Enigma

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  10:55 hours

  ‘Let’s confirm Sullivan’s whereabouts for the day Carol was killed,’ Love said. ‘And also what his movements were on the day Monica was killed.’

  ‘Already on it,’ Stuart said. He pulled out his mobile and pressed a button. ‘Chris, it’s me.’ He paused. ‘Fine and you?’

  Love glanced over. Really, these Brits could be so polite it was infuriating.

  ‘Listen, I need you to check the hospital records for a surgeon under the name of James Sullivan, he’s known as Mr.’ He listened. ‘Yes, the same one, white alpine BMW,’ he paused momentarily. ‘See what his movements were on the day of Carol and Monica’s abduction and murders… yeah, on our way back. Cheers.’ Stuart turned to Love. ‘She said to say hello.’

  ‘She would,’ Love muttered, and smiled. His mind went back to the interview with James Sullivan. At least now they’d determined Carol was having an affair and with whom. And it explained the faint crosses on her stomach. Sullivan wasn’t at present a prime suspect but still his movements needed to be verified.

  ‘That,’ Stuart said. ‘That was embarrassing.’

  ‘Yeah, it sure wasn’t my favourite interview.’

  ‘Nice crutch to have on hand.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘The XO cognac.’

  Love glanced at Stuart. ‘You don’t indulge?’

  ‘We do sometimes on special occasions but it’s not something we chuck down our necks on an every day basis.’ Stuart looked ahead as the traffic lights turned to red and Love pumped the brakes. ‘It’s a quality item with a price to match.’

  ‘Go on then enlighten me.’ Love smiled.

  ‘On average you won’t get much change from £118.00 a bottle.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘It’s worth every penny, Love, we are talking a top quality cognac that’s aged using specific ingredients.’

  ‘Sure, I guess, when you put it like that.’

  ‘For a quality cognac that’s an extremely reasonable price,’ Stuart said. ‘Admittedly I indulge on occasion but I don’t go mad and fritter my money away on expendables such as costly alcohol and eating out at the most expensive restaurants all the time.’

  ‘Sure, I know.’ Love nodded. ‘Or costly cars.’

  ‘Exactly. But, mate, don’t get me started. I refuse to pay top price for a brand-new car that in two years time will be worth half or less than half its original cost. I just don’t see the point.’

  ‘I hear you, mate,’ Love said.

  ‘Although Jags hold their price at least the XF range does, more than, let’s say BMW for instance, I still absolutely refuse on principle to pay £36,000.00 or thereabouts for a car.’ He laughed. ‘I mean, for a car? It’s crazy!’

  ‘It sure is handy knowing someone in the trade.’

  ‘You’re not kidding. When I can pick up the same model only a year or two old from my mate in Thatcham at an extremely decent price, four thousand pounds less than half the original price, I’d be crazy not to.’

  ‘Yeah, makes total sense.’

  ‘I’ll introduce you to him anytime,’ Stuart said. ‘He’s fair and reliable.’

  ‘Thanks, mate, but my old girl will see me through a few more winters yet.’

  Stuart rubbed his hands together. ‘Let’s hope, besides, I like her a lot better since you got the heating repaired.’

  ‘She suits me.’

  ‘And there’s something in particular I like about Jags.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘They’re known worldwide as the quintessential British automobile.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Stuart said. ‘It’s bloody hard to buy anything British these days so the least I can do is support our car industry.’

  As Love changed gear he glanced at Stuart. ‘Listen, mate, would it matter if they weren’t British?’

  Stuart shook his head. ‘Of course not, it’s just a huge bonus that they are.’

  Love flicked his indicator to turn left into MI6. ‘Well, in that case, I know something about Jaguars.’

  Stuart smiled. ‘Sounds ominous. What is it?’

  ‘You might not like it.’

  ‘Go on.’

  Love grabbed his small remote resting in between the two front seats, pressed a button, the tall steel gate slid open. He cruised round to the back where he and Stuart swiped their IDs. A few moments later, the gate slid open and he drove straight into the underground car park. Love found a spot and pulled in. He pushed the gearstick into neutral, pulled on the handbrake, turned off the ignition followed by the heater. He had to get used to turning off that damn heater. He unsnapped his seat belt and opened his door. Just as he jumped out, he said, ‘I think it was in the nineties that Jaguar was taken over by Ford.’

  ‘What!’

  Love shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, mate, but Jaguar cars are owned by Ford.’

  Stuart got out of Love’s Volvo in slow motion. ‘I can’t believe it, I just don’t believe it, is nothing sacred anymore. Is nothing British anymore?’ He looked over at Love. ‘Please tell me you jest.’

  Love smiled. He was well aware of Stuart’s feelings towards Ford motor cars. ‘Mate, I could be wrong you know cars aren’t my deal.’

  ‘But Ford? Anyone but Ford,’ he groaned.

  ‘She’s still the same car.’

  Stuart stared hard at Love. They were standing next to a parked Mini about four years old. ‘I’ve got to look into this,’ he said. ‘And take them as another example,’ he said, pointing to the little car. ‘Owned by BMW and the price goes up thousands. It used to be an affordable car that stretched across all classes. That was the beauty of it.’

  ‘Come on,’ Love said. ‘I wish we had some of that fancy brandy upstairs you look like you could do with some.’

  ‘Ford? Really? I mean, Ford?’

  Love laughed. All the way up in the lift he’d listened to Stuart bemoaning the fact that Jaguar had been acquired by Ford.

  ‘I’m making you a strong, sweet cup of tea,’ Love said. ‘I reckon you need one.’ He punched the keypad and pushed open the door. Stuart trailed in behind him.

  Love walked over to his desk and shrugged off his Donegal.

  Stuart didn’t appear to hear as he removed his coat and put it on the back of his chair where it fell to the ground. As if in a daze, he bent down, retrieved it and hung it on the clothes rack. Suddenly he snapped back to attention.

  ‘I am on the case,’ he said. ‘Don’t think this ends here.’ He sat down in front of his computer clicked on a couple of icons and whisked his mouse into action like he was on fire.

  Love strolled over to the kettle, shook it, stepped over to the beautiful glass bowl sink, filled the kettle, he switched it on. As he stood waiting for it to boil he half wished he hadn’t said anything. Wow! Stuart was taking this bad. Curious, he pondered. The kettle boiled, he poured water into two mugs, dunked the tea bags, added sugar in one stevia in the other and lactose-free milk in both as Stuart still needed to bring in some rice milk. On his way back to his desk, Love stopped by the side of Stuart and placed a mug of tea down next to an open file.

  Stuart was busy scrolling eyes fixed to his monitor, concentration creasing his brow, when a moment later, he shouted, ‘You have to see this, Love.’

  Love looked over from his desk. ‘What is it?’

  Stuart looked up. ‘I need fortification.’ He took a sip of his tea. ‘Thanks, hits the spot.’

  Love walked round to peer at Stuart’s screen. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m going to have to dump her in the Thames or scrap her and possibly me along with it, I mean, think about,’ he said, and looked up at Love. He waited. On his monitor was one word.

  Love laughed, and said, ‘Bastard! You’re the wanker, you idiot!’ He walked back to his desk still chuckling. ‘I knew it!’

  ‘Oh, I had you going for a bit admit it,’
Stuart said, smiling broadly. ‘Actually, since 2008 Jaguar has been owned by a company based in India.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really! Although the cars are still made in Britain, and are known as a British car, the company is owned by Tata Motors and what with our history and links with the country I’m delighted,’ said Stuart. ‘I reckon it works out well for both countries,’ he added, and grinned.

  ‘I’ll get you back,’ Love said.

  Love was still smiling as he took a sip of tea. He glanced towards the window. He thought of James Sullivan. So cool, in control, and underneath it all was this sexual pervert. Well, Love considered him to be a bit of a pervert, no doubt there would be plenty who would disagree.

  Pain and pleasure the two sides of the same coin? Maybe, but Love liked his pleasure pure. And uncomplicated.

  ‘Can’t arrest a man for performing consensual sadism,’ he said. ‘He hasn’t broken any laws.’

  ‘No, he hasn’t.’ Stuart flicked his mouse and scrolled down. He took a sip of his tea and stared at the screen. ‘At least now we have a definitive answer as to how and why the fine lines came to be on Carol’s body.’ He glanced at Love.

  Love turned to look back at Stuart. ‘So why is it that I’m not jumping for joy?’ His mobile phone rang. He pulled it from his jacket and flicked it open.

  On the other end was Chris Evans.

  The information she gave him was exactly what he’d been expecting. He should be glad. Glad he’d found the reason for the faint crosses on Carol’s body and glad he’d discovered the identity of the person executing them.

  So what was troubling him?

  He needed a cigarette. He pulled open his drawer and extracted a pack. He opened it and flipped one into his mouth. He searched for his lighter, found it, lit his cigarette inhaled deeply and walked over to the window. He opened it wide and exhaled. He watched the tendrils of the blue-grey smoke as they escaped into the air.

  Where did it leave them? They had nothing concrete. Sullivan was a connection but he wasn’t the assailant. He knew that. He knew that even before Chris got back to tell him that Sullivan was in the clear. So, he checked out, Love pondered.

  And if Sullivan’s actions had been verified and Butterfield was no longer a suspect, where did it leave them?

  Forty minutes later, Love chucked his pen down on his desk and looked at his Timex.

  ‘Look, it’s coming up to a quarter to twelve I’m going to shoot off home and take care of Julie,’ he said. ‘Feed her, take her out.’

  ‘Yeah, of course,’ Stuart said. He pushed his hair back off his face. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  ‘You getting any lunch?’

  Stuart automatically glanced at the clock on his PC. ‘Hadn’t thought about it to be honest.’

  ‘I’ll probably get a sandwich or a quick bite from the pub on the corner.’ Love shrugged on his Donegal found his keys and shoved his cigarettes into his pocket. ‘Want to come?’

  ‘It’s tempting, nice place the Lion & Unicorn but I’ll pass.’

  ‘On to something?’

  Stuart leant back in his seat. ‘Not really, just going through what we’ve got.’

  ‘Well, if you change your mind. I’ll drop off Sullivan’s tiepin on the way down.’

  ‘All right,’ Stuart said. ‘I’ll make a start on the report for Sir Charles,’ he said.

  ‘Here,’ Love said. He walked over to one of the brown filing cabinets opened a drawer and pulled out a green folder. To the side of the cabinets were three smaller bright red filing cabinets. Like tiny pillar boxes. He turned to face Stuart. ‘This is what I’ve got so far.’

  Stuart took the folder from Love and flicked it open. ‘That’s great, Love, I’ll put the rest together and get it up to him.’

  As an afterthought Love stepped over to the fridge. Made his way over to the door, pulled it open.

  ‘Okay, mate, later.’

  And he was gone.

  12:08 hours

  Forty-five seconds after leaving MI6, Love was turning left on to Lambeth Bridge.

  Twenty-three minutes after that he was opening his front door. He stepped into a partial open-plan hallway and walked straight through the archway into the lounge.

  Julie, who’d already heard him coming up the stairs, was waiting in the middle of the decent-sized room. On seeing Love, she rose to her feet and waddled over to greet him. Her joy extending to her stump of a tail as it wagged from side to side.

  ‘Hello, sweetheart,’ Love said. He bent down to tickle her ear. ‘You hungry?’ He rose a moment later and shrugged off his Donegal. He chucked it on the back of the sofa.

  The room was tidy, warm and comfortable and he was tempted to flop down into one of the armchairs but instead strode into the kitchen. He opened the fridge, placed inside it the paper bag full of fresh meat, pulled out a tin of dog food, grabbed Julie’s bowl from off the floor and into it he spooned some food.

  ‘Here we go,’ he said as he placed it back down on her mat in front of the French window. The flat had twin French windows to the front of the property one in the kitchen the other in the lounge with a wrought iron balcony connecting the two. ‘Eat this and then we’ll take you out.’

  Julie, who’d followed Love into the kitchen, waddled over to her bowl sniffed it and tucked in. Love smiled as he watched her then turned round, shook the kettle and switched it on. He grabbed a mug from the white stained pine cupboard above, spooned in some instant coffee, wasn’t in the mood to percolate any, one spoon of sugar, he thought he’d try to cut down or maybe one day he’d even try some of this stevia stuff, and strolled back into the lounge.

  The large French window let in a lot of light. Even on overcast days the flat was bright never dark or dull. He slumped down on to the two-seater Chesterfield. It was about twelve years old, upholstered in an attractive creamy beige material with a slightly raised pattern, purchased from Argos. Although Cargo sold the exact same couch at the time but not at the same price. Same couch different price.

  The two armchairs either side of the couch were cream linen upholstered Edwardian Chesterfields with a deep buttoned oversized back and sides with bleached oak legs on brass castors, and were extremely comfortable. It felt like you were being hugged when you sat down in them.

  Not that Love would ever admit to needing or wanting a hug. Except perhaps from Julie. The canine, not the other. Although, a hug from that particular direction wouldn’t be totally abhorrent, he reckoned.

  He shook his head.

  He was fed up.

  Why, he had no idea. He leant over grabbed his jacket and removed his cigarettes. The noises from the kitchen indicated Julie was still eating. Just time to have a cigarette before taking her out.

  He flicked his old brass lighter, the flame glowed red, he put it to the tip of his cigarette then snapped it shut whilst inhaling deeply. He felt the smoke push its way deep into his lungs. It gave him a buzz and took him somewhere he wasn’t altogether sure he wanted to be. He leant forward and rested his cigarette in a large seventies clear glass ashtray. The kettle clicked at that moment as he knew it would. He got up and made his coffee.

  Love strolled back into the lounge placed his mug down on one of the rattan coasters stacked on the coffee table and walked over to the French window. He opened it slightly just enough to allow his cigarette smoke to escape. He wondered if Stuart was finding the time to eat. Love’s thoughts went to the pub on the corner. He decided he’d gone off the idea of going out. He wasn’t feeling sociable enough. A sandwich would have to do him. He’d got some cold chicken in the fridge from when he’d bought a cooked chicken two days ago. Two days ago was when he’d had that damn dream about Doctor Cooper albeit brief. And another one later that night or the following morning to be exact.

  And did that have to pop into his head right now?

  ‘Damn!’ he said. He strode back to the couch, grabbed his mug, nearly spilling it on the table,
and took a sip. Well aware he was going over his quota for the day but he felt he needed the inspiration. Coffee and nicotine, addictive drugs and ones he enjoyed. In moderation. Too much of a good thing or a so-called good thing is bad for you. He knew that.

  Love’s thoughts went over the investigation. Where did it all lead? Monica and Carol knew their assailant. They both knew the man well enough for him to know of their movements. And still the hospital was the link.

  He was sure of it. It had to be! There was nothing else to link the two women.

  At least, not so far.

  He still had this Stonehead character from Cornwall to interview. His gut told him that character was hiding something but what exactly at this stage he had no idea.

  Love rubbed his forehead. He had a headache. He knew he should eat something. He put his mug down and went into the kitchen. He opened the fridge, pulled out a plate on which was half a cooked chicken covered in cling film. He grabbed a tub of margarine which he balanced on top before placing both items down on the speckled grey and white granite worktop.

  He rinsed his hands under the hot tap patted them dry on a hand towel, took a plate from the rack above, a knife from a drawer in front of him and made himself a sandwich. Had to be without mayonnaise but he could live with that. The chicken was organic, juicy and flavoured with herbs and garlic.

  It didn’t need mayonnaise.

  He grabbed a piece of kitchen roll and returned to the lounge where he sat back down on the Chesterfield. He leant forward stubbed out his cigarette took one look at his sandwich and took a bite.

  The room didn’t have many personal touches apart from a couple of framed photographs, one of Love as a professional baseball player, a team photograph, and one of him and his parents taken soon after he became a detective. There was a large antique bookcase full of books which Love was determined to work his way through. Books he’d picked up along the way from local street markets and second-hand bookshops.

  A couple of pottery vases, tasteful but empty, a large old Indian rug covered most of the Victorian wooden floorboards, now faded and giving only a taste of the bright red tones with hints of peacock blues and saffron yellows it once boasted. A couple of large framed prints Love had bought locally covered the white walls depicting colourful wooden fishing boats and a pale blue sea. The large antique gild-edged mirror over the faux fireplace and mantelpiece was the centre point of the room.

  The television, which still hadn’t been taken in to be repaired or at least to see if it could be repaired, stood in one corner of the room alongside a music centre. The centre was from the early nineties just as records were going out and CDs were coming in and happily this particular stereo incorporated both a turntable and a CD player along with a tape recorder and a radio. And it still worked. To the side of it a modest supply of records, tapes and a few CDs sat on a small white shelf unit.

  A small Victorian pedestal desk in walnut with decorative brass handles and a tooled green leather writing top sat to one side. On top of which was a selection of papers, folders, pens - all chewed, bills, letters some unopened, a newspaper three days old, an ashtray and Love’s personal computer which didn’t get switched on very often. In front of the desk sat a chair Love had picked up at an antique shop in Devon. A late 19th century swivel desk chair in walnut with brass castors and replacement brass studded green leather hide seat and a vast improvement on the antique elm stickback dining chair that had once sat there but now occupied a corner in his bedroom.

  A couple of reproduction red leather-topped round wine tables, a couple of lamps in sandy matt yellow, and a mixed supply of cushions completed the furnishings. Apart from Julie’s deep wicker basket inside of which was Julie’s princess pink and purple dog bed to give extra comfort and security.

  Inside Love’s bedroom was a wooden-framed double bed, two Victorian chest of drawers painted white, and a large built-in mirrored wardrobe that ran along one wall.

  The room was decorated with orange accessories and soft furnishings, a chocolate-coloured thick wool carpet, deep chocolate browns offset with cream. It was like living in a choc ice was Love’s thought when he first saw it but he’d long since got used to it. He couldn’t imagine it any other way. The walls had been painted about thirty years earlier in a glossy vanilla shade and Love saw no reason to change it.

  Any of it.

  It worked for him.

  Fifteen minutes later, Love took Julie out for her walk in Rochester Terrace Gardens.

  Julie on the end of a lead in one hand; plastic bag, gloves and kitchen roll in the other.

  He bumped into the lady from the bank who was out walking Jake. She waved and her empty plastic bag fluttered in the breeze. He greeted her, asked how she was, and called out to Jake who in turn came bounding up to greet him and Julie. Following a quick nose to tail sniffing, he turned to Love planted both paws on Love’s chest and panted happily in the direction of Love’s face. Love took a step back due to the sheer weight of the dog. He laughed. He liked Jake and if he did turn out to be the father of Julie’s puppies he wouldn’t mind in the least. They’d be beautiful, nice-natured and very much wanted.

  He asked the woman if she’d ever thought of having another dog. She’d replied she hadn’t but sensed there was an ulterior motive to Love’s question. Love explained his suspicions to which she apologised profusely and offered her help in any way possible. Love laughed and said to wait until they were born then they’d know for sure. He found out her name was Esther Olsen and that she lived in nearby Caversham Road in a house just along from the Poundstretcher shop. They were formally introduced, she took Love’s phone number, Love took hers and went on his way.

  Having settled Julie back home, Love grabbed his cigarettes, and a new packet of mints from the kitchen, told Julie to be a good girl, walked through the archway into the hall opened his front door stepped into the Victorian-tiled landing and closed the door firmly behind him.

  Once outside he aimed his keys at the Volvo parked just down the road from his flat, pressed them once the car beeped the doors clunked open, he got in, and twenty-three minutes later was driving into the MI6 underground car park.

  At least Love’s mood had improved.

  Seeing Julie, Jake, and his new friend, Esther Olsen, had cheered him up. He no longer felt fed up. He felt inspired. Frustrated possibly but inspired nonetheless. He’d had a good lunch. Granted it was only a sandwich but it was delicious and it had hit the spot and his headache had gone.

  Love parked the car and went straight in to see Fitch. He stepped from the empty lift strolled round the corner to the lab, knocked once and went inside.

  Fitch looked up from the table next to his desk where he was dissecting something that had once belonged in a human body. ‘Hello, Love, you here for the tiepin results?’

  ‘Fitch,’ Love said, staring at the specimen on the tray. ‘I don’t even want to know where that came from and yes, if they’re ready, I just called in on the off chance.’

  ‘They’re done.’ Fitch rolled his surgical gloves off with a snap and disposed of them in the small Union Jack Brabantia retro pedal bin at his side. The lid closed silently as Fitch took a step towards his desk.

  ‘It’s as Sullivan said.’ He picked up a plastic evidence bag inside of which was the gold tiepin. ‘This matches the scratches on Carol Butterfield and tests show her fingerprints on the tiepin along with those belonging to another having ruled out yours and Stuart’s.’ Fitch looked up. ‘Am I right in saying they would belong to Sullivan?’

  Love stared at the tiepin in Fitch’s hand. ‘You would be right.’

  ‘Do you want me to run a DNA test?’

  Love pondered the question. ‘No, Fitch, not for the moment.’

  ‘Well, at least that’s one mystery solved,’ Fitch said.

  He passed the bag to Love who put it in his jacket pocket. He’d get that back to Sullivan probably later today or first thing tomorrow. He had
to go back to the hospital. His gut told him to go back but apart from Heinrich he had no specific reason to go there again. And for all he knew the assailant could be planning his number three victim right this minute. He had to talk to the one person who could help him pin it down. He needed to talk to Julie Cooper. The thought of calling her made his stomach flip. Damn the woman!

  He smiled at Fitch. ‘Thanks, mate, appreciate it.’

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ Fitch said. ‘Just doing my job.’ He grinned and went back to his specimen. He pulled open a drawer grabbed a pair of surgical gloves and slipped them on. As he was about to make an incision Love left the room. He’d got what he came for.

  Love let himself into his light and spacious office to discover it empty.

  He glanced at Stuart’s desk. No note. He glanced at his own desk. No note there either. He pulled out his mobile and checked for messages. None. He laid the phone down on his desk. Shrugging off his Donegal he glanced out the window. It was busy. Traffic was heavy.

  Smoke was in the air from exhaust fumes and nearby chimneys. Individuals were hurrying along. Some going to lunch. Some coming back from lunch. Some meeting their lovers for an illicit lunch. He thought of Carol and Derek Butterfield. He pressed the button on his computer. It whirred and stuttered into action. Take your time, Love thought, so much for technology. Finally he was in and staring at the cat prancing about like it had just awoken. He hovered his mouse over the icon for emails. It told him he had a new email. He directed his mouse and clicked it.

  The inbox page scrolled into view. It was a message from Stuart.

  Love grinned. ‘Wanker!’

  He opened the email. Have gone to lunch after all. If you’re back in time, see you downstairs in the canteen. And have dropped off report with the commander. And congratulations on reading this - you’re getting better!

  Love looked at the watch on his wrist. It was ten after one. It was tempting but checking the time the email was sent he figured Stuart would soon be back. Time enough for a quick cigarette.

  He strolled over to the window and cranked it open. Walked back to his Donegal and retrieved his pack.

  A moment later he was standing at the window staring at the snake of traffic going over Vauxhall Bridge through his wisps of smoke. Doctor Cooper. He’d call her now. Maybe catch her coming off lunch. Maybe she’d be more receptive. He walked over to his desk picked up his mobile walked back to the window and with his cigarette in his hand he punched in her number. He now knew it by heart.

  Did that mean something?

  A moment later, it was answered.

  ‘Doctor Cooper.’

  ‘It’s Love, how are you?’

  She paused. ‘I’m aware it’s you, Love, I have caller ID.’

  ‘That does surprise me,’ he said.

  ‘Because I listed your number.’

  ‘I’m honoured.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ she said. ‘Have you ever thought it’s a good way of weeding out unwelcome calls.’

  ‘Ouch! Your tongue can be razor-sharp, Doctor Cooper, at least where I’m concerned.’

  ‘Was there something you wanted, Detective Love?’

  ‘Oh, lady, you are one cool customer.’

  ‘What on earth is that supposed to mean?’

  Love took a drag of his cigarette. As he spoke wisps of smoke escaped his mouth. ‘It means either you can’t stand the sight of me and this is for real or secretly you fancy me.’

  ‘There’s another option.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘You mean absolutely nothing to me but I do it to get a rise.’

  Love laughed. ‘Not buying that one, Doc, not from you.’ He turned as the door buzzed, clicked and opened. He waved a hand in greeting to Stuart. Stuart grinned in return. ‘That’s too psycho and not your style at all.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure and that’s what I need to talk to you about.’

  ‘I’m not coming over to your house again at the crack of dawn.’

  ‘I’m not asking,’ he said.

  ‘Well, that’s all right then,’ she said quietly. ‘How’s Julie by the way?’

  ‘As well as can be expected,’ he said, and laughed. ‘But waddling like a duck. Thanks for asking.’

  ‘So how can I help?’

  ‘The assailant is, as we discussed, a Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde character.’ He knelt down and with his left hand stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray he’d placed on the floor. He exhaled the last of the smoke out through the open window. ‘Appears perfectly normal until something or someone sets him or her off.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Julie said. She got up out of her chair to walk about her office. ‘And it needn’t be at the person his anger is directed but…’

  ‘Projected emotions,’ Love said. ‘I remember.’

  ‘When I was at your flat the other day do you remember I had to make a phone call?’

  Love thought back to when she made her apologies and slipped out to the balcony. Yes, he remembered. ‘I do.’

  ‘Well, that phone call was to a patient of mine. I’m treating him for that exact thing.’

  ‘Really? Anyone I should know about?’

  Julie smiled. ‘No, Love, he’s not your man.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘He has a form of agoraphobia and can only go out when someone goes with him.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really. Anyway, his emotion, in his case, is sadness not anger, and is directed at anyone who reminds him of his sister.’

  ‘He gets sad with other women just because they remind him of his sister?’

  ‘That’s about it,’ she said. ‘And with therapy I’m treating him to control these emotions and understand them.’

  ‘Okay, Doc, that’s interesting but what’s your point?’

  ‘My point is it’s not just women who set him off.’

  Love furrowed his brow. ‘You mean a man could remind him of his sister and get him going so to speak?’

  ‘Exactly! Your assailant might be taking his anger out on women but deep down it might be a man he’s angry with.’

  ‘This gets more complicated as it goes on.’

  Julie laughed. ‘It’s not that bad but it can be frustrating I appreciate that.’

  Love sighed. ‘Doctor Cooper, I owe you one.’

  ‘Not necessary,’ she said. ‘Glad to have helped.’

  ‘Can I ask something else?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘What favour did you owe James Sullivan?’

  ‘What!’

  ‘During our interview, Sullivan mentioned you owed him a favour and I was just curious what…’

  ‘And what business is it of yours!’

  ‘Now listen, Doctor Cooper, Julie, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to tread on your toes.’

  ‘This is exactly what I’m talking about.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘You! You are uncouth and infuriating, you see ulterior motives where there are none you suspect everyone...’

  ‘Well, that is my job…’

  ‘To blazes with your job and to blazes with you!’

  ‘Hey, lady, I’m sorry if I…’

  ‘Please think twice before you contact me again.’

  Love stood motionless as the line went dead in his ear. That went well. He closed his mobile and held it in his hand.

  Stuart looked over from where he was leaning against his desk. His arms crossed in front of him. His top button undone his paisley tie loosened. He looked the image of a male model casual but smart.

  ‘What was that about?’

  ‘Julie Cooper and her touchiness.’

  ‘Have you been rubbing her up the wrong way again?’ he said, and smiled.

  ‘Me?’ Love chucked his mobile down on his desk and ran his hand through his blond hair. It flopped down over his forehead. His blue eyes showed his emotions and right now he was angry. ‘He
r more like.’ He leant down on the top of his desk with both hands palm down. He looked dangerous and extremely attractive. ‘What is it with that bloody woman?’

  ‘What did you say,’ Stuart said. ‘I heard something about the favour she owed…’

  ‘Exactly! That’s all I was asking about. The favour she owed Sullivan.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why did you want to know?’

  Love was breathing heavily. He stood up and walked back to the window. ‘No reason.’

  ‘Love, why?’

  He shoved his hands inside both trouser pockets. His body language indicated he was calming down. ‘I wanted to find out if they were seeing each other.’

  ‘You want to know if she’s going out with Sullivan?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And this would be because?’

  Love didn’t know the answer to that. He wasn’t sure himself. But ever since Stuart made that remark about the pair of them cooking up this electricity he wondered if he should explore it further. Especially if the dreams were anything to go by not that he was about to tell Stuart that, he pondered, I mean, really?

  ‘I like her.’

  ‘Then tell her, you idiot.’

  Love turned from the window and smiled. ‘I can’t, mate, it’s too late.’

  Stuart got up from his desk and walked over to a filing cabinet. He opened it, skimmed through the contents found what he was looking for, retrieved it and closed the drawer. ‘It’s never too late.’

  Love walked back to his desk pulled out his chair and sat down. ‘Where Julie Cooper is concerned it is too late.’ He picked up his baseball and rolled it around on his desk. ‘I should have kept things on a business level it’s my mistake,’ he said. ‘But it won’t happen again.’

  ‘Love…’

  ‘At least I learnt something interesting.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘It would appear our assailant’s anger might not be directed at a woman but at a man.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Yeah, and who does that put you in mind of?’

  Stuart smiled. ‘Heinrich Pfeiffer.’

  ‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘How many DCs are surveying your house?’

  ‘Two as requested and at all times,’ Stuart said. ‘I have the finest from Belgravia Police Station working in shifts.’

  ‘Good,’ Love said. ‘Well, let’s hope he pays you a visit real soon because right now that’s all we’ve got.’

  ‘What if he doesn’t take the bait?’ Stuart had just got off the phone with one of the surveillance team.

  Stuart’s morning post had been delivered and that was all the action his house, so far, had seen. Although the immediate area was busy enough.

  Rabbit Row was a small road just off Kensington Mall. It merged with West Mall to form an L-shape and was comprised of a row of a few businesses and predominantly residential properties. Traffic coming and going was commonplace.

  The detective constables or DCs continued to patrol the area, quietly and unobserved. They knew who and what to look out for. And so far there had been no unaccounted black FZ8s.

  Love looked up from his computer. He’d been scrolling through some files, trying to put together pieces of the jigsaw that didn’t quite fit. He leant back in his leather swivel chair. It creaked a little. He was glad of the respite. Computers! And as for that darn cat it was smiling at him again. Damn thing.

  ‘Then we go back and bait him again.’

  ‘What if we’re barking up the wrong tree?’

  ‘We’re not.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  Love held both hands up in the air. He smiled. ‘Mate, I’m never completely sure not until the end.’

  Stuart smiled in return. ‘Yeah, well, let’s just hope this end has a happy ending.’

  Love couldn’t agree more. He sure hoped so. Stuart’s family was at stake. Women everywhere were at stake as long as the assailant was out and about and free to choose his third victim.

  ‘Did you ask the commander if we could tail Heinrich?’

  ‘I did. He wouldn’t allow it. Not enough to go on he said, although he did say it was appropriate to have my house under twenty-four-hour surveillance. He approved of us trying to draw him out, if indeed he is our assailant.’ He ran his hand through his hair back and forth as if that would help him find the answer. ‘If only we had something concrete to pin on the man or at least something that would give us the green light to have him followed.’

  ‘I’m looking through these files,’ Love said, nodding to his screen. ‘For about the tenth time now to see if we’ve missed anything but so far I’m coming up blank.’ He turned to stare out the window. He had a great view over London even from his chair. ‘I know there’s something here I’m missing that I can’t quite put my finger on.’

  ‘Get back into his shoes, Love, that’s the only way.’

  Love narrowed his eyes as his mind went over his theories, the bike, the anonymity, it all added up except for one thing.

  The time.

  ‘Okay, let’s say it took between thirteen and fifteen minutes to abduct and kill Monica. I’ve walked through it and that’s the time I come up with. That’s how long it would have taken me,’ he added.

  ‘And I take it that’s the least amount of time.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right, quick and controlled,’ he said. ‘And if I took back roads accelerated where I knew there weren’t any speed cameras or blended in with other bikers to remain anonymous even if I was spotted or caught on camera it still doesn’t leave me enough time.’

  ‘Because Mr Pfeiffer said Heinrich arrived at the shop at around quarter to nine maybe a bit later.’ Stuart pushed his chair back and stood up. He put one hand in his pocket and began to pace about the room. ‘But what if he’s wrong?’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning, Heinrich didn’t get there at quarter or ten to nine at all but at five to nine or even nine o’clock.’ He pushed his hair back with his free hand. ‘Those few minutes would make it plausible.’

  ‘On a fast bike, taking short cuts, it would be possible,’ Love said. ‘He could knock off five whole minutes.’ His glance fell on the cigarette butts in the ashtray. To look at them you wouldn’t know if they’d been smoked recently or a while ago. He looked at Stuart. ‘His dad said he’d been there at least ten minutes because of the fresh cigarette butts in the ashtray.’

  ‘Where are you going with this, Love?’

  ‘Perhaps that’s what Heinrich wanted him to think.’

  ‘You mean he planted it as some sort of alibi.’

  ‘Could be.’ Love narrowed his eyes in concentration. ‘He said Heinrich was a light smoker and yet he’d supposedly already had two cigarettes even before a hot drink? Think about it Stuart.’

  ‘Okay, you know what this means?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We’re still no further forward than we were ten minutes ago.’

  ‘I disagree,’ Love said. ‘What this does is confirm my theory.’ He picked up his baseball and chucked it at Stuart. Stuart caught it firmly with his free hand. ‘Impressive! It gives strength to my theory which leaves just one thing.’

  ‘To prove it?’

  ‘Exactly!’

  ‘How about checking traffic cameras along the route from Fleurs to the dance studio or at least the nearby car park, Gloucester Avenue and then on to the hospital?’

  ‘Mate! We’re talking an almost impossible task,’ Love said. ‘But then again if he doesn’t make his move soon I reckon we’re not going to have much choice even if it is nigh impossible.’

  ‘Because we don’t know the exact routes he took.’

  ‘That’s part of it. He’ll be practically invisible and he’ll have made sure his number plate is obscured, that sort of thing.’ Love stirred his tea and placed the spoon down on top of a melamine tray sitting on the sideboard. ‘He’s not going to make it easy
for us.’ He picked up his mug. ‘Sure you don’t want one?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘I guess all we can do is wait.’

  ‘Yeah, I guess,’ Stuart said. He only wished he knew for how long. ‘To hell with this, Love, I’m going home.’

  ‘How come?’

  Stuart glanced at his Bell & Ross. ‘Look, it’s ten to three if I leave now I can work from home for the rest of the afternoon.’

  ‘I hear you, mate, and it’s a good idea,’ Love said. ‘But being on the spot isn’t going to make him come any faster, if at all, and the DCs on duty know to contact you immediately if he shows up.’

  ‘I know, I know, it’s just that I want to wrap this up.’

  ‘Look.’ Love walked back to his desk, placed his mug down and took a couple of steps towards Stuart who was already shrugging on his coat. ‘Why don’t I follow you in the car…’

  ‘You don’t have to do that.’

  ‘Why not! Two heads are better than one plus you promised me a home cooked meal, remember?’

  Stuart smiled. ‘I remember,’ he said. ‘Yeah, that would be good.’

  Love walked back to his desk took another mouthful of tea. ‘That’s even too hot for me to finish.’ He reached over to his computer turned it off grabbed his Donegal and slipped it on. He grinned at Stuart. ‘Right! The first thing you can do is make me a cup of tea.’

  ‘No problem.’ Stuart patted his pockets and pulled out his gloves. He slipped them on. ‘Sure you don’t want to come with me in the car?’

  ‘No, mate, this way I can slip home later and see to Julie.’

  ‘She’s due very soon, isn’t she?’

  ‘Looks like she’s about to pop any time now,’ Love said. ‘I know I can call Mrs Burton but I’d sooner see to her myself.’

  ‘You are one dedicated father-to-be.’ Stuart grinned as they walked over to the door. He stepped in front of Love and pulled it open.

  Love grabbed the door as he followed Stuart out of the office. He closed it firmly behind him tapping in the code. ‘Being the father of baby canines I can handle but any other kind…’

  ‘Forget it?’

  ‘You said it.’

  Stuart nodded to an operative from MI6. Jason. Thirty-four years old. One of the best. He was so cool, calculated and determinedly single he made Love look like a needy teddy bear. Jason nodded back. Looking good in designer jeans and a cashmere polo neck. Licensed to kill. The closest thing to James Bond MI6 could offer.

  ‘Seeing Jason made me think of something,’ Stuart said.

  ‘What’s that?’ Love stepped forward and pressed the button for the lift.

  ‘Do you have your weapon on you?’

  Love turned to look at Stuart. ‘Expecting trouble?’

  ‘Whoever our man is - he’s also armed.’

  Love shook his head. ‘It’s under lock and key back at the apartment.’

  The lift arrived with its gentle ping and the doors silently and swiftly opened. Love and Stuart stood to one side as two female operatives and three males stepped out. They stepped inside the plush interior and Stuart pressed the button for the ground floor.

  ‘Do you want to pick it up and bring it along with you,’ Stuart said. ‘To my place, I mean.’

  Love thought about it. If their assailant was Heinrich, would he show up at Stuart’s house and would it be tonight? He had no way of knowing. It was a ridiculous situation. They were grasping at straws. Hanging on to theories. What would Heinrich expect to achieve by going there? It didn’t make much sense but then again, murder never did.

  ‘I’ll pack.’

  Stuart nodded. They didn’t speak again. A moment later they were stepping out of the lift and on their way through the door and to their respective vehicles. Love looked over at Stuart. He smiled. Stuart raised his hand as if in greeting. Neither knew how the evening would turn out.

  And if truth be told, neither of them much wanted to know.