No Place to Hide

‘Peter. It’s Tony Chambers. I’ve got something here that I think you ought to see.’

‘What’s that, Doc?’

‘Fatality in a house fire last night, out to the east of the city. Dental records have just confirmed the identity of the victim as the house owner, Jeremy Tyler, aged forty-two. It looked like an accident during an auto-erotic pursuit, but a couple of things don’t ring true.’

Pete pictured Chambers, small and lean in his green scrubs, his greying hair little more than stubble, sitting at his office desk, his free hand clicking through crime scene photos on his computer while he talked.

‘Such as?’

‘For one, there’s a needle mark in the right trapezoid – which is a strange place to find one – and the fire chaps tell me there was definitely no syringe at the scene. And for another, there was a half-finished plate of food on the side table in the lounge, as if he’d been eating his dinner and got interrupted. Yet, he was found upstairs, seated in front of his computer. I mean, even a sex maniac would finish his dinner first, surely?’

Pete blinked and sat forward in his chair. ‘Hang on. Jeremy Tyler, you said?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are we talking about the registered sex offender Jeremy Tyler?’

‘That’s right. Why?’

‘Name’s familiar, that’s all. Came up in the Rosie Whitlock case, but he had a solid alibi. And no syringe. We sure on that?’

‘That’s what the fire investigator tells me. And the needle would have survived, even if the syringe itself didn’t.’

‘Yeah, that’s right. OK, I’ll come over.’

‘Thanks, Peter.’

‘You got something, boss?’ Jane asked as he put the phone down.

‘Maybe. The doc reckons he might have a murder on his table. House fire, last night.’

‘Ooh.’ She grimaced.

Pete pushed his chair back. ‘I’m off to the mortuary, to have a look-see.’

She flicked her ginger hair back from her face. ‘Sooner you than me. I hate the smell of burners. Put me off barbecue for life.’

*

With no alternative, DI Underhill being in Bristol on a course for the week, Pete reluctantly knocked on DCI Silverstone’s door for the second time that day.

‘Come.’

Silverstone was seated at his desk, reading through a report. He looked up from it as his door opened. ‘Peter. What can I do for you?’

‘I got a call from the pathologist earlier. Been looking into what he said and it seems we may have a serial killer in the city, sir.’

‘In Exeter?’

Pete tilted his head. ‘Can happen anywhere, I suppose.’

Silverstone pursed his lips. ‘Hmm. What have you got?’

‘Registered sex offender Jeremy Tyler was killed in his home around seven-thirty last evening. A house fire was used to cover it up. Clever job, made to look like an accident, but it wasn’t.’

‘One suspicious death doesn’t make a serial killer.’

‘No, but the doc detected a pattern. He’s looking into it more deeply as we speak. I just heard back from him on another death, a few days ago. A bloke collapsed in the street. No obvious cause. Except, again, there was a needle mark found and no needle at the scene.’

Silverstone raised an eyebrow and sat back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him.

‘The victim hadn’t worked in about fifteen years. So, we’ve got a dole scrounger and a sex offender. And, apparently, there’s been a string of others recently. A druggie, a drunk, a prostitute and so on.’

‘People like that die all the time.’

‘Exactly. Vulnerable. Isolated. Won’t be missed. Perfect targets. All died of plausible causes except the one that hasn’t been determined. Someone’s being very clever about it, but they’re out there – killing off the city’s undesirables. Doc Chambers is rechecking other cases to confirm. His idea, not mine.’

Silverstone stared at him flatly for a long moment, then sat forward. ‘All right. Work the Jeremy Tyler case for now. We’ll see about the serial killer angle if and when Doctor Chambers comes up with something concrete.’

What? Pete struggled to hold his tongue. Who the hell did this jumped-up Hendonite think he was? Pete had no idea whether he’d gone into the police training college at Hendon with the right degree or just the right connections, but the fact that he was on the fast track to the upper echelons didn’t make him an expert on anything, never mind pathology. Just because he’d been able to waltz in over the heads of far more suitable candidates to be in charge of this station for now, he clearly imagined he was qualified to spout forth on all sorts of subjects that he’d have been better keeping out of.

But Pete was in more than enough trouble with the DCI as it was. He didn’t need any more. He drew a long breath. ‘Sir,’ he said and turned to leave.

Back at his desk, he sat down, shaking his head incredulously.

‘What’s up?’ asked Dave.

‘I can’t believe that bloke sometimes. The arrogance of the jumped-up, clueless tit. He’s calling the doc’s judgment into question, now.’

‘Why? What’s Doc Chambers saying?’

‘He’s got a suspicious death on the table. Which is now officially ours, by the way. He reckons it’s one of a series. Except Fast-track, in his infinite wisdom, has just decided that it’s not, until the doc can “come up with something concrete”, as he put it. What the bloody hell’s that about?’

‘Reputation?’ Dave suggested. ‘He wants to be moving onwards and upwards, ASAP. Doesn’t want a serial killer on his watch – unless, of course, we can catch him and he can take the credit.’

‘Whoah.’ Jane looked at him, green eyes wide. ‘I take it all back. You’re not just a pretty face, are you?’

Dave tugged at the collar of his open-necked shirt and straightened his waistcoat. ‘Well, it’s good of you to notice, at last. Women, eh?’ he said to Dick. ‘Nothing but hormones and make-up.’

‘Oi!’

‘Ow,’ he yelped as both Jane and Jill thumped him. ‘Physical violence, boss!’

‘Sexual discrimination,’ Jill shot back. ‘Misogynist pig.’

Dick was shaking his head. ‘And you go on at Ben for not learning.’

‘I learned one thing on the Internet last night,’ Ben said, nodding towards Dave. ‘He’s more Bryan Ferry than Elvis. Only without the looks.’