DI Sean Corrigan Crime Series: 6-Book Collection: Cold Killing, Redemption of the Dead, The Keeper, The Network, The Toy Taker and The Jackdaw

They said their goodbyes and Sally made her way to her car. She drove a couple of blocks before pulling over and retrieving the Korsakov file from her bag. She flicked through it and found the number she was looking for. Then she paused momentarily, remembering that Sean knew nothing of her investigation’s progress. Perhaps she should call him now, put him in the picture; but he had so many other things on his mind it would be better to speak to him later. She dialled and waited a long time before a military-sounding voice answered.

‘Wandsworth Prison. What can I do you for?’

Sean and Vicky approached Barnes police station. They’d been outside the scene for a while, briefing the forensic team and liaising with the coroner’s office. Sean had arranged to meet Sally at Barnes and update her. The police building was as ugly as ever. They parked outside the four-storey construction, bright red bricks in too-straight lines. It was hard to spot a window. When you did it was blacked out.

Vicky led the way to her office. It was three times the size of Sean’s and ten times cleaner and more organized. Sally, having returned from Surbiton, was waiting for them outside the office. Sean introduced her to Vicky and vice versa. The two female detectives eyed each other with a little suspicion. Sean felt it.

Vicky lifted a note she found on her desk. She looked at Sean. ‘It’s for you. Your pathologist has arrived at the scene, a Dr Canning.’

‘Good.’

‘And we’ve traced a sister. The first detectives on scene, Simpson and Watson, found it in her address book. She’s already on the fast train up from Devon. Squad car will pick her up at the station and bring her straight here. Should be with us soon.’

‘Parents?’ Sally asked.

Vicky scanned the note. ‘Yeah. They live in Spain. Retired. Apparently they’ll be here when they can get a flight. That won’t be easy at this time of year. Do you want to see the sister?’

Sean glanced across at Sally. ‘Yeah. Why not?’

‘I’ll arrange it now. Meanwhile, why don’t you tell me about your suspect? What you got on him so far?’

‘James Hellier,’ Sean said. ‘A wealthy, polished act. Works for a fancy firm of financers in Knightsbridge. Self-confessed sado-masochist. Last night he took our surveillance team on a run-around. He lost them about six p.m. He wasn’t picked up again until he got home, sometime after three a.m.’

Vicky raised her eyebrows. ‘The man knows he’s under surveillance and still he travels to Shepherd’s Bush and commits murder?’

‘He can’t stop himself,’ Sean told her. ‘The fact he knows he’s under surveillance probably only adds to his pleasure.’

‘If you’re so sure, let’s arrest him, strip him, swab him and have forensics do the rest,’ said Vicky.

‘We’ve tried that,’ Sean explained. ‘With the first murder. We found samples matching him at the scene, but he had an answer for everything. Claimed to have been having a long-standing sexual relationship with the victim. It was a waste of time. We showed our hand too soon. Handed him the initiative.

‘The second scene was different,’ he continued. ‘A young girl called Heather Freeman, a runaway teenager. She was abducted and killed on waste ground out near Dagenham. He cut her throat, but still the scene was left as clean as a whistle. Nothing but a plain footprint.

‘So we wait. If we get alien samples from the scene, we’ll move and arrest Hellier, but we wait until then.’ Sean saw Vicky moving in her chair. He knew what she was thinking. He held a hand up. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘But trust me. Hellier won’t be contaminated with anything from the scene. Any clothing he used will be destroyed by now.’

‘You’re absolutely certain of that?’

‘No,’ he replied. ‘Not absolutely, but certain enough. I need something irrefutable. Whether it’s from one of the scenes or whether it’s something Hellier leads us to, I don’t care. But I’m not going to have him dance circles around me in an interview again. I need something damning.’

‘It’s your call, Sean, but don’t forget the Stephen Lawrence inquiry. Those guys were slaughtered for not making early arrests and seizing clothing for forensics. If you go down, I go down with you.’

‘No you won’t,’ Sean assured her. ‘Make an official note of your objections. I’ll do the same, and then you’re covered.’

‘Hold on,’ Vicky said. ‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘I know it isn’t,’ Sean replied. ‘But the branch I’m on is too thin for two people. You register those objections. They’ll be entered into my Decision Log.’

Vicky didn’t argue further.

‘I’d like to get a briefing out to the media today.’ Sean changed the subject. ‘You do it, Vicky. Keep my name out of it and don’t mention the link to other murders. Make it an appeal for public assistance. I want to see it in the Evening Standard tonight.’

‘Not a problem,’ said Vicky. ‘Their crime editor owes me a couple of favours.’

A knock at the door ended the conversation. Sean turned to see a detective he didn’t recognize. ‘Sister’s here, guv’nor,’ was all he said.

Sean’s hand hesitated as it rested on the handle of the witness room. Linda Kotler’s sister waited inside. Sally was with him, but he’d decided to do the talking this time.

Telling someone a loved one had died was one thing. As devastating as that news could be, it was nothing compared to telling them someone they loved had been murdered. That news would shatter lives. The living would be forever haunted, imagining the last moments of those now dead. The worst was telling parents a child had been murdered − few marriages survived that burden. The parents see their dead child every time they look at each other. Eventually they can take no more reminding, no more torture, and push each other away.

Sean gently nudged the door open. He wanted her to see him entering. Debbie Stryer looked up. She was younger than he’d expected, healthy and slightly tanned. Her country complexion made Sean conscious of his own ghostly city skin. She’d been crying. Her eyes were pink and rimmed bright red. She wasn’t crying now. It was a long trip from Devon. Had she run out of tears?

She began to stand before Sean or Sally could stop her. Her sore eyes darted between them. Sean had seen that look on the faces of other victims’ loved ones. Fear, disbelief; desperate for information.

She spoke first. ‘Hello. I’m Debbie Stryer. Linda’s sister. Stryer’s my married name.’

Sean nodded that he understood. Sally held out a hand. When Debbie Stryer took it, Sally gently pulled her hand forward and embraced it with both of hers.

‘I’m Sally Jones. I’m a detective sergeant. I’ll be helping to catch whoever did this to your sister. I’m so sorry for your loss. Everybody tells us Linda was such a good person.’ Sally waited for a reaction. The tears began to fall in heavy drops from Debbie’s eyes. Real tears, like those of a child in pain. ‘You need to know we’ll catch the person who did this to Linda,’ Sally promised her.

Sean looked on in admiration. His plan to take the lead just hadn’t happened. If he tried to emulate Sally now, he would sound clumsy. He would introduce himself and help explain any procedural matters Debbie might wish to know, but little more.

He waited for Debbie Stryer to take her hand away from Sally. It was a long wait. She was struggling to speak clearly through her grief.

‘Thank you,’ she told Sally. ‘Thank you.’ She turned to Sean. The awfulness of the day was beginning to break her. She seemed to be visibly shrinking.

He held out his hand. She accepted it. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Sean Corrigan,’ he said. ‘I’ll be in charge of this investigation.’ He wanted to say more, but couldn’t find the right words.

Debbie almost immediately stopped crying. She looked at him strangely. This was not what he had expected. He’d only introduced himself. Just said his name. He couldn’t have said the wrong thing already.

‘She told me about you,’ Debbie said. She couldn’t help herself checking Sean’s left hand. She saw his wedding ring and almost smiled. ‘She didn’t tell me you were married. That’s typical of Linda.’

Sean and Sally simultaneously turned to each other, confusion and surprise etched on their faces.

Sean had briefed DI Townsend on the meeting with Debbie Stryer. She had listened almost without speaking. The only thing she said was that there must have been some mistake. Sean knew better. He was being played. Hellier was laughing at him.

But Hellier was taking an unnecessary risk in doing so. Showing off came with a price. Debbie Stryer was able to tell them he had approached her sister close to her home, sometime between eight and nine, maybe a little earlier. Christ, he’d even had a conversation with her in the middle of the street. He was beginning to think he was uncatchable. His sociopathic arrogance was matched only by his violence.

Sean and Sally donned forensic suits and entered Linda Kotler’s flat. It looked very different to how Sean remembered it, forensic examiners going about their work making it seem full of life. They went directly to the living room, where Sean had seen the docking unit for Linda Kotler’s home phone. He examined it without touching and saw traces of aluminium powder on both the phone and the base. ‘Has this phone been dusted yet?’ he asked a middle-aged woman, shapeless in her paper suit. They all resembled workers in a nuclear power plant.

‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘I did it.’

‘Have the messages been listened to?’ Sean asked.

‘No. We’ll do that back at the audio lab, for continuity.’ But Sean had had enough of waiting. He pressed the message playback button and hit the ‘speaker on’ switch. ‘I don’t think you should be doing that,’ the woman protested.

‘DI Corrigan. I’m in charge of this investigation.’

The machine beeped long and shrill. A ringing tone could be heard. Linda Kotler’s voice filled the room. Everyone stopped and listened to the woman who had been murdered only two plaster walls away.