Saturday 28 June 2014

7.19 a.m.

Edmunds was almost positive that Baxter had knocked someone off their bike back in Southwark. He closed his eyes as they hurtled along the river on the wrong side of the road, almost obliterating an entire carriage-worth of pedestrians who were attempting to cross the street from where Temple Tube station had spat them out.

Baxter’s Audi had blue lights concealed behind the front grille, undetectable when off, and, judging by the number of near misses, not significantly more detectable when on. When she swerved back onto the correct side of the road to weave in and out of the building traffic, Edmunds relinquished his grip on the door handle. During a momentary lull from the deafening engine, to avoid ploughing into the back of a bus, he realised that his phone was ringing. A photo of Tia, an attractive black woman in her mid-twenties, filled the screen.

‘Hey, honey, everything OK?’ he shouted down the phone.

‘Hey, you. You disappeared in the middle of the night, and there’s been all this stuff on the news and … I just wanted to check in.’

‘It’s not a great time, T. Can I call you back in a bit?’

Tia sounded put out: ‘Sure. Can you pick up some milk on your way home tonight?’

Edmunds pulled out his notebook and made a note beneath the definition of Tetrodotoxin.

‘And some beefburgers,’ she added.

‘You’re vegetarian!’

‘Burgers!’ snapped Tia.

He added it to the shopping list.

‘Nutella.’

‘What on earth are you making?’ he asked.

Baxter glanced over at Edmunds, who made an unmanly screech as his eyes widened in fear. She turned back to the road and spun the wheel violently, only narrowly missing another car.

‘Shit!’ she laughed in relief.

‘OK, fine,’ said Edmunds, breathing heavily. ‘I’ve got to go now. I love you.’

They pulled past the security barrier and descended the ramp into the garages below New Scotland Yard, cutting Tia off mid-farewell as the phone lost signal.

‘My fiancée,’ Edmunds explained. He grinned. ‘She’s twenty-four weeks.’

Baxter looked at him impassively.

‘Pregnant. She’s twenty-four weeks pregnant.’

Her expression did not alter.

‘Congrats. I was just thinking about how we detectives get way too much sleep, but a crying baby should sort that right out for you.’

Baxter, sort of, parked the car and turned to face Edmunds.

‘Look, you’re not going to make it. Why don’t you stop wasting my time and just go back to Fraud?’

She got out and slammed the car door, leaving Edmunds sitting alone. He had been shaken by her reaction, not because of her bluntness or her unashamed disinterest in his impending fatherhood. Instead, he was disquieted by the suspicion that she had been the first person to actually tell him the truth; he was worried that she was right.

The entire Homicide and Serious Crime department had squeezed into the meeting room, including those not directly involved in the case but who would now be inconvenienced by the emergency lockdown nonetheless. The inadequate air conditioning, wafting through the vents, caught at the edges of the photos on the wall, the enormous reconstructions appearing to sway slightly, just as the real body had while suspended from the high ceiling.

Simmons and Vanita had been talking for over five minutes. Their audience was beginning to grow restless as the temperature in the stuffy room steadily rose.

‘… through the garage entrance. We will then secure Mayor Turnble in Interview Room One,’ said Simmons.

‘Better use Two,’ someone chipped in. ‘One’s still got the dripping pipe, and I doubt the mayor wants to add Chinese water torture to his list of troubles today.’

There was sporadic laughter, presumably from people who had unofficially conducted interviews in Room One for that precise reason.

‘Room Two then,’ said Simmons. ‘Finlay, is everything ready?’

‘Aye.’

Simmons looked unconvinced by the answer.

Wolf gave his friend a subtle nudge.

‘Oh, I’ve told them to let Emily and … and …’

‘Edmunds,’ whispered Wolf.

‘What’s his first name?’ Finlay hissed back.

Wolf shrugged: ‘Edmund?’

‘… Edmund Edmunds through. There’s security on all doors, the armed DPG lads in the garage for the meet and the dogs have been through. We closed every blind on this floor and stopped the lifts, which means we’re taking the stairs – or Will is, anyway.’

‘Excellent,’ said Simmons. ‘Fawkes, once you’ve got the mayor, an armed officer will accompany you up here. Keep in mind that it’s a big building and we don’t know everyone in it. Once you’re in the interview room, you’re in there for the long haul.’

‘How long?’ asked Wolf.

‘Until we’re sure the mayor is safe.’

‘I’ll get you a bucket,’ called out an arrogant detective constable named Saunders, finding his own contribution hilarious.

‘I was actually wondering what was for lunch,’ replied Wolf.

‘Blowfish,’ sneered Saunders, testing Simmons’ patience.

‘Do you think this is a laughing matter, Saunders?’ Simmons shouted, perhaps overreacting a little for the sake of the commander. ‘Get out!’

The rat-faced detective stuttered like a chided schoolboy:

‘I actually physically can’t … because of the lockdown.’

‘Then just sit there and shut up.’

Choosing the worst possible moment to enter the meeting room – Baxter and Edmunds entered the meeting room.

‘Nice of you two to join us. I’ve got a long list of tenuous leads for you to follow up.’ Simmons threw Baxter a folder, which she handed straight to Edmunds.

‘What did we miss?’ Baxter asked the room.

‘Will and I are on protection duty,’ Finlay answered. ‘You and Edmund Edmunds are identifying the bits, and Saunders was being a—’

‘Dick?’ Baxter suggested, taking a seat.

Finlay nodded, grateful that she had spared him breaking his no-swearing rule.

‘OK. Settle down,’ ordered Simmons. ‘So, while I’ve got you all here: we’ve got six dead victims stitched together, a death threat against the mayor, and a hit list of five others.’ He pressed on, ignoring the roomful of enquiring looks. ‘Does anybody have any—’

‘Plus the puppet monster’s pointing into Will’s window,’ interrupted Finlay cheerfully.

‘And that. Does anybody have any theories?’ A room of blank faces answered Simmons’ question. ‘Anyone?’

Tentatively, Edmunds raised a hand: ‘It’s a challenge, sir.’

‘Go on.’

‘At university I wrote a paper examining the reasons for serial killers to send communiqués to the media or police: The Zodiac Killer, The Happy Face Killer—’

‘The Faustian Killer, the baddy from Seven,’ added Saunders, his impersonation of Edmunds earning him a few spiteful laughs and a glare from Simmons.

‘Aren’t you the Fraud guy?’ someone asked.

Edmunds ignored them.

‘Often, but not always, their communication will contain irrefutable proof that they are, in fact, the genuine perpetrator,’ he continued. ‘Sometimes it’s as subtle as details that haven’t been made public; other times it’s something rather more substantial.’

‘Like the photographs sent to Fawkes’ wife today,’ said Vanita, oblivious of her faux pas.

‘Ex-wife,’ Wolf corrected.

‘Exactly. And in very rare cases this is done as a cry for help, literally pleading with the police to stop them killing again. They believe that they are no more than victims of their own uncontrollable urges. Either that or the idea of somebody else claiming credit for their work is unbearable. In both scenarios, consciously or unconsciously, the ultimate intention is invariably the same: to eventually get caught.’

‘And you believe that this is one of those rare cases?’ asked Vanita. ‘Why?’

‘The list, for one … The definitive time frame … The press-baiting … I believe the killer will keep their distance as they test the water, but they won’t be able to resist getting closer and closer to the investigation. With each subsequent murder, their confidence will grow, fuelling their god complex, goading them into taking greater and greater risks. In the end, they will come to us.’

The entire room stared at Edmunds in surprise.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak before,’ said Finlay.

Edmunds shrugged bashfully.

‘But why me?’ asked Wolf. ‘Why not point that horrible thing through someone else’s window? Why send the pictures to my wife?’

‘Ex-wife,’ Baxter and Finlay chimed in unison.

‘Why is my—’ Wolf stopped himself. ‘Why me?’

‘You’ve just got one of those faces,’ smirked Finlay.

The room turned back to Edmunds expectantly.

‘It is far less common for a serial killer to single out an individual over the police force as a whole, but it does happen – and when it does, the reasons are always personal. In a way, it’s a form of flattery. He must see Wolf, and Wolf alone, as a worthy adversary.’

‘That’s all right, then. As long as he meant it nicely,’ said Wolf dismissively.

‘Who else is on this list then?’ asked Baxter, eager to change the subject to something on which Edmunds had not written a paper.

‘I’ll handle this one, Terrence,’ said Vanita as she stepped forward. ‘At this time we have elected to withhold that information because A, we do not wish to cause a panic; B, we need you all focused on the mayor right now; and C – we don’t know for sure that the threat is genuine, and the last thing that this department needs is another lawsuit.’

Wolf sensed several heads turn accusingly in his direction.

The internal line on the meeting room phone rang, and the crowd listened in as Simmons answered.

‘Go ahead … Thank you.’ He nodded to Vanita.

‘OK, people, be at your very best today. Meeting adjourned.’

The mayor’s Mercedes was already parked by the time Wolf reached the underground car park. Unlike the rest of the building, the subterranean garages lacked the benefit of air conditioning and the heat rising up off the tarmac, laced with the scents of rubber, oil and exhaust fumes, was almost suffocating. The oppressive strip lighting that illuminated all but the darkest corners toyed with Wolf’s internal clock. In his exhausted state he wondered whether it was evening again already and checked his watch: 7.36 a.m.

As he approached the car, one of the rear doors swung open and the mayor climbed out, much to the dismay of his now redundant chauffeur.

‘Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?’ he snapped as he slammed the door behind him.

‘Mr Mayor, I’m Detective Sergeant Fawkes.’

Wolf held out a hand in greeting, and the mayor’s anger dissipated instantly. He looked momentarily uneasy before recovering his composure and shaking Wolf’s hand heartily.

‘Nice to finally meet you in person, Detective,’ he beamed, overcompensating, as if posing for a photograph at the charity event he should have been on his way to.

‘If you’ll follow me, please,’ said Wolf, gesturing to the armed officer who would accompany them upstairs.

‘One moment, please,’ said the mayor.

Wolf removed the hand that he had placed unconsciously against the distinguished man’s back in an attempt to hurry him along.

‘I would like to be told what’s going on, right now.’

Wolf struggled to ignore the conceited tone. He answered through gritted teeth: ‘Simmons would prefer to brief you himself.’

The mayor was unaccustomed to being told ‘no’ and faltered.

‘Very well. Although, I must say, I’m surprised that Terrence would send you down here to babysit me. I heard you on the radio this morning. Shouldn’t you be working on this serial killer case?’

Wolf was aware that he should not have said anything, but he needed to get the man moving and was already tired of his haughty manner. He turned to the mayor and looked him in the eye.

‘I am.’

The mayor was faster than he looked.

If it had not been for the chronic asthma and decades of damage to his lungs, courtesy of the cigarettes, they might not have been able to keep up. The three men slowed to a brisk jog as they entered the main lobby.

The large minimalist space was one of the few areas of the building to have completely shaken off any trace of its 1960s design. The commissioner had point-blank refused Simmons’ request to close the lobby and stairwell while they moved the mayor, stating that the armed security, CCTV, metal detectors and building full of police officers already made it the safest place in the city to be.

The lobby was quieter than it would have been during the week, although, there were still several people passing through and loitering around the coffee bar in the centre. Spotting a gap in the pedestrian traffic, Wolf picked up the pace and headed for the door to the stairs.

The mayor, now visibly on edge, was the first to notice the balding man enter the building and start running at them.

‘Detective!’

Wolf turned to see the threat and pushed the mayor behind him as the armed officer raised his handgun.

‘Down on the floor! Get down!’ the officer screamed at the unremarkable man holding a brown paper bag.

He skidded to a stop and raised his hands in dazed shock.

‘On the floor!’ The officer had to repeat everything twice before the instructions seemed to sink in. ‘Drop the bag. Put it down!’

The man tossed the bag away from him, sending it skating across the polished floor in the mayor’s direction. Unsure whether this was a deliberate act or simply the misconstrued actions of a nervous man, Wolf pulled the mayor back several steps.

‘What’s in the bag?’ the officer yelled at the man, who glanced up at Wolf and the mayor. ‘Eyes down! Look at the floor! What. Is. In. The. Bag?’

‘Breakfast!’ shouted the terrified man.

‘Why were you running?’

‘I’m nearly twenty minutes late for work – IT department.’

The DPG officer kept the gun trained on the man and backed towards the bag. He cautiously knelt down beside it and then very, very slowly peered inside.

‘We’ve got some sort of hot wrap,’ he told Wolf, as if identifying a suspicious-looking device.

‘What flavour?’ Wolf called back.

‘What flavour?’ the officer barked.

‘Ham and cheese!’ cried the man on the floor.

Wolf grinned: ‘Confiscate it.’

They reached the office without further incident. Wolf thanked their escort and then Finlay led them inside. The seven-floor ascent had taken its toll; Wolf could hear a high-pitched whistle every time the red-faced mayor took a breath.

The office felt claustrophobic with all of the blinds closed, the stark artificial light a cheap imitation of the real thing. They walked swiftly through the room of faces watching them from behind computer screens and colourful bouquets. Simmons rushed out of his office when he spotted them coming and shook his old friend’s hand.

‘It’s good to see you, Ray,’ he said sincerely before turning to Wolf. ‘Trouble downstairs?’

‘False alarm,’ mumbled Wolf through a mouthful of ham and cheese wrap.

‘Terrence, I would appreciate it if you could explain what is happening,’ said the mayor.

‘Of course, let’s speak in private.’ Simmons led them into the interview room and closed the door. ‘I sent a patrol car over to your house. I thought you would want to know that Melanie and Rosie were safe.’

‘I apprec—’ The mayor’s breathing had worsened, even since walking through the office. He broke into a fit of wheezing coughs and splutters. All too accustomed to the feeling, as though someone were sitting on his chest, he rummaged through his briefcase and found his blue reliever inhaler this time. He took two long, deep breaths which seemed to help a little. ‘I appreciate that, thank you.’

The mayor waited expectantly. Taking the hint, Simmons started pacing the room.

‘OK, where to start? You heard, of course, that we found six bodies this morning? Well, it’s not quite as simple as that …’

Over the next fifteen minutes Simmons explained everything that had happened that morning. Wolf remained quiet throughout. He was surprised to hear the boss sharing details that they certainly would not want the press catching wind of, but Simmons obviously trusted his friend implicitly, and Wolf supposed that he had earned the right to know. The only details that Simmons refused to reveal, even when the mayor asked him outright, were the other five names on the list.

‘I don’t want you to worry. You are more than safe in here,’ Simmons assured him.

‘And how long exactly do you expect me to hide in here, Terrence?’

‘It makes sense to keep you until midnight at least. That way, the killer has failed to follow through on his threat. We’ll step up security around you, obviously, but you’ll be able to get back to relative normality.’

The mayor nodded in resignation.

‘If you’ll excuse me, the sooner we catch this bastard, the sooner you can get out of here,’ Simmons said confidently, moving towards the door. ‘Fawkes will stay with you.’

The mayor got up to speak privately with Simmons. Wolf turned away, as if facing the wall would prevent him overhearing what was being said in the small room.

‘Are you sure that is an entirely good idea?’ wheezed the mayor.

‘Of course. You’ll be fine.’

Simmons left the room. From inside they could hear him giving muffled instructions to the officer on the door. The mayor took two more long puffs on his inhaler before turning back to face Wolf. He forced another feigned smile, this one intended to convey his sheer delight at having the infamous detective as company for the day.

‘So,’ said the mayor, suppressing another violent coughing fit, ‘what now?’

Wolf picked up the first wad of paperwork that Simmons had thoughtfully left on the table for him. He put his feet up and leaned back in his chair.

‘Now, we wait.’

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