Passion Killers (19 page)

“She was getting some attention for the first time in her life,” Finn said. “Me and Ken Stone, we were both in love with her.”

“What did Theresa think of that?” Banham asked.

Finn laid his hands flat on the desk. “Olivia chose Ken. I courted Theresa, and I fell in love with her.” He looked away. When he spoke again after a few seconds, his voice had changed and the aggression had gone again. “I loved all the girls,” he said “I made it my job to look after them.”

“Why did Ken Stone visit you in prison?” Banham asked.

Finn gave a puzzled frown. “He didn’t.”

“Oh come on, Finn.” Banham was losing patience. “We have evidence that he did.”

“On my life, guvnor.”

Banham threw down a transparent evidence bag containing the prison record in front of Finn. “For the tape, I’m showing Mr Finn exhibit 313, prison visiting records,” he said. “It’s there in black and white: Mrs O Stone and Mr K Stone.”

Finn shook his head again and met Banham’s eyes. “That don’t say Ken came,” he said. “That says Mrs O Stone and Mr K Stone. Olivia brought Kevin to see me.” He hesitated a moment before adding, “He’s my son.”

With difficulty Banham kept his astonishment from showing on his face. This time the silence lasted almost half a minute. Then he asked, “Does Ken Stone know?”

“Yeah. I couldn’t marry her, could I? By the time she knew, I was doing time for Ahmed.” Finn looked away. “She didn’t want me anyway. And I loved Theresa, and she was pregnant too. It was a bit of a mess. But Ken wanted to marry Livvy, so it looked as if it might work out, for her anyway. Then when Kevin was about ten she brought him in to see me, and told him I was his father. They both visited me regular after that. At first Kev didn’t want to, but then we got on, had a laugh, like. He told me about Ken, how he got violent with them.” He clenched his fists. “After that I just wanted to get out and kill the bastard.”

“Is that why you blackmailed him?”

He looked at the wall. “Wouldn’t have been any need, if he’d coughed up like he said he would.” He turned round again and pushed his face into Banham’s. “It was tough on Theresa, you know. She had Bernadette, and it was... tough.”

“Are you saying the blackmail was her idea?” Alison asked.

Finn made no reply.

“I thought Olivia helped her financially?” Alison pushed.

“Some. Enough to get by.” He blew out a breath. “I was stuck in prison, Theresa had a handicapped kid, and Olivia had it all. Why shouldn’t Mr Kenneth Bigshot Stone pay up?”

“What about Katie Faye? Where does she come into this?” Banham asked. “She was paying half the blackmail. Didn’t you feel guilty about that?”

“No, I didn’t!” He slammed a fist on the table. “If it weren’t for me, she’d have nothing.”

“Now you’ve lost me.” Banham watched Finn’s gaze move nervously around the room.

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, dropping his head into his hands. “Oh Christ, what have I said?”

“If there’s something you think we should know, you’d better start talking,” Alison said crisply. “This is a triple murder enquiry, and one of the victims is the woman you love. If you withhold anything that could be relevant, you could be looking at another prison sentence.”

Finn looked at her like a man resigned to a fate he didn’t want to imagine. “All right. It looks like I’ve got no choice.”

“Do you think we’ve finally got the truth?” Alison asked Banham, outside the interview room twenty minutes later.

“Oh yes. He hasn’t any reason to make that up; he’s already served nineteen years for it. The question is, is he right about the stripper name? He pulled his phone from his pocket and switched it back on. “And that strawberry motif on the g-string. Does that tell us who the killer’s lined up next?”

He checked his phone. There was a string of missed calls made from the same number: one he didn’t recognise. He quickly pressed Return, but the number was unobtainable.

“I’ll get Katie Faye brought in,” Alison said, taking her car keys out and heading for the front door.

“Before you do, just run a check on that number for me.” He handed her his phone. “It’s called sixteen times in the last twenty minutes.”

Alison’s arm was halfway into the sleeve of her anorak as she rushed back along the corridor to the incident room. She tossed Banham’s mobile back to him and spoke at the speed of a Euro train. “Grab your coat. The calls were from Olivia Stone’s private line in her house.” Her car keys were already in her hand. “I’ll meet you at the car.”

Banham grabbed his coat and ran after her, pausing only to punch DC Holt’s number into his phone.

“Have you got Katie Faye with you?” he asked the young surveillance officer.

Holt sounded out of breath. “I needed the loo, so I knocked on the door. There were raised voices, so I followed the sound to the back of the house. Then I heard a car engine fire at the front, so I rushed back, just in time to see the BMW roaring off with Katie Faye at the wheel. I’ve already called for back-up...”

“Put out a warning not to approach her,” Banham said urgently. “Give them the registration, but tell them to keep their distance. She may be armed and dangerous.”

He had reached the bottom of the stairs, opposite the station sergeant’s desk. “Get me a radio,” he said to the duty sergeant, “and alert all areas. We’re looking for a black BMW – DC Holt will give you the registration number. Warn them the driver may be armed.” He put his mobile back to his ear. “Back-up’s on the way, and so are we,” he told him. “Stay at the house and keep us posted.”

Alison had the engine running and the door open as Banham tore out of the station, still talking to DC Holt. “You said you heard voices at the back of the house? Whose? Besides Katie Faye?”

“I don’t know, sir. A man, that’s all I could tell. I didn’t see any visitors arrive. If someone else was in the house, they got in without my knowledge.”

Banham climbed into Alison’s car. It was moving before he had closed the door.

“Let’s hope for a clear road,” she said.

She turned into the main road and jumped an amber light. She must have been driving at sixty miles an hour. Banham switched on the radiophone and asked the station sergeant for siren-led back-up. “That’ll help us cross London,” he said, “and keep us in one piece.”

“Just pray we don’t get a puncture. I’ve just changed the wheel and haven’t had time to get it mended.”

They approached a t-junction, and she pulled out without waiting for an oncoming car to give way.

“I’ll pray your driving doesn’t get us killed as well, shall I?” he said, clutching the edge of his seat.

Katie slowed down to just under thirty miles an hour. Her eyes kept flicking toward the driver’s mirror. She couldn’t turn her head to the left. If she moved even a millimetre, the large, shiny, newly sharpened carving knife pressed against her throat would penetrate her skin. The side of her ear was already stinging from the small nick intended as a warning not to try to alert anyone.

That sting made her aware exactly how sharp that knife was, and the damage it could inflict. The fear of what it might do to her throat stopped her thinking straight.

A red g-string lay on the passenger seat beside her. Another warning, as if she needed it: she already knew she was next in the killer’s sights.

The memory of the weeks working at that dreadful club soaked her mind. She’d been stupid. Stupid, and so desperate to earn the money to go to college and better herself that she put herself through the humiliation of rolling around naked on a filthy mattress pretending to have sex with Olivia, and having a huge dildo pushed up her anus by that pervert Ahmed. Six weeks’ work, taking her clothes off twice nightly in front of crowds of jeering drunks who pawed and mauled her young body, in the oppressive temperatures of the hottest summer in history. All because she had a dream – to become an actress, and make something of herself.

She slowed and stopped at a red light. Again she flicked a glance at the mirror, touching a finger under her eye to catch a tear, so that her vision wasn’t blurred and her mascara wouldn’t sting.

He was kneeling on the floor behind the driver’s seat, an arm around her throat and a strange, twisted smile across his face. He could have been a stranger, not the child she had watched being born. She had held his mother’s hand during the birth, and sworn to watch over him and protect him as his godmother. She hardly recognised her Kevin, with those mad eyes and a gun in his left hand in case the knife wasn’t enough.

She lowered her eyes. Reasoning with him was out of the question. Her only hope was that someone would pull up beside them at the lights, recognise her and knock on the window for her autograph. But for that to work she needed to position her face closer to the window – and his grip was so tight she couldn’t turn her neck.

“Where am I driving to, Kev?” she asked, failing to keep the tremble out of her voice.

“Keep going south, then turn left as soon as you can towards the river.”

Her body stiffened with fear. He obviously sensed it, because he began to laugh.

“‘I know you’re afraid of water, Auntie Katie. You’re going for a little swim.”

She took a deep breath and fought the tears trying to explode from her eyes.

“You won’t be alone,” he told her. “There’ll be plenty of rats to keep you company.” He laughed again, a whining sound she heard never heard from him before. “You won’t see them, though. I’m going to cut out your beautiful blue eyes first. And feed them to the rats.”

The tears suddenly spilled out. She moved her head minutely as she tried to fight them back, and the edge of the knife caught her throat. First she felt the sting, then the trickle of warm blood as it tickled and slid down her neck. Then she heard that strange laugh again.

“Blimey, it’s her. It’s Nurse Penelope from
Screened
.” PC Garrad slammed his foot on the brake of the police patrol car. “In front of us! Look – black BMW number plate KAT. That’s the car we’re looking for.”

His partner, PC Tracey Alexander, spoke into her radio as Garrad crawled alongside them.

“Keep your distance, Jim,” Tracey said. “There’s someone in the back. He’s got a knife to her throat.”

Katie saw the patrol car pull alongside them, praying that Kevin hadn’t. But it was too much to hope.

“Go!” He pressed the heel of his hand against her throat, making her gag. “Never mind the lights. DRIVE!”

She hesitated. He loosened his grip on her throat, and something stabbed her left hand, which was holding the handbrake.

“Do it! DRIVE!”

She did, without looking to see if they were about to be killed by the oncoming traffic. Cars swerved around her, hooting and shouting, verbal abuse flying out of open windows. Surely the police car would come after them now, she prayed.

But nothing happened.

“Keep your foot down. Keep driving.” The knife moved back to her throat, and his arm gripped her head and neck even tighter. She couldn’t see the blood oozing from the cut on her hand, but she felt its warmth as it slid between her fingers.

“All units urgent!” The station sergeant’s voice crackled out of Tracey’s radio. “Black BMW, registration KAT, heading south driving erratically. Do NOT approach, repeat DO NOT APPROACH. Armed and dangerous passenger in the car. Keep under observation but wait for back-up! Armed response is on its way.”

Alison now sandwiched safely in between two patrol cars with sirens squealing, sped across red traffic lights. Banham clung to the edge of the seat and barked orders into his radio.

“Stay back. Do not get too close,” he shouted. “Do not attempt to flag it down.”

Katie pulled up at the next traffic lights. Her eyes slowly focused on the driver’s mirror. Kevin smiled that strange smile again. He drew the knife up her neck on to her chin and across her cheek, slowly sliding it toward her eye, grazing the soft skin of her cheek and angling the razor-edge so it was less than a millimetre from her left eye.

She froze.

He moved again, dragging the blade down her face over her already smarting cheek, and pushing the sharp edge in hard under her chin. Her heart was beating so hard it felt like a bomb about to explode. She closed her eyes, waiting for the agony as the knife penetrated her throat.

Nothing happened.

She opened her eyes again.

“I’ve got an erection, Auntie Katie. Do you want to feel it?”

This time she couldn’t stop the tears. Mascara ran into her eyes, stinging and blinding her.

She had nursed him as a baby; bought him his first train set, and watched him grow up, hardly missing a week of it. In all those years she’d never seen a hint of this side of him. Had they been so busy feeling guilty for denying him a childhood with his real father that they had failed to see how disturbed he was? That he was a very sick boy in need of psychiatric help? Or was it a direct result of the violence Kenneth had shown him?

The traffic light turned green.

“Drive on,” he said casually.

She lifted her bloodied hand and tried to wipe the mascara from her eye so she could see clearly. Another prickle stung her the shoulder like an angry bee. She couldn’t move her head, but she felt the blood as it leaked on to her pink t-shirt. An uncontrollable sob burst from her mouth, and the car stalled.

“It’s only a nip, don’t be such a baby,” he said irritably.

She restarted the car and felt the heavy steel against the back of her head. There was a sickening, slicing sound, and she fought to keep the car straight as her body tensed, waiting for the pain.

He laughed, dangling his trophy in front of her. It was a large hank of her long golden hair.

Her first thought was that the studio would be furious. She had signed a contract agreeing not to change her hair in any way. She could get the sack. Then reality hit her. The job was the least of her worries; her chances of getting out of this situation alive were practically nil.

She lifted a trembling hand and wiped the smudged mascara from across her face. Blood from the cut on her hand stung her grazed cheek.

They were travelling at nearly eighty miles an hour, sirens screaming at their front and rear. Banham spoke into his phone. “The description fits Kevin Stone,” he told Crowther. “Get Brian Finn into the back of a very fast unit car, and tell them to step on it. They are heading south towards the river. Bring a radio and I’ll keep you updated. Time is at a premium.”

Alison’s accelerator foot hit the floor.

Banham clicked his phone shut and heard himself praying aloud that they would be in time to save Katie Faye’s life.

“We’re doing everything we can,” Alison said quietly.

Katie slowed as she approached another set of traffic lights.

“Stop here,” Kevin said, looking around.

Where had all the police cars gone, Katie thought desperately.

He took the knife away from Katie’s throat and sprang lightly over the top of the passenger seat.

The car was stationary. This was her only chance.

She opened the driver’s door and launched herself towards the gap, but screamed with pain as he dragged her back by her hair. He grabbed the collar of her leather jacket with the other hand; he had obviously dropped the knife and the gun, so she resisted with all her strength. But she couldn’t match his. He hauled her back into the car.

First his fist landed hard on her temple. Her head spun and she saw stars. Then he leapt out of the car and ran round to the driver’s side; he pushed her legs in and slammed the door so quickly she had to pull her feet free. As he climbed back into the passenger seat terror consumed her; he grabbed her hair and turned her face towards him. His fist slammed hard into her face, and blood spurted from her nose and mouth. “Now drive the fucking car!” he snarled.

She was dizzy but she drove on. Any hope of being recognised was gone; her face was a mess. She was losing hope.

Crowther and Brian Finn were in the back of a unit car, siren screaming, overtaking everything on the road. Banham’s voice crackled over the radio. “Kevin Stone is armed with a gun and a knife. An ARV is on the way. Stay out of sight until the ARV arrives. Katie Faye’s life depends on it.”

“Let me talk to him,” Finn offered. “He’ll listen to me.”

“Not yet,” Crowther said.

“That bastard Ken Stone,” Finn muttered. “He’s responsible. No wonder the boy’s like he is.”

Crowther glared at him.

“I’m your only hope,” Finn urged. “If the police approach him, he could kill her. He’ll listen to me. I’m his dad.”

“What do you think you’re doing here?” Crowther sighed. “A fucking joy-ride? When the time is right, you’ll talk to him. But right now, shut the fuck up, will you.”

“Turn left at the lights,” Kevin said.

Katie still felt dizzy. She hesitated for a moment, trying to focus on the lights.

“I said turn left.”

She felt another sting on her hand, and a trickle of fresh blood ran down her fingers. Her feet fumbled with pedals, then she put pressure on the accelerator and turned left.

“South! South!” The voice sounded in all fifteen police cars closing in on the BMW. “Correction: target has now turned east and is heading towards the river.”

Brian Finn sat ashen-faced and silent, listening to every word.

The police car in front of Alison slowed, and the wailing siren went silent. Alison followed suit, and so did the car behind her. A voice came over Banham’s radio. “They’re only a couple of streets away, guvnor.”

The familiar stab of guilt made Banham catch his breath. He hadn’t been able to save his wife and baby, but he wasn’t going to let Katie Faye die.

Katie tried pleading, but the words almost choked her. “Kevin, I don’t deserve this.”

“Yes, you do fucking deserve it! You let my father rot in prison.” His voice was cold and angry. “For something he didn’t do.”

“You’ve got it wrong. It wasn’t like the...” Another punch to the side of her head knocked the breath out of her, and hysterical sobs began to spill out. “Please, Kevin, say you won’t hurt your mother,” she begged. “She loves you, and she wouldn’t...”

The knife was in his hand again. He cut through her t-shirt and into her collarbone where the skin was thin. It was a shallow cut, but the pain was nearly unbearable and she had to fight for breath again. She opened her bleeding mouth, but only a strange animal-like sound escaped.