‘But you were together for two years, were you not? A long time in which to acquire hair. What was it? Did she cut her hair on a whim and you preserved a clipping? Or did you swap locks as a romantic gesture?’
Hickle’s face was grey. ‘This is insane,’ he managed to say. ‘What sort of crazy story is this?’
‘Do you deny knowing O’Leary?’
‘No.’
‘Do you deny knowing Berrick and Thursk?’
‘No.’
‘Do you deny having a relationship with Juliette Kinnear? Do you deny selling drugs to the artists you knew in the nineties? Do you deny being terrified by the prospect of Noel Thursk’s book?’
‘No … No … Yes!’
‘Oh, come on, Geoff. Or should I call you Jerome?’
‘Look, okay. I knew those people. But I had no idea this Noel Thursk guy was writing a book. And as for Juliette … it’s absurd. Yes, we dated for a while, but … DNA, hair … oh, come on, Inspector.’ Then, suddenly, Hickle seemed to bring his emotions under control again. ‘You have nothing on me. This is all circumstantial.’ He glared at Pendragon, studiously ignoring Turner.
Pendragon took a deep breath and looked at the papers in front of him. ‘You’re absolutely right, Dr Hickle. But it’s enough to force you to give prints and agree to a DNA swab. And it’s enough to keep you in custody while we find irrefutable evidence that you have killed four innocent people. Then we will most definitely have something on you.’
Chapter 44
‘Jack, it sounds to me as though you’re just dashing from one idea to another.’ Superintendent Hughes was staring at him from behind her spotless desk. In front of her on the polished walnut top was a pad of paper positioned squarely with a black Mont Blanc pen placed precisely in the middle of the top edge of the pad. Her hands were clasped and resting on the desk.
Pendragon protested, ‘I don’t think that’s entirely fair.’
‘No?’
‘No.’
Hughes folded her arms across her chest. ‘Okay. So, what do we have? A dead girl’s DNA planted as a decoy. A doctor who, over fifteen years ago, knew the victims and earned some pin money dealing ecstasy and cocaine.’
‘He cannot prove where he was at the time of any of the murders.’
‘Not enough, Jack.’
Pendragon stared off towards the blinds drawn over the window and the row of perfectly manicured cactus plants on the sill.
‘Dr Geoff Hickle might once have been a student with a dodgy business plan, but he’s now a stalwart member of the community,’ Hughes went on. ‘He is on two government advisory boards that I know of, chairs a very important charity, and he’s an internationally recognised burns specialist.’
‘All the more reason he would want to protect his reputation. He’s worked hard to get where he is. How could he face losing it all if the truth about his past got out?’
‘But you have no evidence.’
‘I know.’ Pendragon looked straight into his boss’s eyes. ‘Give me twelve hours and I’ll have it. We’ll nail the man.’
Hughes was shaking her head. ‘I can’t do it.’
Pendragon ran a hand over his forehead and looked up at the ceiling. ‘We need to keep him in overnight. We can do that, surely?’
‘He’ll lawyer up and be out of here within an hour, no matter what we say or do,’ Hughes replied. ‘No, I’m sorry. Get me some real evidence and I’ll move Heaven and Earth to help. But not until then.’
‘Look, guv,’ Turner said, meeting Pendragon’s furious gaze. ‘You can bang your head against the wall if you like, but all you’ll get is a sore head.’
‘Is that another example of your home-grown wisdom, Turner? Something your mum told you?’
The sergeant fell silent and looked away.
‘I’m sorry,’ Pendragon said quietly. ‘That was uncalled for.’
‘It’s all right, sir.’
They were in Pendragon’s office with the door closed. It was 9.15. The night shift had started two hours earlier and for the moment the station was relatively quiet. The troublemakers who would be in later were busy getting drunk in local pubs.
‘At the risk of being snapped at again, it might be an idea to get some shut-eye, sir. I dunno about you, but I’m sick of the bloody sight of this place.’ Turner sighed. ‘The teams have drawn a complete blank trying to find any links between the friends and acquaintances of the victims. I know Jimmy alone has interviewed fourteen of Chrissy Chapman’s buddies.’
‘What about the units Sammy found?’
‘Jimmy’s getting on to those tomorrow.’
Pendragon sighed and rubbed his eyes. ‘Yes, you’re probably right, Sergeant. I think I should have a change of scene.’ He stood up and they both saw Superintendent Hughes leading Dr Hickle past the office door along the corridor towards the main desk. He did not notice the two policemen watching him. ‘Turner, I want someone outside that man’s house all night. You take the first shift. I’ll arrange for Vickers to relieve you in two hours.’
It took three rings before Pendragon surfaced from a deep sleep, and even then a couple of moments passed before he realised what the sound was. He reached for his mobile lying on the bedside cabinet and squinted at the number, noted the time — 2.02 a.m. — and opened the cover.
‘Grant,’ he said wearily. ‘What’s happened?’
‘The nutter’s struck again. We’re on our way to the scene, a warehouse off Commercial Road.’ Pendragon could hear the sound of rain and the beating of the squad-car wipers, then the tick of an indicator.
‘Whereabouts exactly?’
‘Thyme Street. There’s a small industrial estate there. It’s a warehouse Number 415b.’
‘I’m on my way.’
Pendragon was out in under three minutes and pulling away from the kerb. The snow had vanished to be replaced by sleety rain. The pavements were clear, but soaked. It was a moonless night lit only by neon, and as he pulled away towards the end of his street he had a sudden stab of deja vu. It was a similar call that had initiated him into the Brick Lane team just over six months earlier. He had just arrived from Oxford and was staying in a hotel for a couple of nights. The morning he was due to start work he had received a call from Inspector Grant at 3.05 a.m. telling him he was on his way to a crime scene on Mile End Road. It had been a rude awakening: a murdered labourer had been pushed through an air vent and crashed through the ceiling of an underground illegal dance club. That had been the start of a particularly intense investigation involving a cross-dressing psycho-killer and the discovery of a mysterious and ancient ring that had once belonged to Lucrezia Borgia.
Pendragon turned left and put his foot down hard on the accelerator. Just after two on a Wednesday morning, the streets were just about as quiet as they would ever be. He jumped the lights and turned left into New Road, pushing the accelerator to the floor. He slowed to turn into Commercial Road and then sped up again. Six minutes after leaving his flat, Pendragon was pulling into the industrial estate. He raced through a pair of opened gates, slowed, then pulled over to check the list of addresses on a huge metal sign. Turning back to the road, he saw an ambulance career around the next bend towards him. Its lights were flashing and the driver was just starting up the siren. Pendragon paused to let the ambulance pass. It churned up a deep puddle of murky water that splashed as high as the nearside windows of the squad car. Pendragon shot away again. A uniformed officer flagged him down as he approached the flashing blue lights of two police cars and a motorcycle parked outside a warehouse on the left.
The uniform held the car door open as Pendragon got out. A shutter door was positioned in the centre of the
