Текст книги "Jessica Daniel: Locked In / Vigilante / The Woman in Black"

Автор книги: Kerry Wilkinson

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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 60 страниц)

38

Jessica felt as if she was dreaming, her head hazy, like waking from a vivid dream and not being sure which reality is the correct one.

‘Rands? Jess?’

It was Caroline’s voice. Jessica was groggy but the pressure was instantly released from her throat. She could see a fuzzy grey colour but felt the weight lifted from her and get up from the bed. She tried to sit up but everything was in slow motion. There were voices from the hallway. She could hear shouting and thought she heard Caroline say something like, ‘What’s going on?’

Jessica managed to sit up and eventually stand. There were still voices coming from the hallway. She stumbled towards the door and into the hall, her vision still grey but she heard Caroline scream clearly. ‘Jess!’

As she looked across from her bedroom door towards the living room, Jessica’s vision began to clear, although her throat was on fire and breathing painful. Randall was standing behind Caroline with his front to her back but his left arm across her, hugging her into him. His face was a mashed-up mess. The red of the blood smeared across his features seeped into the grey that was affecting her vision and helped clear it. Jessica could feel blood on her face too. She must also look a mess.

Caroline had a terrified expression on her face. Her eyes were wide, her bag dropped by her feet and the contents spilled across the floor.

‘What’s going on?’ Jessica clearly heard Caroline say this time. Her voice was faltering and then Jess saw why.

Randall didn’t just have his left arm around his girlfriend, he had the scissors in his right hand placed next to her neck.

‘Stay calm,’ Jessica said. She couldn’t speak clearly and her thoughts were scrambled. She was speaking to Randall as much as Caroline. ‘Just stay calm.’

Randall had more tears running down his face, blending in with the blood and causing vertical streaks to form down his skin. ‘Why couldn’t you just leave it?’ he said.

Caroline clearly didn’t have a clue what was going on. She kept staring across the hallway at her friend. ‘Jess?’

‘It’s him,’ Jess said softly. ‘He’s Houdini. He’s Nigel Collins. He killed those four people.’ Jessica saw Caroline’s body slump.

‘What . . . ?’

Jessica didn’t know what else to add. Caroline was wearing a grey work suit and Randall’s blood had begun to run onto her shoulder. She was shaking her head despite still being gripped by her boyfriend and having the scissors held to her neck.

Randall coughed loudly, spluttering more blood. He moved his body around so his back was to their front door. ‘You’re going to let me go,’ he said but his words weren’t coming easily. He coughed loudly again and Jessica saw his head twitch once, twice. Caroline had clearly felt his grip slacken as she must have moved before being snatched back hard into her boyfriend’s body.

‘Where are you going to go, Randall?’ Jessica said. Her own throat still felt sore but her vision had more or less cleared. She knew she was pushing her luck.

Randall shook his head and blinked rapidly. ‘I . . . it doesn’t matter. I’ll start again.’

Caroline was whimpering, clearly not able to process everything that was happening.

‘Let her go,’ Jessica said, taking a step forwards. Her eyes were on the scissors in Randall’s hand. She saw his fingers tense on the grip but not move any closer to her friend’s neck.

‘Stop there,’ Randall said.

‘Just let her go. You told me you loved her, remember?’

Randall peered up and coughed again, before another furious blinking fit. Jessica took a few more small steps towards them as he struggled. She was around eight feet away from them.

The man’s grip on the scissors was still tight but, if anything, his grip on Caroline had slackened. ‘No closer,’ Randall said but his eyes were not backing up his words.

‘What’s wrong, Randall?’ Jessica said. She could see the confusion on Caroline’s face and shuffled a little closer as Randall tried to control his blinking. He snatched his left hand away from Caroline but moved the one with the scissors in so they were touching the front of her neck. Using his left hand, he first rubbed his eyes, then hit his own left ear a couple of times before putting his hand back across Caroline and holding her close to him while again moving the scissors a little further away from her.

Jessica simply watched, before taking another small step forwards.

Six feet now.

‘You need to let her go,’ Jessica said, carefully watching Randall, trying to catch his eye. He looked at her, still blinking.

‘What have you done?’ he asked.

‘There was an aspirin in your water,’ Jessica said, edging forwards. ‘The pain you thought was from me hitting you in the throat is actually your windpipe swelling. You need to let her go then let me call you an ambulance.’

Randall stuttered something but Jessica could see his eyes had widened. He dropped the scissors but put his right hand tighter around Caroline’s throat, using his left to fumble with the front door handle.

‘Randall . . .’ Jessica said. He launched into a coughing fit and Jessica flung herself at him, carefully targeting the left side of his body with Caroline held to his right. She caught him with her shoulder and his head cannoned back into the door. Caroline fell to the floor but was free, while Jessica used her feet to kick the scissors away. Randall was on his knees, spluttering and struggling to breathe.

39

The funeral had been far more emotional than Jessica had expected. She sat next to Caroline, with her arm around her for large parts of the ceremony. So many more people had turned out than Jessica would have expected. The marks around Jessica’s throat had already begun to fade and the cuts on her face would heal in time. The mental scars her friend must be feeling would be something that took a lot longer to fix.

Jessica had never discovered if it was in fact Harry who had provided the method for Nigel Collins to change his identity; she didn’t want to know. If it were true, part of her personality as a detective, the parts she had learned from Harry, would be destroyed. She had not phoned him, nor visited, and never would.

Gradually the police had filled in the gaps between Nigel Collins leaving hospital nearly six years ago and the first body turning up. He had tried to reinvent himself but, with his memory for faces, had recognised the parents of his tormentors. At first it had been something of a coincidence that two of Wayne Lapham’s victims had gone to him but he had seen it as a sign and followed things through to a conclusion.

‘Thank you for coming.’

Jessica was standing with Caroline in the church’s hall after the body had been put to rest. Paul Keegan was in front of them, offering his hand for them to shake.

‘Mary would have liked it, I think,’ he added.

‘It was lovely,’ Jessica said. ‘Are you going to be okay?’

‘I think so. Thank you, you know . . . for catching him.’

Randall Anderson, or Nigel Collins as he had previously been called, was currently in isolation and on suicide watch while on remand at Manchester Prison, formerly known as Strangeways. As he had crouched struggling for breath on the floor in their flat, Jessica called 999 and an ambulance as well as what seemed like most of the Greater Manchester Police force had been sent to her flat. The paramedics had arrived in time to save him but he was in no state to fight or escape.

Since then, he hadn’t said a word to anyone. Jessica had been offered leave, given her injuries and the severity of the case. She wouldn’t have wanted any part of his police interview anyway, even if it had been offered to her. Not that he had spoken about anything. He hadn’t confessed and offered no details of how things had been conceived. Some of the plan would never be known.

The police had raided both his old flat and his new one. It had been awkward because he didn’t seem to own much and what little he had was in boxes at the new place, while the old one had been cleaned out. They had found a small coil of thick metal wire in the wheelie bin at the back of the block where he lived. Tests had shown it was very similar to the implement used to kill the four people, with the assumption he had cut pieces off to use for each victim. The owner of the stall where he worked said it was the exact kind of wire they would use to help bind together shoes they were fixing. Two days later and the bins would have been emptied and the evidence lost. On first thought it seemed careless to ditch something like that in a bin so close to his flat but from Randall’s point of view, it must have seemed as if he was in the clear. Not only that but he was moving anyway.

Building a case would be hard given the lack of DNA but the trail from the locks to his stall, plus the wire and her evidence – and his refusal to speak – should be enough in court.

In terms of Jessica herself, everyone had been so concerned about her that no one had brought up anything about her following up a case that wasn’t hers. She didn’t know if there would be some sort of disciplinary action down the line but didn’t care either.

Caroline hadn’t coped well. Jessica didn’t really know how to deal with things but eventually her friend had gone to stay with Jessica’s parents for a couple of weeks. They said they saw her as a daughter anyway.

And now, a few weeks later, the two of them were at the wake following Mary Keegan’s funeral, along with many members of the investigating force. Cole had left not long after the ceremony had finished but Aylesbury had now come over to speak to the dead woman’s husband. Jessica guided Caroline away towards some plastic seats to leave the two of them to it. Jessica felt guilty for her early attitude to her boss. She could now see what an asset he was. He had been terrific looking after her following the arrest. The first instinct would have been to interview her and find out everything she knew but he had shielded her.

Garry Ashford meanwhile had written a string of stories about her bravery. She didn’t know where the details had come from and felt largely embarrassed about it. He had been at the funeral too, a few rows across from Jessica. She had seen his solemn face during the readings, thinking he was someone else she had misjudged.

Caroline sat down and Jessica went to take the seat next to her. Her friend waved her away. ‘It’s okay. You go mix. I could do with a few minutes on my own.’

The woman gave a thin smile and Jessica kissed her forehead. She turned around and walked over to Garry Ashford, who was standing on his own drinking from a plastic cup near the door. ‘Hey.’

‘Hey.’

‘You can take the piss out of my looks now if you want,’ Jessica said, pointing at one of the cuts on her face. ‘It looks like I’ve gone a few rounds with a heavyweight boxer, doesn’t it?’

Garry smiled. ‘Maybe a middleweight. Your nose is only horrifically deformed off to one side, not fully smashed up.’

Jessica grinned, fuller than she had done in weeks. ‘Oi.’

Rowlands came over to join them. ‘Garry, this is Detective Constable Rowlands. Detective Constable, this is Garry Ashford,’ Jessica said. The two shook hands.

‘How are you doing?’ Rowlands asked her.

‘Not too bad. Why? Are you concerned about me?’ she asked sarcastically. ‘That’s lovely . . .’

‘If you’re not back fit and healthy soon, I’m going to have to find someone else to take the piss out of.’

Jessica laughed. ‘Cheers. You’re all heart. I’m surprised you’re not over there trying to cop off with one of the nieces or something.’ She pointed towards the buffet table where two pretty twenty-something girls were chatting to each other.

‘I’m not that low,’ Rowlands said, glancing towards them. ‘Still, they are next to the food and I’m feeling a bit peckish.’ He rubbed his belly and grinned, before giving her a wink.

‘See ya, Dave,’ Garry said.

Jessica shook her head, smiling. ‘One day he’ll get his comeuppance,’ she said.

Garry shrugged. ‘So are you okay then?’

‘Yeah. It’ll all be fine.’

Garry took a deep breath. ‘How about a drink one night then?’

Jessica looked back at him. ‘Are you using a wake as an opportunity to ask me on a date?’

‘Maybe.’

Jessica looked away and gave a very audible ‘Umm’ intended for his benefit. ‘If I say “yes”, are you going to explain to me how you know Detective Constable Rowlands’s first name?’

Vigilante Contents

PROLOGUE

1

2

3

4

5

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10

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13

14

15

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37

PROLOGUE

The man had deliberately worn soft-bottomed dark trainers and dug out some old black jogging pants and a navy-blue T-shirt. There wasn’t a great amount of choice in his wardrobe but at least he had enough dark clothes. He was also grateful for the unseasonably dry weather. He didn’t own a big thick jacket but, even if he did, it would have made him stand out.

He had quickly discovered following someone was not as easy as it appeared on television shows. It didn’t help that he only had set times during the night where he could carry out work such as this. Wearing dark items made it a lot simpler and the fact the council couldn’t be bothered fixing street lights was pretty much a godsend. The trainers were something he had overlooked at first. It seemed silly now but not only were they quiet to walk in, which was exactly what he needed, but they gave him a head-start if he did have to run for it. He had made a special effort in recent months to get himself into shape. At his age, he was never going to be an athlete but he had managed to lose a few pounds from his stomach and put on a bit of muscle in his shoulders and arms. Free access to the gym had helped and he was faster too. Each session would begin with running. It wasn’t stamina he needed, just speed. He knew he wouldn’t have to race over a distance if it came to it, he only had to sprint to safety.

A few test runs had helped, trailing random people after dark and learning not to be seen. There was no rush to get things done, it was all about waiting for an opportunity and not being caught. The targets on his list weren’t going anywhere and one by one they would all be dealt with.

Hopefully tonight was the time when the first name would be scratched from that list.

The man looked up a few hundred yards ahead of him. The person he wanted was still with a couple of his friends but it looked as if they were finally saying their goodbyes. Though he had made every effort to stay out of the illuminated areas, the three people ahead of him were standing under a street light. The man watched their cigarette smoke drift upwards and could hear their faint voices. He saw one of their hands go into a jean pocket and swiftly transfer a palmful of something to the man he himself was watching. The handover was so quick and assured, neither of them even bothered looking around. Why would they? They knew the chance of being caught was minimal and, even if they were, they would be back on the streets soon enough.

The person who had initiated the transfer shook hands with the third member of the group and then turned around, walking towards a nearby alleyway. Even from this distance, he could see the person walking away had his jeans slouched somewhere underneath his backside, his underwear sitting high above them. He shook his head from the shadows at the ridiculousness of this current fashion trend.

Now there were just two people left under the light, the man decided he could move closer. His step was gentle but he followed a deliberate path towards his target, stopping around fifty metres away and resting against a wall in a heavily shadowed area. He could hear the voices of the two remaining people clearly now. Their local accents jarred as they spoke in American slang as if they had been born in 1960s Harlem.

It wasn’t the black or white issue that annoyed him, he was fairly colour-blind when it came to race, but young white men who were busy making other people’s lives a misery and thought they lived in a ghetto really did wind him up. He saw the type all the time – those who listened to rap music and thought they were some tough gangster because of it.

Idiots.

The two people moved from under the street light and started to walk briskly in the direction of where the man knew they both lived. He had figured it might come down to two people together. He wasn’t confident he could take down a pair at the same time at this stage, certainly not for his first piece of work, but he knew there was a pretty good chance they would split up soon enough to go their separate ways.

He had done his homework.

The man kept pace with them, carefully watching his step. On one of his practice runs, he had soon worked out it wasn’t just a case of staying unseen; you had to watch where you walked too. As best he could in the gloom, he avoided any stones on his path that could have caused a noise and hurried after the two figures, determined not to lose sight of them. They crossed a road as he knew they would and then, finally, he saw them shaking hands and saying their goodbyes for the night. The man crouched behind a car, unconsciously holding his breath. He felt his heart rate rise, knowing he was a minute or two away from the moment he had spent the past few months preparing for. He moved his hand to the outside of his pocket and felt for the knife. It was still there and, even through the material of his clothes, felt slightly cool to touch as if it were waiting for his hand to warm the handle up.

Ahead of him, the second man turned to his left and walked through an archway that separated the blocks of flats on the estate. His shadow disappeared away from the lights and into the night. That left just the one.

The target turned around and started walking towards where his follower knew he lived. The man trailing him knew he would have to act in the next five hundred yards. He stood up from behind the car and began moving quickly behind the victim. It didn’t matter if he was seen now. He held his hand in his pocket and quickened his pace, moving within thirty yards of the person he had been watching for the past hour.

‘’Scuse me, mate . . .’ he said. The man was careful not to speak too loudly. There were still flats and houses in this area and he didn’t want to risk anyone hearing him.

The target turned around quickly, eyes wide and clearly surprised someone had got this close to him without being heard. ‘What do you—?’ the victim managed to say before he stepped back.

There was no distance between them now but the target was reeling, as anyone would if a stranger had moved so swiftly into their personal space.

Then it was over.

The knife had flashed quickly from the man’s pocket and into the other person’s neck. Again the homework had paid off. The killer knew it was important to go for somewhere around the Adam’s apple first in order to prevent any kind of sound. The victim grabbed the man’s wrist but it didn’t matter as his hold was weak. The man with the knife pulled back as he heard the gurgle from the other person’s throat and then stabbed twice more in quick succession, this time aiming for the heart.

It wasn’t as clean as he had hoped for but the job was done. The piece of filth dead at his feet wouldn’t be peddling drugs or carrying out random acts of violence any longer.

The killer wondered if he would get the credit he should be due for such a positive act.

1

The sun was just beginning to rise as Detective Sergeant Jessica Daniel walked from her parked-up red K-reg Fiat Punto towards the thin white tent which had been put up around the crime scene. She had been told on the phone it was a dead body so had a reasonable idea what to expect. Given the particular area of Levenshulme in Manchester it had been found in, it wasn’t necessarily a surprise either. The youths who lived here seemed to spend large parts of their free time finding new and ingenious ways to hurt either themselves or someone else who happened to look a little different to them.

They rarely went as far as killing each other though.

It had still been dark when Jessica had taken the call to come to see this particular body. Being a DS meant she was only phoned if something serious had happened. Her sleeping patterns hadn’t been so great over the past year or so anyway but it seemed pretty typical that some poor guy had got himself stabbed on one of the few mornings she had been fast asleep.

Jessica reached the front of the tent and saw one of the Scene of Crime officers walking out wearing a white paper suit. They had obviously been quick off the mark that morning even though their department was notoriously under-staffed and relied on volunteers to stay on top of Greater Manchester’s policing needs.

Noticing a familiar face towards the back of the tent, Jessica walked around to join Detective Inspector Jack Cole. ‘Bit early for all this, innit?’ she said. Cole shrugged. ‘Have you seen inside?’ Jessica asked, nodding towards the tent.

‘Yes, I got here about two minutes before the SOCO boys.’

DI Cole was Jessica’s immediate superior. They had been promoted at the same time eighteen months ago. He had gone from DS to DI, with her bumped up from Detective Constable to her current DS position. DI Cole was well known in the station for not wanting to get his hands dirty and preferring to work from his desk. Some people saw that as a negative and, although Jessica had at first, it did enable her to get more involved in things. Despite that, he was loyal and one of the people she trusted the most at the station, even though she didn’t really know much about him.

Jessica was in her early thirties but the fifteen or so years between her and Cole couldn’t have been wider. She was still living in a flat with next to no savings and taking things as they came. He was settled with two kids and a wife he clearly adored but kept that side of his life completely separate from his professional career. She had never met his partner or children and, as far as she knew, neither had anyone else in the station. He was a normal, unassuming guy who you wouldn’t look at twice if you didn’t know he was a detective.

Jessica acknowledged Cole’s reply with a nod and moved around to the front of the tent. The white material was encircled by the standard police tape on a pavement, with marked police cars parked nearby shielding their position from easy view. A couple of uniformed officers milled around near to the vehicles. As the morning began to get lighter people had started to come out of their houses and flats to gawp at the police scene. Jessica noticed a couple of young teenagers in school uniform on the opposite side of the street. The schools had only gone back after the summer holidays a few days previously and, while it was still early in the morning, it wasn’t necessarily a surprise to see kids out at this time, certainly not in this area. The bigger shock was the school uniform as the estate the body had been found on was one of the roughest in the neighbourhood and just getting the youths to school was an achievement, let alone in uniform.

Jessica ignored them and walked around the tape to the tent’s entrance.

The Scene of Crime team’s job was to make sure any suspicious incidents were catalogued. Bodies would be cautiously removed from a murder site, photographs taken and everything measured and carefully chronicled. Things like fingerprints would be checked for, as well as blood or hairs that might belong to the perpetrator. It was very specialist work and the team didn’t like having their scenes trampled upon.

There were two people working around the site and Jessica recognised both of them. She didn’t know their names but people got used to seeing each other due to the nature of their overlapping jobs. Some people got closer than others but the ins and outs of dead bodies had never appealed to Jessica. Although she felt the crime scenes sometimes helped clarify her thoughts, she was more than happy to read a report rather than see the gory parts for herself.

Despite this, seeing as she was there anyway, she asked to have a look.

The person in the white suit standing by the tent’s opening was a woman a few years older than Jessica. ‘I’d rather you didn’t.’

‘I won’t touch anything. If the light’s okay, I won’t even go past the entrance.’

The relationship between the teams was awkward. Technically Jessica could walk in if she wanted but, if she contaminated a scene, it would be a very serious matter. That meant that CID and other officers, no matter how senior, often deferred to the wishes of the Scene of Crime team.

The woman eyed her up and then turned around, ducking slightly and looking back into the tent. Jessica often found that you were more likely to get what you wanted if you asked nicely in situations like this.

The person in the white suit stood back up and peered at Jessica. ‘All right, fine. But stay around here, okay?’ She indicated the tent’s entrance and Jessica nodded, stepping forwards as the flap was held up for her.

Inside a separate lamp had been set up to illuminate the body but the gentle sunlight was now coming through the thin sides of the tent in any case. Jessica could see all she needed to pretty easily. A young man’s body was slumped face-up on the pavement. His legs were straight out below him but one of his arms was bent towards his neck, the other limp by his side. He was wearing jeans and some sort of black sweatshirt. Even though the top was dark, Jessica could see an even murkier stain on the man’s chest, matching a circle of deep red spread out on the ground. There was an obvious gash in the middle of his neck where he had likely been stabbed and another hole was just about visible in his chest. In total there were two, possibly three, knife wounds and a very dead victim.

Jessica stepped backwards and thanked the woman for holding the flap up for her. ‘Have you found anything yet?’ she asked.

The woman shrugged and gave a small smile. ‘Bit hopeful, aren’t you?’

‘You never know.’

‘There was something under a couple of his fingernails on the arm you see raised; he might have grabbed his attacker. There were a couple of other odds and ends but it will take a few days. It should be easy to identify him though. His face is fairly clear and it’s not rained or anything to mess up the scene. We found this in his pocket too.’ She used a rubber-gloved hand to delve into a plastic container on the floor, pulling out two sealed plastic pockets. One had a small bag containing what looked like cannabis, the other had a canvas money-holder in it.

‘There’s ID in the wallet,’ the woman added. ‘Do you want the name?’

‘I know who it is.’ Jessica said. The woman clearly looked a bit confused, so Jessica continued. ‘I reckon ninety-five per cent of the Greater Manchester Police force would recognise that angelic face.’

It was fair to say Craig Millar was well known to the local police. Even though Jessica hadn’t had the pleasure of arresting him herself, he had a face most of the local officers would know straight away. Jessica didn’t know his exact age but was confident he was in his early twenties. Off the top of her head, she reckoned he had a criminal record for drugs possession, actual bodily harm, common assault and a drunk and disorderly or two. If she checked his full file, she would be fairly certain of finding more on there and probably a few police cautions or on-the-spot fines thrown in for good measure too.

And that was just what he had been caught doing.

His friends would no doubt have similar records and owe hundreds of pounds in unpaid fines to the courts. Once young people like Craig Millar got caught in the cycle of criminality, it seemed to continue until they ended up permanently in prison or, if they really annoyed the wrong people, dead on a pavement somewhere. She wondered who he could have upset. Maybe he was dealing drugs in an area he shouldn’t? Or back-chatting out of turn to someone a bit higher up the criminal scale than he was? Or perhaps it was a stupid drunken argument with a friend who wouldn’t remember much about it the next day?

Jessica found herself shaking her head as she walked back towards Cole. He clearly saw it in her face. ‘Recognise him then?’ he asked. His head was at a slightly sideways angle and she found his face difficult to read.

‘That Millar kid. You noticed him too then?’

‘I couldn’t remember his name but the face was familiar.’

‘What do you reckon? Whoever it was didn’t bother taking his wallet so it wasn’t just a mugging.’

‘Drugs? Fighting? Who knows? If you’re sure of the name we should probably get the address and find out if he lives with anyone before word gets around here anyway.’ Cole indicated behind him and Jessica could see faces at windows of the block of flats that backed onto the road, with other people passing by on the other side of the road trying to get a glimpse.

Jessica said she had confirmed the victim’s name with the officer who had the wallet. ‘Who called it in anyway?’ she added.

‘If you had twenty quid on you, who would you put it on?’

‘What makes you think I don’t have twenty quid on me?’

Cole smiled. ‘Reynolds reckons you still owe him a tenner and never bring money to work just so you don’t have to pay him back.’

DS Jason Reynolds was an officer Jessica shared an office with. She grinned back at the inspector and gave a small laugh. ‘It’s got to be a dog-walker who called us.’

‘Bingo.’

‘I reckon we need a new way of investigating things like this. In future, let’s just assume the bloke out walking his dog did it and work backwards from there; it’s the perfect alibi.’

Cole’s smile widened. ‘I’ll call in for the victim’s address. It will almost certainly be around here anyway.’

Cole got Craig Millar’s last-known address by phoning their Longsight base. It was a flat somewhere nearby but neither of them knew exactly where the place was and, from the records, they weren’t completely sure if the victim lived alone. According to their own files, there were other Millars associated with the address but unsurprisingly no one was on the electoral roll. Jessica knew that anything seeming slightly authoritative would be roundly shunned in this area and doubted there were too many accurate records of who lived with whom.