6

 

A funereal atmosphere lingered in the meeting room. In a silent procession, Adele, Jane, Miriam, Stern, and Bennet had followed Eric in and had taken a seat, each one in their own way.

Miriam, who’d been entering it for the first time, had immediately made herself at ease. Since she hadn’t found a table next to the wall by the screen, like the one on which she used to sit in the old headquarters in Broadway, she’d dragged one from the far end of the room and put it against a window, then she’d got on it. Now she was dangling her legs a few metres away from Eric, just like as a child when she used to go to his flat and climb on a desk or on the kitchen counter. Once she’d told him the chairs forced her to bend over, slowing down her movement when she decided to stand up. They made her feel trapped, so they stopped her from thinking.

Across the room, near the door, Bennet stood leaning a shoulder against the wall. He seemed even more eager to take action than his colleague, or perhaps he felt excluded by the general bad mood and hadn’t dared go beyond the threshold.

The other three instead had taken their place in as many chairs in the first row, all close, with Jane in the middle. But none of them was already addressing their gaze at Eric. They patiently waited for him to take the floor.

A noisy sigh escaped from his mouth as he pushed himself away from the large table located in front of the screen. ‘Stern.’

He didn’t have to say more, because the young forensic investigator started using the computer on the writing table of his chair right away.

A faint glow reached Eric from behind, flooding the room. Until a moment ago, it’d been lit by what remained of the daylight, seeping through the windowpanes and the damp blanket descending on the city, as if even London had been contaminated with the climate of unease emanating from the people in the room.

Disappointment was the most suitable word to describe what Eric felt. That was what the anger overwhelming him as he’d attended Tammy Ellis’s death, helpless, had turned into. He continuously came across death in his job, but only when it’d already taken possession of its new host. Attending to the last breath of an innocent person, knowing that less than a second would’ve been enough to save her, had emptied him of any form or reasoning for some minutes. He wished he had the killer in his hands and could make them suffer the same fate as that poor girl. Or maybe worse.

His fury then dissipated, leaving room for reason again.

He took over the scene, calling Jane and Adele so that they could carry out the necessary forensics, and stayed there until Richard arrived and the body was loaded onto his van. Then he returned to the Yard and, after removing the victim’s blood from his hands, he called that meeting. But as soon as he’d found himself in that room together with the others, his dejection had got the better of him.

But now he had to react. The team needed his guidance to complete the investigation and make it a success. He wouldn’t be able to accept a different epilogue.

‘The murders aren’t over.’ His statement was sufficient to draw all eyes on him and stop Miriam’s legs’ movement.

‘There’s no pattern to them anymore,’ Adele said, pointing at the screen.

Eric turned to it. He already knew what she meant. ‘No, there isn’t.’ He breathed in deeply as he reviewed the images of the victims. ‘I don’t think there’s any doubt left that we are dealing with two different killers.’ Those from 2014 were at the top, and those from the last three days took the lower half. They’d been shot at the scene of their discovery, except that of Nora Sharp, which portrayed her in a hospital bed, on life support. ‘The first one had a precise, repetitive pattern. Three victims, students from the same university, with a similar build and appearance, who underwent some plastic surgeries, even invasive ones, to reach a specific aesthetic ideal.’ He gestured to the second set of photographs. ‘Instead, what I see here is chaos. The killer wants to put on a show and loves to risk doing it. Each one of these women might’ve been saved … and perhaps one will be.’ He stopped. He didn’t really think Sharp might recover, but he felt the need to hold on to that little hope.

‘They tried to copycat the old murders with Emma Taylor,’ Miriam suggested, bringing her arms to her chest. ‘She’d been carefully chosen. She looks pretty much like Steele.’

Eric nodded. ‘And she underwent almost all the surgeries as the first victims, although Richard reckons they made minimal changes to her appearance.’ He resumed looking at the screen. ‘But with the second one they just dyed her hair and cut her face. There aren’t any scars on her abdomen. And they changed everything with Tammy: they stopped playing the surgeon and using morphine.’

‘They’re evolving.’ Adele’s calm voice resounded in the room, shutting him up. ‘And while doing it, they’re losing control. Yes, there’s chaos in their actions.’

Eric whirled around to look at her. Her focused expression was the usual one she showed when they all met to take stock of a case. Adele would cut herself off for a while, as if she wasn’t listening to what was said, until she decided to speak. And almost always, she did so to state her opinion on the motives of the culprit.

She’d done so even that day from three years ago, when they all had found themselves in a similar room at the old headquarters to discuss the murders that she herself had committed. That time, she’d had fun building plausible theories, among which she offered one about her. And Eric wasn’t aware of that, but just a few days later when the doubt wormed its way into his mind he refused to listen to it and to find the answer in Adele’s words, only because he didn’t want to acknowledge it. He chose to look elsewhere, let himself be led by her scheming. Unknowingly, he’d indulged her, hoping he would never clash with reality.

All this seemed so distant and insignificant now, as if another man had lived that conflict. Everything was clear, simple, inescapable now.

‘The person we’re looking for was there during the first murders, but was forced to order by Graham, who, while being prone to violence, manages to control himself through discipline.’ Adele stood up and took a few steps towards the table. ‘Without him, this discipline fails. Our killer tried to give themselves some of it, by repeating the pattern of their old accomplice, but every time they strayed from it, because they didn’t feel it theirs.’ She placed her fingers on the tabletop and started moving them in circles, causing a rhythmic noise with her nails. ‘The kidnapping of the first two occurred in a non-violent way. They even make it so that the victims kill themselves. This person wants to kill, but lacks the courage to do it with their own hands.’ She clenched her left hand in a fist and knocked on the piece of furniture.

Was the contempt he saw in Adele addressed to the killer’s actions or their cowardice?

‘They copycat the fact that the victims had disappeared for months. They tried to copycat the surgeries,’ Jane chipped in, breaking the temporary silence that had fallen in the room. ‘Perhaps at the beginning, they really wanted to help Graham get out of prison, but after Emma Taylor they got bored. They started to get their own way.’

‘And now they’re losing control,’ Adele concluded in a louder voice. She moved her left forefinger towards the screen. ‘A victim is missing here.’ And she turned to Bennet.

Eric reflexively did the same. He’d been adsorbing his colleagues’ statements and embedding them in his structure of thought. He sensed he was close to catching the truth in its entirety, but there were still too many dark details to which he couldn’t give a proper place.

‘I went there. There was no sign of braking.’ Bennet pushed himself away from the wall and straightened. ‘Phillips was hit, and then the vehicle was driven over him. There are traces of silver paint on the side of his car.’

‘He’d found out about something at the nursing home.’ Miriam’s legs resumed dangling as she spoke.

‘I’ve checked the reports,’ the other detective from the murder investigation teams said, interrupting her. ‘There have been thefts in the Golden Days House’s pharmacy.’

‘Morphine?’

Bennet nodded. ‘It’s used for pain management. There are quite a few terminally ill people in that place.’

‘That place is the key.’ Eric had been the one who’d butted in on their conversation. ‘Or it’s where they want to lead us. In one way or another, if our killer is using it, it’s because they have something to do with that nursing home.’ He turned his gaze to the first row again. ‘Stern, what about those lists?’

‘Well …’ The latter cast a fleeting glance at Adele, but she’d resumed looking at the screen. ‘From a first comparison, I found nothing. Nobody who was a student or belonged to St George’s staff works or recently worked at Golden Days House, but I want to dig deeper.’ His way of speaking became tenser, like the old days, when he used to give the impression he regretted not having worked enough, although it was anything but true. ‘The link might not be direct. Maybe a relative or a friend works there.’ He leant back against his chair, opening his eyes wide and stretching his lips in a nervous smile. ‘As soon as we’re done here, I’ll get back to work!’

‘Hey.’ Eric took a step towards him and raised a hand. ‘I’m not asking you to work overtime. We got a lot done today.’ He looked at Jane, who confirmed with a nod of her head. ‘We had bad luck and want to fix that, but we need to rest and start again tomorrow morning.’

Stern’s shoulders lowered, just like the corners of his mouth.

Another knock from Adele led Eric to look at her and find out she was doing the same with him. ‘There will be more murders, but there are no more rules. They didn’t need to kidnap a woman for three months before killing her. They only need the necessary time to come up with another effective scenario. It’s possible that they’ve kidnapped their next victim yesterday or today.’ She tapped the table again. ‘Maybe even now, while we’re talking.’ She turned her eyes to the window. ‘Or they’re still waiting for the right moment.’

And there it was again, the urge to do something, right now, without waiting for tomorrow, accompanied by the frustration of knowing nothing could be done.

‘What did she tell you?’ That sudden question by Miriam distracted Eric from the contemplation of Adele.

‘What?’

‘Tammy. You were talking to her before she died.’ Her right arm twitching was only partly masked by the fact she was holding it with the other hand. ‘I heard you asking her the name of her … killer.’

‘It’s a dream.’ Eric shook his head. ‘That’s what she said. Or something like that.’

‘A dream?’ Stern asked.

A loud knock at the door almost made Eric jump on the spot, and caused barely restrained exclamations among the others present in the room.

The door opened right after, inducing Bennet to back off, and Jankowski poked his head in. ‘Oh, you’re all here? Sorry to interrupt.’ His perplexed expression lasted no more than a second, then his gaze aimed at Eric. ‘I was looking for you; I was told you were here. You got a minute?’ He gestured behind himself with a forefinger.

Why was he at the Yard? Especially at that time.

Adele turned to Miriam, who made a quick shake of her head.

Those glances caught Eric’s curiosity. Something told him that the two of them had some information on Jankowski they still had to share with him for some reason.

‘We’re reviewing the evidence from an ongoing case …’ Eric said, leaving the sentence hanging to point out he was busy and therefore his colleague was disturbing him. ‘If it isn’t urgent, I’ll call you tomorrow.’

He didn’t feel like talking with the other team chief, not that evening. It hadn’t escaped him how Jankowski had started to treat him since both their names had been proposed among those up for the role of supervisor. Like it was his fault. He was too tired to face him now.

Jankowski flashed a forced smile. ‘Actually, it is urgent.’ Then he became serious again.

 

 

Two unformed silhouettes were moving, from which chatter was coming muffled by the frosted glass of the door. There was nothing else Adele could detect from the corridor, with her tense shoulders pressed against the wall.

What she wished, more than anything else, was to be there at Eric’s side.

It wasn’t just curiosity that enlivened her. An obscure apprehension had emerged since she’d learned that Jankowski had contacted Megan Rogers to ask her some questions on the Plastic Surgeon case. But what had increased it even more was the perplexity read on Miriam’s face while listening to that story and the one that had showed in her voice later, when they’d left the woman’s house.

Adele hadn’t worked on that case, but knew well the informal way in which the teams shared information on their investigations, and sometimes some external members found themselves involved. Besides, Jankowski had often collaborated in Eric’s ones in the past years. But apparently, it didn’t include the murders of January 2014.

There must be another reason, and she sensed it was linked to the upcoming appointment of the successor for the role of general supervisor of the Forensic Services.

That role had to be Eric’s. He deserved it. There was more to it: it was what she needed too, to feel more confident that she knew he was safe, at any time. The mere fact that also Jankowski had been taken into consideration was an acceptable nuisance. It was standard procedure. More candidates were taken into consideration in the event that the preferred one couldn’t take up the position, for some reason.

The suspicion that Jankowski, instead of willingly accepting his position of second choice, was somehow trying to alter the course of events to bend them in his favour had reawakened in her a slight sense of danger. Now that sensation had intensified as she attended, albeit through a filter, what looked like a heated discussion.

Because there was no doubt that it had to be connected to what she’d found out yesterday evening.

Adele struggled to slow down the rhythm with which her shoulders went up and down with every breath she took.

Jankowski was a loudmouth. He thought he was smarter than the others, and she was sure he had more than one skeleton in the closet. There was a chance he was just venting his disappointment about the choice by the police chiefs with his adversary. Maybe he was accusing Eric of playing dirty, leveraging on the friendly relationship the latter had with the new commissioner, appointed in February, although this promotion had already been talked about for some months earlier. But now the applications had been submitted, and the decision was to be taken in a few weeks.

She hadn’t any difficulty believing that Jankowski was unable to establish any kind of cordial interaction with anybody, let alone with the new police chief, given that it was a woman, and he was sadly aware of that. He was an unpleasant person, and she knew for sure she wasn’t the only one who thought so.

Perhaps Eric was one of the few she knew, if not the only person, who still had a good opinion of him. He said Jankowski lacked any talent for diplomacy, but he basically was an honest man.

As if that would be enough.

‘Are they still talking?’

She sensed Miriam’s presence only after hearing her question, but managed to control herself anyway, although she felt all wound up like a spring.

‘I’d like to be a fly on the wall right now,’ the detective continued with a vein of irony. She didn’t seem worried.

Perhaps Adele was exaggerating. She was being affected by stress and regret for her omission. But this time, she hadn’t done it on purpose. She’d completely forgotten to report that detail to Eric. She’d been so tired last night, and then it came back to her only after seeing Jankowski peeping in at the meeting room door.

‘Well.’ Miriam took a step towards the door, then turned for a moment to wink in her direction. ‘I’m very much afraid I’ll have to interrupt them. Collins just called me to inform us that we can reach him and Richard at the morgue.’

Adele strove to smile, but the other woman had no time to notice, because she’d already turned to Eric’s office and now had one hand on the door handle.

She knocked with the other one, causing the sudden freezing of the two silhouettes inside and stopping of their murmuring.

That interruption succeeded in reducing Adele’s tension.

Miriam would get rid of Jankowski, and then she would learn about the matter of that conversation from Eric.

But as the door opened, Adele’s renewed optimism was shattered as she met the pale expression on his face and the alarm in his eyes.

‘Dawson and Collins are waiting for us at the morgue,’ Miriam said. Her voice seemed so distant.

‘Oh, I’ll let you go now.’ Jankowski chuckled. ‘We’re done here, for now.’ His silhouette came over the door panel, and Miriam could barely remove her own when the other detective’s hand opened the door, revealing its owner. He smiled at Adele. ‘Look who’s here …’ He left the room and made to set off down the corridor to his right, but stopped for a moment right in front of her without turning to look at her, and lowered his head so much his lips reached her left ear. ‘Adelmine Fontaine,’ he whispered to her with emphasis.

Adele’s gaze snapped towards Jankowski, but he was already walking away. She could feel her quick breath pressing against her eardrums, cancelling any noise. Pinpricks of lights were glowing before her eyes. She became light-headed. The corridor seemed to spin around for a moment, and Adele leant against the wall again, but this time with both hands, now sweaty, bracing herself against the floor under her feet.

Footsteps behind her led her to complete her unintentional twirl to face Eric’s office again. Miriam walked past her, followed by him.

She wanted to call him, but her voice wouldn’t come out. She reached out to grab his arm. She barely managed to touch it, but enough to make him look at her.

Their gazes met. The synchronicity of their shortness of breath made any further word useless.

‘Later,’ he said. ‘Go home now.’ He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it, as if he wanted to project a confidence that, however, she failed to find on his face, despite the fact she was trying her best to look for the slightest trace of it. ‘Please.’

She wished she could follow him anywhere, so that she didn’t have to let him go, not now. Later was too vague a concept. It might be too late.

Eric released her before allowing her to reply and resumed walking.

As she looked at him leaving, Adele felt sucked into the darkest reaches of her memory she was afraid of more than anything else.

A laugh resounded from afar, shocking her out of her fears.

Adele turned to the other end of the corridor, where Jankowski was chatting with Smith, and seemed to be having fun.

No, it wasn’t too late. Not yet.

 

 

It was already past eight when Jankowski’s car managed to park between a van and a runabout along Holloway Road in front of a big flooring shop. Adele, who had followed him there from Scotland Yard always driving two or three vehicles behind his, sped up so that she could overtake him and park a little ahead, in another area enclosed by a dashed line but separated from the previous one by a gate.

From the right wing mirror she saw him get out of the car, lock it, and head to the pavement.

Adele left her car as well, to avoid losing sight of him. But Jankowski was walking towards her. At once, she sat down again in the driver’s seat, her heart bouncing in her chest and her eyes on the left wing mirror.

She had to be more careful.

The detective walked looking forward. He passed the driveway, the bench separating him from her car, and then he went on.

Adele let out the air she’d been holding back. Jankowski hadn’t seen her.

He crossed another driveway, passed another bench, this time next to a tree, and then reached the open space in front of the City and Islington College. ‘Hey, Neil!’

Two men standing across the open space reacted differently to that call. The one facing the detective turned around and started crossing the street in great haste. A car had to screech to a halt to avoid hitting him. The other shook his head. He didn’t seem happy about the encounter either, but for some reason, escaping wasn’t an option for him.

‘Still in business, huh?’ Jankowski’s voice was quite loud, which made it audible in spite of the distance.

Neil, that must be his name, waited for the detective to join him. He behaved in an uncomfortable way, while Jankowski was more casual. Between the two of them, the latter was in an evident position of power.

Adele had a clear idea about the illegal transaction the detective had just interrupted. She took out her phone from a pocket and started watching the way they were talking, especially whether there was some physical contact or kind of exchange between them. She was quite far away and, although sunset was about an hour away, her attempt at documenting a possible inappropriate behaviour by Jankowski might not bear significant results.

Perhaps she should move closer.

She looked about. The shops were closed, and the traffic was less busy. They would notice her.

She took a deep breath. She had to keep calm. She’d handled more complicated situations.

When she turned her attention towards the two men again, Jankowski was waving goodbye to Neil, then walked away. He resumed his stroll and went straight to the entrance to a pub located right after the college.

Neil, too, kept watching Jankowski as he disappeared behind the door. He held his arms close to his body, as if he was cold, which was likely given that he was only wearing a T-shirt. He had a shoulder bag. After casting another glance at the pub, he seemed to decide and started crossing the open space.

Adele got out of the car and locked it. She stuck both her hands in her jacket pockets, so as to hide the bulge caused by her gun, and set off to intercept him with a slow gait, keeping her gaze low but from time to time aiming it at him as if she wanted to draw his attention.

She was successful, so much so that Neil slowed down and waited for her to reach him.

‘Hiya …’ Adele immediately noticed the Celtic symbol tattooed on his right forearm. It wasn’t a real tattoo, but rather a way for the drug dealers working for the Murphys to be identified by their customers. Perhaps this man was the elusive informant from the NCA drug unit, and evidently Jankowski knew him personally.

‘What d’you want?’ Neil asked in a surly way. His eyes darted in all directions. When he turned them to her again, Adele had already pulled out her warrant card, on which the Metropolitan Police logo stood out. ‘Oh, fuck, I’m just having a walk; I was just talking to one of your colleagues.’ He pointed at the pub. ‘Ask him.’

She pulled her jacket flap away to show him her gun. ‘We both know that, if I ask you to empty the contents of your bag, then I’ll have to arrest you for illicit possession of a quantity of some drug exceeding the one compatible with personal use. Heroin, I suppose. Or maybe you also have some interesting pills?’

‘Fuck me.’ Neil whimpered. ‘You really have it in for me today.’

‘No, Neil.’ Adele offered him a hint of a smile. Once again, she would find a way to fix things. ‘Today is your lucky day, because not only am I not arresting you, but I’m about to give you a chance to do me a favour.’

 

 

He was supposed to give all his attention to Richard’s words, but Eric continuously found himself looking at Miriam in an attempt to decipher the gloomy expression on her face. The fact they were in a morgue and looking at the corpse of the woman whose death they attended not even an hour ago must certainly have contributed to the bad mood of his god-daughter. But the way she avoided returning his gaze made him uncomfortable.

They’d established a kind of tacit armistice to face the investigations about that case. It was the only positive aspect of digging up the murders of the Plastic Surgeon. Who knew how long it would’ve taken otherwise before he’d had the courage to take the first step? And perhaps it wouldn’t have been enough, because Miriam would’ve kept avoiding him, and if cornered, would’ve pushed him further away from her.

Instead, what would happen now? One way or the other, the investigations on that case would come to an end, and he would have to deal with reality.

Miriam remained his main thought, but now another one had been added, which was even more worrying. To what extent could the accusations that Jankowski had made to him prevent him from getting the promotion?

Funny thing was that he’d never really cared about getting that position. He felt like the time had come to take his career forward, but he disliked the idea of stopping working in the field. He loved analysing the evidence and trying to make it tell him what really happened. Unlike people, evidence didn’t lie. If there was a mistake, it was made by those carrying out the analysis. Avoiding making it was a continuous challenge, which was a source of equal continuous gratification. Supervising the work of his colleagues would certainly be a role of responsibility, but he doubted it might be as stimulating.

But now that he felt that something was threatening the achievement of that role, all at once he wanted it, he could see its positives, like having stable working hours, being under less stress, and never having to look at the corpse of another young person violently taken from life anymore.

But what worried him most wasn’t what Jankowski thought he’d discovered, rather what he’d come close to. Perhaps letting him get that bloody position would prevent him from keeping digging. Yes, there was no real evidence he could run into, but he was a clever man, able to see beyond appearance, very pragmatic and with enough imagination to get closer to the truth if motivated.

Or maybe Eric’s withdrawal would arouse his curiosity. How was he supposed to behave?

He should talk about it with Adele. He knew he had to, but wasn’t certain about the best way to approach the subject. He didn’t want to alarm her, because he knew what kind of effect that situation would have on her. He had to protect her, especially from herself. And at the same time, he couldn’t keep her in the dark; it wouldn’t be fair. They must have no more secrets, and it was up to him to set an example.

While all those thoughts whirled in his mind, Eric let out rather too noisy a sigh, which induced Richard to stop for a moment as he lifted the white sheet on the autopsy table where Tammy Ellis’s lifeless body was lying.

The medical examiner uncovered only her face. Compared to the suffering he’d read on it before she died, now it looked relaxed. Once removed from the excess blood, the myriad of tiny abrasions dotting her skin seemed insignificant. Her brown hair, even darker because it was wet, fell gracefully on either side of her head, which was kept raised by the headrest. The rest of her was covered, but you could make out her figure under the white fabric.

‘As I said, we’ve completed the external analysis of the body.’ Richard never stopped looking at her face while speaking, as if he wanted to share his conclusions also with Tammy. It was his way of doing things. He didn’t treat the corpses as things, but people. Sometimes Eric had even heard him calling them by name. ‘We’ve already washed her, and first thing tomorrow, we’ll take care of the autopsy.’

On the table next to them, under Collins’s eyes, Gordon was examining and bagging the victim’s clothes and belongings, taking them one by one from the plastic containers where they’d been separated.

‘Anyway, there are a few things I can tell you right now.’ Richard put a gloved hand on Tammy’s head, on the spot where a trauma caused by the impact with the tarmac was evident. ‘Well, I guess there is no doubt about the cause of death. Concerning the rest, we need to wait for the toxicology results to be certain, but I feel like saying, based on what you told me at the scene, that she was under the effect of the devil’s breath.’

‘Yes, she was wearing a pair of earphones connected to a throwaway phone,’ Miriam interjected. While speaking, she kept her gaze turned to an undefined point. She wasn’t observing anyone of those present, let alone the victim. ‘Someone was instructing her about what to do.’

‘Anyway, she reacted to her name.’ Eric moved to get a bit closer to her without getting any reaction from his god-daughter, who seemed focused on something else.

‘I don’t doubt that.’ Richard moved his hand on the sheet at shoulder height. ‘People under the influence of scopolamine behave in an apparently normal way, except they are carrying out acts suggested by someone else. If she ran away it’s because she was told to.’

Eric thought back to what had happened near the London Eye. Could they have done something different? On the spot, he’d thought that Patel’s decision to call Tammy had been a terrible idea, but now he was no longer convinced.

The ticket for the wheel was almost expired and, when the two officers stopped the other woman, perhaps they blew their cover. The killer must be nearby. They’d sent the victim to the tourist attraction well before Mills and Patel intercepted the blonde. Otherwise, she couldn’t have come near the entrance in time. Perhaps they noticed the officers were waiting for her and told her to keep going. She wasn’t walking close enough to the tape to give the impression she would enter the queue at its end.

At that moment, calling her name was the only immediate way to discover her identity.

No, the mistake hadn’t been Patel’s. The mistake had been telling the other officers to expect a blonde. Eric couldn’t help but blame himself. He hadn’t considered how much the killer’s game had changed.

‘Anyway, the body is already revealing some interesting information.’

Attracted by Richard’s statement, Eric shifted his gaze from Tammy’s wan face to the medical examiner’s.

The latter pulled out the victim’s left hand from under the sheet and then, leaning across the table, did the same with the right one. ‘There’s no Russell’s sign in any of them, but …’ He raised his forefinger like to draw the others’ attention, then lowered it near Tammy’s mouth. ‘I’ve found an early onset of enamel erosion.’ Finally he turned to Eric, looking through his eyeglasses. ‘It’s the only proof of bulimia that doesn’t disappear, because enamel isn’t formed again.’

That was nothing new. They already knew that Tammy Ellis had had eating disorders, and that she had suggested her friend Nora Sharp consulted the psychologist who’d helped her.

Among the first things to do tomorrow was no doubt going to be to question the staff at the centre where Mills and Patel had been in the morning. It wasn’t to be ruled out that Sharp had talked to her psychoanalyst about the person who eventually would be responsible for her current critical condition. Everything still suggested that she, just like Emma Taylor, had willingly followed her murderer. She must have trusted them, consider them important, enough to arouse her best friend’s suspicion.

‘But there’s something else, too.’ Richard gently took Tammy’s left hand again and put it under the light of the lamp. His gesture had the effect of distracting Miriam from contemplating the space, and making her come closer to the table and Eric, who in the meantime had bent forward to have a better view. ‘Here are evident signs of irritation caused, in my opinion, by a repeated rubbing. I saw them on the other wrist, too.’

Hearing that, Eric turned his attention to Tammy’s right hand, which was on his side of the table, and immediately noticed the same signs. ‘They had her tied up.’

Richard nodded. ‘I couldn’t find any at her ankles. I reckon she only had her wrists tied, but was able to move the rest of her body. The muscle tone in her legs is good enough, compatible with that of a person leading a sedentary lifestyle.’

‘Am I mistaken or is this ligature mark thing something new?’ This time the question had come from Miriam, who looked present again in her mind, as well as with her body.

‘It is,’ the medical examiner replied while laying down Tammy’s hand on the table again. ‘I found nothing of the sort in the two previous victims. They had no restraining marks at all; actually, they were in good health, even better than what I would’ve expected in women suffering from bulimia.’ He folded his arms. ‘They weren’t undernourished, and the examination of the oesophagus and the inside of the mouth didn’t reveal any irritation due to constant vomiting in recent times. If I hadn’t seen the calluses on their hands, which need a longer time to heal, and the enamel damage, which is irreversible, I wouldn’t have any proof to suppose I was dealing with people who’d recently suffered a serious eating disorder.’

‘They were fine,’ Eric commented. ‘They hadn’t been kidnapped, rather brainwashed by someone who was healing them, somehow.’

‘Oh, sure!’ Miriam moved to the short side of the autopsy table. ‘To send them to their death.’

‘In the cases from 2014, I’d found restraining marks on all victims, even on Megan Rogers, although they were, of course, fainter on the latter.’ Richard reached out to his side just as Collins came over and handed him a tablet, in a manoeuvre similar to what you might expect in an operating theatre during a surgery. The medical examiner swiped the screen with his forefinger. ‘Here it is. They had some on their wrists, but also on the legs and the chest. Also, they had decubitus ulcers.’ He looked up at Eric. ‘They were forced to stay in bed.’

‘We found cuffs and bands with which they were tied up in that sort of makeshift clinic in the basement.’ Miriam’s right shoulder had a clear spasm. ‘Megan then told us she’d managed to break free, because one of the straps had given way.’

‘The victims from three years ago had been kidnapped, undergone surgery against their will, and then killed.’ Eric had resumed addressing Richard. ‘These new ones, except her …’ He gestured at the corpse on the table. ‘The other two looked like they were on holiday.’

Finally, Miriam turned to him. ‘The killer persuaded them there was a better way to fix their problems.’ He could see in her eyes the glow of comprehension and the complicity with which she used to look at him when together they came to a conclusion about a case. ‘Those women had body dysmorphia.’ She waved a hand as if she was trying to find a more suitable way to express what was in her mind. ‘They gorged themselves and then caused vomiting to have control over it. They had an ugly, fat self-image. This person offered them another solution.’

‘Cosmetic surgery,’ Eric suggested.

Miriam nodded. ‘They resumed eating normally, because they had to be healthy to undergo the surgeries. Moreover, they were so convinced they saw positive changes even where those were minimal or absent. They really saw themselves as more beautiful after those useless enhancements and with those scars.’

‘I haven’t seen Nora Sharp’s body,’ Richard chipped in, talking to Eric. ‘But by comparing the photos you took at the hospital and the one found in her flat, I’m convinced she didn’t undergo any facelift. Only incisions, followed by a suture.’

‘Ah!’ Miriam spread her hands. ‘She certainly saw herself as improved.’ Then she dropped her arms along her hips while that hint of a bitter smile on her face faded.

‘Boss.’

Eric turned to Gordon, followed by the other three.

‘I’ve found something in a pocket.’ The forensic investigator lifted a pair of long beak pliers with his right hand; there was a small square object at its end.

As he recognised it, Eric snapped. He walked around the autopsy table where Tammy’s body was lying and behind Miriam, thus reaching Gordon before the others. But when he was close enough, he realised he hadn’t been wrong.

‘It’s a letter,’ Gordon explained, as if it wasn’t evident to all.

Eric hadn’t thought about the presence of a letter. He’d been convinced it was one of the details taken from the 2014 murders that the new killer had abandoned, together with the cosmetic surgeries and the use of morphine as the killing method. Perhaps he’d even hoped it didn’t have a real meaning, at least not in the new cases, because he still couldn’t fathom it. Or it was more correct to say that, in the only three days since it all had started again, he hadn’t yet had a chance to analyse it.

He felt pushed aside as Miriam grabbed Gordon’s wrist and brought the tiny object closer to her. ‘An M.’ Her chest expanded and contracted fast. Her mouth was half-closed while she stared at the paper square held by the pliers’ beak. She let go of the forensic investigator’s arm and placed her other hand on her face. Then, all of a sudden, she turned to Eric. ‘I must check something.’ Without saying anything else, she took her mobile phone out of a pocket and briskly made her way towards the door.

‘Miriam,’ he tried to call her, but a second later she was already out.

Eric turned to Richard, who frowned, showing his perplexity, and then Gordon, who just shrugged.

 

 

Her arms on the bar and her shoulders against the brick wall, Adele ran her left hand fingertips over the almost empty glass, which reflected the green light of the lamp over her, and tried her best to keep her eyes on a table that was a few metres away from her, but separated by a continuously moving human barrier. Jankowski had eaten and now was drinking his third pint of beer, after a brief visit to the gents. His attention was focused on the band playing on the stage, which barely overcame the noise generated by all those voices talking and laughing.

Jankowski seemed to be having fun. Adele could see his lips following the lyrics. It was an old rock song she’d heard, but whose title couldn’t remember, or perhaps she’d never known. She must have been born at least a decade after its publication.

As the song ended, the detective started clapping, shouting with enthusiasm. He seemed to be there to celebrate something, although he was alone. She almost pitied him.

A waitress went over and put another pint on his table. Jankowski smiled at her. He grabbed the other glass and gulped what remained of its contents before giving it to the woman.

The band resumed playing, and Jankowski started to drum a hand on the table in pace with music.

Just looking at him like this, he seemed harmless. A fifty-something not especially handsome, much less attractive, spending his evening alone in a pub.

Was she worrying about nothing?

Perhaps she should have asked Eric to tell her about their conversation before making a decision, but she couldn’t have endured the wait.

When she’d heard Jankowski calling her by her maiden name, she felt like the ground had been taken away from under her feet. It was an overreaction. After all, that name wasn’t a secret at all. But the only people knowing it at work, besides Eric, Miriam, and Jane, were those who’d read her personal file from the Met employee database. And there was only one plausible reason she could think about why someone like Jankowski would end up reading that file, considering he was nosing around in Eric’s work: he must have come there from the Black Death killings file, where that very name was mentioned.

There was nothing incriminating in there. She was sure. Every single piece of evidence pointed to a man, Christopher Garnish, who’d died, and with him any chance to refute it had disappeared.

Reflexively, Adele placed her right hand on her left wrist, on her lotus flower tattoo. It was because of this that Eric had found out about her, from footage of her, disguised as a courier’s employee, walking into the building where the first victim lived. But he’d noticed it only because he’d already suspected her, due to the fact that he’d found her blog, and was looking for a confirmation.

Later, she’d even thought of having her tattoo removed by laser, but then after checking the footage again, she’d realised it wasn’t necessary at all. The video filmed by the camera of a jeweller’s shop next to the entrance wasn’t in high definition, and the lotus flower image wasn’t good enough, except for someone who knew it well. And Adele had never allowed Jankowski to stay close enough to her to let him notice it. Most of the times when he was around she used to wear latex gloves, which partially covered it, and anyway, except in summer she wore long-sleeved tops at work.

No, Jankowski didn’t know she was the Black Death. Had he known, he wouldn’t be enjoying a rock concert in a pub now, he wouldn’t just have had a chat with Eric. He was a slimeball, but after all, he was a good policeman too. And he wasn’t friendly enough with his colleague to decide to cover for him. Actually, he was friends with nobody in the police. Had he had the evidence in his hand, he would’ve turned them in without prior notice.

He had to be up to something else. If he was reviewing Eric’s old cases, it was only because he wanted to find an opportunity to make him look bad. He didn’t really expect to find him in collusion with a serial killer. He wasn’t able to conceive such an extreme circumstance out of nowhere.

Adele smiled to herself.

It was something more elementary, like a conflict of interest. The fact she’d been a victim from a case that resulted in being linked to the one of the Black Death had created a conflict. Garnish was the man responsible for the killing of her family members and then of her ex-husband. As soon as Eric had figured out the link, he should’ve had her removed from the case. Actually, he should’ve stepped aside, considering his personal involvement with her.

But he hadn’t.

Jankowski had certainly thought he didn’t step aside because he was involved, because he wanted to be sure his new girlfriend saw that justice had finally been done. He couldn’t imagine Eric had suspected she was the killer, and for this reason had committed to rule out that possibility, more for himself than for the sake of justice.

Yes, that might be irregular conduct.

Adele sighed. But it wasn’t much. The suspect was dead. That case would never see a courtroom and there was no reason such irregularity would create any problem for a promotion.

She could see before her eyes Eric’s worried expression through the open door of his office. Had he overreacted in finding out that someone had blown the dust off an old case, as it’d happened to her when hearing Jankowski calling her Adelmine Fontaine?

Meanwhile the waitress was standing by his table again, and had placed another glass on it, a replacement for the fourth pint of beer, now empty. This time it was smaller and filled with amber liquid.

Had she gone home, as Eric had told her, she would’ve spent all night with her head full of questions. Instead she was there now, a few steps away from the man who knew the answers. Perhaps the best way to clear this up would be if she talked to him about it.

And then fixed it.

 

 

‘I don’t care that you’ve just finished writing the report and now want to go home. I want you down in the car park in five minutes!’ he heard Miriam’s voice exclaiming, which allowed him to locate its origin.

After she’d left the morgue in haste, Eric made sure Richard had nothing else to report to him and instructed Gordon before returning to the floor of the Forensic Services. He tried to call her, to no avail. The line was busy. But while heading to his office, he’d noticed the lights were still on in the meeting room.

And now he could hear Miriam shouting orders from afar. Judging by the silence following her words and by her tone, she must be talking over the phone and her interlocutor must be Mills. He could imagine the quiet manners in the sergeant’s reply, completely unfazed by the verbal abuse he’d suffered.

Eric smiled to himself. Anyone who didn’t know him well might’ve mistaken Mills’s self-control for scornful indifference towards his boss’s rude attitude. It wasn’t so. He and Miriam were a team. And their confrontations, made of insults from one side and subtle irony from the other, were just interludes with which they strengthened their partnership every day.

There had even been a time, years ago, when he’d thought there was more between them than the normal friendship of two partners in the police. And he hadn’t minded it. Mills was an officer dedicated to his job, a person Eric respected. He knew the man cared a great deal about Miriam. But then Jonathan came along; he’d been a quite elusive person, and that made Eric hostile towards him. Anyway, everything was different now.

By the time he walked through the meeting room door, Eric’s thought shifted to little Jean and the fact the child might really be his grandson, and he almost ran into Miriam, who instead apparently intended to leave the room.

She stopped. ‘Ah, you’re here.’ She retreated a couple of steps, as to make sure no accidental contact between them occurred.

‘I should say it. Why did you hurry off like that?’

‘I don’t have time for this now.’ Miriam tried to walk around him. ‘I have to go.’

But he blocked her by grabbing her arm. ‘Hey!’ In doing so, Eric’s gaze focused on the image behind her. The screen was still on, with the victim’s photographs, just like he’d left it when Jankowski called him. And the notebook computer Stern had used was still on the table.

How odd everything was still there. It wasn’t like him to forget to put the equipment back before leaving the department, and considering it was past nine, he must have gone now.

Miriam wiggled, forcing him to let her go and focus on the stern look she was giving him.

‘If it’s something about the case, don’t you think you should tell me?’

She checked her watch for a moment, then signed. ‘The letters.’

Now Eric realised that the image on the screen wasn’t exactly the same as that displayed during the meeting. Smaller frames had been added near the photographs; they included the tiny square objects imprinted with letters found on the victims.

Miriam half spun around and went over the lit screen. ‘We thought Graham had been writing a message, which was interrupted.’ She shook her right hand near the three pictures. ‘And that his accomplice, or copycat, was just emulating him.’ She repeated the same gesture with the pictures on the bottom of the lower half of the image. ‘Or that they might actually be writing their own message, even if the first two letters, N and T, seem anything but the beginning of a word.’ Her forefinger stopped on Tammy Ellis’s photograph, under which there was no letter. ‘Much less if we had an M.’

Right. “DRE” could be the first part of a word, but not “NTM”.

And then, all of a sudden, Eric saw what Miriam had noticed. ‘Fuck. It’s no message, but an … anticipation.’

She nodded to him and pointed to the first photograph. ‘A D was found in Justine Steele’s mouth, like Darlene.’ Her hand shifted to the second. ‘And an R was found in Darlene’s, like—’

‘Rachel,’ Eric suggested, moving his gaze to the picture of the third victim from 2014. The frame included an E. ‘And then Emma.’ He went over the screen as Miriam stepped aside. ‘And then an N, like Nora, and a T, like Tammy.’ It was so evident. How hadn’t he seen that? ‘Every time Graham revealed the initial of the name of his next victim, and his heir just keeps following his pattern. This confirms they knew him from the beginning. They really were his accomplice.’ He faced her gaze. ‘Perhaps earlier, we could still think about a copycat, because there was a slight chance of a leak about the letters, but not about their meaning. Only someone involved in the murders since the beginning could know about it.’

It was by now certain that the two series of murders came from a different hand, and there was no more doubt that the second killer had worked with the first in 2014. The fact they’d changed one by one all the elements of the original modus operandi, except this last one, might also mean that the idea of the initials had been theirs since the beginning.

‘And now we have an M, like Megan.’

Her last statement puzzled him. ‘Wait a moment, Megan had been already kidnapped, so why there wasn’t an M in the third victim?’

‘Because she wasn’t supposed to be the next one.’ Miriam nodded. The revelation glowed in her gaze. ‘Graham had kidnapped her only a few days earlier; he’d already planned to take two more women, including one whose name started with E, but then everything stopped.’

‘And now you think the new killer wants to go back to Megan Rogers. Why?’

‘Don’t you understand?’ Annoyed, she waved her hands. ‘The killer hadn’t finished the series. Tammy was a mishap; she doesn’t count. They were forced to kidnap her and let her take the place they’d reserved for Megan since 2014.’ She was speaking in an increasingly agitated way. ‘But now they got rid of Tammy, and there’s no reason they shouldn’t finish what they started before disappearing for three more years or who knew how long.’

Eric put his arms forward, trying to calm her down. ‘No, wait. What’s Megan got to do with Emma Taylor and Nora Sharp? Is she bulimic, too, by any chance?’

Miriam grimaced. ‘I don’t think so, but it doesn’t matter.’ She placed her fingers on Taylor’s picture. ‘We haven’t yet established a real link between the first two. We supposed it was the fact both showed signs of the same eating disorder, but perhaps it isn’t the link, perhaps it’s something concerning the control over your body in general.’ She touched his arm in the typical brusque manner with which she tried to keep his attention while telling him about something she considered of the utmost importance. It was the same gesture Madeleine had made with him so many times in public, when they were young, always arousing emotions that had made him secretly feel guilty. ‘Maybe they went to the same gym, although they didn’t attend the same class. Or the same sports centre, like the one where Megan works on the weekends.’

‘She’s a fitness instructor,’ Eric said, more to remind himself than Miriam. He’d focused so much on the particular of having two victims with evident signs of bulimia, which fortunately wasn’t such a common detail to find, that he’d persuaded himself it was the key to the case. But perhaps something more normal linked the victims: the fact they went to the same large sports centre, where they could be watched and approached by apparently harmless strangers much more often than it could happen in a psychotherapist’s office. ‘Maybe also the person we’re looking for is an instructor … or maybe it’s a keeper, or …’ An idea lit up in his mind. ‘A security guard who may be working for the same agency guarding a place like Golden Days House and Madame Tussauds.’ He remembered the surveillance room in the waxworks museum. Whoever had been in there could have watched Emma Taylor in real time without being filmed.

‘I don’t know!’ Miriam had shouted. ‘I just know that I can’t contact Megan right now.’ She took a few steps towards the door, avoiding Eric’s attempt at placing a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. ‘Her mobile phone is off, and she isn’t picking up her landline phone. Her partner isn’t answering either. Yesterday evening, after I told her about the new killer, she looked distressed, although she tried to appear strong. She promised me she wouldn’t go to Cambridge today, she would stay home, and she asked me to keep her in the loop. There’s no reason she shouldn’t be there now. She might be in danger.’ Her shoulders were shaken by a spasm.

‘Okay, okay, calm down. You were very worried about her yesterday, too, but she was fine.’

She turned and glared at him. ‘Mills isn’t really able to keep anything for himself, the traitor.’

Eric let out an ironic cry. ‘He just explained to me how you happened to be near the Savoy.’

Miriam shook her head. ‘He must be waiting for me to go check at Megan’s.’ She headed for the door.

‘Wait, I’m coming with you.’ Eric made to follow her, but she stopped and was staring at him again, disapproval in her eyes.

‘No, thanks. Mills and I will take care of it.’ He couldn’t help but feel hurt by her icy tone.

‘Well, you should at least inform Bennet or have some backup coming with you,’ he suggested.

She was too agitated to manage such a situation. Megan was a friend of hers. She should’ve left the command of that police operation to someone less involved.

‘Bennet went to Belmarsh to have a chat with Graham.’ At once Miriam laughed; it was a coarse and fake laugh. ‘What’s up? Are you worried about me now?’ She became serious again. Her jaw contracted. Her agitation had turned into a barely contained fury. ‘Are you playing the caring father now? Now that I don’t need it.’

Eric gaped in surprise at the sudden change of subject. She knew the problems between them had just paused, and he felt their heavy presence all along when they were together in the same room. And now it was clear she felt the same, but much more than she was letting on.

‘Tell me. Where were you during the first years of my life?’

Eric swallowed, forcing himself to close his mouth. What was he supposed to answer? There was nothing he could say that was able to give a satisfying answer.

‘You left with your tail between your legs because she’d rejected you, and you didn’t care that you might be my father.’ Miriam’s watery eyes reflected the screen’s light. ‘You knew what kind of person she was. Did you really think she would behave differently to me just because I was her daughter?’

Unable to bear the burden of regret, Eric backed off against the table. He looked over his shoulder, as if to check what he’d bumped, but the truth was he lacked the strength to endure Miriam’s hate.

‘She hated me,’ she said, her voice broken by pain, her body shaken by her usual tic.

Eric turned again to the woman he wanted to be his daughter, and was greeted by her tears. ‘Why are you saying this?’ How he wanted to take the few steps separating them to wipe her face and hug her.

‘Because it’s the truth. There was no day I can recall that she showed she loved me.’

‘You cannot really think that.’ Eric shook his head and took a step forward, but in response she backed off.

‘I tried so hard to be what she wanted me to be.’ Her weeping accompanied each word, without any attempt at hiding it. ‘But in vain. At that time I couldn’t understand, but now I can. She hated me, because she thought I might be your daughter.’ Miriam’s accusing forefinger pointing at him trembled as a result of an involuntary contraction of her arm. ‘She despised me exactly as she did you.’

Despising. That was the obvious description of Madeleine’s behaviour towards him that Eric had always tried to deny. Actually, he was so good at denying the evidence when it came to his private life, just as he was in seeing it in his job.

‘And my father loved me, instead,’ she continued, her voice lower. A faint smile widened her lips for a moment. ‘I don’t know if he suspected something, but he loved me, perhaps because, unlike her, he was a normal human being.’

Jean-Michel had been a good person and a good friend. Eric used to tell himself his decision not to interfere in their relationship to claim his possible paternity had depended on not wanting to hurt his friend. It was another of the lies he’d lived with until the day of the accident.

‘And where were you?’ Miriam pointed her finger at him again. ‘Every day I wished something wonderful would happen and take me away from her hate. Maybe you could, but instead you did nothing.’ Her every word was like a stab wound through his chest, revealing a truth unknown to him. ‘I could be your daughter, but after all, you were only little more than a boy.’ She emitted another forced laugh. ‘Why would you bother taking on that responsibility?’

Eric took a step towards her, and this time she didn’t move. ‘I had no idea you were … unhappy.’ Oh, God, how pathetic his words sounded. He was sincere, but he knew that didn’t justify him. He wasn’t the only guilty party in that situation, of course. But then, he was the only one whose actions he could’ve controlled, so that they were different, more responsible. Yet he hadn’t, because he just hadn’t felt like doing that, because at that time he hadn’t really cared.

Miriam raised her hands and opened her mouth wide, as if mimicking astonishment. ‘And then it happened! The hate ended.’ She lowered them, resuming a calm expression. ‘Even if I suffered so much, because you can love a person who hates you if it’s your mother.’ She ran her fingers over her cheek, wiping only a small part of the tears from it. Some had rolled down along her neck, others had fallen on her jacket lapel. Then she had a faint jolt of amusement. ‘And by an irony of fate, you just happened to be the one who took her away from me.’

‘No.’ Eric snapped forward, almost reaching her. She couldn’t accuse him of Madeleine’s death. He’d already done that to himself for over twenty years, and only recently had managed to forgive himself. She couldn’t reignite his remorse.

‘You were shagging her again, weren’t you?’

‘Miriam, enough.’

But she silenced him with a gesture of her hand. ‘The reason why the three of you were together that day, and then my mother lost control of the car, maybe because they were arguing, was that my father had found out about it, right?’

What was he supposed to reply? Yes, that was the reason.

He’d met her again after ten years, and realised he’d never really forgotten her. How happy he was to learn she wanted him again! He daydreamed about her divorcing Jean-Michel and marrying him.

Only not even for a moment had he considered Miriam in his fantasies, because he’d known they were unreal and unrealistic.

‘You killed them,’ she sentenced with a composure free from the slightest hint of emotion. ‘Whoever you are.’

Then she turned and left the room.

 

 

As she placed the glass of whisky in front of him, Jankowski looked up, a smile on his face, but then his eyes widened. ‘Oh, oh! The lovely Adele!’

‘Detective,’ she greeted him and sat down across the table, a half pint of beer in her hand.

Taking advantage of the break in the concert, she’d decided the moment had come to talk to him, so she’d intercepted his last order, stopping the waitress at the bar.

Jankowski’s gaze, fogged up from drinking, scrutinised her with evident curiosity. ‘What brings you here all alone?’ He sipped from the glass, then grimaced in disgust.

‘I wanted to talk to you alone. I had the impression the conversation you had with Eric concerned me.’

He chuckled. ‘Oh, didn’t he tell you what we talked about?’

Adele cracked a smile, then gulped some beer, causing him to drink reflexively. ‘Eric is busy now, so I thought I’d talk to you directly.’

‘Really?’ Jankowski frowned. ‘How did you know you would find me here?’

She drank again, but didn’t reply.

‘Oh, so you followed me.’ The detective laughed and sipped his whisky. ‘Ah, this shit’s gonna kill me.’ And he laughed again.

Adele followed suit like she was laughing at his joke, but there was a different reason than the one he might think of.

‘Don’t worry about it, Pennington.’ Jankowski took a last long sip and pushed the glass away. ‘Everything will work out okay without you being involved. I’m sure Eric will make the right choice to avoid problems.’

Given that he’d stopped drinking, Adele ignored her beer. She’d rather keep a clear head. ‘About what?’ She leant forward to receive his confidence.

‘I would’ve done the same, you know?’ Jankowski placed an elbow on the table and rubbed his right hand on his face, where a several-days-old beard was emerging. ‘If I’d found myself alone with the man responsible for the death of my family, I would’ve snuffed him out.’

A rush of adrenaline burst into Adele’s chest, and she inhaled deeply to try to keep a straight face. ‘What exactly are you talking about?’ She had to make him talk, as long as he was able to.

He smiled and pointed at her. ‘You’re a smart woman. You exactly know what I’m talking about, but you don’t expose yourself.’

‘We’re talking about Christopher Garnish, who died during a gunfight three years ago.’

‘Yes, yes, a gunfight worthy of an action film.’ Jankowski joined his hands in a clap. ‘While reading Eric’s report, I was fascinated to say the least. It felt so real.’

‘It’s all real.’ Adele’s breath slowed down. Things had happened exactly the way they were described in the report. The only compromising detail occurred when Eric had gone to call for backup, and she stopped putting pressure on Garnish’s wound. Actually, she made sure he bled to death before help arrived. But nobody knew about it, except her and a dead man. ‘The sequence of events is exactly as described in his report. I confirmed it in my statement.’

‘Yes, sure, I read all of it: Eric’s report, your statement, given that you were a victim, and Miriam’s report, who passed out after being hit though.’ Jankowski let out a mocking cry. ‘Who knows if she really was unconscious? Perhaps she saw something different and, to cover for her godfather, she chose to say she’d passed out.’ He waved a hand as if dismissing the matter. ‘Anyway, I don’t give a shit. Eric just has to withdraw his application, and everything will be forgotten. I’ll personally make sure nobody talks about it anymore, and next time a prestigious role becomes available, I’ll be the one suggesting his promotion.’ He gently hit his fist on the table. ‘But this time, it’s my turn. He already has everything: a young girlfriend, an adult son, a brilliant god-daughter, the most prestigious team in the Forensic Services. Instead, I only have this bloody job, and I want to become superintendent now.’

Adele crossed her arms and leant against the backrest. ‘And why would Eric let you take his promotion? Yours are only theories; you don’t have a shred of proof.’ She needed to allow enough time to pass. ‘After the death of Christopher Garnish and Lorna Dillon, there was an inquiry, as always happens when a police officer is responsible for the death of a suspect, and it established there had been no excessive use of force.’

‘Oh, I can imagine that, the inquiry. Garnish was threatening an officer with the Forensic Services and had shot at a detective with a Murder Investigation Team; he would’ve killed her if she hadn’t been wearing a bulletproof vest. It was a routine inquiry, nobody really dreamt of getting to the bottom of things. The victim was a suspect in four murders, the murder weapon had been found in his car. Who gave a shit whether he’d been gunned down by the police? Actually, they must have congratulated Eric.’ Jankowski raised a finger. ‘But how would the whole story be seen if someone pointed out that Garnish had become a suspect because of his possible involvement in the slaughter of that officer’s family? You and Eric, and probably others in your team, thought he’d been the killer of your family, and then he killed your ex-husband. This is what I call a motive. Moreover, there was a serious risk that specific part of the evidence from that case would never be allowed in court, because you and Eric had worked on it. And you were already banging him at the time, weren’t you? Oh, yes, given that you were at Eric’s place when the two of you chased Garnish to arrest him, and then again you were there, the same evening, when you were kidnapped by him.’ He spread his hands. ‘But then Garnish dies in a gunfight, so the problem doesn’t exist: no trial, the suspect is dead, all sorted.’

‘Perhaps you’re forgetting that the connection was known, so much that the case from 1994 was closed.’

‘Yes, but after the end of the inquiry. And I bet it wasn’t Eric’s idea.’ Jankowski fell silent and turned around his eyes, as if he was thinking about it right now. ‘It must have been Detective Do-right, Jane Hall,’ he concluded through his teeth.

Now relieved, Adele could feel her hilarity increase again, but tried to restrain herself. Jankowski’s threat was little more than a bluff. There was a chance that bringing the matter to the attention of his superiors might compromise Eric’s promotion, but no more than that. Why on earth should Eric give up without a fight?

Now she understood the worried expression on his face. He didn’t know what to do. Jankowski had come dangerously close to their secret. If he kept digging, would he get to it? If Eric didn’t give up, the other detective would do anything to bring him down, maybe attracting the interest of someone else within the police, someone more capable than he was in connecting the dots of that story. On the other hand, if Eric gave up too easily, Jankowski would become even more curious.

No, she couldn’t leave Eric in such a situation.

Jankowski laughed loud, without an apparent reason. A few minutes had passed after his long speech, during which he’d seemed to withdraw from what surrounded him. His face was red, and he was looking at her with half-closed eyes. Who knew what he thought he could see or hear?

‘It’s hot in here, and too busy.’ Adele stood up. ‘Why don’t we go out, so you can have a cigarette?’

‘Good idea …’ Jankowski slurred. He put both hands on the table for leverage to stand up, but his foot slipped and he fell seated again. He laughed even louder. ‘I have to pay.’

‘I already did that.’ Adele lowered to put his arm on her shoulders. ‘Come on, get up.’

‘Okay.’ This time, with her help, Jankowski managed to rise on his feet, but then he pushed her away in a rough manner. ‘I can manage!’

She showed him her hands. ‘All right, calm down.’ She let him walk to the door, but followed right behind him to make sure he didn’t get lost.

They took a good minute to get to the exit, and once outside Adele was hit by the moist air, which was clear when compared to the mixture of smells she’d left behind inside the pub. She breathed deeply while observing the detective.

He had leant against a wall, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and was now struggling to extract one of them. Each failed attempt caused an incomprehensible muttering.

‘You don’t want to drive like this,’ she mocked him.

‘What the fuck are you talking about? I’m perfectly capable of driving!’

Adele grinned to herself.

Finally, Jankowski managed to take a cigarette to his mouth. Now he had to light it. He made to put the pack back in his jacket pocket, but missed, and the pack fell to the pavement. He didn’t notice and started feeling his other pockets. ‘Where the fuck is my lighter?’

‘So I’ll take you to your car.’

‘Ah!’ Jankowski pulled away from the wall. ‘I’ll go by myself. I don’t need your help.’ He took a step, and at the following one he found the drop after the kerb. He swayed, but didn’t fall.

She followed him. Had he fallen and broken his neck, he would’ve made things even easier for her. She might as well give him a little push.

She looked around. There was nobody nearby right now, but a continuous stream of vehicles flowed on Holloway Road. Someone might notice her gesture. It wasn’t worth the risk.

Moreover, she’d been seen in the pub with him, so she would be forced to call for help. No, it wasn’t a good idea at all.

As he turned her gaze ahead, Jankowski had somehow managed to step on the pavement in front of the City and Islington College, and kept walking with some difficulty.

Adele followed a few steps behind him.

Jankowski stepped down from the pavement at the entrance of the open space and got up the next one. He had finally found a lighter, and his attempts at lighting his cigarette caused him to zigzag. He hit a bench and let out a choked curse, followed by a laugh. He nearly did the same with a tree, but then he dodged it, gesturing his apology as if it was a person.

He was high by now.

When he came near his car, he kept walking.

‘Isn’t that your car?’ she asked aloud.

Jankowski turned and gave her a frowning look. ‘I know that. What the fuck … get lost!’ He waved a hand to stress his order, and he nearly lost his balance. That must have struck him as funny, given that the annoyance on his face turned into amusement.

He went over to the car and placed both hands on it. He stood there for a few seconds, as if he didn’t know what to do.

Right, the key.

Adele reached him, uncertain whether she should do something or not. She’d hoped he would be at least able to turn the engine on and pull away, and then run his car into something not far from there. Perhaps it would be enough if he tried to pull away at the wrong time and was hit by another vehicle. But now she doubted Jankowski was able to get in his own car. ‘Where is your key?’ She took a pair of latex gloves from her inside jacket pocket and put them on.

‘Huh?’

She shook her head and slipped a hand into his right jacket pocket. There it was. She pressed a button on the remote control and then heard the central locking getting unlocked, while the blinkers turned on for a moment. She lifted his arm again and put it on her shoulders. She had to bring him to the driver’s side.

This time, Jankowski offered no resistance. He followed her docilely as they walked around the car.

Adele opened the door. ‘Sit down.’

Faltering, the detective put a foot inside the compartment and dropped into the driver’s seat. His head leant against the headrest. He had his eyes straight ahead, his pupils dilated, and was gawping. No, he wouldn’t even be able to take his car out of the parking space.

She also put his right leg into the footwell and leant forward to insert the key into the ignition. She turned it and the lamps on the dashboard turned on. She checked the gear lever. The first gear was engaged. She backed off a bit and started checking his other pockets until she found his phone.

As she heard the engine of an incoming car, she straightened up on her feet and opened the window by pressing the button, then she closed the door.

She waited for the car to drive away, then she leant on the open window. ‘Can you start the engine?’

His gaze at the windscreen, Jankowski sniggered.

‘You can’t, huh?’ Adele checked his mobile phone for a moment. She needed both hands to do what she had in mind. She pocketed it, then leant inside the car and turned the steering wheel all the way to the right. She reached out to the key, switched off ignition and then turned it again. As expected, as soon as she tried to start the engine, the car jerked forward, hitting the bumper of the one ahead of it and stopping a bit askew. The sudden movement dragged her, too, and her shoulder hit against the window frame. ‘The things you make me do …’ She pulled out her arm and massaged it. ‘Killing you would be so much easier.’

She retrieved Jankowski’s phone. She checked that GPS was on, then tapped the call icon and dialled 999, the Metropolitan Police emergency number. She took it to her ear.

‘Metropolitan Police Service. How can I help you?’

Adele emitted a moan.

‘Hello?’ the female voice asked at the speaker. ‘Do you need help?’

She waited in silence.

‘Your number is registered to DCI George Jankowski.’

She knew the system would recognise it.

‘Detective, we’re tracking your position. Wait a moment.’ A few seconds of silence followed. ‘Detective, I’m sending a patrol to Holloway Road; they’ll be there in a few minutes.’

Satisfied, Adele closed the call and placed the phone on the dashboard. She put a hand in a pocket and pulled out the small plastic bag Neil had given her. There were four pills in it. They’d been five, but she’d dissolved one in Jankowski’s whisky before bringing it to him.

She placed the small bag beside the detective’s phone and then paused to look at him. ‘Who knows what they will think when they find you drunk and high behind your car’s wheel trying to drive away?’ She shook her head. ‘Hmm … I don’t think it will look good on your résumé.’ Then she approached his ear. ‘Be glad that I made a promise, but don’t you ever threaten Eric again, otherwise I’ll be forced to break it.’

A sound halfway between a huff and a laugh emerged from Jankowski’s mouth.

Adele straightened up and had a last look at him. She’d feared she would feel frustrated about leaving unfinished business, but after all, Jankowski hadn’t really understood what he’d got himself into. It was for the best. She didn’t really have any wish to reach the dark corners of her soul, nor did she want to let Eric down.

Finally, feeling relieved, she started walking to her car.

She was just a few steps away from it when her phone vibrated in her left pocket. She took it out. The lit screen displayed the notification of a message from Martin Stern.