Killing Time, page 28
Jen got Jack’s voicemail a couple of times. She didn’t leave a message due to the sensitivity, cutting the call before the beep.
Nicky got through to Rob and started the conversation, the explanation of how one of their own was responsible for the murders, of how the killer of four men had sat in briefings just yards from Nicky, listening to the details of the murders she had carried out the evening before. How she’d carried out a murder in Liverpool under the guise of taking some time off. Traumatised and exhausted by the experience and granted annual leave, and taking advantage of a focus that had fallen on Bernie Copp, allowing her to access and murder Daniel Mortimer while the team sat outside.
She knew who was where, and when. She knew the direction of the investigation and had access to every file, every document. She’d carried a load of them in with Jack, had uploaded some key documents into the central file for the investigation, allowing her to filter and remove documents that could have identified the third robbery, Terry Morley and ultimately her, at an earlier point.
The conversation continued with a number of points being raised by both Nicky and Rob, as the realisation of the stone-cold facts continued to land.
Rob hadn’t recruited Emma Sharpe and didn’t know who had. He didn’t know which police protocol she’d been through upon her successful application, and crucially didn’t know at which point she’d concocted a plan to murder the men responsible for her father’s death. In her eyes, at least.
When did she go rogue, and when did she change her name? Who carried out her mandatory employment checks, under which version of it, and when? Questions that would all come under significant scrutiny, both internally and externally over the coming days and weeks, as the policing and political fallout would unfold.
Jen had got through to the station and had reached one of the team who had supported the investigation. She hadn’t wanted to raise the alarm until an arrest could be made, and had stayed perfectly calm when she was told that Jack had headed to Elizabeth Warren’s house with Emma Sharpe to question her.
Jen started to wave a hand frantically at Nicky, who moved her own mobile away from her face to listen, as Jen told her of the whereabouts of their killer and their colleague.
“Rob, I need to go. Jack’s in trouble. He’s in Enderby with Emma Sharpe.”
The two rushed to Jen’s car with Nicky still trying to contact Jack, still to no avail. With Jen driving, Nicky arranged for uniform to dispatch a number of vehicles and officers, who would meet them in Alexander Avenue, a normal residential street in Enderby where Jack had unwittingly travelled to with a murderer.
The journey was short, and the two left the car in the middle of the street with doors open and the blue lights on their unmarked vehicle flashing.
Running to the house both had been to before, they could see the front door ajar. Jen shouted Jack’s name as she barged through an open front door, in the style she had wanted to adopt at Charlie Worth’s house. Reckless for her own safety and unaware of the inhabitants of the house, she smashed through an internal door into an empty dining room.
Nicky followed her, radio to hand and more cautious of the potential for danger. She continued to report into her radio, now able to hear the sirens of the patrol cars that were less than a mile behind her. Those officers knew the house had been disturbed. They knew Nicky and Jen were inside. She’d requested an ambulance already too, nervous of what lay within the walls of the property.
Jen hammered into another room, and shouted “JACK!” Nicky glanced upstairs then headed after Jen, through another door and into the kitchen. They found Jack, unconscious and on the floor, lying on his side in a foetal position, but alive. Jen put her hands on his shoulders as he slurred a noise without moving his closed eyes.
“There’s an ambulance on the way, Jack.”
Jen looked for injuries, unable to see any blood or marks on his shirt, skin or head that would indicate a blow or a stabbing.
“I think he’s been drugged, Nicky.”
“Stay with him. They’re close.”
Jen took off her jacket, laid Jack’s head on it and continued to talk to him as the sirens pulled into the street. He continued to slur back.
Nicky calmly talked into her radio. She was conscious that Emma Sharpe could well be listening, but she gave the clear instruction that she was now wanted for the murders of William Reynolds, Joe Davies, Charlie Worth and Daniel Mortimer, and for the assault of DC Jack Bowery.
She held her radio firmly, and moved her attention to the resident of the house. Whether she was still here was still to be confirmed, but Jack was nothing but collateral. Emma Sharpe was here for the woman who had given an alibi to Daniel Mortimer, which had become an alibi for all of them. A free pass.
Nicky climbed the stairs slowly as uniformed officers and a paramedic entered the front door. She pointed to the lounge door without looking at them, and shouted to Jen to alert her of their presence.
The landing was silent. Four doors were closed. Nicky sensed that Emma Sharpe wasn’t there but trod cautiously as she pushed a door open.Nothing.
She pushed a second door. She could sense it immediately. The smell hadn’t become offensive yet. Too fresh for that.
Nicky walked slowly into a bedroom. A characterless and pale bedroom. A chair had been pulled into a space, and Nicky could see the side-on profile of Elizabeth Harris’s body. A crude injury to her head, and gaffer tape on her wrists.
She felt for a pulse. Nothing.
The body had been beaten. There was blood thick in her hair, glistening in the daylight coming in through a bay window.
There’d been a crude attempt on her fingers and ear, with both still attached but deep cut marks and blood indicating that Emma Sharpe had tried to replicate the other murders, or at least inflict the same levels of violent retribution.
Elizabeth Harris hadn’t been in Terry Morley’s jewellers that day, but she’d been made to pay the price for her love and loyalty to Daniel Mortimer.
Nicky called Becky, gave her the address and told her she’d be waiting. The cause of Elizabeth Harris’ death was almost certainly due to the injuries to her head. She had been battered violently, as had the four men. This one appeared equally as angry. Savage. More so.
PC Emma Sharpe had now murdered five people and Jack was on his way to the LRI.
Nicky walked down the stairs and gave Jen a knowing look in the hall.
“Second door on the left.”
Chapter 59
Jack was recovering well, having spent a night in the Leicester Royal Infirmary, allowing the drugs to flush through his system, and for any side effects to show themselves.
The staff had insisted. So had Rob.
His pride was also on the mend. The piss-taking would come in due course, but that wasn’t for now. The mood in camp was low and would stay that way for a while. Jen would need to come to terms with it. Her friend. Somebody she thought she knew.Five murders and a colleague responsible for it was a loss in anybody’s book.
Jack was in good spirits, but hadn’t yet had a visitor other than his parents. Rob, Nicky and Jen were desperately trying to trace and apprehend Emma Sharpe. The straightforward arrest hadn’t materialised. She’d vanished after leaving the scene in Enderby and was still in the wind.
Her flat had already been raided, and the team were trying to locate and arrest her, with little initial evidence as to her whereabouts, her plan or her escape route, if indeed there is one.
She’d reduced her living footprint to a minimal level, with little excess and scarce possessions in her flat. The kitchen was bare except for a kettle, a smoothie blender, a box of Weetabix and a fruit bowl on a table. She’d been living very cleanly, and was clearly well organised and highly disciplined. A dirty pair of running trainers lying by the front door the only items looking out of place.
There was some physical evidence to hand. A map on the wall identifying who was where, surrounded by countless pictures of the victims in various places, and at various times, all centred around a picture of her dad, her mum and a page with “do it for them” written on it.
The planning had been extensive. Obsessive. Most of the imagery was on the wall around her bed. It would have been the last thing she saw at night and the first thing she saw each morning.
This hadn’t been dreamt up overnight. This was years in the making, with the odd piece of flair thrown in, such as the stunt she’d pulled that had brought down Daniel Mortimer.
Outside of the search, the political games were well underway. Rob had spent the morning on the phone, with the hierarchy now more concerned with their own careers than apprehending a police officer who had murdered five people. Perverse priorities.
Rob was aligning himself with Laura Mathers. Primarily because he felt it was the right thing to do, but also because he’d toed her line and felt confident that she’d defend the hill better than David Parker would.
Somebody would pay the price. The smart money was already on him.
Chapter 60
It’s an odd feeling. I’m not sure I ever expected to get this far. All four of them, plus her for good measure. And I’m still a free woman. For now, anyway.
I’ve achieved what I set out to achieve, so there’s a tinge of satisfaction, but I also feel a little empty. Almost like I wish there was another couple of them. I’ve become more accomplished at this than I expected.
I’ve managed to exact revenge on my terms. The justice system of the day failed my dad. It failed my mum. It failed me. The trial didn’t even acknowledge him, and those men were never held accountable for what they did to my dad and my family. To his business, which he worked so hard to build. His passion and his love of watches. His love of engineering. His love of time.
I had no choice.
I’m not sure dad would be pleased, let alone proud. Mum neither. They were placid people. Good people. Which is why I needed to avenge their deaths.
Life’s monotonous. Boring. I’m happier now having done what I’ve done than I would be if I’d spent the next thirty years arresting car thieves. Seeing them locked up, then released to do it again. The cyclical nature of life.
I’m content. I did what I needed to do. Wanted to do. It’s odd how life can inspire and motivate you in certain directions. I have a picture of my passing out parade for the force in my purse. A young twenty something with the world at her feet. She wasn’t a killer. Not yet.
Yet nearly a decade later I’m no longer a police officer and my name will go down in history for what I’ve done. I can live with that.
My disguise should hold up. I’m confident. The police know one of my aliases but my passport options aren’t restricted to Morley and Sharpe. I’m better than that. I have four flights booked in four different names from four different airports. My passports are quality, all genuine. They took a while to obtain but they’ll get me through as long as the facial recognition doesn’t click. Or some eagle-eyed police officer. Or some passenger who might see me on Facebook in the next couple of hours.
That’s all the time I need. Then I’m off to catch a tan in Rio. It was good enough for Ronnie Biggs.
I’ll start afresh. I have cash and I have a strong desire to be free.
I’ll sleep with one eye open if I have to.
Richard Holland, Killing Time
