A Killing Mind, page 19
part #5 of DI Sean Corrigan Series
‘Weren’t like he beat the shit out of her,’ Mehmet shrugged. ‘Just got a bit carried away and he didn’t come back, so I forgot about it.’
‘But you said he almost strangled her to death and then she was killed only a few days later,’ Sally reminded him through gritted teeth. ‘Didn’t you think that could be important?’
‘Listen,’ Mehmet pleaded. ‘I thought you’d probably know all this already. Plus I knew once she was killed there’d be Old Bill all over the place, and me and the police don’t get on, so I thought I’d keep my head down for a bit. Ain’t no more to it than that. Look, she was an all right kid and I’m sorry she’s dead, but it weren’t me. It weren’t me.’
‘All right,’ Sally sighed. ‘Back to this customer who almost strangled her. What do you know about him?’
‘Nothing,’ Mehmet told her, his natural inclination not to answer when questioned by the police overtaking his desire to help.
‘Come on,’ Sally tried to help him help himself. ‘You can do better than that. You went with her for a few nights to look out for him.’
‘So?’ he asked, looking confused.
‘So she must have told you what he looked like,’ Sally reminded him, ‘so you’d recognize him if he turned up. Yes?’
‘Yeah,’ Mehmet shook his head as he remembered. ‘Yeah. Right. She did tell me.’
‘And what did she tell you?’ Sally asked – her patience beginning to strain.
Mehmet’s eyes looked up at the ceiling as he tried to recall. ‘Said he was white – thirty, forty years old, I think. Shit, man,’ he chastised himself, ‘what else did she say?’
‘Take your time,’ Sally managed to say. ‘Anything about his clothes?’
‘Yeah. Yeah,’ Mehmet’s memory sprang to life. ‘Said he always wore really dark clothing – like tracksuits and stuff and a hoodie – yeah a hoodie. I remember because she said he never took the hood off so she could never see his face properly, although she said he looked like he was probably a good-looking guy, you know.’
‘Did she say if he had anything with him?’ Sally probed.
‘Yeah,’ Mehmet almost shouted the answer. ‘She said he always had a rucksack with him – that I should be looking for someone carrying a rucksack.’
‘Thank you,’ Sally told him before taking a moment to consider what she was being told. Instinctively she knew she’d discovered something important. A significant breakthrough.
‘And strong,’ Mehmet suddenly revealed without prompting. ‘I remember she said he was really fucking strong, man. She said I should bring something with me – like a knife or a baseball bat or something. She said I might need it. I told her I didn’t need anything, but she looked scared and she wouldn’t stop going on about how I needed to bring something. Just made me think, you know, how he must have been really strong to freak her out like that.’
‘And did you take anything?’ Sally asked.
‘You don’t have to answer that,’ Robinson interrupted.
‘I’m not interested in charging Joey for possessing an offensive weapon,’ Sally told her.
‘Doesn’t really matter now, does it?’ Mehmet reminded them all. ‘Whether I did or didn’t, it’s not going to help Tanya now.’
‘No,’ Sally solemnly agreed. ‘No it’s not.’ There was a moment of silence before Sally continued. ‘Most men looking for street prostitutes do it from a car,’ she explained. ‘Did she say anything about his car?’
‘She said he had one,’ Mehmet answered, ‘but no more than that. They did it in his car, but Tanya wouldn’t know one car from another anyway.’
‘Hold on,’ Sally said, something suddenly not making sense. ‘If he was going to pull up in his car when she was working the streets, why would she describe him to you, but not his car?’
‘Well, that’s the weird thing,’ Mehmet explained. ‘She said he approached her on foot, but then took her to his car that was close by – in a side street or somewhere.’
‘CCTV,’ Sally accidentally said out loud as she realized what he was doing – parking his car away from the gaze of CCTV that covered almost every main street in London.
‘Excuse me?’ Mehmet asked.
‘Nothing,’ Sally lied.
‘We done yet?’ Mehmet asked. ‘I don’t know nothing more, I swear.’
‘One last thing,’ Sally told him. ‘You knew Tanya well – socially and through business. Do you know if she used condoms?’
‘Course she did, man,’ Mehmet smiled. ‘They ain’t no use if they’re pregnant or diseased.’
‘You mean any use to you?’ Sally accused him.
Mehmet’s smile broadened as he held his hands wide apart. ‘Now, now, officer. That ain’t what I said.’
‘I’ve got no more questions for now,’ Sally told him. ‘This interview will be transcribed into a witness statement. I’ll contact your solicitor when it’s ready to be checked and signed.’
‘You mean I can go?’ he asked excitedly.
‘You can go, Joey,’ Sally answered, ‘but don’t go far. We may need to speak again.’ She leaned forward and rested her finger on the stop button. ‘This interview is concluded.’
Sean rose towards the surface of Borough Underground station alone in the large lift. He was glad he was alone. Glad of the chance to imagine William Dalton standing in the same lift – tired after a day of begging, but excited about the crack cocaine he would soon be smoking and the effect it would have. Had he paced the lift in anticipation or had there been other passengers? Had his killer been in there with him – standing in the opposite corner, peering out from under his dark hooded top at his soon-to-be victim, imagining the exquisite, sadistic pleasure to come – rucksack on his back? No, he dismissed the possibility. Dalton lived a life on the street. His feral instincts to sense danger would have surely been singing if his killer had also been in the lift with him. He would have taken precautions to ensure the threat couldn’t have followed him back to his makeshift home. But the killer knew he was heading for the garage, so if he hadn’t followed him the same night he’d killed him, then he must have watched him. Studied him. Just like Sean was sure he’d watched and studied Tanya Richards. The lift reached the surface with a bump that knocked him from his daydreaming and the doors opened, allowing the freezing air from outside to flood in and swirl around him. The same freezing air that would have rushed at William Dalton the night he died.
Sean stepped into the ticket hall and walked to the only barrier that had a guard. He flashed his warrant card and the young white man in an oversized Underground staff uniform stood to attention as he opened the gate for him. ‘I’m looking for Daniel Lincoln,’ Sean told him.
‘Over there,’ the guard answered, pointing with his chin to another member of staff who was standing just inside the station entrance looking up and down Borough High Street.
‘Thanks,’ Sean replied and headed towards the tall, slim black man in his mid-thirties. ‘Excuse me,’ he got his attention and showed him his warrant card. ‘Daniel Lincoln?’
‘Who wants to know?’ he asked.
‘DI Corrigan,’ Sean told him. ‘Special Investigations Unit.’
‘Oh yeah?’ Lincoln said in his Southeast London accent. ‘About the murder?’
‘Yes,’ Sean confirmed. ‘Our enquiries say you were on duty the night it happened.’
‘Yeah,’ Lincoln agreed. ‘I was here and I remember seeing him too.’
‘Seeing who?’ Sean asked.
‘William,’ he replied, sounding surprised that Sean had to ask.
‘You knew him?’
‘A little,’ Lincoln told him. ‘Most late shifts I’d see him. Not many people using this station that time of night, so I usually say hello to people I’m used to seeing. I could tell he was homeless – sleeping rough. I tried to help him a few times – told him where some shelters were that could get him a bed in the warm for a few nights, but he was never interested – said he was sleeping in an old garage which weren’t too bad. It’s a shame, you know. He was an OK kid. Just took a wrong turn in life.’
Sean nodded in agreement while he also considered Lincoln for a few seconds. He’d met his type before – the accidental Samaritans who try to help everyone around them without even knowing they’re doing it – never wanting praise or thanks. It was just in their nature. ‘Can you remember anyone following him?’ he asked. ‘Or anyone who came out the lift at the same time and maybe headed in the same direction as William?’
‘No,’ Lincoln answered without hesitation. ‘No way. Not that night.’
‘How so sure?’ Sean questioned.
‘Because he was the only customer that came out of the lift,’ Lincoln explained. ‘Just like you tonight. It’s unusual for here. Even this late. I was going to say something to him about it, but he seemed in a hurry. Figured he’d scored some drugs.’
‘Possibly,’ Sean admitted. ‘What about the days or nights before the last time you saw him? Did anyone look like they might be following him?’
‘The nights before?’ Lincoln shook his head while smiling. ‘Don’t see how I’d know he was being followed.’
‘Someone maybe caught your attention,’ Sean suggested. ‘Someone who looked out of place or suspicious.’
Lincoln’s smile broadened. ‘Inspector. This is the Borough. That time of night round here, most people look suspicious.’
Sean thought about the killer, remembering everything he thought he knew about him. ‘Someone carrying a rucksack or backpack,’ he told Lincoln. ‘Probably wearing dark clothes – possibly sports gear and a hoodie. The hood would have been up and pulled tight over his face so he couldn’t be seen properly.’
‘Plenty people coming through here wear hoodies,’ Lincoln shrugged.
‘But it was late,’ Sean argued, trying to trigger Lincoln’s hidden memories. ‘There wouldn’t have been many people around and they would have been close to William, in front or behind him. They would have been in a rush to get through the barrier and make it outside.’ He could see Lincoln’s mind straining, but he needed more prompting. ‘Try and remember where you were when William came through. Try and see the people around him.’
‘Yeah,’ he suddenly said. ‘I was right by the barriers – in case anyone’s ticket didn’t work.’
‘And you saw William?’ Sean encouraged him.
‘Yeah,’ Lincoln continued. ‘I said “You OK?” and he said he was and then … wait. I see him now – another guy – another guy went through the barrier, with his hoodie pulled tight and a bag – he was carrying a backpack.’
‘You sure?’ Sean asked, his heart pounding.
‘I’m sure,’ Lincoln insisted. ‘I remember him now. I couldn’t see his face or almost none of it, but I saw enough to know he was white. That’s all.’
‘When?’ Sean demanded.
‘A few nights ago,’ Lincoln answered.
‘When exactly?’ Sean pressed.
‘I can’t be sure,’ Lincoln shook his head. ‘Three … four nights ago. I’d have to check my shifts and stuff.’
‘OK,’ Sean relented. ‘We’ll need a statement from you and a photo-kit ident.’
‘Sure,’ Lincoln shrugged.
‘And the CCTV for the last week,’ he continued.
‘You’ll need to ask BTP for CCTV footage,’ Lincoln reminded him.
‘Fine,’ Sean answered, distracted by his phone ringing somewhere inside his coat. Finally, he found it and snatched it from an inside pocket. The caller ID told him it was Sally. He slid a finger across the screen and pressed it hard against his ear. ‘Sally.’
‘Mehmet’s a blow out as far as being a suspect,’ she told him without bothering with pleasantries, ‘but he was worth talking to.’ She paused, listening to Sean’s silent anticipation. ‘I think he’s given us a description of our suspect.’
‘White,’ Sean stole her thunder, ‘between thirty and forty. Wears dark clothing, possibly sports gear and always a hoodie. And a rucksack. He always has a rucksack with him.’
‘OK,’ Sally sighed. ‘How did you know?’
‘Guard at Borough tube station,’ he revealed. ‘He saw Dalton being followed by our suspect three, four nights ago. You?’
‘Mehmet said Tanya Richards was having trouble with a punter who was getting way too rough,’ she explained. ‘A customer she’d met more than once – up until he almost strangled her. Mehmet said he’d trailed Tanya for a couple of nights, so he could warn the guy off, but he never showed again. A few days later she was dead.’
‘So if he’s our man,’ Sean replied, ‘he made contact with her before he killed her. Proper contact. He didn’t just follow her – which means he may have made contact with Dalton too.’
‘If it’s true,’ Sally said, ‘then he’s taking enormous risks. Why would he do that?’
‘I don’t know,’ Sean told her, although his mind was spinning with reasons why. He remembered Anna’s words about serial killers wanting it to be as personal as they could possibly make it. He wanted to kill, but he wanted to know them first. ‘We need to get hold of Dalton’s friends and associates. See if anyone can recall someone new coming into his life shortly before he was killed. Anyone at all.’ He took a long breath of the cold London air tainted with vehicle fumes. ‘Meet me back at the Yard. We need something ready for the rest of the team by morning.’
‘Everything all right?’ asked Lincoln, watching as he put his phone back in his pocket.
‘Sorry?’ Sean asked, drifting back to the present. ‘I mean yes. Everything’s fine. I need to go now, but thanks for all your help. We’ll be in touch.’
8
Witney Dennis wandered into the kitchen of the small flat just as her mother was struggling to find enough food to prepare for her siblings from a different, but also absent father. While her mother was distracted, she quickly looked inside her purse but found nothing more than a few coins. Maybe her mum had some more cash hidden somewhere for emergencies or because she was fed up with what little cash she had going missing from her purse. She decided to try her luck.
‘Mum,’ she asked, trying to sound as pleasant and innocent as possible, but her mum couldn’t hear her over the din of the younger children impatient for food. ‘Mum,’ she called a bit louder, causing her mum to round on her with a look of frustration and anger spread across her face.
‘What d’you want, Witney?’ she snapped. ‘Can’t you see I’m busy?’
‘I need to borrow some money. You got any?’
‘What the fuck does it look like?’ her mother replied. ‘I ain’t even got money for food for the kids.’
‘Ain’t you got something put away?’ Witney pushed. ‘Even a fiver.’
‘No,’ her mum almost shouted. ‘What you want it for anyway? Drugs?’
‘I don’t do that any more,’ she lied.
‘You expect me to believe that?’ her mother asked. ‘Don’t expect me to help you kill yourself.’
‘I just want to go out with me mates for a bit,’ she lied again. ‘I can’t stand being stuck in here all the time.’
‘You could help out a bit more is what you could do,’ her mum told her. ‘Or get a job and pay for all the food and clothes you get through.’
‘I don’t need a lecture, I just need some cash. I’ll pay you back.’
‘I ain’t got it,’ her mum barked at her, ‘and if I did I wouldn’t give it to you.’
‘Fine,’ she shouted back. ‘I’ll get it somewhere else.’ She spun away from her mum and moved fast to the front door and out into the freezing night wearing only a light tracksuit – the sound of her mum calling after her still audible as she sprinted down the communal stairway and out into the open space at the foot of the tower block.
She kept walking until she reached the playground, where despite the freezing cold and the lateness of the hour, there was the usual huddle of teenagers with hoods pulled up over baseball caps – peering out from barely visible faces like a pack of wary hyenas. She reached the outer rim of the pack before being stopped by two of the gang.
‘It’s all right,’ the leader told his subordinates. ‘It’s only Witney.’ The two guards let her pass. ‘What d’you want?’
‘The usual,’ she told him – constantly looking around for risks, of which there were plenty.
‘Got the money?’ he asked with a condescending grin on his face.
‘No,’ she admitted.
‘Then fuck off,’ he dismissed her.
‘Wait,’ she pleaded as the two bodyguards moved towards her. ‘I thought … I thought … maybe I could do what I did last time again. You know.’
‘Did ya?’ the leader sneered, looking her up and down as he considered her offer. ‘I tell you what,’ he told her. ‘You do us all and I’ll give you what you want.’
‘What?’ she asked disbelievingly, suddenly feeling the bitter cold cutting through her meagre clothing.
‘You heard me,’ the leader smiled – looking around at the gang of a dozen youths. ‘You do us all and I’ll give you what you want.’
‘No,’ she argued. ‘Just you. I ain’t doing no one else.’
‘Then you ain’t getting nothing,’ he insisted.
‘Yeah,’ one of the gang joined in. ‘Come on, you slag. Suck us off.’
The rest of the gang joined in now – insulting her and jostling her – grabbing at her intimate places as she backed away. ‘Leave me alone,’ she screamed at the top of her voice, stunning the youths long enough for her to break from the crowd and run towards the safety of the well-lit multi-lane road that separated the estate from Putney Heath. Their laughter and insults chased her all the way as she ran across the dual carriageway, dodging the few cars that were using it at such a late hour – the headlights reflected in her scared eyes.
Once she reached the safety of the pavement on the other side she slowed to a walk and looked back at the estate – the lights of thousands of windows sparkling in the distance like a metropolitan island stranded off the coast of London. She turned her back on the sight and walked to the local convenience store – the type you found in all poor areas of London – the type that never seemed to close. She’d been there hundreds of times. As she pushed the door open the shop was filled with the shrill sound of an alarm warning the shop attendant someone had entered. It made the same awful sound as it swung shut behind her. A glimmer of optimism sparked inside her as she recognized the young Asian man standing behind the counter. She approached him smiling as pleasantly as she could.
