The Jigsaw Man Page 18

  ‘But our victims might have something to do with Blaine.’

  ‘OK, let’s say that it definitely is Blaine. You don’t start killing for no reason,’ said Ramouter. ‘You don’t wake up on a Wednesday morning, realise that you’re out of milk and decide to chop up the milkman.’

  ‘Maybe there was a practice run,’ Henley said out loud. ‘What about the other jurors?’

  ‘Two are dead,’ answered Ramouter as he leaned back in his chair. It occurred to Henley that he had already committed their names to memory. ‘Albert Kraenish, but that was from natural causes last year. Death certificate says liver cancer.’

  ‘And the other?’

  ‘Carole Lewis. Forty-eight years old. She was found stabbed to death in Highgate Woods back in May. The investigation is still ongoing. The OIC is a DS Lancaster.’

  Henley’s mind was running a million miles a minute, but she couldn’t think of anything to say.

  ‘What if Kennedy wasn’t the first one?’ said Ramouter.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You just said it. A practice run. What if Daniel Kennedy wasn’t the first one? What if it was Carole Lewis?’

  Henley checked the wall clock. DS Lancaster was late. Her shift had started sixteen minutes ago. Other officers hovered around the incident room, clearly intrigued as to why two members of the SCU were at their station. Henley had already declined the offer of tea or coffee twice, while Ramouter had been ignored.

  A short, heavyset woman walked into the room carrying a thin blue file. She had made no effort with her clothing. Henley could tell that DS Lancaster was the type of police officer who wanted to prove that it wasn’t about her, that it was all about the job. She had an edge to her, and Henley didn’t like it.

  The three of them crammed around her desk. Lancaster placed a hand possessively on the blue file that contained some of her notes, witness statement and forensic report from the Carole Lewis murder investigation.

  Henley tapped the edge of the file. ‘That case file is a bit thin, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s my personal working file,’ Lancaster replied, instinctively pulling it towards her.

  ‘And that’s all you chose to bring with you, even though you were aware that we were coming?’

  The noise level in the incident room dropped as Lancaster removed her hand from the file and pushed it over. Henley ignored Lancaster’s not-so-subtle tutting as she opened the file.

  ‘We had the husband down as a suspect,’ said Lancaster.

  Henley gave Lancaster a look. A reminder that she was speaking to someone above her rank. Lancaster caught it and corrected herself. ‘But now that you’re here, ma’am…’ Lancaster said begrudgingly. ‘Her body was found by the playing fields on a Saturday morning by a couple of kids on their way to football practice. There were stab wounds to her chest and her throat had been cut. Almost decapitated her. Suspicions naturally turned to the husband because we quickly found out that he was having an affair with their neighbour.’

  ‘Charming,’ said Ramouter.

  ‘Yeah, if you saw the state of him, you’d wonder why anyone would bother,’ continued Lancaster. She turned her gaze towards Ramouter, wrongly assuming that he would be a natural ally.

  Henley watched as Lancaster’s gaze went to the ring on Ramouter’s left hand before she looked up again.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?’ Lancaster asked Ramouter. ‘We’ve actually got the good stuff that comes in a capsule.’

  Henley resisted the urge to roll her eyes or to chastise Lancaster for flirting with Ramouter right in front of her.

  Ramouter cleared his throat. ‘I’m good, thanks.’

  ‘Yorkshire, is it?’ asked Lancaster.

  ‘Sergeant!’ Henley didn’t bother to hide her annoyance. ‘You were saying that you suspected the husband.’

  ‘It didn’t help that three months before Lewis was killed, the husband had taken out a life insurance policy for the both of them,’ said Lancaster. ‘We searched the house and found a pair of his trainers with traces of her blood on them. He says that she had cut herself in the kitchen a few days before and he had stepped in her blood.’

  ‘What other evidence did you have?’ asked Henley sharply.

  ‘Nothing direct.’ Lancaster reached for the large bottle of Evian water on her desk. ‘We called him in to interview and he obviously denied having anything to do with it. He gave us an alibi. Said that he spent the night at a Travelodge with the neighbour, but when we went to see her, she denied it, and when we made enquiries with the Travelodge there were no bookings in his or her name. CPS didn’t think that we had enough to charge so we released him under investigation.’

  ‘And from the look of this working file, you’ve left the investigation floundering.’

  ‘What? No. I’ve—’

  ‘Carole Lewis’s husband has been RUI for almost six months and you haven’t pursued any other possible suspects.’

  ‘There are no other suspects.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ Henley asked. ‘According to the forensic report, some of the DNA that was found in Lewis’s body was attributed to a Gary Wilkins.’

  ‘We spoke to him,’ Lancaster said defensively. ‘He made a full admission to having sex with Carole Lewis but that was almost twenty-four hours before she was found dead.’

  ‘And you automatically eliminated him as a suspect. There’s no evidence here that you even checked out his alibi.’

  ‘I’m going to be checking out his alibi,’ said Lancaster. ‘This is still an open investigation.’

  ‘You’re going to check it out after nearly six months,’ Ramouter said. ‘Were you even aware that Gary Wilkins was being investigated by the Sapphire Unit at West End Central for his history of sexual assault?’

  Lancaster pursed her lips, as though she had tasted something bitter. For some inexplicable reason, she hadn’t expected Henley and Ramouter to do their homework.

  ‘I haven’t been negligent,’ Lancaster said defiantly. ‘Our unit has seventeen murder investigations that are ongoing. We don’t have the luxury of being selective with our cases or being left to our own devices to investigate a once-in-a-blue-moon serial crime, ma’am.’

  Henley bristled at the sharp jab. She was aware of the cluster of detectives to her right who were openly watching the exchange. Lancaster sat smugly in front of her, celebrating her cheaply won point.

  ‘Did you know that Lewis had been a juror on the Olivier murder trial?’ Henley asked.

  ‘No, we didn’t,’ said Lancaster, ‘and even if we had I don’t think that it would have been a possible line of enquiry at the time, but it’s something that we’re going to actively—’

  ‘No, you won’t. We’re taking this,’ said Henley.

  Lancaster’s expression hardened. ‘But you can’t do that. It’s my investigation.’

  ‘It was, but in my opinion,’ Henley said loudly for the benefit of every eavesdropping ear in the room, ‘you’ve failed to investigate it properly.’

  ‘Ma’am, with all due respect. I’ve been running this investigation—’

  ‘Badly, you’ve been running it badly.’

  Henley was aware that the activity in the incident room had slowed down. Conversations had stalled mid-sentence. Even the phones had stopped ringing.

  ‘You just can’t take it. You don’t have the authority to take—’

  ‘Sergeant Lancaster, don’t concern yourself with the admin. I’ll have someone from the SCU contact you to arrange the transfer of the case files.’ Henley scraped back her chair and indicated for Ramouter to follow. ‘You can keep your working notes.’

  Lancaster stared back, seething with anger.

  ‘Make yourself available,’ said Henley.

  ‘Well, I don’t think that you’re going to be on Lancaster’s Christmas card list,’ Ramouter said as they walked out of the station.

  ‘Couldn’t care less,’ said Henley. ‘She was trying i
t on and I don’t like it when someone blatantly tries to take me for a mug.’

  ‘But she’s right though. We don’t have authority. We can’t just take over like that.’

  ‘Don’t you think that I know that?’ Henley pulled out her phone, which had begun to ring. ‘Pellacia is going to have to work a bloody miracle and get us authority. God, he’s going to kill me for this.’

  She answered and listened. Her stomach flipped, and the nausea swept over her in waves with every word.

  ‘We need to go. Now.’ Henley had already begun to run towards her car.

  ‘What is it?’ Ramouter quickened his pace to catch up. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘It’s Olivier. We need to get to Queen Elizabeth Hospital, now.’

  Chapter 44

  Olivier tried for the third time to open his eyes as the voices around him grew louder and more distinct. The back of his head throbbed and there was a strange metallic taste in his mouth.

  ‘Peter. Peter, can you hear me?’

  Olivier turned his head in the direction of the voice and managed to barely open his eyes.

  ‘Yes,’ Olivier replied with a hoarse voice, coughing. ‘Water.’

  ‘Of course. We’ll just raise the bed a bit. We removed your breathing tube so your throat will be feeling quite dry and sore for a few hours, but the main thing is that you’re alive.’

  A nurse brought him a cup of water and as he reached for it he noticed the saline drip in his hand. There were no restraints securing him to the guard rail. Olivier turned his head and flinched with pain. Ade, a prison officer, was sitting in the corner with a folded newspaper in his lap. Olivier stopped the smile from spreading across his face when he noticed the view from the window. He’d made it out of Belmarsh prison.

  ‘Don’t remove it,’ warned the doctor as Olivier adjusted the nasal cannula that was pushing oxygen through his nostrils. ‘Luckily, it wasn’t a heart attack like we thought but we can’t discharge you back to the prison just yet.’

  ‘Why not?’ Olivier asked, running his hand across the sensors on his chest.

  ‘Apparently Belmarsh is on a lockdown,’ the doctor replied, and looked at Ade for confirmation.

  ‘If we can’t get back into Belmarsh today then it looks like it’s either Brixton or Pentonville, once transportation is sorted out,’ Ade replied.

  ‘How long have I been here?’

  ‘Since yesterday morning. Do you remember what happened?’ asked the doctor.

  Olivier inhaled and squinted his eyes. ‘It’s a bit hazy, but I think that I missed out on breakfast. Is there any chance of getting something to eat?’ Olivier asked.

  The doctor marked off his chart. ‘Of course. I’ll ask the nurse to come in. Also, you might experience some dizziness and nausea when you first try to get up. Don’t let it alarm you; it’s a perfectly normal reaction. We’ll give you some anti-nausea medication if it’s really extreme.’

  As the doctor left, Olivier caught a glimpse of Karen Bajarami who was standing guard. She looked at Olivier cautiously before closing the door.

  Ade was still sitting in his chair, but his head had lolled back and there was the unmistakable sound of snoring. Olivier had already removed the sensors on his chest and as he began to extract the saline catheter, blood pooled in his hand. Almost an hour had passed since he’d finished the lunch a nurse hesitantly placed on his tray before racing out of the room. He shifted off the bed and placed his bare feet on the floor. An intense nausea swept over him as he stood up. He sat back down, placed his head between his knees and breathed deeply, waiting for the dizziness and heart palpitations to subside. The lamb stew that he had eaten earlier swirled in his stomach and attempted to make its way back up his throat. A few minutes passed and Olivier pushed himself back up. His prison clothes with his trainers had been placed in a plastic bag that had been dumped in the corner of a room.

  Ade jumped up from his chair as Olivier kicked over the metal drip stand and smashed the lunch plate against his head, knocking him out. Olivier grabbed a sharp piece of the broken plate and rammed it into Ade’s side. Olivier repeatedly banged his head against the floor until a hospital security guard rushed in and pulled Olivier off Ade. Bajarami spoke into her walkie-talkie.

  ‘Help. We need help!’

  Bajarami screamed as Olivier rammed the security guard against the wall. Ade lay gurgling as an alarm went off in the hallway. Olivier loosened his grip as another wave of nausea took hold of him. The guard stumbled towards the door and out into the corridor. Olivier shook his head clear and spotted the food tray and fork by his feet. He picked up the food tray and hit the security guard twice across the face.

  ‘Olivier. Stop. You have to stop,’ Bajarami cried out as the security guard crawled along the corridor floor.

  ‘Shut the fuck up,’ Olivier snarled, the nausea bringing him to his knees. From the corner of his eye, he saw Bajarami standing in the doorway. He grabbed the fork, forced himself up and walked up to the guard. There was a sickening crunching sound as Olivier raised his leg and stamped twice on the guard’s head. Bajarami threw herself at Olivier and tried to push him away from the guard’s convulsing body. Olivier shrugged her off and turned around.

  ‘No. No. Stop!’ Bajarami shouted. Olivier lunged at her, plunging the fork deep into her eye. He watched her face freeze in shock before she let out a guttural scream. Olivier covered Bajarami’s mouth then shoved her across the room.

  The hospital alarm grew louder as Olivier ran out into the corridor and towards the fire escape.

  Chapter 45

  ‘This is BBC Radio London News. Police are hunting for the notorious prisoner, Peter Olivier, who has escaped from Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Woolwich, south-east London. Peter Olivier, also known as “The Jigsaw Killer” was jailed for life in 2017, for the murder of seven men.

  ‘Olivier, who is thirty-eight years of age, was at the hospital receiving treatment for a suspected heart attack. He is believed to have assaulted two prison officers in order to make his escape. Olivier is described as white, five feet eleven, with short brown hair and of medium build. He was wearing a blue-and-white hospital gown when he escaped. The police have said that Olivier is highly dangerous and warn the public not to approach him but to call—’

  Henley’s blood was pumping in her ears. The hospital was swarming with security guards and police. Henley had had to turn on the blue and twos just to push her way in front of the BBC News and Sky satellite vans that had turned up. A helicopter was circling overhead, while the officers on the ground took statements and confirmed updates over their police radios.

  Henley checked her watch. Olivier had been on the run for two hours and nineteen minutes. They would have been there sooner if it hadn’t been for the accident on the A406 and a car breaking down in the Blackwall Tunnel. All forty-three police forces across the United Kingdom had been briefed and were on alert. The last image of Olivier, taken shortly after his arrest at Lewisham police station nearly three years ago, was posted all over Twitter and the local news. A gaggle of journalists were reporting live from outside Queen Elizabeth Hospital warning viewers that Olivier was highly dangerous and that he shouldn’t be approached.

  Henley and Ramouter followed a security officer to a room on the ground floor next to the newsagent’s. Henley wondered if there was something that she had missed when she had last visited Olivier. She replayed the conversation between them but there was no coded message, nothing that revealed itself in hindsight. Yet she felt as though she had dropped the ball.

  The security control room smelt of antiseptic, burnt coffee and stale cigarette smoke. Adam Cole, the head of hospital security and Lyle Denman, the senior prison officer in charge of transporting Olivier to hospital, stood in front of the bank of security monitors.

  ‘If you think that we’re taking the blame for this, you’ve got another thing coming,’ said Cole as he tapped on the keyboard.

  ‘Are you taking the piss? This ain’
t on us,’ said Denman. ‘We made it perfectly clear that we would need extra assistance with Olivier. Experienced officers. Maybe if you had people who didn’t get their security cards out of a cereal box, have been in the country for more than five minutes and could actually speak—’

  ‘Shut it.’ Henley glared at Denman as he turned around.

  Denman put his hands on his hips revealing yellow deodorant stains under his arms. ‘Who the—?’ He stopped when he noticed the lanyard with Henley’s warrant card around her neck.

  ‘I haven’t got time for this,’ Henley said as she indicated for Ramouter to pull up a chair.

  ‘How many security cameras are there?’ Henley asked.

  ‘There are 186 in the actual hospital building and thirty-two outside, including the car park,’ said Cole.

  ‘You’ve got footage from the floor where Olivier was kept?’

  ‘I’m pulling it together now.’

  Henley tried to ignore Denman, who was making heavy sighs of annoyance in the corner.

  ‘We’ve increased security around the hospital since the incident,’ said Cole.

  ‘Shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted, isn’t it?’ said Henley. ‘Perhaps you should have increased security before Olivier got here?’

  ‘Look, with all due respect, Detective—’

  ‘Inspector.’ Henley’s voice was cold and brittle.

  ‘Sorry. Inspector. It’s my responsibility to maintain the security of this hospital and I did my job. We implemented all of our security measures as soon as we were informed that the prisoner was on his way. Once he was in the hospital it was up to the prison officers to keep an eye on him.’

  ‘What exactly happened?’ Henley turned to Lyle Denman. ‘Why was Olivier even here? The reports are suggesting that he had a heart attack.’

  ‘He collapsed at breakfast yesterday morning. He would have been taken to the health care wing, but he was completely unresponsive, and we thought that he may have had a stroke, so an ambulance was called.’