Go to bed. Im fine.
Dont stay up too late, darling.
I wont.
His wife blew him a kiss and left. Time to make a phone call.
Hellier slid his hand under the desk and peeled a piece of tape from the underside. He examined the two keys stuck to the tape, then pulled one free and carried it across the office to the built-in walnut cabinets. He listened for sounds outside the office before opening the cabinet door and kneeling on the floor. He pulled the carpet back to reveal a floor safe sealed into the concrete foundation of the house. He unlocked the safe with one of the keys and took out a small address book. He locked the safe, closed the cabinet, and went back to his desk. He found the number he was looking for and dialed. After a few ringing tones the phone was answered by a sleepy voice. Hello? Hello? Christ.
Hellier spoke. Its me. Dont you recognize my voice?
Hellier was met by silence. Then the voice spoke with urgency. Please tell me youre calling from a public phone.
Hellier could hear the fear. Dont worry about that. Weve more important things to discuss.
Like what?
Like are you sure you took care of things? You wouldnt have been lying to me, would you?
Jesus Christ. Why are you asking me this? I took care of it. I told you. Why the panic? Have you fucked up? The voice sounded calmer.
No, but your flat-footed friends are making trouble for me. Its important I know you did what you were paid to do.
The voice was silent. Hellier gave the person time to think. After a few seconds the voice returned, almost whispering now, nervous. Christ! They havent connected you to Korsakov, have they? The mention of that name made Hellier lean back into his comfortable chair and smile, as if he was recalling a happy childhood memory. Stefan Korsakov. A name he hadnt heard in ages. Have the police connected you to Korsakov? the voice demanded impatiently.
No, Hellier answered, still calm and smiling, and they never will. Korsakovs never coming back. I made sure of that a long time ago. Dont you remember? You should. After all, you helped me bury him.
The voice snapped back. If youve fucked up, youre on your own. I wont help you again.
Hellier needed to remind him. If they take me down, Ill make sure you come with me. Keep that in mind. He hung up before the voice could answer.
The voice had sounded genuine enough. Time would tell if he was speaking the truth. For both their sakes, Hellier hoped he was.
CHAPTER 10
Sunday
Shortly before 8 A.M. Sean arrived at work and Sally pounced on him immediately. Guvnor.
What is it, Sally?
She spoke in a whisper. Superintendent Featherstones been floating around asking for you.
Sean rolled his eyes. Thanks for the warning. No sooner had he entered his office than he heard a knock on the side of the open door. He walked to his chair and sat down before looking around. Morning, boss. Arent you supposed to be at church? He pointed to a chair.
Featherstone accepted the invitation, sinking into the visitors chair with a slight groan. He was a tall man, over six feet two, heavily built, with red hair. I havent been to church since my second wife left me. He spoke with no more than a trace of London in his accent. Hows the Graydon investigation going? Any progress for me?
Featherstone had hardly any detective experience, rising instead through the ranks as an accelerated-promotion candidate, but he had hit a ceiling at superintendent after failing or refusing to become one of the new generic breed of senior officers in the Met. He was a little too rough around the edges; a little too outspoken, and far too prepared to get his hands dirty. Realizing he could go no higher, he transferred into the Criminal Investigation Department.
Sean could do business with the man. He knew that Featherstone was shrewd enough not to interfere too much with the way Sean conducted his investigations and that he would watch Seans back more than most.
Were still waiting on forensics and fingerprints.
How about other lines of inquiry? Any witnesses?
Weve spoken with a number of witnesses from the club. Some have supplied statements and elimination samples. Nothing of interest so far. The killer went to a lot of trouble to avoid leaving forensic evidence at the scene. It looks premeditated. Our best chance for now seems to be James Hellier, the potential blackmail target.
Any solid proof yet that the victim was blackmailing him?
No. Helliers clever. Hes covered his tracks well. Thats why I requested authorization for round-the-clock surveillance-it could be our only hope of catching him out.
What about the victim? Featherstone asked. If you can turn up some blackmail letters, prove he was trying to screw Hellier, then youd be halfway there.
Nothing on paper from the victims flat. The techs have his computer, but itll take time to recover his e-mails.
Any other credible suspects?
Well, one of the barmen from the clubs gone missing. Apparently he knew the victim and possibly could have been romantically linked to him. Other than that were trying to find a recently released nutter who did eight years for the attempted murder of a young gay man. He lives close enough to the scene to be a cause for concern. He also appears to have gone missing.
At the very least they need to be found and eliminated.
They will be.
We need to be careful with this one, Sean. You can bet, with a gay victim, someone, somewhere will be watching the investigations progress, waiting for a chance to accuse us of being homophobic. Lets not hand the media a stick to beat us with.
Ill bear that in mind, said Sean.
Speaking of the media, Featherstone asked, what about an appeal? Crimewatch? Save some shoe leather and let the television do the donkey work.
Its a bit too soon for that. Id rather no one knew what were up to just yet.
You still camera shy? Featherstone smiled. If it comes to it, I can take care of that side of things. I know youre not exactly a fan, but Ive got some people in the media I can trust. We can do a piece for the papers and try to get a slot on Crimewatch. Ill have my secretary make a few calls.
No need. Ill get it arranged and let you know when the telly people want you. Should be able to sort it out in a day or so. Sean hoped hed bought some time.
Featherstone got to his feet. Fine. Let my secretary know the time and place and Ill be there. You can give me a full briefing beforehand.
Not a problem.
Id better get myself up to the Yard. Commissioners called an emergency meeting. On a Sunday-can you believe that?
Sounds like trouble.
Bloody Territorial Support Group, kicked the shit out of some student on the last anticapitalist march. Turns out the kids parents are connected, so now were all going to be issued with foam truncheons. Wankers. Featherstone looked to the heavens and walked from the office heading for the exit.
Bloody Territorial Support Group, kicked the shit out of some student on the last anticapitalist march. Turns out the kids parents are connected, so now were all going to be issued with foam truncheons. Wankers. Featherstone looked to the heavens and walked from the office heading for the exit.
Sally appeared at Seans door. Problems?
No, Sean told her. Not yet.
Donnelly ate his sausage sandwich. It was the best Sunday-morning breakfast he could hope for under the circumstances. He stood close to the small wooden hut in the middle of Blackheath where hed bought the sandwich. It was a well-known spot, used mainly by hungry taxi drivers and police looking for a place to talk without being overheard.
He enjoyed the gentle cooling breeze that whipped off the flat, wide heath. In winter, it was the coldest place in London. He spotted the dark blue Mondeo pull up opposite. Detective Sergeants Jimmy Dawson and Raj Samra stepped from the car. They could only have been police.
The detective sergeants worked on the other two murder teams in South London. They carried out the same roles on their teams as Donnelly did on his. Meeting regularly helped maintain the strong bond between detective sergeants and engendered a feeling that they were the ones really running the police.
Donnelly smiled to himself and stuffed the remains of the sandwich into his mouth. He waited for the men to cross the road. For Christs sake, Raj. Youre the only Indian in the Met who looks more like a copper than Jimmy here.
I like looking like a copper. You should try it sometime. Instead of looking like a bag of shit, Raj replied.
The trading of insults was routine. Jimmy joined the conversation. Whatre you doing in the middle of Blackheath on a Sunday morning, Dave? Exposing yourself to students again? If it isnt that, then Ill assume you want a favor.
Jimmy, Jimmy. Donnelly sounded insulted. Are the best sausage sandwiches in London not a good enough reason for you? Dawson didnt reply. And you, Raj. Thinking I would ask for favors. Me. Dave Donnelly.
Well, I dont eat pork, so it better be something other than the sandwich.
I didnt know you were a Muslim, Donnelly said.
Im not. Im a Sikh.
You should wear a turban-youd be a commander by now.
Im not interested in playing that game, said Samra.
Donnelly gave a short stunted laugh before his face turned serious. Okay, gentlemen, Ill assume you know what sort of case my teams working on. I want to know if anything similar comes up. If one of your teams gets it first, I want to be called to the scene immediately. Understand?
If it looks linked, itll be passed to your team anyway. Whats the rush? Dawson asked.
No, Donnelly snapped. I didnt say I want my team informed immediately. I said I wanted to be informed immediately, before anyone else. Including DI Corrigan.
Donnelly watched them exchange glances. He knew they would be happy to help, but not if it meant being dragged into a dangerous situation. Dangerous for their careers. He understood their concerns.
Dont look so worried, boys. He tried to sound less serious. I just want first crack at any new scenes. Im getting a taste for this case. I need a wee peek at an uncorrupted scene. You know, before the circus arrives and takes the feel out of the place. Thats all. His fellow detective sergeants stared at him blankly, their way of letting him know they didnt believe a word he was saying. Okay, for fucks sake. You boys drive a hard bargain. Listen, our prime suspect is a clever, slippery bastard. Any forensic evidence we find at the next scene may require a little helping hand, if you catch my drift. But it has to appear genuine. The forensics boys have to find it, not one of my team, so Ill need to be in and out of there before anyones the wiser. Clear?