Senseless, page 11
‘I’m not a great one for computers and phones,’ he shrugged. ‘I prefer to read. Your lab rats won’t find anything.’
‘Sure of that, are you?’ Jameson asked.
Cramer leaned forward across the desk. ‘Very.’
‘You killed her, didn’t you?’ Jameson tried to land any sort of blow.
‘Is that all you’ve got?’ Cramer laughed. ‘A direct accusation. Ooh. So scary. Maybe I should just confess?’
‘You know, I’ve met someone like you before,’ Jameson told him as he couldn’t help but think about his time in Auckland.
‘Really?’ Cramer asked without much interest.
‘Yeah,’ he answered. ‘Thought he was smarter than he was.’
‘And what happened to him?’ Cramer couldn’t help but ask.
Jameson shook his head slowly. ‘It didn’t end too well for him,’ he replied. ‘Didn’t end very well at all.’
‘So you got someone convicted,’ Cramer assumed. ‘Big deal. I can assure you, that won’t be happening to me.’
‘So you deny murdering Lucy Harris?’ Jameson moved on.
‘I didn’t say that,’ Cramer answered.
Jameson and Cahill glanced at each other in surprise. ‘So you did kill her?’ Jameson asked.
‘I didn’t say that either,’ Cramer smiled.
‘Then what are you saying?’ asked Jameson.
‘I don’t have to say anything,’ Cramer continued in his confusing manner. ‘You have to prove I was involved. I don’t have to prove my innocence.’
‘I know what I have to do,’ Jameson told him calmly, although he could feel his anger and frustration rising. ‘Did you know Lucy Harris?’
‘Maybe,’ he replied. ‘Maybe not.’
‘You need to start giving some straight answers,’ Jameson warned him.
‘I don’t recall the name,’ he told him. ‘But I could have forgotten about her.’
‘A man like you wouldn’t have forgotten someone like her,’ Jameson assured him.
‘You’d be surprised,’ he answered, but the smile slipped from his face.
‘She was an estate agent,’ Jameson continued. ‘Did she show you around any properties? I don’t suppose you’re planning on staying in your current place for too long?’
‘I don’t have the money to buy a place of my own,’ Cramer explained. ‘So why would I be meeting an estate agent?’
‘Because she did rentals too,’ Jameson told him.
‘I’m not looking to move,’ Cramer insisted.
‘Maybe you just lied to her,’ Jameson suggested. ‘Made an appointment to view somewhere you didn’t really have an interest in just so you could meet her.’
‘And why would I want to meet her?’ he asked, the smile back on his face.
‘So you could start following her,’ Jameson explained. ‘Stalk her for a while. Learn her movements. Fantasise about her before finally killing her. That’s what people like you like to do, isn’t it?’
‘Well, Inspector,’ he replied. ‘You have been doing your research, haven’t you? But I should remind you – I’ve never killed anyone before.’
‘Before?’ Jameson jumped on it. ‘You mean until now? Until Lucy Harris?’
‘That’s not what I said,’ Cramer corrected him. ‘You’re trying to put words into my mouth.’
‘It’s just a strange thing to say,’ Jameson said. ‘The use of the word before.’
‘I don’t see your point,’ Cramer insisted.
‘Yeah, you do,’ Jameson insisted. ‘It’s like you neither want to deny killing her or admit to it.’
‘That’s your interpretation of what I’m saying.’
‘This is an interview,’ Jameson reminded him. ‘It’s not supposed to be something that’s open to interpretation. Now, did you kill Lucy Harris?’
‘Well,’ Cramer replied. ‘Why should I make things easy for you?’
‘You’d be making things easy for yourself,’ Jameson told him. ‘Not me.’
‘If I tell you I didn’t kill her, would that really make any difference to what you think about me?’ Cramer asked. ‘Would you stop investigating me and let me go, free as a bird? I don’t think so. So why should I do anything to help you?’
‘Fine.’ Jameson sighed with frustration. ‘There’s no point continuing with this interview at this time. The time is six thirty-five and I’m concluding the interview.’ He reached out and clicked the recording machine off.
‘You’ve got nothing to hold me on,’ Cramer argued.
‘You’re going nowhere until the searches have been completed,’ Jameson told him. ‘If we find anything incriminating, you’ll be interviewed again and any new evidence put to you. This is a murder investigation, Mr Cramer. I can hold you for up to ninety-six hours and I will if I have to.’
‘Very well,’ Cramer answered, too calmly, as if he was enjoying his detention and attention. ‘I have no plans. Take your time, Inspector. I can wait.’
Martin Thomas sat at home alone, watching the news coverage of the murder investigation into the woman from the park. He sat naked on one of the only two chairs in the living room, hoping the footage would in some way stimulate him into feeling something like he’d felt when he’d been with her. Normally, he’d at least feel some level of satisfaction that he was ahead of those he knew would be hunting him now. Outsmarting them as the reporter stated the police were apparently no nearer to finding her killer, but he was struggling to stir any emotion in himself, despite the detailed description of the investigation. His mind would usually be clear – a blank piece of paper for him to try and fill in, but the woman from the supermarket car park kept jumping into his mind and invading his thoughts – upsetting the usual pattern of his thinking – and it bothered him.
He’d had relationships before with women, but they’d always been short. Very short and always just for physical gratification, using websites for casual dating and even more casual sex. He was never tempted to see any of the women in the past more than a few times at the most and risk them seeing behind his mask of normality. They came and went as he needed them. But the woman from the car park had undoubtedly made him feel things he’d never felt before. He wondered if the tightness in his chest and the fluttering sense in his stomach were normal – whether these were the sort of human feelings he’d been searching for since his teenage years. He tried to shake the thoughts away as he ran his hands through his hair, dismissing it as impossible. They’d only been together for a few short minutes, if that. It couldn’t be possible that she could have affected him in a way no one else ever had. Not after such a short time. He took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the television, but after a few seconds he realised it was useless and turned it off and sat in the silent dimness thinking of nothing but the woman as he tried to understand the strange sense of frustration, yet also what he assumed was excitement. It was the first thing in his adult life that he didn’t understand and couldn’t control. He wondered if this was what it is to be human?
Chapter Eleven
Jones was working in her office when she spotted Jameson arriving for work. She waited for him to get settled in his own small office before venturing next door to see him. He looked up when she entered.
‘Did you manage to get any sleep last night?’ she asked him. ‘You look knackered.’
‘Some,’ he answered, sounding as tired as he looked.
‘I suppose I’ve got used to not sleeping much,’ she told him. ‘After years on the SIU.’
‘It’s the same everywhere,’ he argued. ‘Anti-Terrorist. Flying Squad. Even New Zealand. If you can’t survive without sleep, you’re in the wrong job.’
‘True enough,’ she agreed before getting down to business. ‘So, how did the interview go?’
‘Cramer?’ he asked. Jones just shrugged. ‘Let’s just say it was interesting.’
‘How so?’ she asked. ‘Did he talk?’
‘Oh, he talked,’ he confirmed. ‘And without a brief being there. What he didn’t do was answer any questions.’
‘But he didn’t go no-comment,’ she asked, confused.
‘No,’ he told her. ‘But he wouldn’t admit to anything, but nor would he deny anything.’
‘He didn’t deny killing her?’
‘No,’ he shook his head. ‘He didn’t. He’s playing some sort of game. I almost got the impression he liked being a suspect. That he was enjoying being in custody, being interviewed – the whole thing. He’s a right smug bastard too.’
‘You get them sometimes,’ she told him. ‘With this sort of a crime. Weirdos and freaks who enjoy the attention. Anything’s better than being all alone and forgotten about. We’re company.’
‘I guess,’ he partly agreed, ‘but I didn’t get the impression that’s what was happening with Cramer. He’s guilty or he’s up to something else and he’s clever. Not as clever as he thinks he is, but clever enough to be dangerous. We need to be careful with him.’
‘I’ve interviewed a lot of these madmen,’ she reminded him. ‘Perhaps if you’d told me we had a suspect before you arrested him, I could have helped you.’
‘Sorry, the name came up and you weren’t about.’
‘So you took Fiona instead?’
‘She’s a good cop,’ he insisted. ‘Seems to know what she’s doing.’
‘She does,’ Jones agreed before moving on. ‘I spoke with DS Roddis earlier. He’s been working through the night on Cramer’s flat and car.’
‘And?’ he asked expectantly.
‘Nothing yet,’ she said, disappointing him. ‘Certainly nothing obvious. No smoking gun.’
‘Shit,’ he said. ‘Well, they’d better find something soon. I can’t hold Cramer forever. Not without some new evidence.’
Before she could reply, Assistant Commissioner Addis entered the office looking worryingly happy. ‘Good morning, Inspector,’ he cheerfully said before nodding towards Jones. ‘Sally.’
‘Morning.’ Jameson returned the greeting without much enthusiasm.
‘Sir,’ Jones acknowledged him, before rolling her eyes once she was sure he couldn’t see her.
‘Good news all round,’ Addis declared. ‘I understand an arrest has been made?’
‘That’s correct,’ Jameson confirmed.
‘And a very viable suspect too, I hear.’
Jameson wondered where Addis was getting his information from as he hadn’t spoken to him. ‘Early days,’ he said, trying to calm things, ‘but he’s a decent suspect.’
‘A known sex offender,’ Addis encouraged him. ‘Captured on CCTV at the crime scene on the morning of the murder. I would say you have an excellent suspect.’
‘We don’t have the evidence to charge him,’ Jameson argued. ‘Nowhere near the evidence.’
‘It’ll come,’ Addis assured him. ‘Don’t be so pessimistic. A convicted sex offender practically in the crime scene. I don’t believe in coincidences, Inspector. We have our man. We just need to prove it.’
‘Easier said than done,’ Jameson muttered.
‘But get it done we must,’ Addis warned him. ‘With all the bad news and rumours about this Covid thing spreading like wildfire, the last thing the public need now is to be worried about a murdering madman on the loose in London. Let’s put this one to bed and move on. Make sure you keep me posted,’ he finished before spinning on his heels and leaving. Both Jameson and Jones audibly sighed.
‘He’s always the same,’ Jones moaned. ‘Always demanding a quick result no matter what.’
‘Great,’ Jameson said.
‘So, tell me about this suspect,’ Jones moved on. ‘Is he good for it?’
‘Cramer?’ he checked. ‘He’s a very good suspect. Combine his previous with the fact he drove all the way from Sutton to Langley Park just for a walk, on the morning of the murder, then yes, I’d say he’s a good suspect.’
‘Although that bothers me,’ Jones argued. ‘We know our killer is very careful, yet Cramer allowed himself to be caught on CCTV. Why would he do that? After all the precautions he’s taken.’
‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. It was something that had been troubling him too. ‘But I don’t believe in overestimating these lunatics. Christ knows what’s going on in their crazy minds. He probably thinks he’s playing some sort of sick game, with him at the centre of it.’
‘Well, we’d better hope Roddis finds something we can use,’ she reminded him. ‘Or Addis won’t be getting his quick result.’
‘Sooner or later Cramer will hang himself,’ he assured her. ‘People like him always do.’
Geoff Jackson was lying fast asleep next to his younger girlfriend, Denise, in their Soho flat, paid for by his string of successful paperbacks he’d written about the murder cases he’d reported on. He prided himself on being able to write them within a week of the killer being charged and to keep them well written enough that the publishers could have them in the shops while the cases were still very much on people’s minds. Striking while the iron was hot was the key to their success. The sound of his mobile ringing cut through his dream and finally woke him up, although he felt foggy after a late, boozy night in with Denise as they tried to adjust to not going out because of lockdown. He managed to focus his eyes enough to check the caller ID – feeling far more awake when he realised who was calling him. ‘Jesus, Mitch,’ he answered it. ‘Bit bloody early, isn’t it?’
‘Not where I’m calling from,’ a cheery New Zealand voice told him. ‘It’s almost ten at night, buddy. Must be almost eleven in the morning there. You still in bed, you lazy bastard?’
‘Late night,’ he offered by way of explanation, relieved to see that Denise was still asleep.
‘You all in lockdown?’ Mitch stated more than asked. ‘Yeah, us too. Bloody pain in the arse.’
‘It is what it is.’ Jackson shrugged.
‘I reckon,’ he agreed before getting to the point of the call. ‘Listen, I got something for you. That name you gave me – Ruben Jameson. I’ve been doing some digging and have come up with something.’
‘Yeah?’ Jackson asked with a rising sense of excitement.
‘Yeah,’ Mitch confirmed. ‘My source tells me he was on the Serious Crime Unit over here. Took down a couple of armed robbery crews, apparently. He’s a good cop, but a bit of a maverick.’
‘Another one,’ Jackson said without realising. ‘Is that all you have?’‘Pretty much,’ he replied. ‘Only…’
‘Only what?’ Jackson pressed, sensing there was more to come.
‘Only a few weeks before he headed back to the UK, he was put onto a close protection detail,’ Mitch explained.
‘Protecting who?’ Jackson asked.
‘That’s the funny thing,’ Mitch told him. ‘I can’t find out who. My contact doesn’t have a name for me. He tells me all the details of the assignment have been locked away and classed as highly confidential, which is very unusual.’
‘Must have been protecting someone very important,’ Jackson suggested.
‘I guess,’ Mitch replied.
Jackson’s mind began to race. Was Jameson the thing, the person powerful people were trying to protect? ‘I need more,’ he told Mitch. ‘My paper will pay good money for good information. Maybe you can loosen the lips of a cop who was on the investigation with the promise of a few dollars.’
‘I can try,’ he agreed.
‘Good,’ Jackson replied. ‘Keep me posted, Mitch.’
‘Will do,’ the New Zealand reporter replied before hanging up, leaving Jackson sitting up in his bed wondering who the hell DI Jameson really was and how had he ended up back in London in charge of the SIU?
‘Geoff,’ the concerned-sounding voice of Denise broke his train of thought. ‘Who was that?’
‘Nobody,’ he told her. ‘Go back to sleep.’ As she was rolling back onto her side, he was already springing from the bed and heading towards the shower.
Jameson sat in his office ploughing through the seemingly endless flow of paperwork and emails. It was enough to make him wonder if he wouldn’t have been better off staying at Wandsworth. He sensed someone had drifted silently into his office. When he looked up, he saw it was Jones again.
‘Doesn’t anyone around here knock?’ he asked before turning back to his computer screen.
‘Not usually,’ she told him casually.
‘I noticed.’ He sighed. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Just needed a break,’ she replied. He just shrugged. ‘Settling into the new job all right?’ she asked.
‘Fine,’ he answered without elaborating, not wanting to be drawn into any small talk. ‘Anything new from the CCTV?’
‘No,’ she answered, stiffening slightly.
‘Any useful witnesses?’
‘Sorry,’ she said.
‘The door to door?’ he almost pleaded. ‘At least tell me we’ve got something from the door to door?’
‘We’re doing the local area,’ she explained, ‘but it’s not a scene that lends well to door to door.’
‘Local suspects?’ he kept trying. ‘Anyone else of interest on the Sex Offenders Register? Right now I’d even take a local nut?’
‘Not yet,’ she hardly dared tell him.
‘Great,’ he complained before his phone rang and stopped the inquest. ‘DI Jameson,’ he answered.
‘Mr Jameson,’ Roddis replied in his usual formal way that avoided referring to rank. ‘It’s DS Roddis.’
‘Thank God,’ he exclaimed. ‘Please tell me you have something for me.’
‘Nothing obvious,’ Roddis disappointed him. ‘If there’s any evidence there, it’s microscopic. Everything will have to go to the lab. It’ll be a few days before they’ll be able to work anything up.’
‘I can’t hold the suspect for a few days without something tangible,’ he reminded him. ‘Even in a murder enquiry.’
