The 50/50 Killer Page 16

  ‘One moment.’

  She picked up the phone and dialled through. The drunk lads behind us, oblivious or indifferent to our presence, started mock fighting with each other, reliving whatever skirmish had landed them here. One of them was doing upper cuts in the air. He seemed quite proud of whatever it was he’d done to someone else, and I found it slightly soul-destroying.

  ‘Head down to the left there,’ the nurse told us, leaning over to point the way along the corridor. ‘Waiting Room Eleven.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  We headed down. Waiting Room Eleven was a small, cramped consultation room, barely big enough for the five of us. There was nothing to sit on apart from a waist-high bed, the old blankets covered with a stripe of tissue paper feeding out of a holder on the wall. Across from it, there was a trolley containing basic equipment: bandages, needles, thermometers. In the corner, a tall, flexible lamp. None of it inspired confidence. The room felt like it had been assembled on the fly at a disaster zone.

  The far wall was just a half-drawn curtain across a larger area where people were bustling around. I could hear casual talk and footfalls; the clank of metal on metal; the sound of water running.

  We waited. Mercer checked his watch twice.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Probably saving someone’s life,’ Greg suggested.

  Mercer peered through the curtains.

  ‘Excuse me?’ he called out. ‘Doctor Li? Yes? No?’

  No, apparently. He leaned back in and we waited a minute longer. I wanted the doctor to show up as well - to get this over with, one way or another. At least then I’d know where we stood and what I had to do.

  Eventually, Doctor Li arrived through the curtains, drawing them roughly shut behind him. He had closely shaved black hair and was short and solid, his white coat stretched across a broad back. He didn’t look like he took much shit, outside or inside the hospital, and his expression indicated he was both expecting and prepared for a difficult conversation. So that was the way it would be. Clearly, I wasn’t going to be interviewing anyone here tonight without a battle; equally clearly, there would be one.

  Li produced a pen and a clipboard and perched on the edge of the bed.

  ‘Sorry to keep you. Busy night.’

  ‘Okay.’ Mercer hid his impatience and showed Li his badge instead. ‘We’re here about the young man who was hit by a car on the ring road.’

  ‘Scott Banks. He wasn’t hit by a car but he looks like he was.’

  ‘Tell us about him.’

  ‘I don’t know much. From his records, we’ve seen him a couple of times before, but never anything serious. We’ve got basic information in the file - home address, and so on.’

  ‘That would be useful.’

  ‘I’ve told Reception they can give it to you.’

  ‘He claims he was held captive in the woods?’

  ‘Yes. Although he’s very unclear about a lot of what’s happened to him.’

  He ran through the details.

  Banks could remember being at home that afternoon, and that something had happened to him there - an attack of some kind. From that point, his memory became disjointed. He recalled being in a van, with his hands tied in front of him. A man in a devil mask, who had been hurting him. His girlfriend, Jodie, screaming. Most recently, himself running through the freezing woods, lost and frightened.

  There was no string of sense to thread these memories on, but it was familiar and it was sufficient. Scott and Jodie. A man in a devil mask.

  I needed to think carefully about how I was going to handle the interview, assuming I could get one. If Banks’s memories were disjointed, like Daniel Roseneil’s, there were good, painful reasons for that. I would have to be careful when questioning him.

  ‘Okay,’ Mercer said. ‘Simon, do you want to grab that address from Reception and get going?’

  Simon leaned away from the wall. ‘But I’ve already left.’

  Mercer turned back to Li. ‘We’ll need to speak to Banks as soon as possible.’

  Li shook his head. ‘I’m afraid he’s in no condition to be interviewed. He’s not long come out of emergency surgery and he needs to rest. He does want to help, but every time he tries, the block comes down’ - he ran his hand down in front of his face - ‘and then he can’t remember. Mentally and physically, talking about his ordeal is simply too much for him at the moment.’

  Li weighted his last comment with authority, throwing down the diagnosis as a gauntlet. I expected Mercer to contest it. Instead, he nodded and moved on.

  ‘Emergency surgery? What are we looking at here? What’s been done to him?’

  Li inclined his head slightly. ‘The surgery was for his eye. We couldn’t save it, but we had to clean out the wound to prevent infection. In answer to your question, it looks like a hot piece of metal was used on him.’

  Christ, I thought.

  Mercer simply nodded again. ‘Probably a screwdriver,’ he said. ‘That’s what the man who did it has used in the past.’

  He let that sink in for a second. Then: ‘What else?’

  Li looked uncomfortable. ‘He’s been hurt very badly. There are a large number of cuts and burns to his chest, arms and face.’

  ‘Injuries consistent with torture?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be familiar. But I imagine so.’

  ‘Severe torture by an unknown subject.’

  Li thought about it, choosing his words carefully. ‘The injuries are obviously consistent with infliction of pain and disfigurement, rather than an attempt to subdue or incapacitate. Yes.’

  ‘Only blinded in one eye, though,’ Mercer said. ‘Do you know why?’

  It was a rhetorical question because, of course, Li didn’t.

  ‘It was so that Banks could watch his girlfriend being tortured when the man was finished with him.’

  Li paled. I felt myself doing the same, but for different reasons: as far as I could remember, that particular insight hadn’t been in the file. I glanced at Pete. He wasn’t giving much away, but I could tell by his face that he’d clocked it, too. I supposed it was obvious with hindsight. The killer’s game contained as many reversals as the participants could bear. The impetus for those changes was being forced to witness the suffering of the person they loved. The victims had never been blinded in both eyes, never punctured in both eardrums. They had always been able to see and hear.

  Victims. I cursed myself. It was so easy to forget that we were talking about a human being here. A man like me. When Li said Scott Banks had been blinded, it meant that someone had held his head still and stuck something hot and sharp into his eye. I could barely imagine the panic, the fear, the pain caused by that. It seemed unendurable.

  ‘What else?’ Mercer prompted.

  Li cleared his throat. ‘Three broken fingers.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The soles of his feet. They’ve also been severely burned. Bear in mind that he then ran through the woods, in this weather. So there’s hypothermia and frostbite as well.’

  Mercer nodded.

  ‘Have you ever encountered this before, Doctor?’

  ‘I don’t really see the point in that question.’

  ‘You don’t see the point.’ Mercer looked up. ‘Well, there is a point. Three people with similar injuries have passed through your hospital. Two men, one woman. Did you encounter them?’

  Li blinked. ‘No.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘I’m sure I’d remember.’

  ‘I’m quite sure you would. We’ve been following the individual who carried out this attack for quite some time now, so we’re familiar with the effect his crimes can have, even on seasoned professionals.’

  ‘Detective—’

  Mercer held up his hand. ‘When Scott Banks talks about his girlfriend being in danger, he’s quite right. As we speak, the man will be hurting Jodie McNeice in exactly the same way. The best result we’ll get tonight is that you see injuries like Scott’s ag
ain. If you don’t see them, it’s because Jodie has been hurt so badly that she’s died.’

  Li started to say something, but then turned to look at the curtain, frowning.

  Mercer let the silence pan out for a moment. Then he gestured at me: ‘This is my colleague Detective Nelson. Mark?’

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ I said.

  Li glanced at me with an expression somewhere between annoyance and frustration. He certainly wasn’t pleased to meet me in return. I wasn’t hurt.

  ‘Detective Nelson is the man who needs to interview Scott Banks,’ Mercer said. ‘Is there any advice you could offer about how he should approach it? What he should expect?’

  Despite the noise of the activity behind the curtain - the beeps of machinery, the bustle of rushing bodies - it seemed very quiet in the room. After a moment, Li rested the clipboard on his lap, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and sighed.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s cut the crap. For whatever record there is, I do not want this patient to be interviewed at this time. It is not in his interests, and I have a duty of care towards him. He needs rest; he needs privacy; he needs time to recover.’

  ‘Noted.’ I recognised Mercer’s tone of voice. The matter had been settled, and his attention was shifting to the next obstacle to be considered. He actually waved Scott Banks’s comfort away. ‘He can have all that tomorrow. Hopefully Jodie can as well.’

  ‘That’s the deciding factor in me allowing you to interview him.’ Li paused so that Mercer could note the wording. But he was disappointed. ‘As long as my objection is recorded.’

  ‘It is. You have security guards here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Could you arrange for one to stand outside Banks’s room, please? It’s unlikely he’s currently in danger, but we need to be sure.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Okay.’ Mercer stood up. ‘What we’re also going to need is a room. I think some of us, at least, will be here most of the night, so it would be handy to have a place to set up shop and work.’

  It wasn’t exactly a question, but Li nodded. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘Thank you, Doctor.’

  ‘I’ll be back shortly.’

  He opened the curtains and stepped out of the waiting room. When he was gone, Mercer closed the curtains and turned to us.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Thoughts?’

  My first thought was how tired he suddenly looked. He’d put on a good show for Doctor Li, but the last few hours seemed to have worn him down. Partly it was the overhead light in this room - paling and waxing his skin; making dark sockets of his eyes - but it wasn’t just that. His body had the slump of exhaustion; his expression seemed too heavy. He wasn’t moving much, either, unless he had to.

  But then we all probably looked the same.

  Pete was leaning against the wall and staring at his feet. Without looking up, he spoke slowly.

  ‘He’s totally changed his MO.’

  Mercer nodded. ‘Taking the couple out into the woods, rather than holding them in their home. Yes. He’s altered the form of the game. And we’ve just reached the next stage. What’s new about this part? Come on, Pete, don’t fall asleep on me. Talk us through what’s happened.’

  Slowly, Pete leaned away from the wall and sat down on the bed. He looked at the floor and began rubbing his big hands, as though washing them with the warm, sickly air.

  ‘Banks is abducted at his house,’ he said. ‘Presumably, he’s taken somewhere in the woods, along with his girlfriend. He’s subjected to a period of torture. He runs through the woods, gets to the road.’

  ‘Succinct.’ Mercer stared down at the top of his deputy’s head. ‘Okay. Banks has been tortured, so there’s at least some correlation between this crime and the previous ones. If we assume the killer’s playing his usual game, Banks is with us ahead of time, isn’t he? It’s not dawn yet. And I think there are two possible explanations for that. Greg?’

  Greg shrugged. ‘He escaped?’

  ‘Look lively, Greg. That’s one. Mark?’

  ‘The killer let him go,’ I said.

  ‘Exactly. The game played out and Scott Banks chose to abandon his girlfriend. Which means we have until dawn to stop her being murdered. ’

  There was a moment of silence while we all considered this. It didn’t make sense. Pete broke the quiet without looking up, his voice slow and weary.

  ‘John, she’s dead already.’

  ‘No, she’s not.’

  ‘He’s killed her.’ Pete spread his palms on either side. ‘Whatever’s happened, he’s smart and he’s going to have counted on Scott Banks getting out of the woods. He’s not going to wait around for us. The game’s over. He finished it early. He killed the girl and he’s long gone.’

  ‘No.’ Mercer shook his head confidently. ‘It’s not.’

  ‘So you think he’s just there, then? Waiting for us?’

  ‘Not exactly. But he’s been planning this for two years, Pete. He’s not concerned about hiding his identity from us any more. And he left us the recording of Simpson’s murder - he explicitly said “dawn”. The game he’s playing has changed, but not the time limit on it. So we have until dawn, don’t we?’

  Pete finally looked up at Mercer: looked at him frankly, right in the eyes.

  ‘With the greatest respect, John, I think you’re seeing what you want to see.’

  Immediately, Mercer turned his back and walked over to the curtains. Pete stared at the empty space for a moment, then closed his eyes.

  I knew what he was thinking. The killer had changed so many aspects of his MO that it made no sense to presume he wouldn’t kill the girl before dawn. Mercer was simply hoping. It was what the team had been concerned about in the canteen. What would it do to him if we couldn’t save these people? This case, this killer. Mercer was making assumptions based on what he wanted to be true. Maybe what he needed to be.

  Earlier, Pete had made the decision to stick by his boss and friend. Now I could tell he was seriously doubting the wisdom of that. Greg was keeping quiet. Mercer clearly wasn’t about to acquiesce. Instead, he began to pace back and forth, as though using the momentum to generate energy.

  ‘Sir, I—’

  ‘Noted.’ Mercer stopped pacing, and glared at him. ‘It’s all been noted. All of it, all day. Noted.’

  The air chilled instantly. Pete looked stung by Mercer’s outburst.

  ‘It’s actually my decision,’ he reminded us. ‘I’m in charge here, and I know what I’m doing. I’m not broken yet, you know. But if that’s what you think, what else should we do, Pete? Tell me. Two hours ago our killer was in the woods. Where else should we begin?’

  Pete closed his eyes.

  ‘All right, John,’ he said quietly. ‘Search team?’

  ‘Search team, yes,’ Mercer said. Praise the Lord. ‘Check to see if the helicopter will fly. Wake up Search and Rescue and get some dogs out there. Get bodies physically into the woods.’

  ‘It’s a huge—’

  ‘A huge area, of course, so start from where Banks was picked up. Mark will see what he can get from the interviews. If Banks can remember something specific, it’ll narrow the parameters.’ He turned to me. ‘You’ve interviewed victims before?’

  I nodded.

  ‘First interview, just get as much as you can: confirmation of what he’s told us so far, information about Jodie, anything about the woods. Ease him into remembering more, but don’t give up too easily.’

  ‘I know what I’m doing.’

  It must have sounded snappy, because Mercer frowned. Everyone was rebelling against him. He ran his fingers through his hair.

  ‘All right. You and Pete, get going. Pete, keep in touch. Be safe.’

  ‘Yes, John.’

  We left the room, and I followed Pete out to the entrance. He walked briskly, not saying anything but occasionally shaking his head, and I had to move quickly to keep up. He paused when we got to Reception, and tur
ned to look at me.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ I said.

  ‘I’m going to go to the woods and organise the search team. What else is there?’ He sighed and shook his head one last time.

  ‘Look after him.’

  I nodded, slightly uncertainly. He stared at me for a second, then nodded in return. The glass doors slid open behind him, and he huddled up and headed outside, into the snow.

  4 DECEMBER

  5 HOURS, 35 MINUTES UNTIL DAWN

  1.45 A.M.

  Scott

  In the dream, Scott was in his old bedroom. The one he’d been in during his second year at university.

  Of the six bedrooms in the house, it was the smallest by far. He’d moved in with five friends he’d met in first year; the two who’d found the property took the large rooms downstairs, and he’d agreed to go in this box room to save argument among the others. It was only twice the width of the single bed and slightly less than twice the length, but he didn’t have much stuff, and he quite liked the idea of existing in such a small space. It streamlined you as a person: kept you focused. His few possessions fitted in easily enough - CDs, videos and random objects, all on the bookcase by the window - while most of the materials he needed for his degree could be stored in the studio space the department allocated to him.

  It was the year he’d met Jodie, and in the dream she was there too. They were sitting side-by-side on the bed, pillows propped against the wall to form a backrest, drinking vodka and Coke and watching a film on his worn-out video-recorder. Flickering light from the screen was casting odd shadows around the walls.

  It was an old, damp room. The smell from the food they ate up here, the smoke from the cigarettes ... it hung in the air for days before settling into the wallpaper and bed sheets, getting under the skin of the room.

  Nevertheless, he was glad to be back here. These had been happy times. Even though it was only a dream, every time he touched his new girlfriend he felt a thrill of excitement. The air seemed to glisten with possibility.

  Scott drifted up slightly out of sleep, but not enough for it to leave him. They were curious, these dreams, so vivid and detailed that they felt real, but even in the thick of them he knew they weren’t. They were strange, swirling concoctions of memory and imagination, images and instincts, and he found it hard to discern exactly what was what.