Текст книги "Scent of a Killer"

Автор книги: Kevin Lewis

Соавторы: Kevin Lewis
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9

It was the middle of the next morning before the full reality of the situation began to dawn on her. And, once it did, it left Collins feeling thoroughly miserable.

When she had first come across the information about Edward Miller’s background, it had seemed like an exciting development. Now she was far less sure. Ever since the investigation had begun everyone on the team had wondered what kind of animal they were dealing with. If the lead Collins had found was correct, it threw up all sorts of emotional conflicts that she had no idea how to deal with.

If the killer was truly targeting paedophiles and, in the words of Dr Bernard, cleaning up the streets, then there would be an awful lot of people out there who would believe he was doing a public service. As a mother, she had lived with the fear of her child being abducted on an almost daily basis. Did she really want to stop someone who was fighting back against those responsible?

Collins always became particularly emotional when it came to this sort of offender. More than once in the past she had bent the rules of evidence to the point that they almost snapped in order to secure a conviction. She wasn’t proud of herself for having acted that way, but it was the only way to ensure the man was unable to go after any more children. As far as she was concerned they were all scum, and if they vanished from the face of the earth, so much the better.

All of which made her current assignment all the more difficult to swallow. She and DS Woods were sitting in the reception area of the South London officers of ViSOR, the Violent and Sexual Offenders Register. Anderson – on Dr Bernard’s recommendation – had sent them there on the chance that, if there was some kind of paedophile link to the crimes, anyone who had gone missing from the register in recent years might be a possible victim.

ViSOR held details of everyone convicted, cautioned or released from prison for a sexual offence against children or adults. Those on the register had to report to their local police station at regular intervals, so Collins and Woods were hoping to trawl through lists of those who had failed to comply.

It was a long shot, for sure, but other leads had so far come to nothing. Crimewatch had passed on featuring the tattoo from the unknown victim on their last edition on the grounds that, without being able to use the words ‘serial killer’ as part of the appeal, it simply wasn’t interesting enough to pass muster. Instead the reconstructed image had been circulated to local newspaper and magazine programmes across the south-east.

Hill and Porter had not made much progress either. Further checks into the background of Raymond Chadwick had failed to throw any light on how or why he had become the killer’s most recent victim, while further interrogation of Leroy Banks had all but eliminated him as a potential suspect.

As Woods flicked through a copy of that morning’s Independent, Collins bounced the heels of her shoes on the carpet and stared directly into space. It was obvious that she was far from happy about the situation.

Woods folded his newspaper and turned to her. ‘You’ve got a real problem with this, haven’t you?’

Collins nodded. ‘Let’s say it does turn out that all the victims are nonces. I’m just not happy about the idea of trying to track down someone who’s killing off people who have no right to live in the first place. I don’t want to sound like some kind of half-mad Daily Mail reader, but why not just let them get on with it?

‘We might find that this person is being careful about who he chooses, that he’s picking his targets well. It could be that he’s going after people who have done wrong but have somehow managed to slip through the net, just the way Miller did. I say let him be. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to do my best work when it comes to tracking him down.’

‘For all we know, one of these dead blokes might have abused the killer’s own kid. I know that I’d finish anyone who tried something like that with Sophie.’

Woods massaged the back of his neck with his hand. His dark eyes stared hard at Collins, looking right through her. He finally spoke. ‘I can’t say I don’t have some sympathy with you, but you know it’s not our choice, it’s not our call. Our job is to catch whoever is responsible for these killings and then put them in front of a jury. If they decide this person is a hero, deserves a medal or a massive payout from public funds, then that’s up to them, not us.

‘You’re assuming that Miller was guilty. Those allegations could have been false for all we know. And there’s still nothing to suggest that Chadwick or the other guy had any link to sex crimes.

‘Anyway, regardless of how we feel about this person’s victims, the fact remains that people are not allowed to take the law into their own hands. There lies anarchy. Remember David Copeland, the London nail bomber? The first week he targeted the black community, then the Asian community. After that he bombed a gay pub and was planning to bomb a Jewish area when he was caught. So he’s going after paedophiles at the moment but what will happen when he gets through with them? Suppose he moves on to rapists, then murderers, then adulterers, then liars? Where will it all stop?’

Collins shrugged. ‘But you can’t tell me that you seriously think that all people like that deserve to live, can you?’

‘You’re saying you want to bring back capital punishment?’

‘For some offences, yes, I think I would.’

‘But people make mistakes, people make false accusations, some people even have false memories. Once you’ve executed someone, murdered them in the name of the state, you can’t take it back. I could never live with that on my conscience if I ever found out I’d got it wrong. It would be as bad as if I’d killed them myself.’

‘I don’t know, Tony. I know there’s an argument that these people are sick and they can’t help themselves, but you could say that about anyone involved in crime. Anyway, you don’t understand the emotions that are involved because you don’t have children.’

Woods snorted with disapproval. ‘That’s rubbish. You don’t have to have direct experience of anything to be able to empathize. And, while I may not have children myself, I have been a child. I know what it’s like to be that innocent and to place all your trust and love in a parent or carer. I know how vulnerable that can make someone and how easy it would be for someone to abuse that.’

‘Remember too that most abusers have been abused themselves as children, and a significant proportion of those that they abuse will go on to abuse others. It’s not black and white. Even the ones who start out as innocent victims might go on to become offenders in years to come.

‘At the end of the day, the law is the law and it exists for a reason. You can’t go around making exceptions from the rule every time it suits you. It’s only a short step before you start bringing in other crimes with a death penalty. Every case is judged on its merits. That’s what the whole jury trial system is about. If there are extenuating circumstances, they can be explored and adjustments made if necessary. You can’t get rid of principles like that, not in my mind.’

Collins could not think of a strong enough reply. Woods had a point and he had made it well. If anything it made her even less happy with the situation. ‘Whatever,’ she mumbled.

She paused for a moment and stared at the floor in front of her. ‘What do you think of that Dr Bernard?’

Woods made an indistinct noise in reply. Not so much a word, more of a grunt.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I dunno. Something about the guy. Gives me the creeps.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, anyone who’s that obsessed with the workings of the mind of a serial killer, anyone who’s that encyclopaedic about the different things different deranged people have done to their victims – well, it’s not exactly normal, is it?’

‘You just don’t like anyone who knows more about psychology than you do.’

‘As if such a person exists. Why do you ask anyway? What did you think of him?’

‘A lot of what he said was the usual crap, but some of it seemed to make sense. I thought he was all right. Quite nice, really.’

Woods eyed her cautiously. ‘I think Yvonne and that civvy data clerk were planning to form a fan club. Perhaps you could be club secretary. I’ve got a mate who could do you a good deal on starting up a blog …’

Collins didn’t have time to tell Woods to piss off. At that moment the door to the office opened and a secretary looked over at them. ‘Mr Johnson will see you now,’ she said softly.

Brian Johnson was the short, bespectacled head of operations for ViSOR. With his slightly flared suit, his full-face beard and weak, ineffectual handshake, he looked, Collins thought, like the sort of stereotypical bloke who should actually be on the register rather than running it.

His voice had a slightly nasal sing-song quality to it, and Collins could feel herself taking an instant dislike to the man. It was probably, she told herself, more to do with the situation she had been forced into than the man himself, but even at the best of times Johnson was not the kind of person she would have been able to warm to.

He led them into his comfortable office, sat them on the small dark leather corner suite and offered them coffee or water. When they refused both, he too sat down and clasped his hands.

‘I understand the basics of your case but it’s probably best if you go from the beginning so I can work out how best to assist you.’

Collins leaned forward. ‘We’re currently investigating a triple murder case. The three bodies were found at one location but the indicators are that they were killed months, possibly even years apart.

‘One of the victims had been accused on numerous occasions of sexual assault on a minor. There was a degree of genital mutilation in all three victims, and we’re exploring the possibility that the killings may have been some kind of revenge attack.’

‘Are the two other victims believed to be sex offenders?’

‘There is no evidence that we have been able to uncover in the case of the most recent victim, Raymond Chadwick. As for the other one, we have yet to identify him at all. We didn’t get a match for his DNA on the database, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.’

Johnson was listening intently to her words. ‘Are you thinking that this might be some sort of vigilante action? The parent of an abused child perhaps?’

‘That’s clearly a possibility. At this point in time, however, we’re more interested in learning if there are any more potential victims out there. We were hoping you could provide us with a list of sex offenders who have gone missing in recent years so that we can see if any of them match the person we have yet to identify.’

‘It’s a bit of a long shot, isn’t it? Surely if they were convicted, you’d already have a DNA sample on file.’

‘The point is, Mr Johnson,’ said Collins, her jaw tightening with impatience, ‘our boss doesn’t like to leave any stone unturned. The three bodies we found were deliberately left out in a public place. This was an intentional act. We have every reason to believe that there may be far more bodies out there, including those of convicted paedophiles. What we’re here to do is attempt to narrow down just who some of those victims might actually be.’

‘Of course. I understand.’

‘Well, then, now that you know all about our case, why don’t you tell us about the system, so we don’t waste too much of your time? Or ours. How many names are on the register?’

Johnson nodded and smiled warmly. ‘Just over forty thousand.’

‘What’s the compliance rate?’ asked Woods.

‘It’s good,’ replied Johnson, shuffling in his seat. ‘Very good.’

The two officers looked at him expectantly but he said nothing.

‘An actual figure would be good,’ said Collins drily.

Johnson nodded. ‘Just over ninety-seven per cent.’

‘You what?’ gasped Collins.

Johnson swallowed hard. ‘Ninety-seven per cent.’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ spat Collins. ‘This is a fucking waste of time.’

‘It’s … it’s really quite good,’ stuttered Johnson.

‘For you maybe,’ replied Collins. ‘It’s a great statistic to be able to quote to people but the reality is a bit different. You’ve got forty thousand nonces on the books and three per cent of them are missing. That equates to what? More than a thousand people.’

‘Nine hundred and twenty-two at the moment, to be precise. We prefer the term sex offender,’ mumbled Johnson. ‘We know that some people deliberately pursue an itinerant lifestyle in order to avoid registration, but it’s a relatively small proportion.’

Collins and Woods exchanged glances. Going to ViSOR had always been something of a stab in the dark. Now it was as though they were having their hands tied behind their backs. The list they would come away with would be almost endless.

‘Are you planning to track down the people on the list who’ve gone missing so you can eliminate them from your inquiries?’

‘That was part of the idea.’

‘Hmmm.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ snapped Collins.

‘I just don’t really see how that’s going to be possible. I mean, these cases are considered a high priority. Every police force in the country is on the lookout for these missing offenders. They are already deep underground. The chances of finding them yourselves are almost zero.’

‘You let us worry about that.’

‘Okay.’ Johnson paused for a moment. ‘There’s probably something else you should know too,’ he said, his voice now so low it was only barely audible. ‘Something else you may not be aware of.’

‘Go on, pour salt on my wounds.’

‘Well, there’s a sliding scale that dictates just how long people’s names stay on the register. Those given a jail sentence of more than thirty months stay there indefinitely. Those imprisoned for between six and thirty months remain on the register for ten years. Those sentenced for six months or less are placed on the register for seven years. If they only get a caution, they only stay on the register for two years. And all those times are halved if the person is under eighteen.’

Woods rocked forward in his chair and placed his head in his hands. ‘So what you’re saying is that hundreds of names come off the register every year and that if any of those people had subsequently gone missing, you’d have no way of knowing.’

‘That’s correct, I’m afraid.’

‘Is there any way of getting access to those deleted records?’

‘They’re all removed from the computer, but the hard copies are kept in storage. You’d be welcome to look through them.’

‘You’ve got to be kidding me. We have to do it all by hand?’

‘I’m afraid so. The rest of the records I can run through the computer. I can try different permutations but there are dozens so it’s going to take a good few days.’

Collins was quietly shaking her head while listening but finally spoke up. ‘I have another question. Say we’re looking for a vigilante; who, apart from the police, has access to the information on this database?’

‘More people than you’d think,’ replied Johnson, ‘though they receive the information on a highly confidential basis. The main list includes’ – he counted them off on his fingers – ‘head teachers, doctors, youth leaders, sports club managers and pub landlords. There might be a few other categories but it’s quite a wide spread.’

Collins turned to Woods. ‘Some of the pub landlords I know, they wouldn’t think twice about passing on details of local paedophiles to their bouncers or some of their more unsavoury customers.’

‘There is another possibility, of course,’ said Johnson.

All eyes turned to him.

‘And what might that be?’ asked Collins.

‘Well, I remember a case of a paedophile ring from a few years ago that ended with a murder. It was a bog-standard ring of blokes who were getting together to abuse children and share pics and videos. One member of the ring, the only one on our list, was murdered in his home. At first the investigating team suspected a local vigilante but it turned out it was actually another member of the ring that had killed him. I guess he wanted to make sure there was no way he was going to be able to point the finger at him.’

‘So what you’re saying,’ said Woods, ‘is that the possibilities are endless.’

‘Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.’

‘Great,’ said Collins, standing up. Her face easily betrayed the fact that she didn’t think it was great at all but rather far, far from it. ‘Where do we start?’

10

Sophie Collins and Jack Stanley walked side by side along the narrow garden path towards the gleaming red front door.

‘What do you mean you don’t like surprises?’ gasped Jack. ‘Everyone likes surprises.’

‘Not necessarily. There are good surprises and bad surprises. You haven’t told me which type this is yet.’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’

‘If it was I wouldn’t be so nervous.’

‘Trust me. There are no bad surprises.’

‘Of course there are. The good ones include surprise birthday parties and finding money in the street. The bad ones are being told you’ve got six months to live or finding out your house has been burgled.’

‘They’re not surprises, they’re disasters. It’s totally different. But let’s not argue. This is a good surprise. Trust me.’

He took her hand and squeezed it gently as they continued along the path. ‘Okay, Dad.’ She snorted. ‘Still sounds weird to hear myself saying that.’

They were only a few steps from the door when it swung open and a short, slightly plump woman with a mass of dark curls piled high on her head appeared. She smiled, showing rows of crooked, nicotine-stained teeth, but projected so much warmth and gentleness that Sophie couldn’t help but smile back. The family resemblance between all three of them was obvious and Sophie knew immediately who she was about to meet.

She looked up at Jack, the smile on her face having grown into a huge grin. ‘Of course,’ she gasped. ‘I never thought about it. That’s your mum. My gran! I’ve got another gran!’ Sophie beamed with excitement as Ella Stanley held out her arms and gave her long-lost granddaughter a huge hug.

‘I’ve heard so much about you, my dear,’ she said with a voice that could have been straight out of an East End market stall. ‘Jack’s told me everything, of course, but it’s so wonderful to meet you in the flesh at last.’

Ella stepped to one side and led Sophie into the house, making her way towards the living room.

‘Cool. Is there a grandpa too?’

Ella’s face flickered with emotion. ‘Sorry, dear, no. Mr Stanley passed away some years ago.’

‘I’m sorry, I really am.’

‘Thanks, dear. You really are a sweetie. Now what can I get you to drink? A nice cup of tea?’

‘Erm. I don’t really like tea. It’s too bitter.’

Ella paused for a moment. ‘Well, I suppose you’re still a bit young. I’ll see what I can find in the kitchen. Make yourself comfortable, won’t you?’ She looked up at Jack. ‘You’re right, she is a little angel, isn’t she?’

Sophie blushed and Jack smiled as he sat down beside her on the floral-print sofa that filled one side of the room.

‘It’s a bit weird thinking of you having a mum.’

‘What, you think I was dropped off by a stork or something? I think I might have to have a word with the teachers at your school, you’re obviously not learning anything.’

Sophie gave Jack a playful dig in the ribs. ‘I just mean that you don’t talk about her much, and she’s so different to mum’s mum. She’s so … well, she’s just very different.’

‘She means the world to me,’ said Jack. His face became serious for a moment. ‘She means as much to me as you do.’

Ella shuffled back into the room carrying a large wooden tray laden high with orange squash, fresh fruit, pieces of cake, sticky buns and chocolate. Sophie’s eyes lit up in delight.

‘Tuck in dear,’ she said. ‘You young people always look so skinny. I think you need to be fed properly. Would you like anything else?’

‘No, this is brilliant. Thanks.’

Ella sat in a cosy-looking armchair that had been positioned opposite the electric fire and looked on lovingly as her granddaughter began to tuck into the feast in front of her.

‘So tell me about yourself,’ said Ella. ‘What kinds of things do you like doing in your spare time? And how do you find school?’

‘School’s okay,’ replied Sophie in between mouthfuls and sips. ‘Some of the teachers are a bit annoying. I like English and drama but I’m not keen on maths. Spare time? Just the usual, hanging out with friends, going to the cinema.’ She looked across at her father for a moment. ‘You know, the usual. Nothing special.’

The pair carried on shooting the breeze for a good half an hour and it was as if they had known each other their whole lives. Sophie particularly like it when Ella fetched down a photo album stuffed full of pictures of herself as a young child along with snaps of Jack as a baby and a teenager.

Sophie roared with laughter at the pictures of young Jack in flared trousers and tank tops.

‘You have to understand,’ he said defensively once the humiliation had drawn to a close, ‘that it wasn’t just me. Everyone dressed like that those days. In fact, it was the people who didn’t follow fashion who looked silly. Trust me, thirty years from now you’ll be looking back at pictures of what you wear today with kids of your own and they’ll be splitting their sides.’

Ella sat back in her chair, enjoying the dynamic between her child and grandchild. Then her soft happy face suddenly hardened. ‘Jack, I think you should go out of the room for a few minutes.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Don’t answer back. Just do as I say.’

‘Yes, Mum.’

Jack winked at Sophie, then made his way out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Ella moved from her armchair on to the sofa beside Sophie. Her smile had returned and was bigger than ever.

‘Now, dear, the really wonderful thing about grandmothers is that you can tell them things that you don’t want anyone else to know and still be sure that your secrets are completely safe.’

‘Okay.’

‘What we’re about to talk about, none of it goes any further than this room. Most of all, him out there will never hear about it.’

‘Sounds good.’

‘So let’s get started. Do you have a boyfriend?

Sophie giggled. ‘Not really?’

‘But there’s someone you like, am I right?’

‘Maybe.’

‘What’s his name?’

Sophie could feel herself blushing more and more deeply. ‘Simon.’

‘Go on.’

‘He’s lovely. Tall, and he’s got this gorgeous curly hair and such a sweet smile.’

‘Do you think he likes you too? What am I saying, look at you, you’re beautiful, he must like you, otherwise he’s crazy.’

‘I think so; he’s a bit shy. I don’t know. We can talk when there are lots of people around, but whenever it’s just him and me together, he clams up.’

‘Well, listen to me, dear, whenever you feel the need to talk to someone about anything like this … I know you won’t want to talk to your mother because girls never do, and there’s no point in talking to Jack because he doesn’t know anything about boys. Or girls for that matter. But if you ever need any kind of … let’s just say I’m always here for you.’

‘I don’t know what to say.’

Ella Stanley tapped the end of her nose twice with her finger. ‘Let’s just keep it all between the two of us.’

‘Sure.’

‘Do you smoke?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Do you smoke, you know, cigarettes?’

‘Oh. No. Not really.’

‘Seriously? I certainly did by the time I was your age.’

‘Well …’

‘Waste of time. They make your breath stink. And no boy will want to kiss you. That’s what I think. It’s just not worth it, no matter what anyone else says.’

‘Okay, I’ll try to remember that.’

Just then there was a knock at the door and Jack poked his head around. ‘Sorry, Mum, we’re going to have to get going soon, if I’m going to have her back home before Stacey suspects anything.’

Ella looked down at the floor for a moment. ‘It’s been so wonderful to meet you, dear. I must say, I’m not sure I’m ever going to be able to forgive your mum for keeping you away from Jack. And from me.’

Sophie shifted awkwardly in her seat. ‘She had her reasons, I guess.’

‘I should hope so. But dads and their daughters, that’s a special bond. No one should ever try to break it. The fact that you go to all this effort in order to see your dad shows just how important it is.’ She turned to Jack. ‘But honestly, all this cloak and dagger stuff, it’s so ridiculous. I want to be able to call my granddaughter up on the phone, I want to be able to give my granddaughter presents.’

‘I tried talking to Stacey,’ said Jack. ‘She won’t see sense.’

‘I never liked that girl. First time you brought her round I could tell she was … I was so happy when you stopped seeing her. Sorry, dear, I know it’s your mum I’m talking about but –’

Sophie stood up suddenly. ‘I should go. I don’t really need to hear this.’

‘Leave it, Mum … you’re upsetting Sophie.’

‘And now this. Just goes to prove it. Doesn’t think he’s good enough to be a father to his own daughter so she keeps her quiet for God knows how long.’

‘Mum, please, leave it.’

Ella let out a long sigh, then turned to her granddaughter once more. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just that I feel like I’ve missed out on so much of your life and it makes me so sad to think about how we could have been. You’re my only grandchild and I want to be a proper grandparent.’

‘That would be great. I’d love it, but right now …’

‘Don’t worry, dear.’ Ella reached across and took Sophie’s hand between both of hers. ‘I’m sure things will work out just fine.’

‘So what do you think?’ asked Jack as they drove back.

‘I think she’s quite a character. Certainly speaks her mind. But …’

‘But what?’

‘Well, it’s just interesting.’

‘What’s interesting? You’re not making any sense.’

‘Well, it’s just … you’re not quite so tough around her, are you?’

‘Listen, Sophie, my mother is a strong, bloody-minded woman,’ Jack said softly. ‘I don’t mind telling you, even now, the thought of being on the wrong side of her still scares me shitless.’ He turned and fixed his daughter with a steady gaze.