The Trophy Taker Page 20

  *

  Emma Barton answered the phone after its first ring.

  ‘Have you got Mum’s killer yet?’

  The question caught Charlie by surprise and she regretted her response as soon as it left her mouth. ‘We’re trying to track down your dad actually. Do you know where he is?’

  ‘You think it’s him, don’t you?’ Her voice had a hard quality about it; as if she’d been through every emotion and this was the only one left that she could muster. ‘Husbands often murder their wives when they leave them. I’ve been researching it. If they can’t have them, they don’t want anyone else to. Sometimes they even kill their children.’

  ‘Emma, I think you’re jumping to all sorts of conclusions here.’

  ‘Why do you want to speak to him again then?’

  ‘Because there’s another very similar case just come in and we think your dad knew that victim too. We just need to ask him a few questions to see if he can help.’

  There was a long pause before she answered. ‘So he’s killed two people now?’

  ‘I’m not saying that at all. He may be a very important witness who can shed some light on both cases, but he’s gone away and hasn’t left a forwarding address or number. We were wondering whether you might be able to help us with where he is or have an up-to-date phone number for him.’

  There was another long pause before she spoke again. ‘I accused him of killing Mum the other day. Since then he hasn’t answered his phone to me and now it’s switched off. I think he might have a new number. You can have his old one though.’

  She rattled off a number which Charlie wrote down. It was the same as the one they’d previously had, which was now coming up as unobtainable.

  ‘I promise you though, if he does contact me, you’ll be the first to know. I want him put in prison for what he’s done to Mum.’

  *

  Moses Sinkler took a while longer to answer his phone when Charlie rang. When he did, he sounded defeated. His voice still had the same gravelly tone to it but now he spoke more slowly and deliberately.

  ‘Hello, Charlie. Thanks for calling. Any news?’

  For a few moments he almost sounded as if he was holding his breath.

  ‘No, nothing yet Moses, but we’re doing everything we can,’ she lied. She heard his breath release in a long sigh. What was she saying? His case was second best. Priorities dictated that they go all out to catch the serial killer and while Naz and Sabira had made inroads into Miller’s case, Charlie had not done the best she could. She should be doing more to help him, like she’d promised.

  ‘It’s OK Charlie. I know you’re doing what you can and I’ve seen the news. I know you’re busy.’ He was so gracious. ‘We’ve moved out to another address. I couldn’t risk putting Claudette in any more danger. She’s lost though. Keeps walking round and round in tears, saying she just wants to go home.’

  ‘Moses, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. You came when I called. That’s all I can ask. I just want my life back. We’ve lived in that house all our lives. We brought up our children there and apart from the odd holiday we’ve never stayed anywhere else. It’s where we always felt safe…’ She heard his voice falter and waited while he composed himself, struggling to control her own emotions. ‘Until now. We just need him caught.’

  She spoke words of consolation to Moses, knowing that they weren’t enough to console him. At the end of the conversation he thanked her for her troubles again. She put the phone down and felt only anger at her inability to help. Whatever happened, tonight she would go out looking for Miller and even if she didn’t find him, at least she could say, without lying, that she’d done all she could to help Moses and his wife.

  *

  Ben was waiting when Charlie arrived at his place. His arm and hands were still in bandages but he was keen to keep up the training regime. Normality was restored.

  ‘You got Miller yet?’

  ‘Give it a rest Ben, you know I’m trying.’

  She couldn’t stop herself snapping at him; maybe she too was suffering from a dose of F.M.C. and needed someone to vent at. They ran in silence, longer and faster than they had run before, her body getting a sense of release as she sprinted the last section, back towards his flat. At the gates she sunk down on to the pavement, her breath coming fast and hard; the sweat running from her temples, down her cheeks and neck.

  Ben stood leaning on the gatepost, his breath expelled into the air in clouds of condensation. She waited for the adrenalin to settle and the mild euphoria at the conclusion of a good workout to start to take effect. Ben waited with her too, by her side, the trusty protector, with her through rough or smooth.

  When she finally felt her pulse rate returning to normal, she got up and leant towards him.

  ‘Thanks Ben,’ she said simply, giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek. ‘You’ve cheered me up again. Are you up for another try at getting Miller?’

  *

  Ben sat in the passenger seat watching Charlie as she drove around the streets of Lambeth, her face alight with determination. He knew she wouldn’t rest until she got Miller. She’d made a promise to an old man and his wife that she needed to keep, and he was determined to help.

  He stared out of the window, his eyes focussing on the dark shadows for any sign of movement. He gazed into the walkways and alleys in the depths of the sink estates. He watched for the subtle movement of a wanted man; for that moment of recognition that might indicate that Miller was out and had seen them too.

  He tried to look through the crowds in Brixton and Vauxhall and along the South Bank; he tried to concentrate on the manhunt, but all he really wanted to do was take Charlie in his arms.

  He could still feel the touch of her lips on his cheek, the murmur of her voice in his ear and he knew he was getting closer; but as near as he was to having what his body had desired for so long, the more his head was beginning to panic.

  Chapter 28

  Brixton Town Centre had retreated under a thin curtain of rain. It wasn’t lashing down, but a constant drizzle fell, which penetrated clothing and left any pedestrian without an umbrella cold and sodden. Autumn was living up to its reputation.

  Despite this, the dealers were still dealing and the users were still using. Nothing changed. The addicts had to feed their habit whatever the weather and so the business of supply and demand went on, whether in the rain, snow, wind or bright sunshine. He drove slowly, watching as brief liaisons occurred within the shelter of shop doorways. He despised the addicts for their weakness even though he was now one of them; not a user of drugs but a user of the addicts themselves; and the younger and more vulnerable the better. The only difference was he could control his urges; he could plan, develop and execute.

  He smiled at the analogy; very soon he would be carrying out his next execution; Tanisha, the young girl he had taken under his wing after JJ had vanished, who he had loved and cherished in his own way, would be dead. Tanisha, who took everything he could offer and then threw it back in his face, giving her body, not only to him, but to every man or woman who was willing to pay. Tanisha, who had turned from his loving arms and rejected him in favour of a violent pimp.

  He pulled off the main road and made his way up the hill, through noiseless backstreets, whose inhabitants lived unobtrusive lives, at work during the day and closeted behind the shutters and curtains of their fortress homes at night, away from the evils of the streets. Up, up the hill, avoiding the council’s cameras, keeping clear of the areas that the police patrolled; areas where the addicts would queue while awaiting the arrival of their dealer.

  He knew the exact spot from where she worked. Hadn’t he picked her up from there on countless occasions when his desire for her body had proved almost uncontrollable; rescuing her from the kerb crawlers who would pay for the pleasure, saving her from herself. Yet she had repaid his troubles by causing him more, by opening her mouth and making dirty insinuations, by ruining his life. She deserved
everything that was coming to her.

  He parked his car up and sat for a few minutes watching vehicles stream past down the main road in front of him. There were cameras in Brixton Hill, so he’d avoid driving on to it, for the time being. He didn’t want to make their job too easy.

  The clock on the dashboard changed to midnight; the witching hour. It had always been a significant time for him and tonight was no exception. Climbing out of his seat, he hauled his jacket on, drawing his hood high up around his face against the rain. He’d changed his appearance since she’d last seen him, but it wouldn’t do to be recognised… yet. The anticipation was better than any drug.

  He saw her immediately, standing by the bus stop in her usual spot. It gave her cover if the cops came round; and it gave her shelter from whatever the sky threw at her. Her attire was all that was needed to make her occupation obvious; that and the way she shimmied out across the pavement if any driver showed her the slightest attention. Most of her regulars recognised her anyway but she was always on the lookout for others.

  She’d aged in the last few years, the lifestyle and addiction taking its toll. He still remembered her as a young, slightly chubby, mixed race girl with a broad smile and a larger-than-life personality. He’d been quite shocked when he’d tracked her down, hypnotised by her skeletal body, watching as she worked on several nights to ensure she still maintained the same habits.

  Tonight she wore her usual short skirt, T-shirt and ankle-length high-heeled boots but a turquoise leather jacket was pulled across her shoulders. She sat on a seat in the bus stop, her head turned in the direction of the approaching traffic.

  He walked through a grassy area adjacent to the road and called her name. She turned immediately and started to approach, her walk stilted and slightly wild. Her legs were bare and red raw from the cold but glistened with moisture. She hugged her arms to her chest, pulling the collar of her jacket further up around her neck. Her long, plaited hair hung lank and wet, with strands that had escaped from the braids plastered across her face and shoulders.

  ‘You call me, love?’

  He nodded.

  ‘What d’ya want? Twenty quid for a blow job; twenty five for full sex; thirty quid if you want it without a rubber. But ya don’t get nuffin’ ‘til ya flash the cash.’

  He pulled thirty pounds out of his wallet and handed it to her. She stuffed it into the side of her boot and looked towards him, her eyes blank.

  ‘Don’t get no ideas. You’re my first punter tonight. There ain’t no more down there, where I put that.’ She looked in the direction of some bushes and a wooden bench. ‘You want it here, now?’

  He shook his head. ‘Come with me. We’ll go somewhere a little more private.’ He turned and started to walk, hearing the click of her heels next to him as they returned across the pavement. She stumbled as she walked, so he took hold of her arm, guiding her back towards his car.

  He pulled a bottle from his pocket and opened the lid. ‘Vodka and Red Bull?’ He held it out to her and she took it, gulping the contents down greedily. He opened the passenger door and she almost fell into the seat, laughing as she spread her legs to give him a flash of her crotch, naked and enticing. He was tempted to take her then, but as she hadn’t recognised him it was clear that it was an invitation that she gave to every man. He felt his anger stirring. If only she’d kept herself for him and her mouth shut, this would not be happening.

  He started to drive towards the cemetery he’d chosen, navigating the quiet backstreets again as much as possible.

  She was giggling now; the spiked drink taking effect.

  ‘Where you taking me?’ her voice was high and excitable. ‘It’ll cost ya. You’d better bring me back to where ya found me or my pimp’ll have somefin’ to say.’ She threw her head back and started to laugh again.

  He stopped the car, his rage rising further at the mention of her pimp. Roughly he pulled her arms together, binding her wrists with a leather strap. It didn’t seem to worry her.

  ‘Ooh, you like it kinky do ya?’ she snorted with laughter. ‘That’ll cost ya more too.’

  He’d had enough. The whore needed to be silenced. How he had once loved her was a mystery. She was disgusting now. He pulled a syringe from the side pocket of his door; it was primed ready to go. Forcing her head back against the headrest, he pushed the plunger, shooting the concentrated liquid down her throat. She gagged instantly, choking on the burning fluid and started to struggle. He pulled out a scarf and tied it tightly around her mouth and threw his body weight on top of her, pinning her to the seat. It wasn’t long before her eyes turned glassy, her body shuddering and convulsing as she started to lapse into a coma.

  He started to drive again, watching her closely as he did so. He was nearly there and he wanted to kill her before she became fully unconscious but he had to admit he was good; he had learnt by now how long it took.

  The gates were in view and the street was deserted. Slowly he did one last circuit of the block, checking that the padlock he’d exchanged earlier was still in place. It had been easier to snip the old one off while there was still the noise of evening traffic. He had to be quiet now; this site was situated in residential streets and it wouldn’t do to alert a light sleeper with the clunk of metal against metal.

  He parked up and stared at Tanisha. She was barely conscious but her eyes were still following his movements. He leant over and checked the tightness of the scarf around her mouth; one scream could be the difference between her living or dying; and he wanted her dead.

  Hoisting his bag up on to his shoulder, he half lifted her out of the car, feeling her legs buckle underneath her. Time was of the essence now. He jammed an umbrella between their shoulders, pulling it down over their heads to provide cover in the darkness and slung his arm around her waist. He started to walk, slowly, slowly at first and then with growing purpose. She moved her legs in time with his but it was his strength that carried her along.

  Multicoloured ribbons, notes and floral tributes adorned the gates of the cemetery. In the rain and cold they hung wet and silent, scarcely moving with the lack of breeze. He saw the plaque describing the site as a graveyard for prostitutes, and felt a frisson of excitement throughout his body. He would pin a new message to its gates later, but in the meantime he had a mission to fulfil.

  Cross Bones Graveyard was soon to have another victim to add to its number.

  Chapter 29

  ‘There’s been another one. Keeping your fingers crossed obviously wasn’t enough.’

  Charlie closed her eyes, feeling the blood drain from her face. ‘When?’

  ‘Last night. A prostitute this time. She was spotted around half eleven by an officer from the vice squad who saw her at her normal spot, at the bus stop in Brixton Hill. He knows her well but he was dealing with something else at the time. He was going to nick her later but she was gone by the time he went back around 1 a.m. I bet he wishes he had now. Anyway, get your stuff. We’re required at the crime scene asap.’

  Hunter was waiting with his jacket buttoned and tweed cap pulled firmly down on to his head, drumming his foot in time with the vein throbbing on his forehead.

  ‘Just coming.’

  She grabbed her usual kit and ran her fingers through her hair. After a late night out fruitlessly searching for Miller she was knackered, but there was no time to even try to find a brush, never mind smarten herself up. Today even Hunter was too preoccupied to care. The shit was going to hit the fan. One body was unexpected; two were unfortunate; three were a bloody disaster; and Hunter was the one that would be taking the flak.

  It appeared to be weighing heavily on his mind as they shot through the rush hour traffic. He was offering nothing and she dared not ask. The crime scene was a cemetery in Borough, a short distance from the busy transport hub of London Bridge and within a short walk of Shakespeare’s Globe theatre and Southwark Cathedral. They were nearly at the scene when Hunter finally spoke.

  ‘Have you heard abo
ut Cross Bones Graveyard, Charlie?’ He didn’t wait for her to answer. ‘I used to patrol that area. I saw the ribbons and tributes on the gates once and looked it up afterwards. It was always known as the outcasts’ graveyard. Borough and the surrounding area was one of the poorest and most violent areas of London in the middle ages and for centuries all the paupers and children were buried here. They say sixty per cent of the bodies are children under five.’

  He paused, as if allowing her to digest this fact.

  ‘It was also the burial ground for the medieval sex workers who worked in the brothels; they were called the Winchester Geese. Their bodies were buried here until the middle of the nineteenth century. In the end there were believed to be 15,000 bodies buried in the small plot of land and there was no room for any more.’

  She didn’t know quite what she was supposed to say, so she kept quiet.

  ‘But thanks to our incompetence, there’s one more now.’

  Redcross Way, SE1, in which the graveyard was situated, was cordoned off completely when they arrived. She parked at the end of the street, switched off the blue lights and waited for Hunter to move. He didn’t.

  ‘The latest victim is Tanisha Fleming, a twenty-seven-year-old, mixed race prostitute. She is quite distinctive-looking due to her long plaits and numerous tattoos and piercings. She was found early this morning when a local resident noticed that the padlock was missing and the gates were unlocked. The site is well tended these days and is usually kept secure. The vice squad officer who last saw her was just about to book off when he heard the description on the radio and he has provided a provisional identification.’

  He sighed heavily. ‘I’ve dealt with her on a few occasions myself, when she’d been on the receiving end of domestic assaults. I remember thinking she was a bit of a sad case when I got to hear more of her history. Moved around different care homes and went on the game when she was targeted by the dealers and paedos that prey on vulnerable children, like that bastard, Oscar Abrahams. Last I heard she was shacked up with a violent pimp who also controlled a few other girls. Another one who didn’t stand a chance. Let down by her parents and society and now let down by us.’