DI Sean Corrigan Crime Series: 5-Book Collection: Cold Killing, Redemption of the Dead, The Keeper, The Network and The Toy Taker

‘If you’ve got an alibi, you’d better give it now,’ Sean told him.

‘I don’t have to prove a damn thing,’ Hellier retorted.

‘You weren’t at home.’

‘Your point?’

‘And you weren’t at work.’

‘So?’

‘So between seven p.m. and three a.m. the next morning, where were you? During the time Linda Kotler was murdered, where were you?’ Sean’s voice was rising.

Hellier fought back. ‘Where were you, Inspector? That’s what people will really want to know. Would she be alive now if you’d done your job properly? You’re desperate and it shows. You stink of fear. It’s blinded you. What have you got? Nothing but theories.

‘So you don’t know where I was the night this woman was killed. That proves nothing.’ Hellier leaned back, satisfied.

‘How long did you watch her for?’ Sean suddenly asked. ‘For a week, like you did with Daniel Graydon, or was it longer? Did you spend days and days fantasizing about killing her, the images in your mind growing ever more vivid until you could no longer wait? You followed her home, didn’t you, James? Then you watched her windows, waiting for the lights to go out. And when they did, you waited until you were certain she was asleep before you scrambled up the drainpipe and climbed through her bathroom window. Then you knocked her unconscious, tied her in your favourite bondage position and raped and sodomized her. And when you were finished, you strangled her – didn’t you?’

Hellier made as if to answer, but Sean held up his hand to stop him as the images in his mind revealed further details. ‘No wait, I’m wrong – you didn’t strangle her after you’d raped her. You killed her while you were still inside her, didn’t you? Her death and your climax happening simultaneously – that’s how it had to be for you, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?’

Hellier’s eyes raged inside his stony face, the muscles in his cheeks visibly flexing as he fought to keep control. Finally he spoke. ‘That’s a nice little story you’ve cooked up, Inspector. But it proves nothing – nothing whatsoever.’

‘You’re right.’ Sean sounded humble. ‘It doesn’t prove a thing. But these will.’ He slid a copy of a form across the table. ‘Item number four,’ Sean said. ‘Item number four should be of particular interest to you.’

Hellier scanned the list of items submitted to the forensic laboratory. He saw that item number four was two hairs. He shook his head as if he failed to realize their importance. ‘This concerns me how?’

‘We need samples of your hair and blood, for DNA comparison,’ Sean informed him.

‘You’ve already taken samples.’

‘I can’t use those. This is a different case. I need fresh samples.’

Hellier looked across at Templeman, who nodded confirmation that Sean was telling the truth.

‘Fine,’ said Hellier. ‘Take your samples and get me out of here.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Sean said. ‘Get you out of here? No, that won’t be possible. You’re staying in custody until the DNA comparison’s complete.’

‘Fuck you,’ Hellier exploded. He was standing now. ‘You can’t keep me locked in this fucking cage.’ Templeman pulled him back into his seat.

Sean spoke for the benefit of the tape recorder. ‘Interview terminated at twelve twenty-three p.m.’ He clicked the machine off. ‘I’ll arrange for someone to take your samples.’ Then he walked out of the interview room leaving Donnelly to deal with Templeman’s protests. He smiled as he closed the door behind him, listening to the raised voices fading in the background.

Featherstone sipped a coffee as he waited outside the custody suite. He knew Sean would head that way eventually. Much as he liked the guy, even believed in him, he was aware that, so far as the top brass were concerned, Sean had a tendency to sail way too close to the wind.

‘Sean,’ Featherstone surprised him as he clattered through the door. ‘You got a minute?’ He gestured towards an unoccupied room.

‘Can this wait?’

‘Best not. We won’t be long.’

Reluctantly, Sean followed Featherstone into the room.

‘It seems some influential people are beginning to stick their noses into your investigation,’ Featherstone warned him. ‘Calls have been put in to the Yard and the brass are getting nervous. I’ll keep the hounds at bay, but you’d better make sure you’ve got some evidence to back up any move you make.’

‘We found hairs at the latest scene,’ Sean told him. ‘We can get DNA off them. We match them to Hellier and then it’s all over.’

‘That’s a start,’ Featherstone said. ‘But we can’t hold a suspect in custody while we wait for a DNA comparison. So what’s the plan?’

‘I need to keep him rattled. Keep him off balance. Let me keep him locked up for a few hours.’ Sean spoke quietly, suppressing his anger. ‘Then I’ll bail him, once he’s nice and wound up, not thinking straight. The surveillance team can pick him up the second he leaves the station.’

Featherstone inhaled deeply. ‘Okay. We’ll play it your way, but be careful with this one, Sean. Hellier has some very powerful friends.’

‘Thanks for the warning.’

‘One other thing,’ Featherstone said as Sean turned to leave. ‘What’s this I hear about the victim in Shepherd’s Bush saying she’d met you the night she was killed?’

‘You heard?’

‘There’s not much I don’t get to hear about.’

‘Hellier likes to play games.’

‘You need to be careful,’ Featherstone warned him again. ‘Be very careful. People are watching this case. People are watching you. My advice – make sure you can prove where you were and who you were with the night Linda Kotler was killed.’

‘You can’t be serious?’ Sean asked, incredulous. ‘You don’t actually think …?’

‘Not me,’ Featherstone assured him. ‘But this investigation is turning out to be more complex than anyone expected. It’s making the powers that be very nervous, Sean.’

Sean felt a huge weight pressing down on him, as if Featherstone’s words and inferred suspicion were slowly crushing the life out of him. ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ he said curtly, turning his back on the superintendent and walking out of the room.

He made his way along the corridor and into the communal toilet. After checking to make sure he was alone, he filled a sink with cold water and bent low over it, scooping up handfuls and burying his face in it before straightening to meet his own reflection staring back. His eyes were sunken with tiredness and dehydration. Featherstone’s words still ringing around inside his head. He reached out for the reflection, but the image looking back at him kept distorting to someone else: to the disfigured image of Daniel Graydon, the horrified face of Heather Freeman, and finally Linda Kotler, contorted with agony and fear. He rubbed the mirror, smearing it with water then waiting for it to clear. When it did, it was his own face again, staring back and asking the question: could he have killed Linda Kotler? He swallowed drily, remembering the images he’d seen in his head at the murder scenes and other murder scenes in the past. Not for the first time he found himself asking another question: were these images from his projected imagination, or were they memories – memories of crimes he had committed?

‘You were at home with Kate the night Linda Kotler died, and the same when Daniel Graydon was killed – you were at home.’ Desperately he tried to remember where he’d been the evening Heather Freeman was killed, but he couldn’t. He felt the panic seeping through his very soul. ‘You were with your wife,’ he hissed into the mirror, but he couldn’t chase away the doubt, the possibility he was no different from half the inmates of Broadmoor. Could it be that his home life was a fantasy, his wife a figment of his imagination, his entire family nothing more than a mirage – a projection of what he wanted most but could never have?

‘No,’ he banged the mirror with the underside of his fist. ‘For Christ’s sake, get a grip. You’re tired, that’s all. You solved those other murders. The people who did them are locked up for life because of you.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Hellier killed these people, not me. I’m real. My life is real. It’s real.’

Suddenly the door was thrown open by a uniformed officer desperate for the toilet. He stalled for a second at the sight of Sean standing in front of the mirror, face dripping wet, hands gripping the basin. With a brief nod at Sean, he disappeared into a cubicle. When the door closed behind him, Sean quickly dried his hands on a bunch of paper towels and made for the exit.

Sally entered Che shortly after 1 p.m. and immediately spotted Gibran seated at a table, sipping a glass of amber-coloured wine. He stood when he saw her. A waiter pulled a chair out for her as Gibran indicated for her to sit with a wave of his hand and a smile.

‘DS Jones. I’m very grateful you were able to see me.’

‘Please,’ she said. ‘Call me Sally.’

‘Sally, of course. And you must call me Sebastian – deal?’

‘Deal,’ Sally agreed.