The Ultimate Selection: Be Careful Who You Talk To (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Greg picked up Hector's mobile phone and switched it on. He waited a few moments while the device powered up. He dialled Terry Bane's mobile number and waited for him to answer.

‘Terry Bane,' the voice on the other end answered.

‘Good afternoon, Terry,' Greg said, adopting his alter ego's well-spoken tone.

‘Yeah, good afternoon – who's this?'

‘I'm the one you are looking for.'

‘And why would I be looking for you?'

‘Because I'm making this call on Hector's phone.'

Terry's eyes blinked wide, ‘So are you going to hand yourself in? Is that it?'

‘That would take the fun out of the hunt, out of the game, Terry. It's all part of the game.'

‘What do I call you? You know my name.'

‘Do I need a name? Let me think…' Greg smirked.

‘Why are you contacting me, shouldn't you be talking to the police?' Terry interrupted.

‘Terry, I think you already know that I'm well informed – enough to know that you are working with the police. Though I must say, you are an excellent reporter. I enjoyed your coverage of the Swiss Cottage story.'

‘OK,' Terry seemed confused.

‘I understand that this must be a bit of a shock. Well, after all I have been involved in a couple of grizzly crimes. That said, I have not killed. The killing, the blood of those whom have perished is on the hands of those in your custody. Murder, well that is the ultimate crime. Wouldn't you agree?'

‘Only if you get away with it. What do you want me to call you?'

‘You can call me “The Ultimate”. How are Sharon and Martin? I hope that you are looking after them both.'

‘Let's just say that they've both had better days. Why them?'

‘Why not them. Brian and Hector selected themselves – I did not select them,' Greg laughed, ‘as will others. I'm cleansing the streets of London, a job that our finest have failed in.'

‘You will be caught, you know that?'

‘Not if I continue to play the game, using my rules. You won't catch me, Terry,' Greg laughed.

‘So, why have you contacted me?'

‘Terry, we are both educated men. I think that, thus far, you know how well I like to plan. I am a slave to detail. I will never leave any trace of my true identity, so I will continue to lead you into a cul-de-sac every time.'

‘How long do you think you can carry on with this… with your reign?'

‘My reign?' Greg paused, wanting to lead the conversation elsewhere. ‘I would wager good money that the press conference that took place earlier was not something that you wanted? How can these people expect to catch the likes of me, when it is me who is leading the way? Amateurs – don't you agree Terry?' Greg snapped.

‘I told them it was a mistake – but it made you want to contact me, break the ice.'

‘Contacting you was something I had planned before the press conference. I watched you at the car park. I saw you with James McFarland – I am everywhere, Terry. I got your number from your voicemail. Just in case you were wondering. Information is easy to attain. If people leave it so readily available,' Greg giggled, ‘I'll always be too far ahead of the game Terry.'

‘This is a game to you. Who's next?'

‘Do you think that the great Hercule Poirot would ask me that question Terry?'

‘I'm not him,' Terry gritted his teeth. ‘So when do you plan to strike again?'

‘I'm not the detective, you are.' Greg paused. ‘Pass a message on to James McFarland – what you sow, you shall reap. Thanks for the chat,' with that Greg ended the conversation.

‘Don't go…' Terry cried, but all in vain. Terry quickly dialled McFarland.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Sitting quietly, pondering his conversation with The Ultimate, Terry waited for McFarland to arrive.

‘He contacted me,' Terry announced, the second McFarland was through the door.

‘Who contacted you?'

‘The monster that we're looking for. He called himself “The Ultimate”… he knows far too much, he…'

‘Slow down, mate.'

‘We need to get the number he used checked out. And please don't tell me to slow down. This fucker isn't going to stop – it's all a game, his game!' Terry grabbed McFarland's arm. ‘He watched us at the second scene and he left a message for you. He told me to tell you what you reap, you shall sow. I've no idea.'

‘Did he say why he contacted you?' McFarland decided to ignore the message.

‘I think it was just so that we know that he's in control. Not to warn us off. But, I don't understand what he was trying to say to you.'

‘That's not the issue here, Terry. He contacted you.'

‘I'm worried about this one. He's too confident, far too… Fuck knows!'

‘We've gotta go and see the pathologist, he has something to tell us.'

‘I want us to go and see this Greg O'Hara first. I wanna talk to him.'

***

Greg jumped off the settee and turned on his laptop. Whilst he waited for it to boot up, he made himself another cup of tea. Once he returned to his laptop, he used Google to find the phone number for the DVLA so that he could try to find out where Val lived. He then picked up the telephone and dialled the number.

‘Hello, DVLA registrations, Swansea, Heather speaking, how may I help?'

‘Hello Heather. I'm in a bit of a jam. I'm after a number plate for my mum's 50th birthday. I've not been able to track this particular plate, though I do know that it is unavailable at the moment. I thought that if I could contact the owner, I could try to persuade them to sell it to me,' he said, firmly crossing his fingers.

‘Well, sir, I'm not sure if I'm supposed to offer that kind of information.'

‘What harm could it do? Listen, Heather, you are my last hope,' he pleaded. ‘If I wasn't in such a jam, honestly, I would not have needed to call you… please, please, please.'

‘This would cost me my job.'

‘Well, I won't tell anyone if you won't. I promise.'

‘OK, but don't tell the owner where you got their details from!'

‘Listen, you have my word,' he crossed his fingers.

‘What's the number?'

‘VAL 111H.'

‘OK, one second… that registration belongs to Mrs Valerie Hope, telephone number 0207 555 5555.'

‘Do you have an address?'

‘You'll get me hung for this: 1895, Bishops Avenue, Golders Green.'

‘Yeah, I know where that is,' Greg rudely interrupted. ‘May all the angels smile on you, and God bless and watch over you. You have secured your place in heaven.' Before Heather could reply he hung up the phone.

‘Too easy,' Greg said to himself.

Greg had no intention of approaching Valerie, he was doing his research. Research, was something that he did remarkably well.

Greg decided that he was going to have to get to know Brent and he wanted to know more about that heated exchange in the restaurant. Greg still had some holiday owing, so decided that he would book about a week off in order for him to carry out a bit of surveillance work. A loud bang on his front door interrupted his thinking.

‘Hang on,' Greg shouted. Greg opened the door, holding his breath, preparing himself for the worst.

‘Mr Gregory O'Hara?'

‘That's me,' Greg replied through the gap between the door and the door frame. ‘Who wants to know?'

‘James McFarland and Terry Bane from New Scotland Yard. Can we come in, sir? We have some questions.'

‘Yeah come in – what's going on?' Greg needed to remain as his own character, leaving his alter ego hidden, allowing his double-bluff to commence. The two men entered Greg's flat and were ushered into the living room.

‘Do you know Martin Pringle?'

‘Yeah, I know Martin.'

‘When was the last time you saw Martin?' Terry enquired.

‘We went out for a drink and he crashed here – a couple of weeks ago I think… maybe.'

‘We're going to need you to be more precise Mr O'Hara,' Terry smiled.

‘How precise? We went out on the piss; got a taxi back here. Oh, we picked up a curry on the way. We got back here, ate the curry, sank a few beers and watched a porno. Then we crashed.'

‘In the same bed?' McFarland smirked.

‘No, dickhead. Martin slept in here and I slept in my bed,' Greg snapped. ‘Old Bill or not, watch your mouth please mate,' Greg smiled.

‘What time did Mr Pringle leave… the following morning?' Terry enquired.

‘I've got no idea. When I got up, he'd left.'

‘What, without as much as a goodbye?' McFarland asked, wanting to niggle at Greg. It was his way.

‘If he did say his goodbyes, I was asleep so I missed them.'

‘Have you heard from or seen him since your night out?' Terry continued.

‘No, not a word.'

‘Is that normal?'

‘Yeah, we're mates – we're not married,' Greg replied, looking at McFarland. Terry looked around the room, everything seemed immaculately tidy, pristine.

‘Is Martin in some kind of trouble? When we were out on the piss, he told me about his brother-in-law going missing, or not going home.'

‘Do you know Mr Pringle's brother-in-law?' McFarland enquired.

‘I used to work with both of them, so yeah, I know them both. What's this all about?' Greg replied, choosing his words carefully.

‘Mr Pringle's brother-in-law is dead and Mr Pringle is a witness. This all transpired after his night out with you Mr O'Hara.' McFarland was unable to control his tongue.

‘So Martin topped Hector? Fuck me, I never thought he'd actually do it.'

Greg was lapping this up. Feeding these two idiots fool-food was more fun than Greg thought it would be.

‘Mr Pringle is a witness at this moment… I didn't say anything about him killing Mr Hylie…'

‘What do you mean by “actually do it”?' Terry asked, sitting forward.

‘Listen, it's not for me to say, but Hector wasn't the most popular guy you'd ever meet. Not very nice if you catch my drift?' Greg was back in game play mode. ‘He was a bully and he and Martin never got on. After all, Martin never liked the idea of his sister marrying Hector. Martin would always threaten to kick Hector's head in, but he never did, only because his sister protected Hector. Everyone knows about the bad feeling between them and, let's be honest, if you're looking for people that had a gripe with Hector, you'll have a fucking long list. Talk to HR at the council where he worked.'

‘That's a nice television you have Mr O'Hara,' McFarland commented.

‘Yeah, I think so.'

‘Do you watch the news on it?'

‘No, I watch the news on the one in the bedroom,' Greg laughed. ‘What sort of question is that?'

‘So, have you not seen the press conference surrounding this?' McFarland continued.

‘No. When was it?' Greg was playing shrewd.

‘It was earlier today.'

‘I've been at work – early finish.'

‘What time did you get home?'

‘About an hour ago,' Greg lied easily.

‘So you never watch the news on this television?' Greg did not answer the question, he simply smirked.

‘What do you watch?'

‘None of your business,' Greg barked. ‘Where's this going. My telly and what I watch on it ain't that interesting is it? And it ain't none of your business,' Greg smiled. ‘Are you deliberately trying to piss me off?'

‘No, my colleague is not trying to piss you off,' Terry said. ‘We're just trying to piece together the missing parts. Tell us more about Mr Pringle please.'

‘What do you wanna know?'

‘A bit of background… I dunno… What type of person is he?'

‘Martin's a diamond, he's my mate, what do you want me to say about him?' Greg needed to play his game. ‘Put it this way, he's no mug.'

‘Handy with his fists, is he?'

‘Like I said, Martin's not a mug.'

‘OK Mr O'Hara, I think we've taken up enough of your time. Thank you for talking to us,' Terry smiled, as he stood.

‘We'll find our own way out!' McFarland grunted. Greg just looked at the two men, deciding not to say anything.

‘One more thing,' Terry said, pausing his exit. ‘Do you have any travel plans?'

‘Not that I know of… but then, you never know, with all these last minute bargains that pop up, do you?'

Both detectives left…

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Terry sat looking at the telephone. He did not know who to ring first but someone made the decision for him. He picked up the receiver.

‘Hello,' his voice sounded exhausted.

‘Hiya darling, I saw it, how are you?' It was Natalie, her timing was excellent, Terry needed to hear her voice, it was the closest he could get to her right now and it made him feel a bit better.

‘I'm OK. I told them not to.'

‘I know darling. I've had to tell mummy. Hold on, she won't tell anyone. She thought we'd had a bust up, what else could I have said?'

‘Fine, that's the least of my worries at the moment. Darling, please explain the importance of me remaining anonymous during the investigation. I'm happier knowing that you are with your mother and that you are both safe. We haven't got a clue how this guy selects his victims, that's if you can call them that.'

‘I'll stay here until he is caught if that makes you happy. I know it's only a matter of time before he's behind bars. I miss you Terry.' A single tear drop fell as she announced her feelings.

‘I miss you too darling. It's for the better that you're out of the way. He contacted me today. I'll pop up and spend the weekend with you in a couple of weeks, hey?' he said, trying to soften the blow of them being apart.

‘You spoke to him? Bloody hell Terry, he's a cocky git. I won't pry darling. Sounds good about you coming up in a couple of weeks – catch him quickly. Put that monster behind bars,' Natalie said angrily.

‘We will. I'll phone you soon.'

‘I love you darling,' Natalie said, thinking about how long the next two weeks would feel.

‘I love you too darling. It won't be too long,' he said, unconvincingly. Natalie blew him a few kisses down the phone before hanging up.

The phone rang immediately.

‘Hello.'

‘Alright, mate? Was it as bad as it felt? You were ghostly silent when I dropped you off earlier.' It was McFarland.

‘No, it was fucking bad, mate. You need to keep that bad cop image under control. O'Hara went all defensive as soon as you opened your mouth.'

‘Good cop/bad cop. You know how it works, Terry.'

‘Only when they're banged to rights. Not just answering a few questions,' Terry snarled.

‘OK, what did you think about the press conference? We didn't get time earlier.'

‘No, that was fucking worse. McFarland, you know how to kick a man when he's down.' Terry laughed loudly, seeing the irony. ‘The press were laughing their socks off. Jasper made himself look a right fool. He knew sod all about the case and made The Yard look like a bunch of amateurs.' Terry had every right to feel embarrassed.

‘He had to be there, a senior ranking officer and all that.'

‘Pencil-necks,' Terry paused. ‘It's all complete bollocks if you ask me. That bloke will now set out to send us a message, a message to explain what he's doing and why,' Terry stopped. ‘Wait a minute.'

‘He's bound to try to contact us again,' McFarland said.

‘No he won't, not yet, he's far too clever to do anything like that. He'll leave us a message.'

‘He'll leave us a clue,' McFarland said, trying to turn the negative in to a positive.

‘I wouldn't count on it. Where are you now?' Terry asked.

‘Not far,' McFarland quickly mapped his location, ‘about ten minutes away, why?' he replied.

‘Fancy helping me demolish a bottle of malt, mate?'

‘Aye, I fancy getting pissed tonight. It'd be rude not to accept your invitation,' the Scotsman replied.

‘Don't be too long I'm pouring two glasses now,' Terry said, teasing his long-time friend.

Once McFarland had arrived, the two men talked. Their conversation flowed, as did the ten year old bottle of malt whiskey. As the alcohol worked its way through their bloodstreams, their barriers lowered. Feeling the pressure of the case, they both needed a release; most officers drank heavily when working on demanding cases like this one.

‘What do you think about this nutter, The Ultimate?' Terry said, struggling with his pronunciation.

‘I think that he's going to fuck up and lead us to him, they always do, Terry.'

‘We've got nothing on him so far. We've not even got a clue what he looks like.'

‘Let's try… I mean…' McFarland laughed. Both men laughed.

‘Tomorrow's another day. For all we know, he's out there now, and… well, it doesn't bear thinking about.'

‘What do you think, from what he said to you Terry?'

‘I think he's educated, calculated and very much a thinker… and that, my friend, makes him different and very fucking dangerous,' Terry sighed.

‘Terry, he will fuck up. Listen, mate, they always do.'

‘But how many other victims? We don't…we can't afford that time. We can't allow him time McFarland.' The full bottle of malt was now empty.

‘I don't have any answers at the moment…' McFarland was far too drunk to finish his sentence. It did not matter as Terry had passed out.

***

Terry woke in the chair that he had passed out in, feeling a sharp pain in the back of his neck. McFarland was still asleep. Deciding to allow his friend to wake in his own time, Terry climbed the stairs and emptied his bladder before undressing and stepping under the shower's hot jets of water.

McFarland woke on hearing Terry's attempt at
Singing in the Rain
and put the kettle to boil.

‘What's the plan for today then?' McFarland asked, as he heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

‘I want to talk to Sharon again. Can you arrange it for this morning?'

‘Aye, no probs.'

‘I think I'm going to need to talk to Martin again at some point too.'

‘Today?'

‘Yeah, try and do that this afternoon.' His mind was preoccupied.

‘No probs,' the Scotsman replied in a relaxed manner. ‘We can see Sharon at any time this morning as Mr Barnford is with her all morning.'

‘Oh that prat,' Terry commented. ‘She's lucky that the death penalty has been outlawed. I wouldn't wanna put my fate in his hands.'

Both men laughed.

‘Let me use your shower and we'll be on our way,' McFarland smiled.

‘OK, mate. I'll get you some clean towels.'

During the drive to see Sharon, neither man spoke. Once they arrived at Colindale police station, both men were escorted to the interview room where Sharon and her solicitor were eagerly waiting.

‘Good morning Sharon, Mr Barnford,' Terry smiled, slowly sucking on a mint.

‘Hello,' Sharon replied. Her solicitor decided to nod while he scribbled something on his note pad.

‘There's been another murder, Sharon,' Terry said.

‘Yeah I know, Mr Barnford told me – now do you believe me?'

‘I never doubted you, it's the jury I doubted,' Terry smiled.

‘Sharon, what I'm about to ask you may seem a little odd, even a tad unconventional, but please hear me out – you too Mr Barnford,' Terry smiled. ‘We are going to need to interview you with our other suspect present. What are your thoughts on that?'

‘What?' Was Barnford's automated reply, ‘What do you mean? You can't do that! My client won't do that. That is an insane suggestion…' he flustered, still outraged by Terry's request.

‘Hold on for one moment and listen to what we are suggesting. Both crimes, we believe, are linked. The second suspect or, witness if you'd prefer, well, he's mirroring your story about the guy in the rubber suit.'

‘I've seen it on the news,' Sharon said quietly.

‘And…' Terry paused, ‘a man has contacted me, claiming to be the man in the shiny suit.'

‘How did he contact you?' Barnford was intrigued.

‘That's not important, it could be a prank,' Terry knew it was not. ‘What's imperative to our investigation is that we get you both together in the same room, with your respective legal representation. Just to see if you would be able to bring something to light that may have been overlooked.'

‘This is outrageous,' Barnford exclaimed, ‘a man has contacted you confessing and you want to interrogate my client.'

‘Mr Barnford, please calm down… firstly, this man did not confess to anything, and secondly, as I stated, this could have been a prank. We get them all the time,' Terry said, trying to bring the tempo down. ‘This is the black and white of where we are. Your client is going to be spending some time behind bars; all we want to do is catch the orchestrator of these hideous crimes and ensure the safety of the public. Now, if we don't catch him, firstly, there'll be more blood spilt, and secondly, your client will be charged with murder. With the orchestrator in custody, we could get the charge lowered to involuntary manslaughter. You'll be out before your baby reaches double figures. We are here to work together, as a team. Without your help we are blind.'

‘Can we have some time to discuss this?' Barnford asked.

‘Of course,' Terry replied. Barnford indicated that Terry and McFarland should leave the room. Both men waited in the corridor.

‘It's the old rock and a hard place, and they both know it,' Terry confided to McFarland.

‘Aye, that we know… but Barnford's a fucking prick and he can't see the bigger picture here.'

‘But Sharon will, my friend… Sharon will.'

Barnford poked his head out from behind the door and said, ‘You can come back in now.'

They both went back in to the room and sat down.

‘My client has decided that she would be happy to co-operate. But she needs some reassurances from you.'

‘I'm listening,' Terry said leaning forward.

‘That, at the most, she is only charged with involuntary manslaughter on the grounds of diminished responsibility. Now my client wants to see this man behind bars as much as you do. That said, my client does not want to miss her daughter growing and maturing so a minimal custodial sentence would be what we are aiming for.'

‘I can pull a few strings with the CPS but let's concentrate on the matter in-hand.'

‘Who's the CPS?' Sharon interrupted.

‘The CPS is also known as the Crown Prosecution Service, Sharon. All the evidence surrounding any legal case or investigation has to be put to them. They decide whether you have to face criminal proceedings. Now, we tell them what we intend to charge you with, under certain sections of the Criminal Code of Justice, they impartially look at what evidence we provide them, and they make a decision,' Terry replied. ‘Now, we can apply for a lesser charge, in your case and we can suggest a minimal sentence on the grounds of your co-operation. In other words…' Terry paused. ‘Put it this way, we can do our best to see that you don't spend too many years behind bars…' Terry paused again, this time to clear his throat. ‘What we are suggesting you do to help us is, let's say, very unconventional, so please understand that what we are asking you to do can never be revealed. If it is, the whole case will be thrown out leaving the orchestrator to continue to roam free and continue his reign of terror and the CPS will then look at you and the other person we have in custody. I must tell you now that we have not spoken to the other person about this proposal but we are sure that he will agree as he has declined his right to legal representation, which indicates that he wants to help us as much as he can.' Terry's back was against the wall.

‘Though this goes against the grain,' Barnford began, ‘my client and I think that if this unorthodox style of investigation brings this case to a speedy resolution, and, of course, my client gets the minimal custodial sentence we agreed, then we would be delighted to assist you. My client fully understands the implications of any of the contents of the investigating interviews being leaked and assures me that any leaks will not come from her side of the table. To protect my client's best interest, we would need a legally binding document, signed by both parties. My client must have reassurances, you understand?'

‘You watch too much television Mr Barnford?' McFarland scoffed.

‘What my colleague is trying to say, Mr Barnford, is this: our word is enough. Deals made for co-operation have only ever been verbal, if anything is put on paper, then that changes from, co-operation to coercion.' Barnford felt small, like he was back in the classroom.

‘Sharon, we need to know… sorry I'll start again. We need to hear what you think, and what you know about the second murder,' Terry spoke softly.

‘I don't want to go to prison and be away from my baby. I want to help you find that bloke. I don't know how, cos I don't know what you want me to tell you, I don't know fuck all. I only know what I saw on the telly. What that Scottish copper said, and what that bloke on the news said, that's all I know.'

‘Are you sure that you understand what we are asking of you, and that you are comfortable with what we are suggesting?'

‘If Mr Barnford says it's alright, then it's alright.'

‘The other thing we would like to do, is to show you a model of the first crime scene and have you talk us through it.'

Sharon turned her head and looked at Barnford, the fear evident in her eyes. ‘I don't want to relive that fucking nightmare again, do I Mr Barnford. Do I have to?'

‘My client…' Barnford began.

‘That's fine. If at any time there is anything that you are not happy with, please just let us know,' Terry interrupted, cutting Barnford off in his stride. Terry just needed to see Sharon's reaction. She had been far too quiet.

A knock on the door interrupted them. McFarland left the room in order to find out why. As soon as he returned, he looked at Terry. ‘It seems there have been some developments. Can we pick this up another time, or have we finished here? I'm sure Sharon could do with a break?' McFarland said, nodding at Terry.