Senseless, page 4
‘Do you think that’s actually possible?’ Jones asked.
‘Probably not,’ he admitted. ‘It’s more likely it’s given him a real taste for it. And he would have learnt from this too. He knows better now what he wants. He’ll refine his work. Be even more – efficient.’
‘Unless we find him and stop him first,’ Jones reminded him.
‘Exactly,’ Jameson agreed before switching to a more hurried, urgent tone. ‘Which we won’t do sitting around here, so let’s get on with it. See your team leaders for your actions and let’s find this joker before he kills anyone else.’ He watched the meeting break up before leaning towards Jones. ‘Let’s talk,’ he told her before striding back to his office and slumping into his chair. Jones was close behind him.
‘Well?’ she asked, prompting him for an explanation.
‘Is there another DS on the team?’ he asked. ‘Someone who can run things when neither of us are here?’
‘There used to be,’ she answered rather mournfully. ‘But he quit when the last boss did and moved back to the Flying Squad. Him leaving has taken a lot of experience out of the team.’
‘Them Flying Squad types are like that,’ he reminded her. ‘Always looking to get back from whence they came. But you can’t be the only DS here?’
‘No,’ she replied, raising her eyebrows. ‘Paulo’s the other sergeant. DS Zukov.’ He shrugged to let her know the name meant nothing. ‘The skinny one with the stupid questions,’ she clarified.
‘Great,’ he complained and exhaled. ‘Well, he’ll have to do. I need him to start assigning actions.’
‘Wouldn’t you rather I took care of that?’ she checked. ‘Where is Paulo anyway?’ she asked herself, looking into the main office trying to spot the missing Zukov.
‘No,’ he told her. ‘I need you to come with me.’
‘Where we going?’ she asked.
‘The scene,’ he answered, getting to his feet and gathering his possessions. ‘I need to get a feel for him.’
‘I’ve heard that before,’ she replied with a sense of irony.
‘Excuse me?’ he asked, confused.
‘Nothing,’ she said, dismissing it. ‘Do you want to drive, or shall I?’
Zukov sat outside Assistant Commissioner Addis’s office, nervously waiting to be summoned as he watched his secretary out of the corner of his eye. He’d received a text from her just before the office briefing had been called and had sneaked away surreptitiously as soon as it had finished. The phone on her desk suddenly rang loudly before she lifted the receiver to her ear and quickly replaced it without speaking. She looked over her spectacles at him. ‘Mr Addis will see you now,’ she told him dourly, as if he was being called forward to receive grave news. ‘Let yourself in,’ she added before going back to her typing.
‘Thank you,’ Zukov told her as he stood, before clearing his voice of its croakiness and heading to the foreboding door just a few feet away. He knocked quietly but received no reply from inside which prompted him to look back at the secretary, but she failed to acknowledge him. He shrugged his shoulders and pushed the door open and tentatively walked inside to see Addis sitting at his large oak desk in the largest office he’d ever seen that was for the sole use of one officer – even if it was an Assistant Commissioner.
Addis beckoned him forward with a wave of his hand before switching to pointing to a chair with his index finger, without ever once looking up from the report his head was buried in. Zukov sat quietly and uncomfortably as Addis continued to ignore him. After what seemed an eternity, Addis finally looked up, slowly removing his spectacles and carefully placing them on his desk before speaking.
‘Any idea why I might have asked you to see me?’ Addis said, filling Zukov with dread that he may know something damning about him.
‘No, sir,’ he managed to answer without sounding too afraid.
There was a silence before Addis continued. ‘I see you’ve been on the Special Investigations Unit for several years now.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Zukov confirmed, wondering where Addis was going.
‘Yet we’ve never spoken before,’ Addis told him more than asked.
‘No, sir,’ Zukov replied. ‘Probably because I was just a DC then. But I’m a DS now.’
‘I suppose,’ Addis casually agreed. ‘I see you’ve been a DS for several months now.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Zukov answered with some pride.
‘But you never left the unit when you were promoted,’ Addis questioned.
‘Sir?’ Zukov asked, a little confused.
‘Usually, people go back to do some time on division when they’re promoted,’ Addis reminded him. ‘To gain experience as a supervising officer. But not you.’
‘My DCI at the time wanted to keep people with SIU experience on the unit,’ he explained. ‘He arranged it so I could stay after my promotion.’
‘Knowing your previous DCI,’ Addis said with an air of disappointment, ‘I suspect it was more a case of not wanting people he didn’t know joining the team.’ Zukov said nothing. ‘And now you have a new DI. Appointed by myself. Indeed, hand-picked by myself – which makes him my responsibility.’ Zukov was unsure whether he was expected to respond or not, so decided to stay quiet. ‘And when things are my responsibility,’ Addis finally continued, ‘I like to keep a close eye on them, you understand?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Zukov replied, although he still had no idea why he was being told any of this.
‘But I’m a busy man,’ Addis explained. ‘The SIU is not my only responsibility. So, what I need is someone I can rely on to keep an eye on things for me. Someone who I can trust.’
‘You want me to keep you updated on our investigations?’ Zukov guessed.
‘No,’ Addis told him. ‘DI Jameson will be doing that. What I need is for you to keep me informed on the progress of the before-mentioned DI Jameson.’
‘Sir?’ Zukov asked, confused.
Addis leaned back into his chair and interlaced his fingers. ‘Being the head of the SIU brings its own special pressures,’ he began. ‘Being responsible for finding the kind of offenders the SIU usually investigate, knowing that tracking them down can literally be a matter of life and death – can take its strain on a man or woman, as your previous DCI discovered. As suited to the job as I think DI Jameson is, there may come a time when his, shall we say, judgement, may become affected by the pressure he will be under. If this does indeed happen, I need you, DS Zukov, to keep me informed. Can I trust you with such a task, DS Zukov?’
The perceived power of such a role, not to mention the covert, undercover element of the assignment, immediately appealed to Zukov, who could barely suppress a smile. ‘You can trust me, sir,’ he assured Addis. ‘I’ll keep a close watch on things. Let you know if I think DI Jameson is slipping. Not everyone is cut out for the SIU.’
‘I’m not interested in your opinions, DS Zukov,’ Addis said, bringing him back down to size. ‘Just report to me on a regular basis on his performance and behaviour. That’s all I want from you. I shall decide if he is or is not coping. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Zukov answered, feeling deflated and slightly embarrassed. ‘Of course.’
‘Good.’ Addis smiled his famous reptilian smile. ‘Then that will be all. You may leave now.’ He picked up the report from his desk and started to read as if he was already alone. Zukov awkwardly pulled himself from his chair and scrambled to the office door and freedom.
Jameson and Jones arrived at one of the car parks servicing Langley Park on the western fringe of London and were immediately met by a uniformed officer standing in front of police cordon tape that sealed off the entrance. Jones wound down her driver’s side window and flashed her warrant card. ‘DS Jones and DI Jameson,’ she informed him. ‘SIU.’
The young constable looked unimpressed by their credentials but took a few steps back and removed the tape to allow them through before replacing it once they’d entered the huge crime scene. Jones parked in the middle of the empty car park and they both climbed from the vehicle and waited for the approaching constable to reach them.
‘Has the entire park been sealed off?’ Jameson asked.
‘As best we can,’ the constable answered. ‘Car parks are easy enough to control, but we’re still getting the occasional pedestrian or cyclist wandering in.’
‘Have you been taking the names of everyone entering?’ Jameson checked – all too aware that serious sexual offenders and murderers often couldn’t resist revisiting the scenes of their crimes.
‘Every one of them, sir,’ the constable confirmed. ‘Including yours.’
Jameson glanced at Jones before replying. ‘Good. Can you show me where the crime scene is?’
The constable pointed to a small wooded area a couple of hundred metres away. ‘Over there,’ he confirmed. ‘DS Tuttle is already there.’ Jameson nodded. ‘You’re lucky you chose this car park,’ the constable offered. ‘The others are a lot further away from the actual scene.’
‘Let’s hope our luck doesn’t stop there,’ Jameson told him and began to head off towards the foreboding-looking woods followed by Jones who was soon at his side. ‘Shame the body’s already been moved,’ he complained.
‘It’s often the case with our investigations,’ Jones explained. ‘Local MITs move the body before the case is handed over to us. Personally, I’m never a great one for visiting the scene once I know the body’s been removed. If it’s an indoor scene I can see the point, but outside…’
‘I like to get a sense for things,’ he replied, a little too quickly. ‘See what he saw. See what he likes in a location. If it worked for him once, he’ll look for the same thing again.’
‘There’s a lot of parks in and around London,’ she argued. ‘Whatever he found here he could find in hundreds of other places.’
‘There’s always something unique, Jones,’ he insisted as they walked briskly on. ‘Something that could make all the difference in finding him.’
They walked in silence for a while before Jones attempted small talk to brush away the awkwardness. ‘What d’you make of this virus thing coming out of China?’ she asked. ‘Looks pretty scary.’
‘I don’t know much about it,’ he admitted and looked up to the sky. He knew they were close to Heathrow, yet it was remarkably quiet above them. ‘Seems to be closing down international travel though, so there must be something to it. Hopefully it’ll all blow over soon.’
‘I heard the supermarkets in Australia have run out of toilet rolls,’ Jones said before giving a short ironic laugh. ‘What’s that about?’
‘No clue.’ Jameson shrugged. ‘Hope it doesn’t happen here though and I thought it was supposed to be a respiratory disease – not something that gave you the shits.’
‘I’m not sure it does.’ Jones laughed. ‘Toilet paper. What the hell.’
‘People do the strangest things,’ he told her.
‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘They certainly do.’ They walked a little further in silence again before Jones tried to reignite the conversation. ‘So, seems we’ll be working together, would you like to tell me about yourself?’
‘That’s why women make good detectives.’ He smiled. ‘Naturally nosey.’
‘Just like to know who I’m working with,’ she persisted.
‘Well, I assume you’ve already fully researched my service history, so you won’t need me to tell you about that,’ he teased her. ‘My private life – I have a daughter. Jenny. She’s fifteen now. My only child.’
‘No wife?’ Jones asked bluntly.
‘No,’ he answered, sounding sad. ‘There was. Jenny’s mum. She died a few years ago. Cancer.’
‘Oh,’ Jones replied, sounding sheepish. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Me too,’ was all he said before trying to rescue her from her own embarrassment. ‘What about you? Is there a Mr Jones? Kids?’
‘No,’ she answered with a sigh. ‘Never had kids. Never been married. There’s someone in my life now, but I still live alone. I might find that hard to give up. I suppose I’m a bit stuck in my ways.’
‘You’re young enough,’ he reassured her.
‘I don’t know,’ she said with mock trepidation. ‘I’m approaching the big four-zero.’
‘Yeah, well,’ he told her as they grew close to the trees, ‘forty is the new thirty. Apparently.’
‘Right,’ she replied sarcastically. ‘And by the way, everyone just calls me Sally.’
‘Fair enough,’ he agreed as they reached the edge of the trees and peered into the dimness looking for signs of life. The small white tent covering the ground where the body had been was easy enough to spot as figures concealed in blue paper-like forensic suits were busy searching the larger area – photographing and logging everything they found inside the grid system. Jameson continued to scan the small forest until he spotted a tall, well-built man in a dark suit standing off to the side of the main activity. ‘DS Tuttle, I assume,’ he murmured to himself before walking into the woods and heading towards him. He already had his warrant card in hand, knowing how detectives could react to the sight of strangers entering their crime scene. Sure enough, Tuttle looked at them with suspicion when he saw them approaching. Jameson held his warrant card up for him to see when they were still some distance away. ‘DS Tuttle?’ he asked, but the man still just glared at them. ‘DI Jameson,’ he called out as they grew closer. ‘Special Investigations Unit.’
Once they were almost close enough to touch, Jones also waved her warrant card at the man. ‘DS Sally Jones,’ she introduced herself. ‘SIU. DS Tuttle?’ she checked.
‘Yeah,’ Tuttle answered in a Yorkshire accent as he seemed to relax. ‘George Tuttle. Southwest MIT.’ He stretched out a big hand which they both took turns to shake.
‘Thanks for meeting us,’ Jameson told him. ‘I know handing over a case is not something any of us want to do.’
Tuttle’s eyes widened as his body momentarily tensed. ‘I’ll be happy to hand this one over,’ he said, surprising them. ‘I’ve been doing this job enough to recognise a difficult case when I see one. This one’s not going to be easy to find and there’ll be lots of publicity too. The media loves cases like this. I’d rather not be trying to do my job with reporters watching my every move.’
‘Same here.’ Jameson sighed, resigned to the fact that it would be impossible with an investigation of this nature.
‘The media watch us pretty closely,’ Jones both confirmed and warned him. ‘Some more than others.’
‘Like who?’ Jameson asked without much interest.
‘Geoff Jackson at The World loves an SIU case,’ she told him.
‘That scumbag,’ Tuttle chipped in.
‘Do you know him?’ Jones asked Jameson.
‘No,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘I don’t read the papers.’
‘Just be careful,’ she warned him. ‘Jackson’s as clever and determined as he is unscrupulous.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ he assured her before getting back to business. ‘Do we know any more about the victim?’ he asked Tuttle.
‘Not really.’ Tuttle shrugged. ‘Female. White. Unmarried but engaged. I’ve had a few updates from the family liaison officer who tells me she was an estate agent working locally. That’s all we have at the moment. Oh, and I looked her up online. She’s got a pretty large internet presence. She’s across all the usual platforms.’
‘She was an estate agent,’ Jameson reminded him. ‘It’s normal for someone in that profession.’
‘And she was clearly very attractive,’ Tuttle suddenly told him. ‘You can’t really tell from the crime-scene photograph, but she was a looker. You could even say she was beautiful.’
There was a long moment of silence between them as they all thought the same about what Tuttle had said. Had her beauty drawn the killer to her? Was it a major contributor to the killer’s selection process? If she hadn’t been as striking as she was, would he have simply let her jog past him and look for someone else? In Jameson’s mind at least, he was already sure it was extremely important to the killer.
‘Well,’ Tuttle interrupted their silent thoughts, ‘from what I’ve seen, I’m unfortunately pretty sure she was sexually assaulted.’
‘You mean raped?’ Jameson asked cruelly.
‘I can’t see that not being the case,’ he admitted, sadly. ‘The removal of her clothing. The positioning of her body. Looks like a sexually motivated attack.’
‘Just because she was raped doesn’t mean his motivation was sexual,’ Jameson argued as he looked around them. ‘God knows what was going through his mind. But whatever it was, he took a big risk attacking her here, with so many other people about. He didn’t even wait for the dark. He must have felt safe here,’ Jameson continued. ‘Selected this place because he knew it. Felt comfortable here.’
‘Then he’s been here before?’ Jones asked. ‘Maybe used it in his daily life?’
‘Most serial killers like to stay in their comfort zone,’ he explained. ‘Their own neighbourhoods. Places from their past. Places they regularly travel to. Even their own racial group.’
‘But he’s not a serial killer,’ Jones reminded him. ‘Not yet.’
‘You think this is going to be a one-off?’ Jameson asked, dismissively.
‘You said it yourself that it could be,’ she recalled.
‘I said it was a possibility,’ he corrected her. ‘But unlikely. Now I’ve been here I’m sure this is just the beginning – unless we can find him first.’ A passenger jet screaming overhead made him look up at the sky.
Jones followed his gaze. ‘It’s a lot quieter than usual,’ she pointed out. ‘You can feel the fear spreading. About this virus, I mean.’
Jameson heard her but didn’t dwell on it. His mind was somewhere else. Were the planes important to the killer? They would give him covering noise if the victim screamed or called out for help, but only intermittently. Were they important to him for some other reason? Jones’s voice brought him back.
