Jack negotiated Lincoln’s busy streets.
‘Only sort of,’ he admitted, but eventually they found the silent alleyway where Michael Sheriff’s body had been found. It was still technically in the old quarter, away from the usual tourist areas.
‘Why here?’ Hawksworth asked aloud, as if expecting the black, damp walls to answer him.
Kate shrugged. It was even colder in this alleyway. ‘Deserted, dark.’
‘Don’t you get the impression that our killer is more calculating than opportunist? I don’t think he or she did anything without thinking it through carefully. No clues were left and Sheriff didn’t die here,’ Jack reminded her, ‘he was brought here. Now I agree this is a deserted area, but there have to be less difficult places in the city to dump a body than this.’
‘So an intentional drop.’
Kate looked around. There was nothing to suggest this place was in any way special. She glanced at the broken police tape flapping at the entrance they’d just come through.
‘Perhaps,’ Jack began, ‘this is like the blue paint — meaningful only to the killer and victims.’
‘So where was Farrow found again?’
‘Some public toilets in a park.’
‘A more probable spot then — easier access, quiet and dark.’
‘But there are still easier places to leave a corpse. Farrow could have simply been dumped on Hackney Marshes. No, Kate, I think our killer is choosing these locations. They have meaning.’
‘We’d better tell John Tandy.’
‘Immediately,’ Jack agreed. ‘It may help in working up his profile for us. Come on, it’s getting late, let’s get going. I’m heading back to the Yard, but can I drop you somewhere?’
‘You’re going back to work?’
‘I’ve got to check on a few things in our new operations room. We start tomorrow on the twelfth floor, remember, don’t go to Welly House.’
‘Ah, of course. The twelfth floor — they must be very sexy offices.’
‘Trust me, they’ll blow you away. So, back to the Yard?’
‘If you can drop me at Angel tube station, that would be great.’
‘Done. I might even get a gym session in.’
Kate groaned. ‘Oh, make me feel guilty why don’t you.’
Jack grinned at her. ‘More than anything the exercise gives me a chance to clear my thoughts. Doesn’t it do the same for you?’
‘Nothing more than my comfy sofa, a glass of wine and a DVD couldn’t achieve.’
Or another row with Dan , she thought and turned away from her boss’s smiling face to stare sadly out of the car window.
8
Jack had ignored the cross-trainer and opted for a forty-minute random run to nowhere on the treadmill, the ‘Big O’ singing to him through his miniature headphones. Jack preferred to use New Scotland Yard’s gym late, when only the shift workers drifted in and out and he didn’t have to queue for machines or deal with conversations and other people’s noise and sweat. The downside was that the showers took a century to warm up and, more often than not, he had to grit his teeth and have a tepid shower, as he was now.
He dried off and dressed in the tracksuit he habitually carried in his training bag. He didn’t bother with his hair, just legged it back up to the new operations offices to grab his gear and get home for a few hours’ sleep.
He strode past reception and Joan’s home-made sign — a piece of A4 paper declaring in bold red letters that he had entered the Operation Danube Office — and down to the end of the long, narrow chamber where an attempt at separate offices had been achieved with partitions.
Joan had left various notes on his desk: the Daily Express wanted to interview him; the BBC was enquiring as to the possibility of doing a fly-on-the-wall documentary; a magazine was keen to learn just how much an operation such as Danube cost taxpayers and could it have a photograph of the Danube team, please? He screwed that one up and lofted it so he could kick it into a bin. ‘Goal!’ he said and glanced
‘Only sort of,’ he admitted, but eventually they found the silent alleyway where Michael Sheriff’s body had been found. It was still technically in the old quarter, away from the usual tourist areas.
‘Why here?’ Hawksworth asked aloud, as if expecting the black, damp walls to answer him.
Kate shrugged. It was even colder in this alleyway. ‘Deserted, dark.’
‘Don’t you get the impression that our killer is more calculating than opportunist? I don’t think he or she did anything without thinking it through carefully. No clues were left and Sheriff didn’t die here,’ Jack reminded her, ‘he was brought here. Now I agree this is a deserted area, but there have to be less difficult places in the city to dump a body than this.’
‘So an intentional drop.’
Kate looked around. There was nothing to suggest this place was in any way special. She glanced at the broken police tape flapping at the entrance they’d just come through.
‘Perhaps,’ Jack began, ‘this is like the blue paint — meaningful only to the killer and victims.’
‘So where was Farrow found again?’
‘Some public toilets in a park.’
‘A more probable spot then — easier access, quiet and dark.’
‘But there are still easier places to leave a corpse. Farrow could have simply been dumped on Hackney Marshes. No, Kate, I think our killer is choosing these locations. They have meaning.’
‘We’d better tell John Tandy.’
‘Immediately,’ Jack agreed. ‘It may help in working up his profile for us. Come on, it’s getting late, let’s get going. I’m heading back to the Yard, but can I drop you somewhere?’
‘You’re going back to work?’
‘I’ve got to check on a few things in our new operations room. We start tomorrow on the twelfth floor, remember, don’t go to Welly House.’
‘Ah, of course. The twelfth floor — they must be very sexy offices.’
‘Trust me, they’ll blow you away. So, back to the Yard?’
‘If you can drop me at Angel tube station, that would be great.’
‘Done. I might even get a gym session in.’
Kate groaned. ‘Oh, make me feel guilty why don’t you.’
Jack grinned at her. ‘More than anything the exercise gives me a chance to clear my thoughts. Doesn’t it do the same for you?’
‘Nothing more than my comfy sofa, a glass of wine and a DVD couldn’t achieve.’
Or another row with Dan , she thought and turned away from her boss’s smiling face to stare sadly out of the car window.
8
Jack had ignored the cross-trainer and opted for a forty-minute random run to nowhere on the treadmill, the ‘Big O’ singing to him through his miniature headphones. Jack preferred to use New Scotland Yard’s gym late, when only the shift workers drifted in and out and he didn’t have to queue for machines or deal with conversations and other people’s noise and sweat. The downside was that the showers took a century to warm up and, more often than not, he had to grit his teeth and have a tepid shower, as he was now.
He dried off and dressed in the tracksuit he habitually carried in his training bag. He didn’t bother with his hair, just legged it back up to the new operations offices to grab his gear and get home for a few hours’ sleep.
He strode past reception and Joan’s home-made sign — a piece of A4 paper declaring in bold red letters that he had entered the Operation Danube Office — and down to the end of the long, narrow chamber where an attempt at separate offices had been achieved with partitions.
Joan had left various notes on his desk: the Daily Express wanted to interview him; the BBC was enquiring as to the possibility of doing a fly-on-the-wall documentary; a magazine was keen to learn just how much an operation such as Danube cost taxpayers and could it have a photograph of the Danube team, please? He screwed that one up and lofted it so he could kick it into a bin. ‘Goal!’ he said and glanced
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