When he was out cold, I cut his clothes off. I took the strap from the Judas chair and fastened it round his chest, under the armpits. I’d fixed a rudimentary pulley and hoist to one of the ceiling beams, and I attached the hook to the strap. I raised Gareth’s body with the hoist till he swung like mistletoe in a draught. Once he was up in the air, it was the work of moments to undo the handcuffs and fasten him to my Christmas tree.
I’d bolted two planks to the wall in the shape of a St Andrew’s Cross, and covered them thickly with prickly boughs of blue Norwegian spruce. To each arm of the cross, I’d attached leather straps, which I fastened around his wrists and ankles. I opened up Gareth’s curled fists and taped his hands open to the cross. Finally, I removed the hook and let the wrist straps take the strain. His body slumped alarmingly, and for a moment I was concerned that I hadn’t fitted strong enough straps. There was a brief creaking of leather on wood, then silence. He hung like a martyred apostle on the dungeon wall.
I laid out my club hammer and the sharpened cold chisels I’d chosen for the job. We’d be together now till Christmas night. I intended to savour every minute of our forty-eight hours.
Very few men commit murder upon philanthropic or patriotic principles … As to the majority of murderers, they are very incorrect characters.
The four detective inspectors sat stony-faced in what had been Tom Cross’s office as John Brandon gave them the official version of the superintendent’s suspension. Sometimes, Brandon wished he was one of the lads again, able to explain his reasons without appearing to undermine his own position by doing so. ‘What we’ve got to do is put this behind us and move this enquiry forward,’ he said briskly. ‘Now, what’s the score with McConnell?’
Kevin leaned forward in his seat. ‘I did as you instructed, sir. He left our custody just before midnight, and I’ve had a team on him ever since. He hasn’t put so much as a toe out of line so far. He went straight home, seemed to go to bed, judging by the lights. He was up at eight this morning, and he’s gone off to work. I’ve got one lad in the gym, posing as a new member, and another one out on the street.’
‘Stick with it, Kevin. Anything else? Dave, anything interesting coming out of the computer yet?’
‘We’re following up a lot of car numbers and blokes with previous for any gay-related offences, both on the gay-bashing and the gross indecency side. We’re also about to cross-check those lists with the ones Don Merrick’s been getting from travel agents of people who have booked holidays in Russia. Once we get the profile, we might be able to develop some suspects, but it’s uphill at the moment, sir.’
Carol chipped in. ‘Some of the weightlifting associations said they’d supply us with lists of their members who’d either been to Russia or competed against Russian teams.’
Dave pulled a face. ‘Oh goody, more bloody lists,’ he said.
‘I’ve got a contact in the leather business,’ Stansfield said. ‘Biggest importer in the UK. I asked him about the leather scrap and he said that with it being deerskin, it’s probably not your common-or-garden labourer’s jacket. He said it was likely to be someone with a bit of clout but not real power. You know. Somebody like a DI,’ he grinned. ‘Or a town-hall official halfway up the greasy pole. A deputy stationmaster. The second mate on a ship. That sort of thing.’
Dave grinned. ‘I’ll tell HOLMES to keep an eye out for ex-KGB men.’
Brandon started to say something, but he was cut off by the peal of the telephone. He grabbed it and said, ‘Brandon here …’ His face lost all expression, turning as wooden as the coffins he looked as if he should be carrying. ‘Yes, sir. I’ll be there right away.’ He put the phone down gently and stood up. ‘The Chief Constable is interested in hearing how this evening’s paper came to look the way it does.’ He crossed the room and paused by the door, one hand on the handle. ‘I’m sure the person who washed our dirty linen in Ms Burgess’s sink will be hoping I can persuade him not to make an example of him.’ He gave Carol a frosty smile. ‘Or her, come to that.’
Tony locked his office door behind him and gave the project secretary a happy wave and smile. ‘I’m going out for a bite of lunch, Claire. I’ll probably go to Café Genet in Temple Fields. Inspector Jordan’s due at three, but I’ll be back by then. OK?’
‘You’re sure you don’t want to return one of these calls from the journalists?’ Claire called after him.
Tony swung round, continuing to walk backwards across the office. ‘What journalists?’ he asked.
‘First off, that Penny Burgess from the Sentinel Times. She’s been trying every half-hour since I came in. Then, in the last hour, they’ve been on from all the national newspapers, and Radio Bradfield.’
Tony frowned, baffled. ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Did they say what they wanted?’
Claire held up the copy of the Sentinel Times she’d nipped out to buy from the campus newsagent. ‘I’m no psychologist, Tony, but I think it might have something to do with this.’
Tony stopped in his tracks. Even across the office he could read the headlines and make out his own photograph splashed across the front page of the paper. Like an iron filing pulled by a magnet, Tony moved closer to the paper till he could read Penny Burgess’s name on both stories. ‘May I?’ he said hoarsely, reaching out for the paper.
Claire relinquished it and watched his reaction. She liked her boss, but she was human enough to relish his discomfort at being exposed in the evening paper. Tony hastily flicked the front page over, hunting for the full story about himself. With a mounting sense of horror, he read:
Dr Hill is well equipped to enter the twisted mind of the Queer Killer. As well as his two university degrees and a wealth of experience in dealing directly with the criminal perverts who have terrorized society, he has a reputation for dogged determination.
A colleague said, ‘He’s married to the job. It’s all he lives for. If anyone can catch the Queer Killer, it’s Tony Hill.
‘It’s only a matter of time now, I’m convinced. Tony is relentless. He won’t give up till this bastard is nailed down tight.
‘Let’s face it, Tony’s got a top-class brain. These serial killers might have high IQs, but they’re never very smart when it comes to staying out of custody.’
‘Dear Christ,’ Tony groaned. Apart from the fact that no self-respecting colleague would ever have given quotes like that, the article was tantamount to throwing down the gauntlet to Handy Andy. It read like a challenge. He felt sure Handy Andy would find a way to respond to that. Tony threw the paper down on the desk and scowled at it.
‘It is a bit over the top,’ his secretary said sympathetically.
‘It’s bloody irresponsible, never mind over the top,’ Tony raged. ‘Oh, bollocks to it. I’m going for lunch. If the Chief Constable rings, tell him I’ve left for the day.’ He walked off again towards the door.
‘What about Inspector Jordan? What if she rings?’
‘You can tell her I’ve left the country.’ With the door open, he paused. ‘No, only joking. Tell her I’ll be