moment, using this map here”—he pointed to one attached to a white board—“and then those who are due to go home, go home—those who need to stay will help with the set-up process.”

It took an hour to go over everything, and he felt sorry for those officers who were flagging, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. This fucker needed catching, and if they could draw him out tonight, all the better, but they’d send Villier out as bait every night until they caught him. Huge amount of man hours and power—and he doubted the budget would cover it—but he had no choice. Money would have to take a back seat on this one now that they were so close to catching him and they had more information on him.

With everyone off doing their assigned jobs, Langham walked through the main office and jerked his head at Villier, who followed him into the small kitchen. She leaned her arse against the counter and rested one arm beneath her breasts, the elbow of her other braced by her hand. She chewed at a thumbnail. Langham pretended he hadn’t noticed and put the kettle on to boil, afterwards spooning coffee then sugar into two cups.

She cleared her throat. “Look, I know I come off as a pretentious bitch but—”

“It’s okay, I get it.” He still didn’t look at her. Grabbed a cloth off the sink and wiped the sides instead.

“You do?”

He nodded. “Yep, woman copper in a male-dominated world. I know. I understand. Might not like the way you are, but I get it.” He watched her from the corner of his eye.

She fiddled with her long fringe, winding it around her finger. “I don’t mean to come off like that, it just happens. I get this thing inside me that won’t allow for any softness.” She laughed quietly. “Probably afraid that if I do, someone will take advantage or won’t listen to my orders because I’m a woman.”

The kettle boiled and the switch snapped up.

Langham poured water into the cups, set about adding milk. “You’re a sergeant. People ought to do as they’re told because of that, not because you don’t have a dick, pardon my bluntness.”

“I prefer blunt.”

“I had noticed.”

He smiled at her then and she smiled back, a proper smile, one with teeth and gums. She reached for the coffee he handed her, then he jerked his head again, walking without speaking until they went into his office and closed the door. He gestured for her to take a seat and he sat in his chair, glad he’d cleared away the cookies from yesterday, had gotten rid of the crumbs and that bloody dust in the gouge. She’d have frowned at that had it still been there.

“So you’re frightened,” he said. She liked blunt, she’d get it. “I understand that too. And I also understand that it’s normal for you to feel this way even though it was your suggestion that you be used as bait. But, like I said back there, you’ll be monitored. From what Cheryl told Fairbrother during the night, he jabbed her with the needle then killed her dog before she lost consciousness. It won’t even get that far with our operation. It’ll be obvious who he is as soon as he approaches. We’ll give it about two hours, in case he’s watching. Lots of people take their dogs out for that amount of time. Any more, though, and we’re pushing it. He’ll know something’s up if he’s there somewhere, taking note of your movements.”

“What if he’s not there tonight?” She sipped her coffee. Her hand trembled a bit.

“Then we’ll return tomorrow night. You’ll walk and play with the dog, the killer will hopefully think you’re new to the area or whatever. Doesn’t matter what he thinks on that score—so long as it looks normal, authentic, it’ll work. If you keep glancing at the road, Morrison’s, or the forest, he might get suspicious. Many people walk with their heads down. They take a bit of time to have a think while their dog ferrets about on its own. Do that. We can let you know when someone’s approaching. Your earpiece is a bud—he won’t notice it if we use a long wig.”

She took it all in, probably visualizing it in her mind. She stared at the floor, finger still twirling that hair. “So if he approaches, what do I say? Is there anything you
want
me to say?”

“No. Take it as it comes. Respond as you would if this wasn’t a set-up and you were out and about and someone came along to chat you up.” He wondered how many men
had
chatted her up and if they’d received a sharp refusal. Then again, she might not be an uptight bitch all the time.

“Right.” She let out a long, unsteady breath. “Right.”

She was mentally convincing herself she could do this, he knew that. He’d be doing the same in her position. And it wasn’t like she had much time to get used to it either. No going home to sleep on it. No, she’d have a few hours then be dumped into the path of a madman.

It must have taken courage for her to open up to him like this, reveal the chink in her armor. She’d never struck him as the confiding type, so he supposed he ought to feel pleased she’d chosen him. He wasn’t. Didn’t give a fuck how she felt. Her attitude had always rubbed him up the wrong way, so the shutters had come down where she was concerned. He’d keep her vulnerability to himself, though, as much as he was tempted to be an arsehole and tell someone she wasn’t such a hard bitch after all. It wouldn’t do for anyone else to know she actually had a heart, was human, because, like she’d said, it meant they might not take her seriously. And, if she was thinking of becoming a detective, she’d need to retain her icy veneer.

“So, have you got anything dog-walkerish to wear?” he asked.

“Not here, no.”

He leaned forward, pulling his wallet out of his back trouser pocket. Selecting two tenners, he then handed them over. “Go out and buy something. Cheap joggers and a sweatshirt or something. Keep the receipts.” He took out another twenty. “Best get some training shoes as well.”

“What, training shoes for twenty quid?” she said, putting the money in her shirt pocket.

“We’re not talking Nikes, Villier.” He held back a smile. “Like I said, something cheap.”

“What if he’s a brand-name snob?” she said, raising her eyebrows.

“He isn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Oliver sensed it with one of his info dump episodes. Casual dresser.”

“Oh. Right. So that’s that then. Oliver has spoken.” She stood and walked over to the door. Paused. “How do you cope with that?”

“With what?” He slid his wallet back into his pocket, thinking that he’d let her comment about Oliver slide, but if she did it again he’d fucking give her what for.

“Oliver’s…with what Oliver does.” She put her hand on the doorknob.

Langham shrugged. “It isn’t me dealing with it, really. Oliver’s the one going through the real hassle, especially with this new
knowing
thing. Takes a bit of a toll on him.”

“And you, I suspect.” She smiled. “You care about him a lot, don’t you.”

Langham was uncomfortable that she’d brought up the subject of his private life. Although Oliver worked here from time to time, he was his and not up for discussion. Not that side of things, anyway.

“Good,” she said, pulling open the door. “Good for you.”

Langham sat in silence after she’d left, stunned at how different she’d been. Did he appear like her? One person to those he worked with and another to Oliver? Did he give off the air of being someone totally different to who he actually was? Did those on his team think of him as an arsehole, arrogant and someone who didn’t care about anything except solving cases? Did it matter if they did? He decided it didn’t. How he was at work got the job done. If it meant he had to come off as a hard-nosed bastard sometimes, so be it.

Besides, he reserved the majority of his softness for Oliver.

He drank his coffee, emptying his mind and just enjoying the taste, the silence. Before long he’d be running around like a blue-arsed fly, no time to stop. He lifted the phone and dialed Oliver’s mobile, wanting to hear his voice.

“You coming to the press conference in a bit?” Langham asked.

“Yeah. I just got back from visiting Cheryl. Her parents are here. They looked knackered. Drove down through the night.”

“How is she?”

“Awake. Tearful.”

Langham nodded. “I think I’ll send Villier to see her this afternoon. Might help her for tonight.”

“What’s going on tonight?”

“Won’t say much until I see you, but she’s going out with a dog.”

“Christ.”

“It’s got to be done. Can’t let this go on the way it has been. If he gets another one…”

“But what if she doesn’t stand out to him? What if he picks someone else?”

“Then we’ll still be there, watching.”

“But for how long? He might take a break like he’s done in the past.”

“I don’t think he will after he sees what’ll be in the second edition of today’s paper.”

“Ah.”

“You all right?” He worried about Oliver. Wanted to check because…just because.

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.” Langham rubbed his brow.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Listen, I’m going to have to go,” Langham said. “I just needed to—”

“I know. Glad you rang. I needed to hear you too.”

“See you in a few, then.”

“Yep.” He paused, then, “I want to be there tonight.”

“Oliver, I don’t think—”

“I’ll keep out of it, stay out of the way. I just…I just want to see him get caught.”

“I understand. Right then. I’m off. Lots on. Careful with that kettle at work now. All those teas…”