A Deadly Likeness, page 26
‘And Jones?’
‘Lived in that house since 1991. Malecki was arrested in 1993. Jones could have been one of his “projects”. But he never got to follow through with it, because he got caught.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘Lutner bothered me,’ I admitted.
‘Why?’
‘Too random for a copycat. It made a connection to Michelle Hatfield. Which didn’t sit right with me. I couldn’t see a modern-day copycat wanting to forge his own legend, going after him. Plus, geographically it didn’t fit the profile. So far, he’s stuck to West Yorkshire. To deviate from that and travel a hundred and fifty miles away . . .’
We’d used a ‘spatial profiling’ expert a few years ago. He told us offenders had a defined spatial range. Some did commit offences over longer distances, but usually that was part of an established route – such as a lorry driver, like Peter Sutcliffe, the Yorkshire Ripper. I believed our killer’s base was West Yorkshire.
‘That distance makes Lutner an outlier, literally, and in the victimology. If we were dealing with a copycat that would be a really unusual deviation.’
‘Unless . . . ?’
‘Unless he’s acting on instructions. Lutner makes more sense if Malecki’s directing things. It’s the way his mind works. Picking someone connected to the one murder victim that’s never been found. The one everyone wants to know about.’
‘Stretching resources across multiple police forces,’ Callum agreed. ‘Certainly, gives us the runaround. But why now?’
I slowed down to concentrate. The snow was thick and heavy. Coming down in soft pillowy flakes that were sticking to the unlit country road, making driving more perilous.
‘He started “interviewing” for his disciple six months ago. The same time he began painting more for his exhibition. He’s fallen out of the popular imagination. What better way to put his work back in the spotlight again? And complete his real life’s work into the bargain. The challenge he set himself and the thing that truly inspires him.’
‘What if you’re wrong?’
That thought had been keeping me awake at night.
‘We both know the direction of the investigation isn’t dictated by a profile, Cal. It’s just one tool in the box. Besides, it doesn’t change the suspect list you’ve already got.’
‘What are your thoughts on Gerald Carter and Jill Neatley?’
‘If it had been a copycat, I would rule them both out. Carter is devoted to Malecki, but he hasn’t got what it takes to initiate this on his own.’
‘But as a disciple?’
‘He ticks the boxes. He’s in love with Malecki and will do anything to keep that. He’s too weak for a face-on confrontation with the victims. Blitz attacks from behind would be just his style.’
‘And Neatley?’
‘Jury’s still out,’ I admitted. ‘I’d need more time with her. She’s difficult to read.’
‘Even for you?’
‘I’m not an infallible polygraph. Some people get past my radar. But what I can tell you is that Hannah’s definitely not your killer.’
‘His hatred for Malecki could be an act,’ Callum said, ‘to throw us off the scent.’
‘No one’s that good an actor.’ I shook my head. ‘It’s not Hannah, Cal. His drinking’s a major weakness and would lead to stupid mistakes. I’m not seeing anything so disorganised. Our killer has far more self-control and discipline than Hannah. I think he was set up. And if Malecki’s behind things that makes perfect sense.’
‘Think Malecki’s using the burner 091?’
‘Could be the anonymous male caller,’ I speculated.
‘No way to know though.’ He sounded as weary as I knew he was.
‘Unless we ask him.’
‘You think he’d be honest?’
‘Not if he wants us to believe we’re chasing a copycat.’
‘If we tell him we know it’s a disciple, how do you think he’ll react?’
‘Only one way to find out.’
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Tuesday, Wakefield Prison
Callum shifted on the leather sofa next to me as we waited in the governor’s office.
We both turned as Rob Harding came in – his expression less relaxed than when I last saw him.
‘Sorry,’ he said as he sat. ‘Too many tasks, not enough day. My secretary told me the reason for your visit. I have to say, I’m surprised.’
‘That we think Malecki might have an illegal phone?’ Callum said.
‘Smuggled contraband is a serious issue, Chief Inspector. Especially phones. The damage they can cause on the outside is incalculable. We pride ourselves on the level of security here.’
I thought about Chris McGarry’s late-night call and hoped the discomfort didn’t show on my face.
‘Use of illegal mobiles is usually by drugs or organised crime gangs,’ Harding went on. ‘Jacob has never been involved in anything like that.’
‘There’s a first time for everything.’ Callum’s smile lacked humour.
‘He’s subject to regular security searches, but he’s never been found in possession of anything.’
Callum’s tone was conciliatory. ‘Governor, we believe there’s a serious threat to life and we need to be sure Malecki isn’t communicating with people on the outside. I can only do my job, with your cooperation.’
The police couldn’t just demand what they wanted in a situation like this. Contrary to popular belief, within the prison estate, the governor held ultimate authority.
‘You have reliable intelligence for this?’ Harding asked.
Callum shot me a look. ‘I believe so.’
‘What do you need?’
‘While Dr McCready is interviewing Malecki, I want his cell turned over. But I don’t want the search carried out by officers on his wing.’
Harding regarded him steadily. ‘It wouldn’t be. I’ll authorise a search by the specialist security team.’
‘I also want him to be subject to a full body search.’
Harding nodded. ‘I’ll have that done down in the segregation unit, when he leaves Dr McCready.’
‘Would it be possible for Malecki to be held down there for the time being?’ Callum asked. ‘We could do with him being incommunicado for a while.’
‘That’s not possible, I’m afraid. Unless he’s broken prison regulations, he can’t be punished by being put into solitary.’
‘Don’t tell me—’ I couldn’t stay quiet ‘—that would breach his human rights?’
Harding’s eyes met mine. ‘Yes, Doctor. Exactly that.’
‘What about the rights of people who might die if Malecki isn’t segregated?’ I was incredulous.
‘You haven’t given me any hard evidence that’s the case.’ Harding’s composure in the face of such potential risk was staggering to me. ‘We haven’t searched Jacob’s cell yet and until and unless anything is found, I’m not committing myself to any course of action.’
‘If you find a phone?’ I pressed. ‘Or any illegal contraband? He would be in breach of prison regulation then, wouldn’t he?’
‘Yes. And in that case, he would be punished by being sent to the segregation unit. But until then . . .’
Callum said, ‘If he’s allowed back to the wing, I want all his calls recorded and all interactions with other prisoners watched by wing staff. Anything unusual gets reported to my team, and I want recordings of any phone calls to be sent directly to the incident room.’
Harding quirked an eyebrow. ‘Anything else, while we’re at it?’
‘If I think of anything, I’ll let you know.’
*
We’d planned a strategy for the way I would interview Malecki, but there were too many variables for it to be scripted.
I glanced at the digital recorder. The light blinked from the screen, reassuring me that it was working.
Malecki was already sitting on his side of the security screen, regarding me with an expression that veered from curious to bemused.
‘The police have gone through your list,’ I said simply. It wasn’t a question, but I gave him the silence to answer.
He crossed his legs. ‘With what result?’
‘Four of the six names have been eliminated.’
‘And the other two?’
The team had agreed that I should tell him – just to gauge his reaction.
‘Tom Hannah and Peter Randall.’
‘What did they have to say?’
‘The police are still looking for Randall. Any idea where he might be?’
‘Beyond his usual address?’ He shook his head.
‘And Tom Hannah has been arrested.’
His expression remained impassive, apart from a slightly raised eyebrow. ‘Because I put his name forward?’
His whole demeanour was carefully controlled, giving nothing away. If I was right about his having a disciple, this was a masterclass in masking behaviour.
‘He was at the scene of the latest murder.’
‘Lutner.’ He nodded. ‘I saw that on the news.’
‘You don’t seem surprised.’
He shrugged. ‘Nothing surprises me these days.’
‘You predicted something dramatic.’
‘Indeed.’
I made a show of glancing at my notes. Then asked a question the team had supplied.
‘According to the visitors log, Gerald Carter and Jill Neatley visit regularly.’
‘Yes. Gerald’s a friend. He brings Miss Neatley only when we have to discuss technical things. What of it?’
‘Jill Neatley came to see you on her own, in the summer. Why was that?’
‘Gerald was going against some of my choices for the exhibition. I asked to see her to get her side of it, without the pressure of her boss being there.’
‘You asked her not to tell Carter about the meeting?’
‘It would have made things awkward for her if he found out. I didn’t want that.’
‘Do you think either of them would be able to commit these murders?’
He laughed. ‘You can’t be serious?’
‘That’s not an answer.’
I watched him, calibrating his body language. But he was giving me nothing.
‘Gerald carries spiders out of the house, rather than kill them. As for Miss Neatley, I really don’t know her that well, but Gerald tells me she’s a bleeding-heart liberal, who spends her spare time working for charities. She doesn’t strike me as the killer type. Randall and Hannah on the other hand . . .’
He paused, waiting for me to say something. I let the silence stretch out between us. He spoke first.
‘Has Hannah been charged with murder?’
I feigned surprise at the question.
‘Not yet. You see there’s nothing linking him to it. No forensic evidence whatsoever.’
‘Unusual,’ he said quietly. ‘But not impossible to achieve.’
Time for the big reveal.
‘He’s innocent. Well, off this at least. But then, you know that, don’t you?’
His breathing rate increased, ever so slightly.
‘Barbara Thorpe and Stephen Jones were two of your projects, weren’t they?’
His eyes narrowed slightly, becoming cautious. There was a tension in his body that hadn’t been there before.
He stayed uncharacteristically silent.
Sometimes I read what was between the lines. That blurred mirage of truth that shimmers between what is said and unsaid. Stare directly at it and it evaporates, but let it hover just outside the peripheral vision of my instinctive eye and I see it.
I could see it in Malecki now. In his body language. His silence.
Any doubts I may have had about a disciple were dispelled in that instant.
‘You kept notes on them, as you did with all your potential victims. Some you followed through on. Others you kept back until the time was right. You told me yourself, everything had to be perfect, didn’t it?’
Those intensely dark eyes seemed to bore into my skull, trying to see my very thoughts. His lips lightened in colour as he pressed them together. The tension he was holding inside was palpable.
I leaned closer to the glass. ‘The time’s perfect now, isn’t it, Malecki?’
‘You’re deluded.’ He spoke so quietly, I could barely hear him. His eyes were as hard as obsidian.
‘You have a disciple. Picking up where you left off.’ I held Malecki’s intense gaze with one of my own. ‘You began interviewing for them six months ago. How am I doing so far?’
He clasped his hands around a knee, and rocked back in his chair, trying to look relaxed. But I could tell, he was scrabbling to regain his composure.
‘I’m surprised at your flawed logic.’
‘Really?’
‘If I had a disciple, I would need to communicate with them.’ He opened his arms to encompass his surroundings. ‘From in here?’
‘Mobile phones are easy enough to get in prison.’
A micro-expression flitted across his face. Hidden in an instant, but not before I’d read it.
Relief.
The tension left him and he sat back.
‘A mobile phone? Not my style, Doctor.’ He was regarding me with amusement now. ‘Search my cell – you’ll find nothing.’ Then his eyes widened in sudden realisation. ‘Ah, but that’s what’s happening right now, isn’t it? While I’m here with you.’
I wanted to puncture his bravado.
‘And your trophies? We’ve tracked those being sold on the dark web.’
He became suddenly very still.
His previous benign demeanour was gone. Replaced now by the side of his character I suspected only his victims ever saw.
The mask slipped and something reptilian moved behind his eyes.
I drove home my advantage. ‘A foolish move for a disciple, wouldn’t you say? Have they gone against your instructions and used their own initiative on that one?’
His jaw tightened as he gritted his teeth. He sucked in a breath, as if I’d punched him in the solar plexus. Then he simply rose from his chair and went to bang on the cell door. ‘Our time together is over, Doctor,’ he said without turning to look at me.
The door opened, and he paused. Confused by the sight of three officers from the security team waiting for him on the other side.
‘Oh, forgot to mention,’ I said. ‘We’ve arranged for you to have a cavity search.’ He shot me a look over his shoulder.
‘You’re welcome,’ I called, as they led him away.
*
Callum was quiet as we drove out of Wakefield.
‘You OK?’ I stuck my head in the lion’s mouth.
‘Security team didn’t find anything in his cell, or inside him.’
‘No.’
He took his eyes from the road to glance at me. ‘You don’t sound surprised.’
‘When I told him about the disciple, I knew from his body language we were right. But the minute I mentioned a mobile phone, he was relieved. He knew we were wrong about that. When he said we should search his cell, he knew we wouldn’t find anything. Like he said, not his style.’
‘So, what is his style? He has to communicate with the person on the outside somehow.’
‘Any more from the prison phone logs?’
He shook his head. ‘He makes fewer calls than just about any other prisoner in there. He doesn’t have anyone to call. Estranged from his mother. Father dead. No close friends . . .’
‘Except Gerald Carter.’
‘You still think he’s likely?’
‘Yes.’
‘Randall?’
‘If I had to choose between the two, my money would be on him. I looked at the full psyche report you sent over. He fits, in too many ways to ignore.’
I stared out of the passenger window, watching pedestrians huddled against the bitter wind and flurrying snow.
‘Tomorrow is Wednesday,’ I said, almost to myself.
‘I know.’ Callum ran a hand across his eyes. ‘Press Office is inundated with update requests. People are screaming for a more visible police presence on the streets. Trouble is, we don’t know where he’ll strike next.’
‘It’ll be in West Yorkshire,’ I said quietly, still looking out of my window.
‘Care to narrow it down for me?’
‘Probably Fordley. A woman, over fifty, who lives alone.’
I risked a glance at his profile, seeing the muscles bunch in his jaw.
‘Copycat or a disciple,’ he said tightly. ‘I don’t care about the “why” – just the “who”. We need to catch this bastard, before anyone else dies.’
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Tuesday Late Afternoon, Kingsberry Farm
When I walked into my kitchen, I was greeted by the last thing I ever expected to see.
My mother, complete with apron and wooden spoon, standing at the Aga, stirring a bubbling pan. Beside her, Eduardo Mazzarelli, helpfully chopping herbs. They both glanced up as I came in.
‘Ah, Phina,’ Mamma gushed, bustling over to give me a one-armed hug as she held the spoon in her other hand, dripping tomato sauce onto my stone floor. ‘This is Eduardo.’ She beamed at him.
‘I know who he is, Mamma. But what are you doing here?’
Visits from my mother were a rare occurrence. Especially unannounced and never without it being a family occasion.
‘Jen told me you were ill, Phina.’ Mamma was busy stirring the pan again. ‘I came making meatballs,’ she explained in her heavily Italian-accented English. ‘You don’t eat when you’re poorly. Don’t look after yourself.’
I stared at the pair of them.
‘Phina?’ Ed asked, grinning at me.
‘Short for Josephine.’ I pulled a face. ‘But if you call me it, I won’t answer.’
‘She no like it,’ Mamma huffed. ‘No like feminine name, no like feminine job . . .’
Jen walked in, with an armful of paperwork that she dumped on the kitchen table.
‘Oh, you’re back.’
I nodded towards Mamma, with a ‘is this down to you?’ look.
At least she had the decency to look sheepish. She pushed her glasses into her hair on top of her head. ‘Mamma rang, but you were out. I told her the reason she hadn’t heard from you this week was because you’d not been well . . . you know, with the throat and everything.’
