Hunted, page 17
‘Who? Mr Perfect?’ he said with a barely concealed contempt.
‘Why’d you call him that?’
Toby’s face twisted into a sneer. ‘Oh… you know. He was always so bloody good at everything. Anything he set his mind to, he’d always get it done, always follow it right through to the very end to the best of his ability, and he’d invariably do it better than anyone else, including me. He was an obsessive, that’s what he was. It was unhealthy if you ask me.’
What Toby was saying made Bailey think of Rex’s reputation for always finishing the job. That trait now seemed obvious in retrospect as a manifestation of Carl Freeman’s obsessive personality.
‘Were there any things he was particularly good at?’ she asked.
Toby rolled his eyes. ‘Find me something he wasn’t good at. He was a top-class swimmer. Dedicated marathon runner. Expert marksman. Keen sailor. Skilled hunter.’
‘Hunter?’ she repeated with a shiver going through her.
Toby nodded. ‘Our dad was a gamekeeper. We grew up in the countryside, on the North Wessex Downs. Dad taught us how to read animal tracks, creep up on animals, that kind of thing. I was never very good at it. I don’t think I really cared enough about it. But Carl… he excelled at it, to the point where he was planning to follow in Dad’s footsteps and become a gamekeeper too. But he moved down to London and became a copper instead.’
Bailey stroked her chin with interest. An aptitude for hunting made a lot of sense in the context of what Carl now did for a living. Everything that Toby was telling her was serving to further cement her conviction that Rex and Carl Freeman were indeed one and the same person.
‘I visited his widow yesterday,’ she said.
‘Yeah I know. She told me. Called me up straight afterwards.’
So he had been talking to Bridget.
Bailey nodded slowly. ‘I got the impression she wasn’t telling me the whole story though.’
His face gave nothing away. He seemed more guarded now, the jokey demeanour having receded somewhat. Presently he shrugged. ‘That’s her business.’
Bailey got the impression that whatever Bridget was hiding, Toby was in on it as well. An understanding of what that might be was starting to form in her head.
‘Are you two close?’ she asked. ‘I mean, seeing as you’re Jack’s uncle, do you visit them at all?’
‘Not as often as I’d like to,’ he said.
There was a brief tell-tale flicker of something in his eyes. It took a few moments for Bailey to pin down what it was. Yearning. That’s what it was.
‘What did she tell you about Carl?’ he asked in an apparent bid to change the subject.
Bailey could see that the deeper she tried to dig, the more intransigent Toby was going to get. She decided to fall back a little and accede to his question.
‘Bridget told me that Carl was a bit of a control freak.’
Toby seemed to loosen up, emitting a small snort of laughter. ‘She wasn’t wrong about that. Carl was the kind of kid who didn’t like different bits of food touching on his plate. Everything had to be his way.’ He shook his head. ‘I sometimes wonder if that was his downfall.’
Bailey leaned closer. ‘What do you mean?’
He sighed. ‘Carl was wound too tight and he took things way too seriously. With someone like that, someone that inflexible, the smallest thing can send them right off the rails.’
Toby suddenly looked a bit downcast. It seemed out of character for him, considering what Bailey knew of him so far.
‘I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying,’ she said, hoping he would elucidate on the matter. ‘So what do you think happened to him?’
Toby fixed her with a bleak gaze. ‘I think he fucked up on a job and got himself murdered.’ He smiled mirthlessly. ‘And that’s one good reason to be a stand-up comedian rather than a copper.’
28
Standing in the kitchen of her flat, Detective Constable Emma Broggins was singing along loudly to the music emanating from the Bluetooth speaker on the worktop. The song ‘Happy’ by Pharrell Williams was playing. It was one of her favourite tracks and she was listening to it on repeat.
The song reflected her mood, particularly this evening. She was quite a happy person generally but tonight she was in an especially good mood because her friend Bailey was coming over for dinner and she was really looking forward to it.
Emma had pulled out all the stops to treat Bailey to a proper feast tonight. For starters, she’d prepared smoked trout soufflés with dill cream sauce. For main course, she was making a garlic and herb pork loin roast with apple sauce, accompanied by steamed vegetables. And for dessert, she’d made a triple-layered meringue cake festooned with an abundance of strawberries and cherries.
She knelt down and opened the oven to check on the roast. The delicious smell of cooking meat wafted out. It looked like it was almost ready. She would take it out in another minute or so, or else it would burn. Anyhow she knew it was good to let a roast stand for a bit before serving it. She’d chosen a pork roast because she knew Bailey didn’t like lamb and she herself wasn’t that keen on beef.
Closing the oven and standing back up, she checked the apple sauce that was cooking in a saucepan on the top of the stove. Stirring it round with a wooden spoon, she saw that the apples had nearly completely broken down. It was almost ready. Just a few more minutes needed.
She realised that it was getting a bit steamy in the kitchen. The extractor fan was on but it never seemed to work that well. Crossing over to the other side of the kitchen, she pushed open the sash window to let some air in. It was a balmy evening outside even though it was now early October.
Turning back to the kitchen top, she finished prepping the vegetables but she wasn’t planning on putting them in the steamer just yet otherwise they’d be mush by the time Bailey got here. At any rate, the two of them were going to have some pre-dinner snacks and drinks before sitting down to eat.
She looked at the kitchen clock. It was seven-fifteen. Bailey was supposed to come round at eight o’clock. It looked like everything was on track for a great evening.
Reaching up, she opened one of the kitchen cupboards to take down a small bowl to transfer the apple sauce to when it was finished cooking.
The song finished… and then immediately started again because it was on repeat. As she sang along to it, she tried to think how she could persuade Bailey to give Anthony her telephone number.
Rex lifted his wrist to check the time on the Hamilton military-style watch that was strapped to it. The small hands, glowing in the dark, told him that it was seven-fifteen.
The sun had gone down around forty minutes earlier and he was standing on a street in Camberwell, lurking in the shadows just beyond the pool of light cast by the nearest lamppost. Around a hundred metres away was the block of flats where Bailey’s friend Emma lived. It was one of those old-fashioned mansion blocks that were dotted all over the city. He’d followed Emma from Marzini’s to the police station where she worked. And then he’d waited until she’d finished work. Then he’d followed her from there to this block of flats in Camberwell.
With a little bit of digging around online using his favoured methods, he’d pinpointed her exact address. It was located on the third floor of the block.
From what he’d overheard in Marzini’s, Bailey was due to come here for dinner at eight o’clock. He’d decided to get here early just to be on the safe side. He now just had to determine the best way to go about killing her.
Scanning the immediate area, he noticed that the front entrance to Emma’s block of flats was directly opposite a busy pub. Because it was unexpectedly warm weather for early October, there were more people than usual standing outside the pub chatting and smoking. That presented a problem when it came to killing Bailey as Rex preferred not to have any witnesses. He didn’t know from which direction she would arrive, which meant that if he wanted to kill her on arrival, the likely place to do it would be right outside the front entrance of the flats in full view of the pub. In addition to that, he’d noticed that there was a public CCTV camera attached to one of the lampposts nearby, and he wanted to avoid appearing on that if possible. He could of course kill her when she left, but he had no idea what time she would be leaving, or even if she might be staying there overnight.
Weighing up the options, he decided that the best bet would be to enter the block of flats covertly and kill her when she was inside. That would give him much more control over the situation.
As he stood there watching, he noticed a man come out of the front door of the block holding a black bin bag full of rubbish. The man walked down the road towards him, then turned off down a side alley around fifty metres from where Rex was standing. A minute or so later, the man reappeared from the alley, minus the bin bag, walked back up the street and re-entered the block of flats.
Rex’s interest was piqued. It seemed that the side alley led to some area utilised by the residents of that particular block of flats. It occurred to him that it might present some means of entering the building without having to go anywhere near the front entrance. Keeping to the shadows, he slunk along the pavement and slipped down the alley.
It was dark and there was a ripe smell in the air. The alleyway took him round to a small concrete area at the rear of the block of flats. It quickly became apparent that the smell was coming from a set of large communal bins there that the man must have just deposited his rubbish in.
Turning to look up at the block of flats, Rex was emboldened to see that there was a metal fire escape snaking up the back of the building. These old mansion blocks often had these types of fire escapes. This particular one was conveniently recessed into the back of the block, meaning that it lay largely in shadow and wasn’t overlooked by any surrounding flats.
Moving forwards in the dimness, he clambered up onto the fire escape and began to ascend.
Pulling on her jacket, Bailey once again questioned the wisdom of partaking in a social engagement given her current circumstances. It was now the second of October and there were only six days to go until the trial started. In some ways she wondered if it was better just to wait until all this was over before catching up with Emma.
But then it was only one evening, and like Emma said, it would probably do her the world of good. Living like a fugitive all alone in this hotel wasn’t exactly great for anyone’s mental health. A bit of social contact with a positive person like Emma would no doubt help to recharge her batteries and prevent her from letting herself get completely ground down by the whole Rex situation.
At any rate, cancelling now would sorely disappoint Emma. Knowing her friend as she did, Bailey imagined she had probably gone to a lot of trouble to make a nice dinner tonight.
Talking of which, the more Bailey thought about it, the more she was looking forward to some of Emma’s superb cooking. She wondered what Emma was making for dinner. Whatever it was, she was sure it would be good. Her mouth began to water at the prospect.
And as for security, she figured she’d be fine. She couldn’t think of any reason that Rex would even know who Emma was or where she lived, and certainly she couldn’t imagine that he’d be aware that she was going round for dinner tonight. Still… she’d be sure to be vigilant all the same.
She looked at her watch. It was seven-thirty. She reckoned it would take her half an hour or so to drive from Earl’s Court to Camberwell.
A thought suddenly occurred to her. She took out her iPhone and typed out a text message to Emma.
Shall I pick up some wine? Red or white? xx
She sent the message and waited for a response.
Treading softly on the metal grilled steps of the fire escape, Rex came to a halt on the third floor. On ascending the rickety metal structure, he’d discovered that that the residents of the block accessed the fire escape via a door in their kitchens.
He now stood concealed in the gloom directly outside the kitchen of Emma’s flat. Peering in through the window, he watched her as she bustled round the kitchen absorbed in food preparation activities, completely oblivious to the fact that a professional contract killer was standing just a few metres away from her.
The kitchen window had been pushed open several inches and he could smell the seductive aromas of cooking food wafting out. He could also hear the sound of pop music playing and he could see her singing along heartily to the lyrics.
He guessed she was in the process of making dinner for Bailey. Silently moving closer, he examined the back door of the flat. He’d brought his set of lock picks with him but he realised that he probably didn’t need them because the kitchen window was open. The window was right next to the door so all he needed to do was to reach in carefully to the door handle on the inside and open the door. He just had to make sure that she didn’t notice him.
He moved right up to the window, keeping to one side to minimise the risk of her seeing him. Peeking in, he watched her intently, waiting for an opportune moment to act.
Walking over to the stove, Emma turned off the hob under a saucepan that was on there, and then took the saucepan over to the kitchen worktop where she proceeded to carefully ladle its contents into a small bowl. From where he was standing, it looked like some kind of sauce, possibly apple. The important thing was that she now had her back to him and he decided that it was the time to act.
Quietly pulling on a pair of black leather gloves, he slipped his hand into the small gap of the open window, gingerly avoiding a potted plant on the window sill just inside. Slowly he fed the rest of his arm in, all the while keeping a watchful eye on her as she fiddled with the saucepan.
Operating blind, his fingers groped for the door handle. Very slowly, very gently, he pressed it down and pulled inwards, hoping that the door hinges didn’t creak.
But the door didn’t move.
It was locked.
He silently cursed to himself. Releasing the door handle, his fingers probed a little further beneath it. He felt a small burst of satisfaction as they closed round the end of a key that was inserted in the lock.
He froze as Emma turned to one side to place the saucepan back on the switched-off hob having finished scooping out its contents into the bowl. She then turned her back to him again as she opened the kitchen cupboard and began to root round inside.
Very carefully, he twisted the key, feeling the bolt slide back as the door unlocked. He winced at the small clunking noise it made. Watching Emma, it seemed she hadn’t registered it though, most likely because the pop music was playing too loudly.
Grasping the door handle once more, he pressed it down and pulled open the door a few centimetres. There was a very slight creak as it opened, but yet again she didn’t hear it. Withdrawing his hand, he stood up to full height and eased the door the rest of the way open.
Because it was a warm evening, there was no breeze, no sudden gust of chill air to warn her of his presence. Standing there silently in the open doorway, just a short distance away from her, he reached into his pocket and drew out a length of paracord. It was extremely tough, virtually unbreakable… and ideal for what he was about to do next.
Wrapping it round his knuckles, he softly padded across the kitchen tiles until he was barely a few centimetres away from her. She’d taken down a jar of olives from the kitchen cupboard and was now spooning them into a small dish, singing along to the music, jiggling her shoulders in time with the beat.
Brandishing the taut length of paracord between his hands, he gingerly lifted it until it was just above her head. He braced himself and then, with a quick motion, he looped it down in front of her face and yanked it tightly round her neck.
She gasped and jumped in shock, the jar of olives flying from her hands to shatter on the floor. With a choking noise, she batted at the paracord biting into her throat, trying to get a purchase on it with her fingers, but to no avail for it was already too deeply enmeshed in her flesh. She kicked and flailed, trying to scream but only managing to gasp. He stood firm, his jaw set, his face hard and mean, winding the paracord ever tighter, feeling her resistance slowly wane until she finally went limp in his grasp.
Unlooping the paracord, he let her body fall unceremoniously to the kitchen floor. Pocketing the cord, he looked down at her lying there amidst the scatter of olives and broken glass, her glazed dead eyes half open and her tongue protruding from her mouth. He gave a cold snort of contempt. He’d hardly broken a sweat.
The music was still playing loudly from the Bluetooth speaker, its upbeat tone now grotesquely incongruous with the macabre tableau before him.
All he had to do now was wait for Bailey to arrive. But for her he wasn’t going to use paracord. He’d only used the paracord to kill Emma because he hadn’t wanted the neighbours to hear. For Bailey on the other hand, he would just shoot her, and then get out of here as quickly as possible.
He pulled the Sig Sauer P320 Compact from his shoulder holster and drew back the slide to load a round into the chamber. Just as he was about to re-holster it there was a faint ping.
Turning round, he saw that the sound had come from Emma’s iPhone which was lying at one end of the kitchen top. The small screen was glowing, indicating that she had just received a message. Peering down at it, he saw that it was a message from Bailey.
Shall I pick up some wine? Red or white? xx
Rex’s eyes narrowed in a calculating manner. It might look odd if Emma didn’t reply. It might make Bailey suspicious. He placed his gun on the kitchen top and picked up the iPhone. The phone was locked preventing him from responding to the text message.
Not a problem.
Holding the phone, he knelt down next to Emma’s lifeless body. He picked up her limp dead hand and pressed her thumb against the iPhone’s button to activate the touch ID. The phone unlocked.
