Dark Angel - a gripping serial-killer thriller with a nail-biting ending Page 7

  ‘Emphasise,’ he said, sneeringly, letting the evidence bag fall to his desk. ‘You didn’t even mention it, Jon. And who could blame you?’

  Jon kept his head bowed. This wasn’t going like he’d hoped it would.

  ‘This derelict pub, with the hole in the roof. Would you say that, maybe, it’s the sort of place that might attract pigeons?’

  Jon glanced up. There had been a couple of birds in the other bedroom. But they were a pale grey. ‘The feather’s jet black. I wouldn’t have thought—’

  ‘What, you’ve never seen a pigeon with bits of black on it? They come in all fucking colours: white, black, grey, brown, blue. Mixtures of the lot. Christ, Jon.’

  ‘The bigger picture, sir, with these other two deaths. Taken as a whole, it—’

  ‘This isn’t some kind of spike, it’s pretty much consistent with expected levels! Four in as many months.’

  ‘Five, if Wayne Newton doesn’t survive.’

  ‘I told you veterans make up the majority of deaths among the homeless.’

  ‘But all of these have died in similar circumstances. They’ve not overdosed or hanged themselves or stepped in front of a train – they’ve all fallen from a height. In secluded spots, away from potential witnesses. They’re not choosing places where anyone might see them, try to persuade them down.’

  ‘Which – if you’re after topping yourself – would make sense. Don’t you think?’

  Jon kept silent. He couldn’t argue with his senior officer’s reasoning. But the sense of something not being right persisted.

  ‘Listen,’ Weir said more softly, ‘if you reckon I wouldn’t act if I thought someone was targeting ex-soldiers when they’re at their most vulnerable, you couldn’t be more wrong. But this isn’t holding together. Not so that I’m going to allocate resources to it.’

  Jon nodded. ‘What should I do, then?’

  ‘Rejoin DC Saunders at the airport. Send Meredith back. The schedule said you’re there until five.’

  ‘And outside of the schedule, I can continue looking into these deaths?’

  DCI Weir leaned back and gave Jon a long look. ‘Are you trying to take the piss?’

  Jon spotted a tiny twinkle of something in the other man’s eye. Keep pushing, Spicer. You’re nearly there. ‘No, sir. That was the arrangement we had. Before I got over-excited.’

  ‘Over-excited.’ Weir was smiling as he flicked his hand. ‘Go on – get out of here.’

  Jon stood. ‘So that’s a yes?’

  Weir sighed. ‘Jesus! Do you ever let up? So long as it’s in your own time.’

  ‘Of course. And is it OK if I rope in Iona to help out? On the same basis.’

  Weir shook his head in exasperation. ‘Yes. If it means you bugger off and give me some peace.’

  Jon reached down and retrieved the evidence bag. ‘I’ll be taking this, then.’

  Saunders looked up as the van’s passenger door opened. ‘Fuck me, it’s the Lone Ranger. Weir tear you a new arsehole, did he?’

  ‘Had a pretty good go.’ He nodded to Meredith. ‘You can hop it. Weir wants you back at base.’

  ‘Hop it? That’s some thanks, that is, you cheeky fuck.’

  Jon grinned as he tossed him the keys to the pool car he’d come in.

  Meredith jabbed a thumb over his shoulder as he climbed out. ‘You haven’t smelled what’s coming out of his arse. The Lynex job is heaven compared to that, trust me.’

  ‘Cheers for the warning,’ Jon replied.

  ‘OK, pal.’ The other officer jangled the keys as he walked towards the nearby car.

  Jon turned to the vehicle with Kieran in and swung the passenger door back and forth a few times. ‘Let some air in first, I think.’

  Saunders was slumped behind the wheel. ‘That’s enough. It’s safe now.’

  ‘What’s the scores on the doors, then?’ Jon asked, sitting down beside him and closing the door.

  ‘They’re in that building for a bit longer. Then it’s a visit to where the extra runway is planned.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘East. Going towards Knutsford. So, what kicked off this morning that had you flying out the door?’

  Jon sighed. ‘You were in the army, right?’

  ‘First battalion, the Royal Welsh.’

  ‘Same as one of the victims. A fair bit younger than you, though. And don’t ask me which section, either.’

  Kieran rolled his eyes.

  ‘What’s your take on the amount of veterans who end up sleeping rough?’ Jon asked.

  ‘The armed forces attract its fair share of nutters, right? The army does, anyway.’ He raised his hands briefly. ‘Take me, for instance.’

  Jon smiled. The first time he’d met Kieran was in the gym at work. They’d had a little spar in the boxing ring and got on straight away.

  ‘Kids who didn’t do so well at school,’ Kieran continued. ‘Maybe were getting themselves in trouble. Army’s a great place for them. The trouble starts when they come out.’ He tapped the side of his head. ‘A lot of those boys on the street, they’re not right up here. PTSD and all that. And the mental health support is shite. But then, it is for everyone. What can you do?’

  Jon nodded. ‘I’ve been looking into something. There’s been a few suicides recently that might be iffy.’

  Kieran glanced sideways. ‘Ex-army?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Four. Could be five with the one from this morning.’

  ‘Why iffy?’

  Jon shrugged. ‘They’ve all fallen to their deaths – off buildings, mostly. I don’t know, it just doesn’t seem right. The other day, I spoke to this person who reckons someone dodgy was at the scene of one of the incidents. That person then went off the top of a fire escape.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Last night. It’s why I shot out earlier; I wanted to get to where it happened as soon as possible.’

  ‘Really? And Weir isn’t biting?’

  ‘Said I can follow things up – but only during any downtime I have.’

  ‘And the one from last night. Is he conscious? Have you spoken to him?’

  ‘I wish. He’s in intensive care. I spoke to a doctor over the phone, and she said they’re keeping him unconscious while his head injuries are sorted out.’

  Kieran’s handset beeped.

  ‘Delta Tango, we’re due to exit the building any minute. Be ready to depart.’

  ‘Roger that,’ Kieran replied, starting the engine. ‘You know what you need?’ He shot Jon a swift look. ‘Some other fuckers to die. Maybe then, they’ll take it seriously.’

  Two cars emerged from the office’s underground car park – one of the Jaguars and a white Range Rover with the airport logo on its side and a revolving roof light.

  ‘Who’s on this little tour?’ Jon asked.

  ‘Just the blonde bint and a couple of lackeys,’ Kieran replied.

  Jon shook his head.

  ‘What?’ Kieran asked.

  ‘Blonde bint.’

  ‘What is she, then?’

  ‘Earning about a thousand times more than you, I should think.’

  He pulled in behind the Jaguar. ‘Still a bint.’

  They passed through a security gate and then joined an access road. The orange light on top of the Range Rover began to flash. A plane was taxiing along on the other side of the security fence beside them. Jon took in the size of it; the wheels alone were the size of a garage. It swung sharply to the right and Jon got a momentary view of the engine beneath its wing. An elephant could have stood in the opening and still not filled it. ‘How much fuel does it take to get something like that in the air? Enough to fill a swimming pool?’

  ‘You’re asking me?’ Kieran said. ‘Fucked if I know.’

  The access road led to a double gate that was topped with barbed wire. Beyond it was only fields. The Range Rover pulled over on the verge; the Jaguar pulled up on the asphalt.

  Jon looked
around. ‘How the hell can there be any need for an armed escort out here? We’re inside the secure area of a frigging airport. Can’t believe we’ve been given this detail.’

  ‘All for show,’ Kieran stated. ‘Make the Yanks feel important.’

  Jon watched the close protection officer climb out and open the Jaguar’s rear door. She wore a lilac padded jacket tailored at the waist. Hair tied back in a ponytail, gunmetal grey trousers which were tucked into what appeared to be brown riding boots. Or really posh wellies. Jon wasn’t sure which.

  The group moved nearer to the fence and some bloke with a roll of paper began pointing stuff out. Conversation bounced back and forth for a while. Jon watched a plane making its descent. It passed them with a thunderous sound, touching down about four hundred metres away.

  ‘More chance of being killed by one of those bastards,’ Jon muttered. In the distance, he could see another plane already making its approach.

  One of the assistants tapped away at a phone, talked briefly, then handed it over to her. She moved away from the rest and spoke for about two minutes. She rejoined them. More things were discussed. The second plane passed them and Jon began to scan the sky. There was another tiny speck. ‘It’s just a procession,’ he stated. ‘All day bloody long.’

  Now the group began returning to the cars. He watched as she regarded their vehicle for a moment. Then, to his surprise, she altered course towards them. The close protection officer started to follow, but she waved him away.

  ‘What the hell is she doing?’ Kieran murmured.

  ‘Not sure,’ Jon replied.

  Soon, it was obvious she was approaching his side of the car. He started to lower the window and clear his throat. ‘Whatever you do,’ he whispered, ‘don’t call her a bint.’

  ‘Hi there!’ Her voice was clear and confident. Close up, he could see her eyes were a greyish blue. She brushed a stray strand of hair away from her lips. ‘Windy out here. So, you’re armed back up, I take it?’

  ‘That’s correct, ma’am,’ Jon replied in a formal voice. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  His answer seemed to amuse her. She leaned down for a better view into the vehicle. ‘What are you packing?’

  ‘Erm, our sidearms?’

  ‘Yeah.’ There was a playful note in her voice. ‘Us Yanks, we’re obsessed with guns. Is that a Glock?’

  ‘It is.’ He shifted slightly so she could see the weapon strapped to his thigh more clearly. ‘Fifteen rounds in the clip and another magazine in my vest.’

  ‘Nice.’ Her eyes travelled to the rear of the vehicle. ‘Weapons box, too?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘What do you carry in there?’

  ‘Lots of goodies.’

  ‘I bet,’ she narrowed her eyes. ‘Carbines?’

  ‘A Sig Sauer MCX.’

  ‘Nice!’

  ‘But don’t ask to look, because it’s not allowed.’

  She pushed her bottom lip out. ‘Not just a little peek?’

  He smiled. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Too bad. Well, it was nice meeting you.’ She looked past Jon to Kieran. ‘I’m Alicia, by the way.’

  ‘DC Kieran Saunders. And cheers for sending those sarnies out the other night.’

  ‘Sarnies?’

  ‘Sandwiches.’

  ‘Ah, yes. I hope you enjoyed them.’ Her eyes turned to Jon. ‘And you are?’

  ‘DC Jon Spicer.’

  ‘Jon.’ She seemed to be tasting the word in her mouth. ‘Nice to meet you, Jon.’ Then she straightened up and sauntered away.

  Jon was still staring at her back when he heard Kieran’s whisper in his ear. ‘Mate? I think you might be in there.’

  Chapter 14

  Gavin trotted down the stone stairs to the landing below, where he paused to listen outside Miriam’s door. The faint sound of music was coming from inside. The tune was familiar. A song from a musical. Was it Annie? His wife and daughter used to enjoy watching the film version. He continued down the stairs, anxious to leave those thoughts behind.

  Once on the main street, spots of rain were starting to come down. He turned right towards the bus stop. Before he reached it, he had to pass a cashpoint. Sitting on the pavement beside it was a homeless person. They were definitely spreading out further from the city centre, where competition for the best spots was fierce. That’s what one had told recently told him during a phone call. The bloke had been going on about the steadily increasing numbers, and how many of the newcomers were youngsters. Lads in their late teens or early twenties who didn’t care about the informal systems already in place. The sense of community among them was being eroded. And it was a hostile enough environment without your fellow rough sleepers being aggressive.

  ‘Got any spare change?’

  He ignored the request and took his place beneath the Perspex shelter, beside a back-lit poster that advertised £29 flights to Turkey. Another airline battling to entice passengers back. The sky was turquoise, the sea awash with sparkles. But this close, he could make out the clusters of white dots that made up each pinpoint of light. It was all an illusion. The promise of happiness, of escape.

  A half-empty bus arrived. He put his mask on and made his way towards the back where some free window seats were available. He gazed out at the dreary street passing by. Boarded-up shops. Charity shops. Second-hand furniture shops. A closed-down garage with a fenced-off forecourt. On the ground beneath the overhanging roof he could see items strewn about. Clothing. Flattened out cardboard. A foil blanket. Even a pillow. The homeless: there was evidence of them everywhere, if you knew where to look.

  Up ahead, tips of cranes were trying to puncture the grey and bulbous sky. As if they wanted the city to be drenched in rain. He counted seventeen. Six within touching distance of each other. There was something peaceful about the way they slowly rotated, silently going about their business.

  He passed a massive poster advertising a TV show that appeared to be set on an island. Handsome men and glamorous women in beachwear, lounging beside a pool. They were clutching drinks and grinning at the camera with rows of white teeth exposed.

  He jumped off just before the Shudehill Interchange and made his way to the narrow side street where the office for the Manchester Veterans’ Helpline was located. It was in a building that was owned by the Co-operative Bank. Now the company leased cheap space to any business that could show it had ethical considerations at its heart.

  Gavin said hello to Ann, the receptionist, before signing in and then climbing the wide stairs to the first floor. He wasn’t sure why James had asked to see him. The man in charge of the outfit was the type who, if at all possible, preferred face-to-face conversations. Which was odd, Gavin thought, for someone who ran a telephone helpline service. It hadn’t been a problem to call in; from here, it wouldn’t take him long to get into work. Not if he walked quickly.

  The office consisted of a single room with three tables. James Pearson’s at the top, then two others for those volunteers who liked working alongside other people. Gavin didn’t. He kept the phone the charity had provided on him at all times. He was happy to take calls day or night. His answerphone message said that, if they left a number, he promised to ring back the moment he could. No call ever went unanswered, that was his solemn promise.

  Three people were in, all of them male. He recognised the nearest one. Fergie McLagan – had been a paratrooper who lost his left leg to an IED out in Afghanistan, the other to sepsis from a dirty syringe. He was now drug-free and, just four months ago, had rowed the length of Loch Ness to raise money for the charity.

  ‘Ah, Gavin – good to see you!’

  It was James, calling from his desk. Gavin nodded hello to the others, then approached the man in charge. ‘Hello, James. You’re looking well.’

  ‘Really?’ He smoothed a hand over his side parting. Oxford shirt and chinos. Gavin knew he’d be wearing battered brogues, too. A Barbour jacket hanging in the corner. The man meant well, but Gavin could
n’t quite work out why he’d chosen this type of job. The wage couldn’t be much.

  ‘It’s been a bit frantic recently. We missed another. Did you hear?’

  Gavin wasn’t sure which person James was talking about. Had word already got to him about the one from the fire escape, the night before? He gave a little shake of his head.

  ‘Ah, sadly a man called Ryan Gardner. Seems he fell down the central stairway in an empty building near Piccadilly Station. Sometimes, you feel you’re making a difference, and then something like that happens.’

  ‘That’s ... no, I hadn’t heard. I tend not to follow much news.’

  ‘I understand.’ He gestured. ‘Sit down, please. It’s good to see you, Gavin. You’re looking well. How’s the world of night-watching?’

  ‘Fine. It’s fine. The building work seems to be coming along – though they’ve still got masses to do.’

  James nodded. ‘And you’re OK? Working nights isn’t for everyone.’

  He’d lowered his voice and Gavin sensed he was building towards something. ‘It’s no problem. I sleep just as well during the day.’

  ‘Evidently.’ He smiled briefly then licked his lips. A tiny indication of nerves. ‘I was checking the calendar the other day, actually.’ James gestured to the wall chart behind him. Coloured bars denoted who was available to take calls on which day. ‘You’ve been with us over ten months, and you haven’t had a single week when you’ve not been on call.’

  Gavin shrugged. ‘No need. I enjoy it.’

  ‘Right. That’s good. But I think, maybe, you’re due a break. Don’t you?’

  He closed his eyes for a moment, as if conducting a swift internal assessment of his tiredness levels. ‘No, not really. I’ll let you know when I do want one.’

  James let out a forced laugh. ‘We actually have two people who’ve recently volunteered. I was going through the process of providing them with a temporary phone for their probationary period, when it occurred to me that one of them could have yours. If you were to take a little downtime.’

  This was disastrous. He couldn’t have anyone else using his phone. He needed to be available to answer anyone who called it. How else would he find the ones who needed help in leaving this world? ‘I don’t want to take a little downtime.’ He realised he’d sounded abrupt, and attempted a smile. ‘Honestly, I’d ask if I felt that was the case.’