The next morning Connie and I left Jim still sleeping whilst we went on a further shopping expedition to complete her wardrobe. Pauline quickly made off in her own car. We spent most of the day in Wolverhampton, exhausting my credit card, and had lunch at a very nice bistro in the centre. I then put Connie in the picture about my visit the previous day to Henry’s, and what my plan was – assuming it was workable. She thought the idea of wearing a tag was quite exciting; that was, until I explained my anxieties about the killer, when she visibly paled. I didn’t like having to do that to her but it was a preferable alternative to complacency.
Later that afternoon, accompanied by Connie, I knocked once again on Henry’s door, and was welcomed by the same incorrigible grin – as if he hadn’t seen me for years.
“Come in, come in, Sarge,” he chuckled, leading the way again.
“Any luck, Henry?” I asked after we were all seated in the lounge.
“If you only knew the t’ings I have to go through for my favourite policewoman,” he preambled.
I said nothing, knowing he would get to the point only when it suited him. The appearance of his cat – a large, overweight and no doubt thoroughly spoilt ginger tom – diverted Connie’s attention. He had jumped on her knee immediately he spotted her and began rubbing himself against her hand.
“Well, missy, after a lot of ingenuity – and genius too, I might add – I believe I have the very t’ing you are looking for.” He went over to a bureau and retrieved a small box from one of the drawers.
“Voilà!” he exclaimed in triumph. “Just look what clever old Henry’s rustled up for you.”
The box contained a small, wafer-thin card, about an inch square, rather like an electronic computer board.
“Now, if you let me have your mobile for a few minutes, I’ll key it into this device. Then, you can not only follow the person wearing it from a distance of three miles, you will also be able to hear any conversations taking place.”
I handed him my mobile, and he began disassembling it, vaguely humming some Caribbean reggae tune as he did so. It took him only a few minutes to complete the task. “So who’s a clever boy, then?” he said, handing it back to me.
“You are, of course, Henry. You are a natural born genius. Now, all you have to do is show me how it works.”
“Well, the bestest way of all would be if the wearer agreed for you to fit it into the heel of a shoe. Then, all it would take is the click of a tiny switch, and it be connected to your mobile. I’ve also added, if you look, a tiny direction monitor to your phone so you can follow the signal. But, I dunno who you be buggin’ - how you install it’s up to you.”
I gestured towards Connie. “She’s the buggee,” I confirmed. “And here” (I pulled from a plastic bag a pair of new, flat-heeled shoes that we had bought that morning) “are the shoes!”
“Man, you’ve thought of everything! You’ll have to give me about half an hour to play with these,” he said, holding up the shoes. “And my tools are in the back. So, why don’t I show you the kitchen and you make yourself and the little lady here a nice cup of Jamaican coffee? Genuine Blue Mountain stylee.”
“Lead the way, Einstein.”
He was grinning broadly again as we followed him into the cramped but serviceable cooking area he called a kitchen. But he was as good as his word; in little more than the time he had stipulated, he was back with the shoes.
“You’re lucky these ain’t stilettos,” he remarked. “Anyhow, here you go, Sarge. All done – just the way you wanted.”
“What do we have to do to turn it on, Henry?”
He turned the shoe over and pointed to a micro switch placed on the inside ridge of the heel.
“You just click this, like so, and – bingo!”
My mobile immediately began ringing. “No,” he said, as I instinctively went to answer it; “you don’t answer it, babe. It’s gonna ring three times and then you are automatically connected to the trace.”
Which it did. Henry then pointed out the display on the mobile, which was now lit a bright green colour, highlighting a tiny arrow that was pointing towards Connie.
“So, you can follow her, and at the same time listen in to any conversation. Go back in the kitchen, darling, and say something out loud, will you?”
Her voice came through loud and clear, as if it were a normal mobile phone conversation.
“And how far did you say the range of this is, Henry?”
“Give or take, it’s about three miles. Three beautiful miles!”
“There’s just one slight problem, Henry. How will I know where she is, or how far away we are from her?”
“Well, you won’t know exactly how far away you be – ‘cept you know it can’t be more than three miles. And where she is? You keep following the green arrow; it have a tiny magnetic compass always pointing to the north, and it change colour the closer you are – until you’re on top o’ her, when it goes to red.”
“And how long will the battery last?”
He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I reckon you’ll have about half the normal life of your mobile phone battery; what’s that? ...About eight hours in all? So, estimate half that and you’ll be fine.”
I kissed him on the cheek. “Henry, you truly are a genius.”
He touched his cheek and then grinned again. “Two conditions, Sargie. One, this repays all favours to date and we don’t say nuthin’ to no one? Agreed?”
I nodded. “And the second one?”
“When you’ve finished with this little baby you let me have it back. I can make a fortune outta this sweetheart.”
“I agree, Henry. And I hope it’ll be sooner than you expect.” I took hold of Connie’s hand to lead her out of the room. “Bye-bye, Sweetie. See you soon.”
* * * * * * * * * *
I quite enjoyed the next few days with Connie. We had the flat to ourselves during the day. We didn’t see a lot of Jim during the evening either; he seemed to be permanently at the beck and call of the DCS and I missed him. And when we felt like it we went shopping in Birmingham, or sometimes went to the cinema. One day we caught the train from New Street station and spent a very pleasant day in London, shopping, sightseeing and taking in one of the many musicals at a theatre in the West End.
Wherever we went I insisted Connie wore the same pair of shoes. We tried the gadget out that time in London, when I gave her a ten-minute start and then I had to see if I could find her. Just in case I couldn’t, we had pre-arranged where to meet. It was unnecessary; the device led me straight to her. And we found ourselves giggling again like a couple of schoolgirls somewhere in the heart of Soho.
Sadly, the good times ended when we both attended Sheila’s funeral. Funerals are not, of course, intended to be joyous occasions, but I found this one particularly distressing. When someone you love has been suddenly and horribly deprived of life, the emotions that come to the surface are unlike those of a normal bereavement, where eulogies are read and family and friends remember all the nice things the deceased has said and done in his or her lifetime. This was more the weeping and gnashing of teeth, through a mixture of grief and rage at the violation of a relatively young woman. It was horrible, to say the least, and one of the most affected by it was Connie, who, in some juvenile way, wanted to hold herself partly responsible – despite my pleas to the contrary. I just hoped she wasn’t developing her old habit of self-guilt again.
The whole sad affair was heavily policed from start to finish, in the unlikely event the killer would wish to witness the results of his barbarous deprival of the right to life. Both Connie and I ended the service in tears; this was our friend we were burying, not some unknown victim of a vicious predator. The best I was able to manage in the form of sympathy was to squeeze the arm of Sheila’s mother.
“I know,” she said tearfully; “we’re not supposed to bury our children, are we?”
I shook my head and had to walk away, completely choked with the emotion of it all.
Of the killer, so far as we could tell, there was no sight of him anywhere in or around the cemetery. As we were leaving at the end of the service, Jim came over for a word.
“We don’t seem to be getting anywhere,” he commented. “In fact, since that pompous arsehole turned up we’ve come to a complete standstill.”
I presumed he was referring to the DCS, although I couldn’t reconcile his arrival with the lack of progress.
“What about the media, or the television people and that documentary he threatened us with? Any developments there, Jim?”
He appeared decidedly uncomfortable at the question, as if he were keeping something from me.
“That’s what I wanted to tell you both. Channel Four’s inserting a special documentary on the case this Friday evening – prime time. Evidently the commander of the National Crime Unit has decided, in his wisdom, to grant them the interview they were after; so they’ve got the full Monty.”
“Is Connie’s name mentioned?” I asked with a certain trepidation.
He nodded his head in confirmation. “Apparently we all get a mention, Ange – pictures too. Oh, and we all get a hell of a slating, from what my informants tell me. I suppose it’s only to be expected, if you think about it. This monster,” (he gestured towards Sheila’s newly opened grave site) “apart from poor Sheila, has murdered 19 innocent children that we’re aware of, and despite everything we’ve done the bastard’s still at large.” He shrugged; almost an acknowledgement of failure, I thought.
It was at this point that Connie decided to take up the cudgels, for reasons I could only put down to the unjustified guilt she was feeling over Sheila’s death. “Angie told me some days ago, Jim, that you had an idea trap him by relaxing my police protection. Do you still think it might work?”
He shook his head. “No, I’m no longer as convinced. Oh, it might have seemed like a good idea at the time – to me, anyway, although (as I’m sure you’re already aware) Ange here was vigorously opposed to it. Now I think it’d be too dangerous. The idea was to reduce your cover, but only visibly, to persuade him you’d become an easy target; behind the scenes it would, if anything, have been strengthened to ensure we got him. But now we haven’t got a behind-the-scenes unit to handle it. In fact, we’ve got bugger all... Just us three left to cover your protection.”
Connie looked thoughtful for a while, as if she were studying the implications of Jim’s analysis of the situation.
“I’m sure you’re right,” she said eventually. “But, if this telly programme’s going to blab about my bit in the investigation, they’ll be giving this fucker everything he wants to know on a plate?”
“I’d be a liar if I said it hadn’t crossed my mind,” Jim admitted. “But what exactly we do about it is a different matter. For starters, no one knows where you’re living – and the TV people aren’t going to reveal that. And you’ve got Ange with you all day and night, with me, and young Harrison, backing her up at night. Short of having a squad car with armed officers outside the door 24/7, I don’t see what else we can do. And a plan along the lines I had in mind is not something that is open to improvisation. Have you any thoughts on the subject, Ange?”
“No. I admit the documentary’s a worry – something we could all do without – but, I agree with you, it’s hardly likely to provide our killer with any information he hasn’t already got. So, I suggest we sit tight, and do nothing more than we’re doing already. How about you, Connie? You’ve obviously got some ideas; care to share them with us?”
“Yes. Why not let it slip that I’m staying at your place, Jim? If we give him that piece of information it’s bound to persuade him to make a move.”
Jim and I let out deep, simultaneous sighs at the suggestion.
“Connie! This ain’t the movies, you know,” Jim said; “where everything you want to happen goes according to plan, and the ‘goodies’ always win. This is real life, and we’re dealing with a clever and vicious murderer. And call me old fashioned, but I don’t think they play by the rules. You’re talking about a totally unacceptable risk; I wouldn’t even let my hairy-arsed coppers take a chance like that without highly trained and professional back-up people. Nope – it’s completely out of the question. Anyway, all that aside, can I remind you you’re still a minor. At least for a few more days. So, ‘keep your head down’ is the best advice I can give you, and leave the police work to the police. Okay?” he ended, smiling.
“S’pose so,” she conceded. “It just seems a pity to waste the opportunity. Oh, and by the way, you two, there’s no reason why you should know this, but on Friday of this week I cease to be a minor –as you put it.”
“She’ll be 18 on Friday, Jim.”
“I know. You’ve already told me God knows how many times. How could I possibly forget?”
“You know?” she said excitedly. “Great! Are we going to celebrate, Angie? I mean, do I have any money to take you guys out somewhere? ...Somewhere really nice?”
“You won’t need any money, Connie. It was going to be a surprise, but I don’t see any point now you’ve brought it up yourself. We’ve arranged a dinner party for you at Alphonso’s for Friday evening.”
“You have? Fantastic! Who else is coming?”
“Well, we’ve invited Paul – he’s really looking forward to it – and, of course, there’s Jim and me. Oh,” I added, as if it were an afterthought, “I thought you might like Steve Harrison to come along as well. Shall I ask him?”
She thumped my arm playfully. “That’ll be fab, Angie.” She waved her arms in the air like a football fan. “I’ll be an adult!” she cried. “Can you believe that? ...For the first time in my life, I’ll be an adult!”
Jim was still chuckling when he left us to return to the station to meet up with his antagonist, the DCS. I couldn’t work out why, but I was left with one of those uneasy feelings. Call it intuition, call it mistrust, but something was telling me that Connie had some devious scheme in mind. Whatever it was, I would bet my life it would be dangerous – for her!