A Deadly Likeness, page 17
‘I daren’t even count the years,’ he said over his shoulder as I followed him down the hall.
‘You look just the same,’ I said as he showed me into the lounge.
‘Liar.’ He laughed. ‘You look good on it though.’ He shifted a pile of books from the armchair for me to sit. ‘I’ll get the kettle on. Tea OK?’
‘Always.’
I stood admiring a wall of framed certificates and commendations presented to him over thirty-years of policing. ‘Impressive.’
‘The wife called it the “Wailing Wall”.’ He laughed as he went into the kitchen. ‘That’s how she saw the job. Nothing but misery for her.’
‘Do you miss it?’ I called.
‘Only every minute of every day,’ came the disembodied reply.
Coloured lights on the Christmas tree flickered across silver picture frames on the sideboard and mantelpiece. Family snaps of him and his wife, and a handsome young man in military uniform.
I sat in the armchair as he came in with the tea. ‘Your son?’ I asked, nodding at the photo.
‘Yes. Marines. He’s out now. Works with me these days. I set up a security consultancy when I retired. Closest I could get to the job, I suppose.’ He took a sip of tea. ‘Keeps the wolf from the door – that and the police pension. Some of the lads I used to work with joined us. Mostly overseas contracts. Just got back from a job in the Middle East, as it happens.’
That accounts for the tan.
‘And your wife?’
‘She passed away – five years ago. Cancer.’
‘I’m sorry.’
He sat back on the sofa, his demeanour signalling an end to our small talk. ‘Your secretary called. It’s him, isn’t it? Malecki – the reason you’re here?’
I nodded, putting my cup on the coffee table. I told him about the unexpected VO and my visit to Wakefield.
‘Thought he’d died in prison. Or maybe I just hoped he had. You know, in all my years as a copper, I never believed in the concept of evil – not until the day I looked into Malecki’s eyes.’
‘Did you interview him after his arrest?’
He shook his head. ‘Wasn’t high enough up the food chain, even though it was my find in his car that caught him. I actually got a bollocking for that.’
‘What happened?’
‘After the media campaign, we were inundated with names. Malecki was one of them – especially after the photofit was released. I’d even brought him in, earlier in the investigation. I told the SIO I liked him for it, but it never panned out. Then I read your profile and so much about him fitted, but when I passed that on, the bosses regarded it as hokum.’ He shot me a glance. ‘No offence.’
I smiled. ‘None taken.’
‘It was at a morning briefing that I heard about the accident. Malecki’s car was in the police compound. It was too good an opportunity to pass up.’
‘Synchronicity,’ I murmured.
‘Jackpot. A murder kit hidden in the boot. Everything we needed – right there on a plate. But technically, the search was illegal, because I didn’t have a warrant. Malecki’s lawyers tried to have it disregarded and I got hauled over the coals for it.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘Thankfully the judge ruled it admissible, because it was compelling and pivotal to the case.’
‘Common sense prevailed then.’
‘Some days it felt like the system wasn’t on our side, but that day it was, for once.’
I cut to the chase. ‘Malecki gave me an account of what happened with Michelle Hatfield. I don’t believe his version. Was hoping you could fill in the gaps?’
‘I was a junior officer in CID, then. Doing the legwork. Trace, interview, eliminate. Not sure how helpful I can be.’
‘He said that after he tried chatting her up, when they argued in the street, he’d gone back to the pub to try again a week later.’
‘And?’
‘She agreed to go out with him. They dated a couple of times, but she’d been jealous of the attention he was getting from other girls. An argument about it got out of hand and he killed her by accident.’
He shook his head. ‘She had a boyfriend at the time of her disappearance and it wasn’t Malecki.’
‘Mark Lutner,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘Poor bastard. Newspapers crucified him, but they weren’t as quick to come back with a public apology once Malecki was charged.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘The family moved away. Who can blame them?’
‘Was Malecki asked about the incident with the taxi driver?’
Jack nodded. ‘Said he started stalking Michelle. Became obsessed, by his own admission. Admitted kidnapping and killing her, but wouldn’t say what he’d done with the body. Don’t know why he’d say she was his girlfriend – that’s cobblers.’
I’d come across this kind of ‘twisted narrative’ more times than I cared to count. Many offenders, even the worst, seemed blind to their own nature. Most tried to justify what they’d done. Create a story they could live with. Or there were elements of the offence that they wouldn’t or couldn’t acknowledge. Not to investigators, or their families – even to themselves.
For those imprisoned for sex offences, this ‘altered truth’ was an attempt to protect themselves from retribution. Their crimes were seen as the lowest of the low in the prison hierarchy, where offences are stratified by inmates.
Maybe Malecki altered the truth about Michelle, after his jugging in Broadmoor? Or to prevent more attacks once he was sent to Wakefield?
‘When we found out she’d flicked him the finger,’ Jack was saying, ‘we wondered if that’s why he cut it off.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Nothing. It was a kind of control for him, I suppose.’ He took another mouthful of tea. ‘He did shed light on one thing, though.’
‘Oh?’
‘The date of her disappearance . . .’
‘Fifteenth of July?’
‘Three days before his nineteenth birthday. Said she was a birthday present to himself.’
Something occurred to me, as I jotted notes in my pad. ‘Do you know what he did on his actual birthday?’
‘Went back home. His parents had a party for him that weekend. I remember, because the mother tried to alibi him for the time Michelle disappeared.’
‘Even though he’d confessed?’
He nodded. ‘Mother was a right domineering bitch. Would argue black was white where her darling son was concerned. She tried telling us that Malecki was at her place on Wednesday, so couldn’t have kidnapped Michelle. But the car company records told a different story. He’d picked the car up on Wednesday afternoon and drove home the next day. The father remembered events more clearly – even after all those years – because it hit him in the pocket.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘They’d hired the car and the father was pissed off because Malecki had exceeded the mileage charges. Think they argued the toss with the company, but ended up paying.’
‘Malecki always used hire cars, never his own, when he killed.’
Jack nodded. ‘He’d passed his test and the parents offered to buy him a car. But he said he didn’t need one. Lived within walking distance of university and a short cycle ride to his part-time job in Grantchester.’
‘Where Graham Hirst was killed.’
‘That’s obviously where their paths crossed. Why he picked him, is anyone’s guess.’
Sometimes I just see them in the street . . .
He studied me for a moment, before asking, ‘Why the preoccupation with Malecki? Surely the focus is on catching this latest copycat?’
‘It could be someone known to Malecki. An ex-con. Or someone who writes to him in prison. Is there anything you can remember, from those days, that might tie in?’
He sat forward, resting elbows on his knees. ‘I had my sources on the streets. All good cops did. I drank in a local pub where hacks from the press hung out. Crime reporter for the Express was a regular.’
‘Tom Hannah?’
‘That’s him. There were a few whispers that he got a bit too cosy with his subjects . . .’
‘In what way?’
He shrugged. ‘It was all rumour, but word was, some serious villains on our patch used him to grass up rivals. Would give him tip-offs about what the others were up to – he’d get an exclusive and the competition would be put away. Win-win.’
‘Suppose he was helping you in a weird way,’ I mused.
Jack didn’t look convinced. ‘I got a few collars from his intel, so I can’t complain. But I used to wonder more about the stuff he didn’t tell us.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘There were some things a crime reporter would have been all over, but he’d seem less enthusiastic than he should.’ He shrugged. ‘Those were the ones I felt he’d been told to leave alone, by the people who had him in their pockets.’
‘Such as?’
‘The worst incident was a fire. Flat on Manchester Road. Guy who lived there, Dave Finch, was killed and we had it down as arson. I was due to work it, but got pulled off to help on Malecki’s last murder.’
‘Kath?’
‘Hmm, you see why I’d remember it. Anyway, word was Finch owed serious money to some big boys. His trade was selling pirated Disney movies. The latest blockbusters. He’d film them in the cinema the week they came out, then run copies to sell on market stalls.’
I smiled at the memory. ‘Used to go round to my friend’s house to watch those. You’d get distracted by silhouettes of people crossing in front of the camera, getting up to go to the loo.’
‘When officers got into the flat, they found racks of VHS recorders set up to produce copies, but no tapes. Nothing. Place had been cleaned out.’
‘The people he owed?’ I hazarded a guess. ‘Taking goods to the value of?’
‘So why not take the equipment?’ Jack frowned. ‘That was worth more than the tapes.’
‘Anyone arrested?’
‘No. The estate went as quiet as a mouse. Couldn’t get anyone to talk. It was the sort of thing Hannah should have been all over.’
‘But he wasn’t?’
Jack shook his head. ‘Turned up at the scene, went through the motions, but nothing came of it. The Express ran an article, but it was a skim job, and Hannah never really dug for it. That was one I suspected he’d been warned off. Case was still open when I retired.’
‘Think he took payouts?’
‘Nothing you could say was illegal. Immoral maybe. Not cash, perks. Meals in expensive restaurants. Holidays in the Costa del Crime. He’d give us information when it suited him – so he kept the cops on side. I bought him a few rounds in the pub during the Relay Killer investigation, to see if he’d heard anything on the grapevine.’
‘And did he? Give you anything?’
‘No. Got more information from the big players in the city at the time, to be honest. Even the worst crooks in the parish wanted that killer caught. Those crimes were an abomination to “honest” villains. Besides, it was bad for business having so many cops on the streets. Think they were as happy as we were when Malecki got banged up. But Hannah was obsessed with the case back then – not in a healthy way.’
I reflected back on my own fascination at the time and shifted uncomfortably.
‘Unhealthy, how?’
‘More salacious, somehow. Got off on the details a bit too much. Something about him . . .’ He shook his head. ‘He wanted access to the investigation, in return for anything he might hear. The team held him at arm’s length. Most of them thought he was a bit of a weirdo, to be honest. Can’t say I was surprised when he brought out the book. He was a real fan of Malecki.’
‘A fan?’ That piqued my interest.
‘Was surprised when I heard they had a falling-out in the last couple of years.’
‘Over what?’
‘No idea. They were thick as thieves when the book came out. Then things changed. A mate of mine has a son in the prison service – was at Wakefield for a while. Said Malecki began refusing all Hannah’s requests for a visit.’
‘Interesting.’
‘If this copycat is someone Malecki knows, or has known in the past, Hannah might have heard about it.’
I made a note.
‘This new killer,’ Jack said as he watched me write, ‘does he take trophies?’
‘No. Why?’
‘Because that was one of the things that bothered me back then. Family of some victims mentioned things had gone missing and you’d said in your profile, the killer would take souvenirs. Instinct told me you were right. We never found any trophies when his place was searched.’
‘Suppose once you had an arrest, potential trophies weren’t a priority.’
‘You were right about his notebooks though. I found one on Dennis Haverley when I searched the car. We never found notes on any of the others. But there would have been some – without a doubt.’ His gaze was intense. ‘So, where the hell did he keep them, and why have they never been found?’
‘Maybe that’s something he’ll tell us now,’ I said, almost to myself.
‘Well, if that sadistic bastard is in a sharing mood, ask him where Michelle is. Recovering her body is still something that haunts those of us who were involved at the time.’ He stared past me as he recalled those times. His voice was barely a whisper as he added, ‘The things he did . . . still give me bloody nightmares.’
Chapter Thirty-Five
The call from Fordley Police Station came as I was driving back from Jack Halton’s place. Supt. Warner wanted to see me.
It was evident from the tone of the summons that it wasn’t going to be pleasant.
Nothing new there then.
I put in a call to Jen, to tell her I’d be delayed.
‘I’m not happy about you visiting Malecki again. I know it’s what we do . . . Dealing with people like him.’ Her disembodied voice came over the car speakers.
‘But?’
‘He’s probably the most dangerous you’ve ever dealt with . . .’
I thought back over the last couple of years. ‘Not sure about that one, Jen.’
‘Well, OK . . . The most dangerous one who’s still alive, then.’
She had a point. I’d encountered some of the most depraved offenders in the criminal justice system, but most had either been killed or died in prison.
‘I’m worried about you getting involved,’ she was saying. ‘I am allowed to care, aren’t I?’
‘Glad someone does.’ Something tugged deep inside when I thought about Callum. He’d cared once.
‘Not least, because of what happened to Kath, and Geoff. It feels a bit too close to home.’
‘Do you think they’d be letting me anywhere near this, if there was a choice?’
‘There’s always a choice . . . Doesn’t have to be you.’
‘Malecki won’t talk to anyone else.’
‘But that means you have to get inside his head.’ I could almost hear her shudder.
‘That’s the job, Jen.’
She blew out a breath in frustration. ‘Well, I’ve been doing the research you asked for. Everything on him since his transfer to Wakefield.’
‘How much more can there be? He doesn’t exactly get out much.’
‘No, but he’s still reported on quite often.’
‘Oh?’
‘His charity, Rebuild, has been in the news, after the tsunami in Indonesia – they made a big donation. But it’s his paintings that crop up more than anything.’
I frowned as I negotiated traffic. ‘The governor said his last exhibition was a flop.’
‘True,’ Jen agreed, ‘people turned up, ate the cheese and drank the wine, but didn’t buy much. But critics were gushing about some of the pieces.’
‘Malecki’s been painting more, recently.’
‘Probably because they’re planning a new exhibition. There was an article on it in the Telegraph and Argus.’
‘When?’
‘Dates not released yet. But apparently his art is being considered as part of a new educational pathway programme at the prison, accredited by Manchester University.’
Malecki the educator. Part of his rehabilitation, no doubt.
*
Warner was pacing in front of her office window, hands clasped behind her back. I felt like a kid dragged into the headmistress’s office.
‘You should have told me, Jo.’
‘I was going to call you later today.’
‘You should have informed us, as soon as you got Malecki’s VO.’ She rounded on me, resting her hands on the back of her chair. ‘Or did you think the prison liaison officer would forget to keep us in the loop and your trip to Wakefield might go unnoticed?’
‘No, but—’
‘No “buts”, Jo.’ She dropped down into the chair behind her desk. ‘This is the second time you’ve gone off on your own during a live investigation. You’re not behaving like a team player.’
‘I’m no longer on the team, am I?’
‘You are as far as I’m concerned, but you’re not making my life easy.’
I suddenly felt bone-weary. ‘I got the VO on Friday, same day I got your email, saying you didn’t need me for anything else. The visit was Saturday—’
‘We do work weekends.’
I ran a hand across my eyes, trying to ward off a headache. ‘I decided to see what Malecki wanted first. If it wasn’t a waste of your time and resources, I fully intended to pass it on. Jen is writing up the notes. You should get her email this afternoon.’
‘I don’t have time to wait. So, I’ll have the edited highlights now, if it’s all the same.’
I told her everything – from my conversation with the governor, to meeting Malecki and that I’d just visited Jack Halton.
When I finished, she sat back and regarded me across the desk.
‘Do you think Malecki’s done prison time with this copycat?’
‘Possibly. Or the killer is an admirer on the outside.’
She began jotting notes for herself. ‘Not happy that he said he’ll only talk to you.’
‘Not thrilled about it myself.’
