Larry Hill knew that his wife’s macrobiotic diets and the meals she prepared for him every day in plastic containers would not suffice; he’d be sneaking in the extra meal here and there to survive the day. An early morning English breakfast, heavy on the stomach, good for energy, would see him through, and no doubt a few drinks in the pub to loosen the tongues of anyone willing to talk. Isaac knew it would be affecting his love life again, which he regretted to some extent, but not as much as he thought it should. And as for Bridget, she’d have the office computer, the files to prepare, the spreadsheets to set up; to her that was heaven. She knew she’d be in the office bright and early, leaving late. Isaac knew, as he always did, that none of them would let him down.
‘I’ve set up an all points for the man,’ Larry said.
‘There’s only one problem,’ Wendy said.
‘What’s that?’ Isaac asked.
‘I’d organised a door-to-door in the area of Arbuthnot’s house. We know the approximate times when Big Greg entered the house and when he left, within a few hours either way.’
‘What were the results?’
‘We’ve a few more streets to conclude today, but one thing is clear. No vagrant or homeless person knocked on Arbuthnot’s door.’
‘Conclusive?’ Isaac asked.
‘Ninety per cent, I’d say. Some high-fliers live down there, some politicians. As a result, the security in the area is tight. Apart from the police keeping a watch on the area, some of the occupants have contracted local security firms to keep roving twenty-four-hour patrols in the area. Anyone fitting the description of Big Greg would not have got within one hundred yards of Arbuthnot’s house.’
‘What does that mean?’ Larry asked.
‘The man is no longer dressed the way he was,’ Wendy replied.
‘Which means?’
‘It’s fairly obvious. The homeless act was just that. He’s now back dressed as you and I.’
‘But why?’ Isaac asked. ‘It makes no sense, none of it.’
‘That doesn’t matter, does it, guv?’ Wendy said. ‘What’s important is that he’s back, he’s murdering people for a reason, and he’ll not stop.’
‘Not again,’ Isaac said. He could see Goddard and then the commissioner on the warpath again. He wished he was back on holiday in Jamaica.
‘Any idea what the man looks like now?’ Larry asked.
‘We’re checking. It’s possible we’ll be able to come up with something,’ Wendy said.
‘Work with Bridget on this. It’s our priority now,’ Isaac said.
‘And you, guv?’
‘I’ll need to tell our senior. It’s better for him to hear it from me than Commissioner Davies.’
‘How will he know?’ Bridget asked.
‘He’s got someone in Challis Street keeping him updated.’
‘Do you know who?’
‘Not yet.’
***
Big Greg had not enjoyed torturing Arbuthnot, but he had done what was necessary. The man had secrets that needed to be revealed. It had surprised him how easy it had been.
In the past, when he had been on the receiving end of Arbuthnot and the other man’s skills, he had endured for days, but then he had a reason to keep quiet, a reason to take the pain, but what did his torturer have, apart from a depressingly affluent house?
Big Greg reflected on his house from all those years before. How there would always be a flower in a vase, a crayon drawing of his daughter’s held onto the fridge door with a magnet. And how his daughter would fling her arms around his neck when he came in after work, and he’d swing her around, being chastised by the mother for getting the girl excited just before her bedtime.
Happy memories of a reality long gone, and now it had all been replaced by anger and hatred and the need to inflict pain and suffering on those who had forced him to live a life of disgust and loathing. Arbuthnot had been the first, he would not be the last.
He wondered if the years and the anguish were driving him mad, but he knew they were not. He could see it all so clearly: the need to retrieve all of his notes from where they were stored, not to allow anyone to get in his way. And then he had to let his daughter know that her father still loved her and that he would protect her.
He had to admit that he enjoyed being back again, and the small flat that he had rented was adequate for his purposes. The laptop with its Wi-Fi was keeping him up to date on the current situation, especially those who needed to be dealt with. It was unfortunate that some, those he had worked with, were innocent of any guilt other than they may find the solution.
The others, who had set up the research team, convincing in their argument that their results would only be used for peaceful purposes, yet knowing full well that its funding was military, deserved special treatment.
But even if he completed his task, would it be sufficient to ensure that no one would attempt to solve the technical problems, whether in England or overseas? People were becoming more educated, and computers more capable of processing the millions of computations that would be required, and there was no way the military in his country or any other would ever acquiesce to his request to leave well alone.
It had been only eleven years on the street, yet when he looked in the mirror he saw an old man. He looked at the picture of himself that he had carried in that old coat for so many years: a photo of him with his wife and daughter.
