Solomon's Key Page 4

  ‘What about the firm’s clients?’

  ‘Who can say? We represent some unsavoury characters, but as far as I am aware, there are no killers amongst them.’

  ‘I’ll need a list of your clients for say, the past six months.’

  He buzzed Debbie again. ‘Debbie dear, I need a consolidated list of clients for the past six months for all the partners.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘It shouldn’t take Debbie too long to produce the list. She’s one of the most efficient secretaries it has been my misfortune to employ. She keeps a close eye on me and is friendly with my wife.’ He took another swallow of whiskey. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector. I’m prattling – the shock. Who would have done such a thing? How…? No don’t tell me. I would never sleep again.’ He leaned forward and put his face in his hands.

  As he had forecast, Debbie came in through the side door within five minutes of the request. She handed him a sheaf of papers. He didn’t bother looking at them this time, but merely passed them to me.

  ‘Any problems deciphering the jargon, please give me a call.’ I took the list.

  I couldn’t think of anything else that I needed to ask him, so I stood up. ‘Thank you for your help, Mr. Darwin. I’ll be in touch.’ I saw him proffer his hand. Ignoring it, I turned and headed for the door.

  With her back turned away from reception, KP spoke quietly into her mobile. Pauline, still on duty at her desk, didn’t look up as I passed. She was dabbing at her eyes with a paper handkerchief.

  It was tempting to go for a pint of Guinness at the Fox and Hounds, but the pipes were probably still dirty and the smell of alcohol on my breath would send the wrong message to the team. A press conference also loomed at two o’clock. I didn’t want one of those sensationalist reporters thinking I was a drunkard. A headline sprang into my head, Drunk DCI Heads Murder Inquiry. My career would be finished.

  KP joined me outside. She seemed agitated. ‘Paul thinks he’s found another one by the same killer from 2002.’

  Questions immediately jumped into my mind: Why six years between the murders? Was that the first one? Were there others we had no knowledge of? I was being premature. ‘We’d better get back to the station then,’ I said.

  I passed KP the lists. ‘Arrange to have all the staff interviewed, and get Paul to run a check on the clients.’

  I wasn’t feeling very optimistic that either list would turn up our killer, especially if the murder from 2002 was connected. Were we looking for an African hitman employed by a Sangoma? I doubted it. He would not have sexually abused Gillian before removing the body parts. In the eyes of the Sangoma’s client, the medicine would have lost its potency. It must be a white man, but why would a white man remove body parts and take them with him? Could it have been staged to look like a muti murder to hide some other reason? Why leave a message? Why leave the newspaper? What in hell’s name does that message say? There were too many unanswered questions.

  A person the victim knew committed most murders – no such luck here. There was no evidence of a connection between Gillian and her killer. In fact, the evidence we did have didn’t appear to lead anywhere. He was going to kill again. I knew it. I also knew that I was currently powerless to stop him. I had a feeling that my future career would rest on solving this case quickly.

  ‘Was Pauline of any help?’ KP was weaving in and out of the traffic. It was like being a passenger in a dodgem at the fairground. I prayed there was no black ice.

  I was glad she kept her eyes on the road whilst she spoke. ‘Gillian did confide in her, but it was all about her boyfriend, saving up, wedding plans and so on. She didn’t have anything personal in Reception. Neither of them did. It was too open. She did go round to Gillian’s flat yesterday lunchtime just to check on her. Thought she heard something when she knocked on the door. Listened, but then nothing, so she left.’

  ‘If only she’d have rung us then. Gillian might still be alive.’

  ‘How could she know, Sir? For all she knew, Gillian took the day off to spend in bed with her boyfriend, or any number of other reasons.’

  ‘Yes, I know. The waste of a young life in such horrific circumstances has got to me.’

  ‘That’s not like you, Sir.’

  I didn’t answer. I was thinking of Angie.

  ***

  The incident room buzzed as KP and I walked in at twelve forty-five. There was still plenty of time before the press conference.

  Paul thrust a file at me. He’d joined the team in 2006, and was slightly older than me at thirty-three. As a certified member of the Xbox generation, he must have been a late developer. Anything with a chip inside drew him like a magnet. ‘Irene Stone,’ he announced. ‘Murdered in Finchley in 2002, body parts taken, message left by the killer, no suspect identified.’

  I sat on the edge of his desk and scanned the file. Those who were in the office stood around me expectantly like punters waiting for adjudication on a horse race. The post mortem report stated that Irene Stone was abused in the same way as Gillian Wilkinson. Her hands had been taken – sawn off at the wrists whilst she watched – then the killer had left her to bleed to death. Could it be the same killer? The photographs showed her in a similar position as Gillian Wilkinson – spread-eagled and upside down on the bed. A folded piece of paper with a message on it was attached to the girl’s ear with a safety pin. A copy was in the file. I looked at the hand-written message – indecipherable. I knew that this had been his first victim.

  I scanned down the evidence list, only one earring was recorded. There was no physical evidence, no DNA, and no suspects. The case remained open.

  I looked up. ‘It seems we have a serial killer.’

  Paul punched his fist into the palm of his other hand. ‘Yes,’ he shouted, as if the result of the adjudication had netted him millions.

  I glared at him. It was hardly appropriate behaviour.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said.

  ‘Was there a newspaper left at the scene?’ KP asked.

  I scrutinised the evidence list. No newspaper was listed. ‘No.’ I shrugged.

  I passed the file to Jane. ‘Let’s get the details on the board, and then give it back to me. What news from forensics?’ I asked her. I already knew the answer. The incident board was as bare as it was this morning.

  ‘There is nothing special about the safety pin or the paper. Mass produced. They found nothing that wasn’t meant to be there, Sir. No fingerprints, no hairs, no fibres. It’s as if she killed herself.’

  ‘We know that wasn’t the case, so after you’ve updated the board, go and tell them to double check everything. If they still fail to find anything, then they’re to go back to the flat and go over it again. Only this time, they should do it right.’

  ‘They won’t like that, Sir,’ she mumbled, waving a red rag in my bull’s face.

  ‘I don’t give two shits whether they like it or not,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘Up to now, they haven’t earned their wages for the day. Forensics’ are meant to find evidence, so tell them to find me some.’ I don’t think Jane was happy about having to deliver such a message. I was sure that when she did, it would not be like the original. ‘Also, tell them to contact Finchley Police Station and get the evidence from the Irene Stone murder. They should double check that as well. We might get lucky.’

  Jane nodded, but I could tell by her face that she wasn’t happy.

  ‘Paul,’ I said. ‘KP has got another job for you.’ She handed him the client list from Darwins and told him what was needed.

  Pea, Brian and John were not about.

  I walked over to Ali’s desk. ‘I see you’ve been busy updating the board.’ I often wondered why she still worked. She lived in a penthouse flat in Docklands, which was probably worth more than the team’s budget for a hundred years. She was quick, intelligent and destined for greater things.

  She looked up and rubbed her eyes. She wasn’t fazed by my sarcasm. ‘I’ve managed to identify the script as Linear B, but that’
s about all. Here look.’ She pushed a piece of paper towards me with scribbles all over it, pointing to a line of letters.

  KRCIZJFFVRMFAMJVKRLKRCTIAAYBJIIMZTRCDZXRFRUZ

  I studied the string of characters as if the solution would magically appear. In the end I asked, ‘What’s Linear B?’

  She pulled the paper back and referred to her notes. ‘It’s a language that was used by the Mycenaean civilisation in around 1600 BC. It’s an early form of Greek.’

  ‘Why would he use an archaic language?’ As soon as the words spilled out of my mouth, I realised the stupidity of asking a rational question about what a psychopath would do.

  ‘I don’t know, but we need to get someone in to decipher the bloody thing.’ She threw her pencil down. It bounced off the desk and leapt in the bin. ‘Finding the Linear B language was fairly easy, but without a reference point, I don’t know where to go from here. I’m good at brainteasers, crosswords and anagrams, but I’m out of my depth with this. It also might be of vital importance. I’d hate to be the cause of the killer getting away, or murdering someone else because I was too stubborn to admit defeat. I also couldn’t make a connection to the Guardian.’

  I squeezed her shoulder. ‘Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. I thought it would be worth a try, and you’ve made some progress.’

  She looked at me and half-smiled. ‘Thanks,’ she said.

  ‘Anyway, now that we’ve got two messages, the stakes have been raised. We need to find out what they mean soon before he kills again. Ring GCHQ, they’re meant to be good with codes. Ask them if they could send someone over to help us out. When you’ve done that, get hold of the DI from Finchley who led the Irene Stone case. Ask him to come over for a chat this afternoon.’

  Sighing, Ali picked up the phone. I could see she was relieved to have the burden of deciphering the message lifted from her.

  ‘When Pea’s finished with Gillian Wilkinson’s parents,’ I said to KP, ‘ask her to organise the interviews with the staff at Darwins. You can accompany me to the press conference.’ She nodded. I looked at my watch. It was one fifty-five. I thought I’d better go to the toilet whilst I had the chance.

  ***

  ‘The body of an eighteen year-old woman – Gillian Wilkinson – was discovered at six-thirty last night in Hammersmith. We believe she was murdered and we are presently pursuing our enquiries. We have not, as yet, identified any suspects.’ That was all I was going to say about the murder to the press. I didn’t tell them about Irene Stone. I looked around at their hungry faces, with pads and pencils, cameras, microphones and press badges – the trappings of wolves hunting prey.

  A young woman with a nose and a stare like a boxer stood up. ‘Cathy Cox, Manchester Evening News. Have you no suspects at all, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘It is early days yet Miss Cox, and I am sure a number of suspects will come to light as we progress with our investigation.’ Well, I certainly hoped that would be the case.

  ‘Emma Potter, London Herald.’ They must be hunting in pairs, I thought. ‘Do you think the boyfriend…’ she looked down at her notebook, ‘…a Mr Stephen Jackson is implicated in any way?’

  ‘We are checking his alibi, but it seems very unlikely from what we’ve learned about him.’

  One female Canis Lupus stood up. I could see by her face and the gleam in her eyes that she could smell blood, my blood. Her badge stated that she was Sally Renshall from the Daily Star. She was a very attractive young woman, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, which was moulded, around her bra-less breasts. My eyes were drawn to her nipples that were pointing at me through the top. Brian read the Daily Star. I’d skimmed through it one day out of curiosity. I wondered if Sally had ever featured as one of their Daily Stars.

  ‘Chief Inspector,’ she paused. ‘My eyes are up here.’ People began sniggering around the room. With great difficulty I tore my eyes from her chest.

  I felt as though I’d been caught flashing to old women in the park. My face flushed. ‘You have a question, Miss Renshall?’ I asked, ignoring the comment and the laughter.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, salivating and licking her lips in anticipation of the juicy meal ahead. ‘Can you confirm that this is the second victim…?’

  There was uproar. The other wolves started jockeying for position and howling questions.

  She raised her voice above the baying. ‘…And that the killer mutilates the women, then removes body parts from the scene?’

  This Canis Lupus had gone straight for my jugular. I tried to compose myself. Only members of the team were familiar with the details of Gillian Wilkinson’s murder. For Christ’s sake, we’d only just found out about Irene Stone. How could she possibly know about it? None of the team would tell a reporter.

  The wolves were panting. Tongues lolled from gaping mouths, saliva dripping on the press room floor. They had changed from lone wolves into a pack, and Sally Renshall was the pack leader.

  ‘I don’t know where you obtained your information from, Miss Renshall. I can neither confirm nor deny details of either a second victim or the murder of Miss Wilkinson at this stage. Ladies and gentlemen, when we have any more information, I shall let you know.’ I whispered to KP. ‘Bring Miss Renshall to my office. Arrest her if necessary.’

  I left the press briefing room amidst howling and barbed questions aimed at my back. The wolves were gnashing their teeth, but they were used to being fed scraps by me. I told them nothing, even though I answered all their questions. I had completed the ‘defend yourself against the press’ course. I was pretty good at shooting the wolves down with silver bullets.

  Chapter Four

  I sat behind the desk, hands clasped together in front of me, as KP showed Miss Renshall into my office. I tried to keep my eyes focussed on her face. It was torture. I couldn’t help but notice that her belly button had been pierced. A dangling gem flashed in the light, drawing my attention. I wrenched my eyes back to her face, her twinkling dark brown eyes, her matching shoulder-length hair, the pert nose and sensuous lips.

  ‘I thought my questions might grab your attention.’ She flopped into the chair in front of my desk and made herself comfortable.

  The questions weren’t the only thing, I thought. ‘More importantly, Miss Renshall, is why you asked the questions. Where did you get your information?’

  ‘You know I can’t reveal my sources, Chief Inspector,’ she purred.

  ‘Then I might have to arrest you for withholding vital information and impeding our inquiry.’

  She threw her head back and laughed. ‘Then what will you do, torture me?’

  ‘As much as I’d like to, we’re not permitted to do that anymore.’

  She pulled her top tight over her breasts, looked down and brushed off an imaginary piece of fluff. I was beginning to wonder which of the two of us had a PhD in psychology.

  ‘So,’ she said, looking at me, ‘are you confirming that there is a second victim and that body parts were removed?’

  ‘You know I can’t confirm or deny anything. I need to know how you acquired your information.’

  ‘Surely,’ she said pouting, ‘if I tell you, you must tell me something.’

  She was good. I struggled to keep a straight face. ‘I will tell you which cell you’ll be occupying if you don’t. Will that do?’

  She shrugged. ‘A man rang the paper. Said he had information about a murder. He asked to be put through to me. All he said was: “Ask DCI Harte about the second victim and the missing body parts.” Then he hung up.’

  Further evidence of the killer’s need for publicity, I thought. Well, I wasn’t going to get sucked into his warped game.

  ‘Did he sound old or young? Did he have an accent? Was he Black, White, Asian, Eastern European? Did he speak loud or soft? Did he sound intelligent?’

  She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Which question do you want me to answer first?’

  ‘I’d like you to answer all the questions. My Sergeant will take you to for
ensics. They can create a profile from the description you provide.’

  Her eyes opened wide in surprise. ‘I didn’t know you could do that.’

  ‘Well, now you do. You realise that you can’t print the information about a second victim or the removal of body parts?’

  ‘Now that the other papers know, I’d be foolish not to.’

  ‘I assure you Miss Renshall, you would be foolish if you did. If the other papers print anything, their information would be unsubstantiated. They could open themselves up to legal action.’

  She moved forward to the edge of the chair. I could smell her perfume. ‘You haven’t verified the information for me yet.’

  ‘And I’m not going to. We’ll have to check that phone call. If this person rings you in future, I’m to be notified immediately.’

  I looked at KP. ‘Find out where the call came from. Put a tap on Miss Renshall’s phone.’ She left to do as I’d asked.

  ‘You can’t do that. You’ll find out all sorts of information. I won’t be able to do my job.’

  I smiled. ‘You’ll find that I can do anything I want to, Miss Renshall. But I’ll be discreet. I’m only interested in this man. I’d like to capture him on tape if he rings again.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘I think you and I should go for a drink tonight.’

  I was conscious of my mouth beginning to open like a fish about to take the bait.

  ‘Do you?’ I said. It was all I could think of with such short notice. ‘That would be highly inappropriate, Miss Renshall.’

  ‘I think it would be highly appropriate.’ She was perched on the edge of her chair. My eyes were drawn to her breasts again. This was a woman who would stop at nothing to get her story, I thought. She used her body as a weapon. Pulling a card out of her bag, she wrote on it and passed it to me. ‘I’ll be there from eight tonight if you change your mind. Can I go now?’