A Dark Redemption (15 page)

He’d started to hate coming into the incident room, the pictures of Grace staring at him from the walls, the unspoken disappointment in her face magnifying day by day until he couldn’t bear to look at them any more. The rain was assailing the glass now that some of the gauze had been removed and he could hear the short sharp tattoo as each drop exploded against the window. He checked the daily incident logs, spoke to the HOLMES team and was back at the desk filling in some paperwork when he saw two men enter Branch’s office, both black, both wearing suits. He tried to concentrate on the evidence form in front of him but the sound of argument and raised voices coming from the super’s office kept distracting him.

He began filling in the action sheets for the week then turned to his computer and saw that he’d received an email from Derbyshire CID. A young boy had gone missing two days previously. Carrigan had a request out for such information. In this new world of computerised policing it was no longer a matter of random phone calls and crossed fingers. He read the boy’s description, saw that it fitted with the rest. Private school, fifteen years old, a classical music geek with a good family and better prospects. Until he hadn’t returned from school. Carrigan saved the email, he had too much too think about with Grace and maybe, he hoped, the boy would turn up, nothing but a flash of teenage rebellion gone as quickly as it had flared.

Ten minutes later the team began shuffling in for the evening briefing.

‘Anything?’ He could hear the sharpness in his tone, the brittle edge that the last few days had worked into his voice. He saw the constables looking down at their tables, the cups of tea in their hand, avoiding the walls, avoiding him.

‘You’re not going to like this,’ Jennings’s voice sounded thin and parched, ‘but we compared the video footage against the photos we took of Gabriel’s hands.’ Jennings stopped and stared down at his notebook.

‘And . . .’

‘Gabriel’s definitely not the man on the video clip,’ Jennings replied apologetically.

Carrigan rubbed his beard, noticing the bristles had grown longer. ‘We’re sure about this?’

‘Gabriel’s skin colour is a lot lighter than the man on the video’s; also he doesn’t bite his nails, the man in the clip does. He may have done something to darken his skin but there’s no way he could have faked that. We also compared Gabriel’s fingerprints and they don’t match those found at the crime scene.’

Carrigan put his head in his hands, rubbed the sore spot blossoming on his temple. It only confirmed what he’d already known. They hadn’t had enough evidence connecting Gabriel to the actual crime scene and had had to release him without charge a few hours earlier. Branch had been furious, calling Carrigan into his office, shouting and cursing before Jack had even had a chance to sit down. Carrigan explained that if they charged Gabriel with so little evidence it could seriously derail the chances of getting a conviction if he was indeed the killer. But Branch wasn’t interested in that. Branch wanted an arrest, a press conference, newspaper headlines and no more phone calls from the assistant commissioner.

Carrigan turned to Berman. ‘Any luck with the video clip?’

Berman looked up from his screen and hunched his shoulders. ‘The clip was definitely filmed on an iPhone. The software used to edit the footage is easily available for free on the web. I’d say by looking at the editing that we’re not dealing with a professional but at the same time this isn’t the easiest software to operate so we’re not talking about a beginner either.’

Carrigan looked out of the window at the green sky, thinking how the planning and preparation of the video clip was so at odds with the frenzied and brutal way the killing itself had been effected.

‘Also . . .’ Berman continued, ‘all the scenes from the clip are from quite late on in Grace’s ordeal. It’s possible he only started filming it near the end.’

Carrigan nodded, thinking this over. ‘Which makes you wonder did he plan this all along or did something happen while he was torturing Grace that caused him to take out his phone and film it? Are we any closer to finding out where he uploaded it?’

‘An internet cafe on Queensway, Wednesday afternoon. It’s one of those fly-by-night places; went down there this morning but they don’t have cameras and no one could remember anyone acting suspicious that day.’

Carrigan hadn’t held out much hope but it had been necessary to check – problem was every time a lead came back dead he could see the disappointment slump his men’s faces as they realised it would only get harder from now on.

‘Sir?’

Carrigan turned to see DC Singh tapping her fingers impatiently on the table.

‘Maybe we need to look at this in reverse.’

‘Explain.’

Singh’s fingers stopped their metronomic drumbeat. ‘We’re assuming he killed Grace and made the video as a souvenir, but what if it’s the other way round?’ She paused, watching the others take this in. ‘What if the video is the point? What if he killed Grace expressly so that he could video it?’

Carrigan hadn’t expected this from the usually demure DC. ‘You’re talking about a snuff film?’

‘It’s worth a look, right?’ Singh replied.

Carrigan scratched his beard. ‘It’s a good point, but I don’t think it’s going to help us find this man. If it is something to do with snuff films then our best lead is still going to be focusing on the physical evidence. The “why” won’t tell us where he is.’ He hadn’t wanted to knock Singh down, was pleased at her initiative, but delving into alternative theories wasn’t going to help anyone now. The super had made that abundantly clear earlier in their meeting. Branch had seemed to know a lot about the details of the investigation, details Carrigan hadn’t supplied in his report. He looked around the room, hearing muffled shouts coming from Branch’s office. ‘Anyone know where DS Miller is?’

‘Pursuing a lead,’ Karlson smiled, teeth perfect as a dentist’s poster.

Carrigan stared at his sergeant, knowing something had shifted in the dynamics of the team, something subtle yet fundamental. A week ago he would have said he didn’t care, that the job had lost whatever promise it had once held out to him, but now, enmeshed in this case, unsure of his team’s loyalties, he found with surprise that things had changed. ‘I didn’t see anything noted in the action book.’

Karlson shrugged. ‘That’s probably ’cause she thought you’d shut her theory down if she told you about it.’

‘“Her theory” . . . is that what it is?’ Carrigan replied, annoyed at himself for rising to Karlson’s bait yet helpless to ignore it.

‘She thought you weren’t taking her seriously enough.’

‘Any problem I might have with DS Miller is none of your business. It makes me wonder if you really want to solve this case, Sergeant?’

Karlson glared up from his mug. ‘Perhaps you should be asking yourself the same question.’

Silence filled the room. Carrigan stared at Karlson, not sure where to take this or how far. Then Berman broke the silence. ‘Just spoke to someone at London Transport. Miller asked me to trace Grace’s movements through her Oyster card,’ he explained.

‘Yes?’ Carrigan said impatiently.

‘There was nothing unusual expect that she made regular trips, at least once a week, to Willesden Green.’

‘Willesden Green?’ Carrigan racked his brain trying to think of a connection. What was there for Grace in Willesden? Neither Cecilia nor Gabriel lived anywhere near there nor anyone else connected to the case. ‘Good work. Get some uniforms to show the photos, see if anyone remembers her. We should look at the possibility that she had a secret boyfriend there and . . .’ he paused, watching the uniforms scribbling notes, faces clenched in tight concentration, ‘. . . and find out where Professor Cummings lives.’

He felt relieved to leave the incident room but when he passed Branch’s office things only got worse.

‘Carrigan. A moment please.’ The super’s face was red and spotted, his glasses smudged, his tie askew. Carrigan had little choice but to follow him in.

The two men in dark blue suits he’d glimpsed earlier were standing in Branch’s office. Both looked hot and impatient. They watched Carrigan carefully as he entered and took a seat.

‘Just the person I wanted to see.’ Branch smiled genially; Carrigan knew from experience that this was a bad sign. ‘This is DI Carrigan,’ Branch explained. ‘He’s leading the investigation.’ He turned back to Carrigan and shrugged. ‘The Ugandan embassy is very interested in our progress. I told them that we’re close to finding out who did this. I wasn’t wrong, was I?’

Carrigan stared at the men. Was there something in their gathered shape, standing side by side, that reminded him of the two men in the car outside his flat last night? Or was he suddenly noticing African faces the way he had on coming back twenty years ago? ‘A couple of days should wrap it up,’ he replied through gritted teeth.

‘Good. Good. We know how expert the British police is in these matters,’ the bureaucrat in charge said, shaking Carrigan’s hand, his grip firm and unyielding. ‘So, Inspector, I’m sure you have your suspects and your theories?’

‘We have several,’ Carrigan replied. ‘But it looks like a sex killing, someone who knew her or was at least familiar with her.’

The bureaucrat nodded slowly as if processing this information. ‘Then why, Inspector, if that is indeed so, are you looking into ancient history?’

Carrigan shot Branch a look. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

The Ugandan shook his head. ‘We know that your partner, the female detective . . .’

‘DS Miller,’ Branch filled in immediately.

‘Yes, Miller,’ the Ugandan said, still gripping Jack’s hand tightly. ‘We know that’s she’s looking into things no one wants to look into. Things that have nothing to do with this case.’

‘Ancient history,’ Carrigan said, the Ugandan missing the sarcasm in his tone.

‘That is so,’ the man replied, ‘and no one is interested in history. I know you will find out who did this to one of our citizens and I thank you.’ His hand finally unclenched from Carrigan’s, Jack having to rub the feeling back into his flesh. ‘These monsters who take a woman and do to her what they please, there is only one punishment for them.’

Carrigan marched out of the office not looking back and he was almost out of the station when his phone rang. He checked the display but it was only telling him he had two messages. He pressed a button and Ben’s voice, thin and strained, crackled through his headset. ‘I need to see you. Penny’s gone, Jack. Someone took her from football practice at school.’

He never got round to listening to the second message.

Carrigan drove through the darkening city oblivious to the swirling world around him, the sound of Ben’s voice ringing in his head. He tried not to think about it, there was nothing he could do until he got there, and he ran through the last hour again, still unsure of its implications. The Ugandans had known a lot about the investigation. He remembered the phone call to the embassy, the junior diplomat who’d been about to tell him something then stopped. What had he seen?

He crossed the Great West Road and watched with envy the cars streaming through the twilight like illuminated candy. The spiralling lights announced themselves before he’d turned the corner and instantly something in his blood perked and simmered. Every time he heard a siren he wondered what new evil had occurred; they were never neutral lights flashing mysteriously in the night – always blood, bodies and broken lives. But he wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted him as he turned into Ben’s street and saw the parked cars, lights flashing, the SOCO van, the sense of hurried concentration on the uniformed men’s faces.

He flashed his warrant card and rushed past them. Ben’s door was swinging open, the stained-glass panel with its retinue of gold bedecked angels dazzling in the late sinking sun. He found Ben talking to a Chiswick CID inspector in the main room, his tone flat and unruffled, his eyes quickly acknowledging Jack.

‘Thanks for arriving so quickly.’ They came together in a semi-hug, Carrigan smelling the whisky on Ben’s breath and below that a sour tang of sweat. He looked to his right and saw Ursula holding Penny in her arms, the little girl crying and shaking as a Family Liaison Officer tried calming mother and daughter down.

‘When did she come back?’

‘Someone dropped her off at the end of the street a few minutes ago,’ Ben replied, his hands still shaking, his eyes continually looking in Penny’s direction as if to assure himself she was still there.

‘Is she all right?’

Ben stared across the room at his daughter. ‘I think so. I’m not sure. I don’t know, Jack, Jesus look at her.’

The girl was crying, shielding herself from the group of policemen gathered around her. A sergeant was trying to ask her some questions. Ben grabbed Jack’s arm. ‘Let’s go upstairs.’

Ben led him into the study, the smell of cigars and whisky heavy and dolorous. They sat down and Jack poured them both drinks. ‘Did she see who took her?’

Ben stared out the window. ‘No, not really. He picked her up from the school, said we’d sent him, somehow convinced the coach.’ Ben looked down at his hands and shook his head. ‘She got into the car with him, Jesus Christ!’

Jack passed him the drink, watched as Ben downed it in one. ‘He just drove her around for a few hours then dropped her off. She said . . . she said he was African. What did he want from her, Jack? What the fuck did he do to my daughter?’

‘I don’t know,’ Jack admitted. ‘I don’t understand it myself. I’m sure the inspector downstairs will find out.’ He could see that Ben was barely hearing him, his eyes bright with fear and worry. ‘You didn’t by any chance get a look at the material I gave you, Grace Okello’s thesis?’

Ben nodded slowly, his feet tapping the floor, the adrenaline rush of a near miss coursing through his veins. ‘I saw the YouTube clip. Jesus. The things they did to her.’ He looked up from his glass, sympathy draining the years from his face. ‘This is your life, isn’t it? Murder, distraught parents who think they’re never going to see their kids again. I never really thought about it before, the shit you have to go through every day.’