Director's Cut (17 page)

Baxter stared through Cole’s vacant space, for a moment lost in
thought. The day of the free-wheeler from C8 (The Flying Squad,
Heavy Mob or Sweeney) and later C1 (Drug Squad) was long gone.
Now it was about teamwork and conformity. Coppers like Cole had
always been the villain’s biggest threat because they didn’t work by
the book and they didn’t conform and that was the very thing that
made them unpredictable and dangerous. In giving Cole a free hand
the superintendent hoped he had made the right decision. He wasn’t
convinced.

After introducing Maynard to the team Cole turned to the therapist and
said, “This is PC Donna Fitzgerald and she’s going to look after you.”
Donna flashed Cole a thoughtful look. It landed in a sensitive place
and had him checking out her engagement ring. It was still there.
She said, “We’re still looking for Jason. The uniforms are looking
in all the likely places.”

Cole nodded and left them to it.

Although he would have preferred talking to Sam Butler direct he decided on
protocol and called Jack Wooderson.

“Rick?”

“Hello, Jack.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Problem is right. I’ve decided not to transfer Anian.”

A moment’s hesitation, an antagonism that carried along the line, then, “What’s
happened?”

“Margaret Domey’s gone missing, and she’s pregnant.”

“I heard. Is her pregnancy significant? Complications?”

“You didn’t know the others were pregnant?”

“The other women? Sam might have mentioned one of them was. I didn’t make the
connection.”

Cole’s pause went on too long, a silent condemnation. Eventually he said, “Three
out of the four, I believe. He should have mentioned it.”

“Too fucking right.”

“You better get your act together. The chief is making threatening noises.”

Another hesitation. This time it was the thought of Chief Superintendent Marsh
that did it. Eventually Wooderson said, “I’m on it. I appreciate the call.”
Cole struggled with the next one. “I might have been the last person to have
talked to Margaret. She was in my office yesterday morning.

You better get Sam over here. The super is talking to John, her husband. He
might have something to add.”

“Right. I’ll get things moving.”

Cole replaced the handset and unconsciously reached for a JPS.

Down the dead line Jack Wooderson put a call out for DS Sam Butler and before
realizing what he’d done, he lit a Benson’s.

An hour later Sam Butler walked into Cole’s office. Without a doubt Jack Wooderson
had carved a strip out of him and told him that Cole was the source.

“Sam, let’s not waste time. Jack’s spoken to you, that much is obvious. Margaret
called in yesterday morning. It was nothing more than a social call. From here
she was going to buy a cooking pan in the High Road. The Gallery. Know it?”

Butler nodded.

“As far as I know that’s the last we’ve seen of her. Check out the Gallery.
Let’s establish whether she ever got there.”

“Right.”

At the door Butler hesitated.

Cole picked up on it and said, “I got you over here to explain why I had to
bring Jack into the frame. I had no choice. The top floor is about to cave in
on us.”

DS Butler took it in, shrugged weakly, and left the office.

In Superintendent Tony Baxter’s office John Domey was in tears. He was a slim
fragile man. Baxter wondered how on earth he put up with Margaret.

“I know it’s difficult,” Baxter said. “But I’ve got to ask you this.

Are you and Margaret OK, with the baby coming? What I’m trying to
ask and making a complete arse of it is whether there are any problems
I should know about?”

Sleepless eyes blinked up in surprise and met the super’s gaze.
“Everything is fine, Tony. But something terrible has happened. I
know it.”

Baxter knew the feeling, the utter helplessness, the cold fingers that
tightened around the chest until you could barely breath. He moved
around the desk and placed a hand on John Domey’s shoulder. It was
the best he could do.

“You’ve got to help us find her. Let’s start with her appointment at
the hospital. Who was she going to see?”

It was touching noon when Cole walked into Hinckley nick and sensed
the excitement. DS Butler and DC Stanford, flanked by Inspector
Wooderson and a couple of PCs, were concentrating on a screen where
an indexer’s fingers were just a blur on the keyboard. Wooderson saw
Cole and mouthed a silent ‘yes’.

“What is it?”

Sam Butler kept his eyes glued to the screen as he said quietly,
“This is it, Guv. Christmas!”

Anian Stanford looked up to meet Cole’s fleeting acknowledgment
and smiled nervously.

Butler went on, “The owner of the Gallery, one Mr John Lawrence,
also known as The Underground Slasher. Did eight of a fifteen.
Released on parole in eighty-four.”

Cole’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. Why the hell hadn’t Sheerham
picked it up on the slasher case? This previous would have made him a
prime suspect for the assaults, certainly top of the list to be TIED.
Coppers didn’t believe in coincidence. There had to be a catch.
Wooderson put in, “I remember him. Went after pregnant women
on the underground. Used a knife on their bellies. Slash and run was
his trademark.”

Anian asked, “Murder?”

Butler glanced up from the screen. “No, look, GBH, attempted
murder.”

Wooderson went on, “There were headlines in the papers. He killed
the unborn child, two I seem to remember, so it should have been
murder.”

“A psycho?”

“Are you joking? Personality defect, what else?”

“OK,” Cole calmed the situation. “Let’s have him in. Get a warrant
and get a team into the shop. Sam, get hold of the original crime
sheets. Let’s wrap this up quickly.”

Butler cut in sheepishly, “There’s something you should know,
Guv.”

Cole said, “Go on?”

“Anian’s already made contact. We saw a painting at Ticker’s place
and she followed it up.”

Incredulity touched Cole’s eyes before they turned very cold. He
looked from Butler to Anian and back again. Eventually he said, “The
Gallery?”

Butler nodded.

Jack Wooderson’s mouth dropped open, then anger tightened his
lips.

Cole turned to the DC. “And?”

Anian felt the heat on her face and hoped it didn’t show. She said
anxiously, “It was just a feeling, Guv, nothing more than that. He’s
painting my picture. Just like he painted Helen Harrison.”
Butler coughed.

She threw him a leave-it-out look.

Butler explained, “The painting of Helen Harrison was pretty
revealing.”

Cole shook away a fleeting image of Helen Harrison and said,
“Does he know you’re on the job?”

Anian shook her head.

“What’s he like?”

She sighed relief and answered, “A bit old-fashioned, a bit of a
gentleman. He’d open a door for a lady.”

Wooderson muttered, “And slash her in the belly as she came
through. Why didn’t I know about this?”

Anian said defensively, “It was off my own back, Guv.”

Wooderson responded quickly. “Then how did DS Butler know
about it? Don’t pull the wool, Anian, you’re not good enough and,
what’s more, you’re in deep enough already. And it’s bat, off my own
bat, not fucking back!”

Butler cut in, “I didn’t know until this morning.”

Wooderson shook his head and brushed ash from his jacket sleeve.
His anger was not without reason. The chief would never countenance
the role that DC Stanford was playing. Ever since the Wimbledon
Common set-up and the judge’s ruling, senior coppers had been having
nightmares about entrapment and even now they were unsure where
they stood.

Cole defused the situation and said to Anian, “Well, it seems like
your hunch was right but you should have shared it. Going forward
you’ll have no further contact. Cancel any future appointments. Tell
him you’ve changed your mind.”

“Yes Sir.”

“And since you’ve made contact you stay out of the way. Let’s not
compromise the situation further.” He turned to Wooderson and said
stiffly, “Jack, I didn’t hear any of this. Did you?”

“No, I didn’t. And I don’t want to hear any more.” He addressed
Butler direct. “You’ve put us all on the line. You better hope the chief
doesn’t get wind of it.”

Anian insisted, “It was a personal contract, Guv, taken out before
he was in the frame.”

Wooderson made a suitable noise.

Cole wasn’t convinced either, not by a long shot. DS Butler and DC
Stanford had been playing a dangerous game. The DS should have
kept Wooderson informed and he should have mentioned it to Cole
earlier in the day when he was asked to follow up the chestnut cooking
pot.

DS Butler was looking a little wary. He knew pretty well what was
on Cole’s mind.

Cole wrapped it up. “OK, let’s get on with it.”

Anian glanced up again. Cole hoped the others didn’t notice the
speculation in her eye.

In that moment, when other things became incidental, they heard a
distant explosion. The report came on, rushing at them, rattling the
windows. Alarm bells sounded, tyres screeched and the lights
flickered.

An indexer jumped and fell off her chair. Butler ducked. DC
Stanford and DI Cole didn’t move, still locked together by an
unanswered question.

And Inspector Jack Wooderson said, “Fucking kids. I blame the
single mothers!”

In a police station nothing moves faster than rumour.

Sheerham was like any other nick in that regard and was leaking
more than Thames Water. Most coppers had a direct line to their mates on the
local – it meant pocket money or, at least, a top-up at the favoured boozer.
Even small change helped when the credit cards were maxed.

The top brass were in panic-stricken mode, hiding in their offices –
sex and violence, one of their own missing – and even thinking about
the headlines had Chief Superintendent Marsh reaching for the
glyceryl trinitrate and he didn’t even have a heart condition –
unless a cold heart counted.

There had been another slasher incident. More blues and twos,
more blue and white police tape fluttering around yet another scene of
crime. This time it had been in an underpass. Another girl had been
attacked, just like the others. They'd established that she wasn't a tom
and that gangland wasn't involved. And they were getting reports
coming in that a woman might have been the assailant.

“What about Lawrence?” Detective Superintendent Baxter asked once
Cole had closed the office door.

“Forensics are at the shop now.” Cole glanced at his watch. “We
should get a prelim in the next hour or so.”

“And Lawrence himself?”

“They're letting him sweat, waiting for the report. That never does
any harm.”

“Who's his brief?”

“Doesn't want one. Told Sam that he would conduct his own
defence.”

Baxter made a suitable noise. “A joker, then. Will you conduct the
interview?”

“No. Let Sam have it.”

“Don't let Jack muddy the water.”

“Sam's confident that it's just the loose ends.”

Baxter looked up. “Unfortunately we’ve heard that before. So, what
have we got, the slasher, the missing women? Is Lawrence in the frame
for both? There's a whisper a woman is involved in the latest.”
“We'll see. The rumour came from the Square. One of the locals got
hold of it and passed it on to LBC. At this rate it’ll be on the news at
six.” The DI paused before changing track. “I think we can leave Barry
with the kids. If they blow up another shed so be it.”

“I've got no issues with that. The explosion… I spilt my coffee. It's
a bloody liberty. When we get the little buggers there won't be a
damned thing to do.”

Cole managed to suppress a smile. He said, “They'll have to start
insuring their allotment sheds. Some of it was found two hundred
yards away.”

“So what about this slasher? A woman?”

“I'm waiting for Geoff. I'd like to hear what he thinks.”

Baxter agreed. “So would I. Make Barry aware that my door is
open. I want a twice-daily update from him."

They heard voices coming from the outer office. Through the glass
they saw Maynard and PC Fitzgerald talking to the team.

“Talk of the devil,” Baxter murmured.

Cole moved to the door and waved Maynard inside.

Maynard took a seat without invitation.

“You remember Detective Superintendent Baxter?”

“Of course.” Maynard hid his surprise. The super had gained
weight. A stone a year and that meant two and most of it around the
middle. “How are you, Mr Baxter?"

Baxter weighed up the therapist, searching for something, he didn't
know what. Carefully he removed his spectacles for a quick once-over
with the yellow buffer. “I'm fine Geoff. Are you?"

“Good,” Maynard responded. “It’s good to be back.”

Cole cut in, wanting to get on. “You saw Elizabeth Rayner?"
The psychologist nodded.

“And?”

“And nothing Rick. This wasn't personal. You've got a psychopath
on your hands. He's struck three times in less than a week and there's
more to come.”

“He?”

“I heard the rumour. And Elizabeth Rayner has come up with
something else. Remember the distinctive aftershave she recognized –
well it wasn't. It was Amarige, a Givenchy perfume.”

Cole nodded. “You OK with Donna?”

“You should talk to her,” Maynard suggested. “She's got a couple
of points that might interest you.”

The DI shot him a thoughtful look. He said, “What's your plan
now?”

“I’ll see the other victims and try to find a connection, if there is
one. Can you spare Donna?”

Now Cole knew it was personal. He nodded slowly.

Maynard smiled, enjoying himself.

Cole said, “We'll meet up later.”

Maynard nodded. Cole hadn't mentioned where but he knew exactly
where he meant.

So did the super and he wasn't impressed.