The Jackdaw

‘Forget it,’ he insisted. ‘Besides, this is the better and bigger story, and I’ve got exclusivity.’

‘That’s fine, but just because you have exclusivity with your paper doesn’t mean other journos at other papers, not to mention the television boys and girls, won’t be covering it. What can you offer that they can’t?’

Jackson spread his arms, inviting her to look at him with admiration. ‘What can I offer? The best, that’s what I can offer, and you know it.’

Varady looked him up and down before speaking. ‘OK, Geoff, you’re good – we all know it – but the last book got as much stick as it did praise. I had to work my arse off to keep it on the shelves. Did you really have to call that psycho “The Toy Taker”?’

‘Public need a handle, Joan – something not too difficult to remember. Something that identifies the story at a glance. Remember “The Crossbow Cannibal”? That was a beauty. Wish I’d thought of it.’

‘So what you going to call this one, or are you going to stick with “The Your View Killer”?’

‘Don’t know,’ Jackson mused. ‘Might do. Depends what else turns up. Might need something a little catchier. Something that makes him sound more man of the people than crazed killer.’

‘Well, whatever you call him, I’m still not sure,’ Varady told him. ‘I’ve no great desire to piss off the Met – again. They know some of their own are speaking to you and they were none too happy when you started sniffing around trying to find out personal details of that SIO, whatever his name was.’

‘Ahh,’ Jackson smiled. ‘Detective Inspector Sean Corrigan. He’s a slippery bastard, but I have to admit he’s more interesting than the usual plastic detective on accelerated promotion.’

‘Yeah, well just stay away from him would be my advice.’ Jackson grinned. ‘Oh no,’ Varady leaned back, ‘you’re not telling me he’s in charge of the Your View Killer investigation as well, are you?’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Jackson reassured her, but she was already packing her handbag and shaking her head. ‘Listen, Corrigan is gold dust. He’s the lead detective on the Special Investigations Unit. He’s gonna get all the juiciest cases across London – he’s like the bear that leads you to the honey every time. You want the hot crime story, follow Corrigan.’

‘I’m your fucking publisher,’ Varady reminded him, standing and stretching to her full five foot two inches, ‘not your bloody editor.’

‘You still need stories though, right? You can’t always rely on celebrity autobiographies.’

‘Not interested,’ she insisted and moved to leave, taking his publishing deal with her.

‘All right,’ he told her in a desperate last effort to get her to listen. ‘What if I told you I’m going to interview the killer?’

She looked him up and down for a second or two. ‘So what? Interviews with banged-up killers are nothing new. Still not interested.’

‘No,’ he told her, smiling again. ‘Not when he’s banged up – now, while he’s still on the loose. While he’s still committing his crimes.’

Varady sat down again. ‘Jesus. You’re joking, right?’

‘Would I joke about a thing like that?’

‘Think you can pull it off?’ she asked, her eyes narrowing.

‘Of course I can. Do I have your interest again? Ready to talk about a deal yet?’

‘You get the interviews and we’ll talk.’

Sean arrived back at the Yard and stuck his head into Sally and Donnelly’s office to ask them to join him and Anna next door for a catch up of the day’s progress – if there was any.

‘How did the PM go?’ Donnelly asked while he was still emptying his pockets and hanging up his raincoat.

‘No surprises yet,’ Sean told him. ‘Death seems to be by hanging, or strangulation to be precise.’

‘The difference being?’ Donnelly asked.

‘No broken neck to accompany the asphyxiation,’ Sean explained. ‘He hung until his brain died through lack of oxygen.’

‘Nice,’ Sally added.

‘Dr Canning reckons the killer used a knot used in boating or yachting. He recognized it from the video, so it would seem our man has some knowledge of boating or sailing.’

‘And he dumped the body in the river,’ Sally reminded them, ‘so possibly he has a boat or access to one. Something for us to work with.’

Sean frowned, concerned he’d failed to think of what Sally had suggested. The connection between the knot, the river and possible use of a boat should have obvious to him, but for some reason he’d missed it, as if his mind wasn’t fully focused on the investigation. He involuntarily glanced at Anna.

‘A good point well made,’ Donnelly told Sally. ‘He’s probably got some knackered little rowboat tied up under a tree somewhere.’

‘Well, if he has we need to find it,’ Sean told them. ‘How’s your man DC Bishop getting on with the Internet inquiries?’

‘Seems to be getting on all right, although if you want an explanation of what he’s doing you’re better off asking him yourself – all sounds like technical gobbledegook to me.’

‘I’ll spare myself the experience,’ Sean answered. ‘What about forensics?’

‘Nothing of note so far,’ Sally explained. ‘In fact, nothing at all from the abduction site and obviously we don’t know where the murder scene is so all we’re left with is the body and his clothing, which are currently in the hands of Dr Canning.’

‘All right,’ Sean told them, pushing his fingers through his short hair, ‘Dave, organize the door-to-door in the street he was abducted from and the surrounding ones too. Maybe we’re missing a witness or two. Sally, get a Met-wide request out asking for all derelict buildings to be checked – in fact, see if you can get that out to our surrounding forces as well. If the body washed up in Barnes then this kill room could easily be outside the Met area.’

‘Anything else?’ Sally asked.

‘No,’ Sean told them, looking and sounding disappointed. ‘Right now that’s all I’ve got … except for the electronic device he uses to change his voice,’ he suddenly remembered. ‘Get Paulo on the case,’ he told Donnelly. ‘He bought it somewhere or made it himself, but we might get lucky.’

‘OK,’ Donnelly agreed as he and Sally made their way from his office, leaving Sean alone with Anna. She motioned as if to speak, before the phone ringing on Sean’s desk stopped her.

Sean wearily answered it. ‘Hello.’

‘Sean. It’s Superintendent Featherstone.’

‘Guv’nor.’

‘Any progress?’ Featherstone asked. ‘Everyone would like to put this one to bed early.’

‘Me too.’

‘I bet – especially with that trial coming up. When’s that kick off, by the way?’

‘This week,’ Sean told him. ‘Probably.’

‘Fuck me,’ Featherstone cursed. ‘All the more reason to get this wrapped up sharpish.’

‘I’m trying,’ Sean answered, hiding his frustration, ‘but it’s a little early to expect a breakthrough with what’s essentially a stranger killing. I have no obvious suspect.’

‘I understand,’ Featherstone said, ‘but as you know, not everyone’s as patient as I am.’