Quinn. Learning from a Master. Saturday December 24th 1127hrs
‘This is good work, Ian. Well done.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Terrible business in Harrietsham though,’
Chief Inspector Quinn’s lips twitched in annoyance. ‘Yes, sir.’ The chief constable for Kent had visited him in person, a sure sign that he saw political gain in being associated with the successful conclusion of the Sandman case. Quinn chose to use the name Tempest Michaels coined and sell it as his own. Now that he’d seen the evidence, including that which he’d confiscated from the Blue Moon office, he knew the press would see why it was such a good name for the serial killer he’d discovered, and they would love it.
There was a certain catchiness to the name that would capture headlines and the public’s imagination.
Karen Gilbert being taken was not part of the plan though.
‘You’re certain it is the work of this so-called Sandman?’ Chief Constable Vickery wanted to know.
Quinn had already assured the man it was, but if the big boss wanted him to say it again, he would. The promotion board’s next meeting was right around the corner after all.
‘Yes, sir. She was victimised by Ramsey Mitchell, a man we now know to have more than a dozen aliases. My team were able to establish a pattern of behaviour that saw him purchase properties close to each of his victims. Sometimes, as was the case with Miss Gilbert, he was able to buy the house next door. At this time, we are unsure what his motivation for the murders might be, but we believe he has been killing since 1984 with at least one victim each year.
The chief constable’s eyebrows shot to the sky. ‘How did he go undetected for so long, man?’
Quinn skewed his lips to one side before answering. It gave him time to think about how likely it was that his own failings might be discovered. Several of the missing women had passed through his hands as cases he dismissed. A missing woman was not a murder and therefore not headline news. He wanted cases he could solve, not open-ended messes that would tarnish his amazing record.
Knowing his boss was waiting for an answer, he said, ‘I believe he was able to ensure we never found the bodies.’
Chief Constable Vickery challenged his answer instantly. ‘What about River Tam?’ His eyes were narrowed at his subordinate. He’d heard about Quinn and knew the man’s father when he served. He’d been an ambitious man and the son seemed no different. There was nothing wrong with that; he hadn’t risen to be chief constable by failing to take advantage of the chances when they arose. However, if Quinn was trying to pull the wool over his eyes, he was going to find his ambitions halted sharply.
‘Yes, sir. I believe River Tam to be the outlier. You will recall, no doubt, that the investigation into her murder was conducted by Chief Constable Beattie. I believe he did a stalwart job,’ Quinn added quickly in case his boss thought he was trying to deflect. ‘I’m certain I could have done no better,’ an outright lie, ‘and, of course, there were no other bodies to suggest this was a serial killer. I believe the other bodies are most likely buried, sir. River Tam was found by a farmer not long after she was murdered. I believe it will be proven that Ramsey Mitchell was disturbed before he could inter her body.’
The chief constable pursed his lips and considered Quinn’s explanation.
‘Perhaps. Listen Quinn. It’s good work, like I said, but there is no time to rest. One of your officers is missing still and now Miss Gilbert. The press have got hold of it already and I have to face them shortly. I’ll be assuring them we are doing everything we can to catch this blighter and you are going to make sure that is true.’
Listening to hear what else the chief constable might have to say, Quinn suddenly realised his boss was waiting for him to agree. ‘Of course, sir. I will be throwing all we have at rescuing Miss Gilbert and PC Van Doorn.’
‘And the other fellow,’ Chief Constable Vickery reminded his subordinate.
‘James Butterworth. Yes, sir.’
‘What are you doing with that Michaels character?’ the chief constable wanted to know. ‘The press are going to ask. They love him, you know. He’s like some kind of folk hero. Like Robin Hood or something.’
Quinn dropped his gaze to the floor and scrutinised the carpet for a few seconds. Never had Tempest Michaels been more of a problem to him.
‘He broke the law, sir.’
‘In pursuit of a serial killer, Chief Inspector. The press will have a field day if you charge him.’
Quinn’s head snapped up, startled at his boss’s attitude. ‘You want me to let him get away with it? That would be tantamount to promoting vigilantism, sir.’ Was he being tested? The chief constable couldn’t want him to set Tempest Michaels and his accomplices free, surely? What possible upside was there?
‘Focus on the case, Chief Inspector,’ advised the chief constable, his tone fatherly. ‘If your team gets a lucky break and find the Sandman in time, I am sure no one will care what happens to Tempest Michaels. However, as I understand it, your officers have raided a dozen properties currently owned by Ramsey Mitchell and are yet to yield a single clue as to his current location. If the bodies of Karen Gilbert, James Butterworth, and Constable Van Doorn are tomorrow’s headline news, who will they blame?’
The subtext hidden in the question hit Quinn like a sucker punch to the gut. Letting Tempest Michaels go was a win-win situation. He could charge them all and release them under caution. Should any of them do anything that sailed even close to breaking the law, he
