The Domino Killer Read online

  ‘Gina, don’t do this.’

  ‘Leave and go back to your apartment. Do whatever clean up you want. If you’re lying, your clothes will have blood spray on them…’

  ‘They won’t, I didn’t kill him. It’s contact only.’

  ‘Then save them, to prove that. Call me when you get to your apartment, but make sure the call is a long one. Make it twenty minutes. I’ll answer and leave the line open. I’ll tell the police I tried to make you hand yourself in. The record of the phone call will be there, and it might just help you. That glass…’ And she pointed at Joe’s wine glass. ‘It’s going in the dishwasher and I’m going to wash the carpet where your shoes have been. As far as I’m concerned, you were never here.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘I’ll make some calls and see if anyone has discovered the body. If he’s been found, you’re on your own. Don’t come here again. Don’t drag me into it, because I don’t know whether you’ve done it or not. I want to believe you, but you’ve lied to me before and for a long time. Everything points to you, Joe, and I’m not going to jail if you’ve lied again.’

  Joe nodded slowly, dread creeping through him. ‘And if the body hasn’t been discovered?’

  ‘I’ll tell them. I was a murder detective, and whatever you’ve done or haven’t done, there’s a body and a crime scene that will be degrading by the minute.’

  ‘And what will you tell them?’

  ‘That you called me and you told me what you just have.’

  He let out a long breath and got to his feet. ‘I understand.’

  ‘This is goodbye, Joe.’

  ‘I know that.’

  Gina didn’t move as he left the house.

  He had to get back to his apartment. From there, he had no idea what he was going to do, but he knew he had to keep moving.

  Thirty-nine

  ‘Has Joe called?’ Alice said.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘I’m not doing anything.’

  ‘But if you think he’s going to harm someone, shouldn’t you help?’

  ‘He’s a grown man,’ Sam said.

  ‘And you’re a policeman, who promised to protect people.’

  Sam didn’t respond.

  Alice’s eyes widened. ‘So that’s it?’ she said. ‘You don’t mind if he carries out his threat, because what if this man did kill Ellie?’ She shook her head. ‘You’re better than that.’

  ‘So what do I do? Warn the police that my brother is out there on some murderous rampage? Go to Proctor’s house myself to warn him? I don’t want Joe to do anything, because he might have the wrong man or might get caught.’

  ‘So it’s fine as long as he gets it right and gets away with it?’

  Sam took a deep breath. ‘I’ll shed no tears.’ He lifted his phone and held it out to her. ‘Call the police. Tell them your concerns. They might find Joe.’

  Alice didn’t move.

  ‘You feel exactly the same as me,’ he said.

  Before Alice could respond, Ruby came in. ‘What are you two arguing about?’

  ‘Nothing for you to worry about,’ Sam said.

  ‘Is it about me staying over?’

  Sam softened. ‘Of course not. You’re family. You’ve got the sofa, though.’

  She shrugged. ‘That’s fine. What are you doing now?’

  He glanced at Alice. ‘I’m going to do some work.’ He put his laptop onto the dining-room table and turned it on.

  ‘So what sort of work?’ Ruby said.

  ‘You really want to know? I’m going on a dating site for married people,’ he said. When Ruby’s mouth dropped, he added, ‘All in the name of research.’

  ‘Research?’

  ‘Yes, a case I’m working on. But you’re not watching.’

  ‘What is it?’ Alice said.

  He logged onto the No One Tells site and turned his screen round to show her. Alice raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Yes, you’re right,’ she said, and tilted her head to hint that Ruby should go into the other room.

  Once Ruby had left, she said, ‘I’m worried about Joe, that’s all.’

  ‘So am I. But he’s an adult.’

  ‘So what’s this?’ she said, and pointed to the laptop.

  ‘I’ve created a fake profile so I can lure someone in. It’s to do with the case I’m working on.’

  Alice examined the thumbnails that filled the screen. ‘People never stop looking for the special one.’

  ‘It’s not that kind of dating. It’s for affairs, not romance.’

  ‘People finding happiness amongst the sadness.’

  Sam was surprised. ‘I thought you’d be more damning than that.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, reaching across and patting him on the hand. ‘I’m not thinking of joining. I just try to be more relaxed about life now. Promise me one thing, though.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘If you ever think of it, tell me first. If we can’t sort it out, I’d rather know so we can move on, not sink into this kind of desperation.’ And she nodded towards the screen.

  ‘Is that what it looks like, desperation?’

  ‘Have you got a better word for it?’

  When Sam realised that he didn’t, he said, ‘I’m about to have a taste of their world. I could do with your help.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Because I want to know what to say. There is someone on this site pretending to be an underage girl to lure in paedophiles. I sent a message earlier.’

  ‘I’m not sure I want to. The underage part sounds too sleazy. And don’t you need to be careful? You might be accused of being a paedophile.’

  ‘I’m trying to lure her into a trap, to find out why she’s doing it.’

  ‘Is it a her?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ he said.

  Alice frowned. ‘So you think it’s a man posing as a young girl to lure in abusers?’

  ‘Something like that, although there are still some things I don’t get. I just don’t know how it fits in with everything. You ready?’

  ‘Okay, I’m right with you.’

  Sam logged into the site and his profile page came up. He’d added a couple of pictures he’d found on the internet, of men who took their photographs too close to the webcam, so they were dark and out of focus.

  Alice read the description he’d given himself. ‘Strong, silent type, likes to dominate?’ she said, and gave a small laugh.

  ‘I can be in charge,’ Sam said, and then grinned. ‘If it’s all right with you, that is.’

  ‘Just type.’

  Sam went to the inbox and saw there was a message. It was from vodkagirl. She’d replied. It just said, Hi.

  When he clicked the message, it opened a chat window. ‘Right, here goes,’ he said, and typed, Hi to you. I like your picture.

  Alice raised an eyebrow as Sam clicked the SEND button. He winked and sat back. If she wasn’t online, he’d have a long night of staring at a screen, but within a few seconds the words vodkagirl is typing popped up, and then a few a seconds later the words appeared: What do you like about my picture?

  ‘Tell her it’s her body,’ Alice whispered.

  ‘She can’t hear us,’ Sam said, and typed, Your body. It’s nice.

  ‘Nice?’ Alice said, shaking her head. ‘You’re damning her with faint praise.’

  A few seconds later the reply came in. Not too young for you?

  Sam sat back as he thought about that. He didn’t want to sound too eager, but equally he didn’t want to waste any time. He needed to know how the person worked.

  Is there such a thing? he typed, adding a winking emoticon.

  A smiley emoticon popped up in the chat window, and then, Why do you like young bodies?

  Sam glanced across to Alice. She was curling her lip in distaste. ‘Yeah, I know,’ he said. ‘It makes me want to take a shower or something.’

  ‘What are you going to say?’ Alice sai
d.

  ‘The opposite of what I think,’ he said, and then typed, So untouched, so taut, so much promise but unfulfilled.

  There was a long pause before the reply came back: I like you. When do I get to see some of you?

  ‘You’re not going to do that,’ Alice said, her voice stern.

  ‘I know that,’ Sam said. He thought back to what Bruce Carter had said in the pub earlier, about her saying that she liked men who grabbed what they wanted. ‘I’ll try something else,’ and he typed, Eventually, but that’s not how I work. I’ll let you know when you’re in charge. I’ve got a lot to lose.

  How come? was the reply.

  My job, Sam typed.

  But why do you do this if you would lose so much?

  Because I go after what I want, and nothing stops me, he typed.

  The chat window fell silent.

  ‘You’ve frightened her away,’ Alice said.

  ‘I hope not,’ Sam said quietly. ‘I need to know what’s behind this.’

  He stared at the screen as the minutes ticked away, and then the words vodkagirl is typing popped up again.

  Sam tensed as he waited for the message. When the words appeared in the chat window, he cursed.

  Gotta go, they said. Talk later.

  And then the chat window changed to vodkagirl is offline.

  ‘Looks like I’m playing the waiting game,’ he said, almost to himself.

  ‘Just don’t enjoy it too much,’ Alice said, and the look of reproach in her eyes told him that she was only half-joking.

  Forty

  Joe looked around as he got close to his apartment, his stomach lurching every time he heard the rev of an engine, expecting to see a police car hurtling towards him. By the time he reached the metal footbridge that would take him to his apartment building, he was almost running.

  He’d left his car unlocked on a quiet side street in Salford, just on the other side of the canal. He didn’t expect to be a suspect so soon but he wasn’t taking any chances. Someone might wreck any forensic value by stealing it. Right then, needing to buy a new car wasn’t his biggest worry.

  The streets were quiet. The rush-hour traffic was gone and the pavements were clear of those who wanted a drink before they went home, the lawyers and bankers and office workers who spilled into the nearby bars. The city centre had turned into that lonely and dangerous place, the workers gone home and replaced by drunks and muggers.

  The familiar sounds comforted him. A tram ran overhead and two large river barges were docking. Cars streamed away from Deansgate – taxis feeding the bars underneath the railway arches, all glass and techno music no one listens to at home. He checked his watch. It was half an hour since he’d left Gina’s.

  There was no one waiting outside his apartment building. He hadn’t expected there to be, not yet, but it was a relief just the same. His key fob got him inside, but Joe knew it would create a log too, another chance for an alibi gone, but that was just the way it was. He’d let the situation get away from him. He sucked in deep breaths and he could almost hear the loud echoes of his heartbeat in the small chamber of the lift.

  Once in his apartment, he leaned back against his door and slid down. His apartment was silent. The computer was off. No ticking clock. Even the central heating was quiet. It was just an empty apartment. He put his head in his hands.

  He’d watched a man walk to his death, oblivious. Joe tried to think of whether he’d seen or heard anything else. The killer had been nearby and Joe must have missed him by moments. He’d seen him running away but where had he been hiding before he struck? Was there any trace of him in his memory? He closed his eyes and walked himself through the scene again. The way the victim had walked slowly and carefully, as if he was unsure what he was doing there. The woman walking the dog. The young couple. No one else. There were houses nearby, though, and bushes and large trees. There were plenty of places to hide.

  But he’d seen him run away. That was where he had to start.

  His brief feeling of hope was extinguished by the smell of the blood as it came back to him.

  That got Joe back onto his feet. He had to get moving.

  Joe stripped off his clothes and put them into the washer. Gina was right, the lack of blood spray on his clothes might be enough to convince someone of his story, but his instinct as a defence lawyer was kicking in: they’d have to prove he was there first. He rushed through his apartment to the bathroom. Once in the shower, he scrubbed his fingers and hair to get rid of any traces of blood and let the water run for a few minutes more once he was out, to flush away what was left in the drains.

  He remembered Gina’s instruction: call her. He dressed in jeans and a baggy old jumper and went to his balcony. The air was cool as he slid the door open. A light breeze ruffled his hair.

  Things were looking bad for him; the police would have no trouble in making a case against him. But he couldn’t think like that. The best thing he could do was find out who’d killed the man and why.

  He called Gina. She answered on the first ring but didn’t say anything.

  ‘Gina?’

  She paused before she said, ‘Like I said, I’m going to put my phone on the table and then hang up after twenty minutes. There’ll be a record of a call long enough for you to tell me all you know.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘I call it in.’ She sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Joe. Whatever it means for you, there is a murder victim not too far away. I can’t ignore that.’

  ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘Can I call you later, to find out what’s happening?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘You’re not dragging me into this.’ A pause, and then, ‘Goodbye Joe.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ he said. ‘And I’m sorry.’

  Her phone went quiet, apart from the clunk of it being put on the table.

  He leaned over his balcony. The slow rumble of a train mixed in with the clink of glasses from the bar on the other side of the water. The ordinary sounds of an ordinary night.

  He picked up his phone and listened. All he could hear was the faint murmur of Gina’s television. He wanted to shout, to bring her to the phone so that he could make it all right with her, but he knew that moment had passed.

  He had one last look around and then he headed for the door. It was time to keep moving.

  Forty-one

  Mark Proctor didn’t need a torch as he made his way through the old building, he’d been through it so many times. It was in complete darkness lower down, the windows blocked out, but as he climbed higher the occasional broken windowpane let in the faint strains of street lighting. He’d learned to ignore the bats that swooped through the building whenever he disturbed them, the scrape of his soles on loose stones making the frantic flap of tiny wings fill the night. He felt them like a breeze around his hair.

  He couldn’t sit in the house any longer. Everything was changing, so he craved solitude. Usually, the scene would calm him, take him through all the years he’d visited the derelict block, but he was clenching and unclenching his fists. This time, it felt like goodbye.

  After three flights of stairs, he arrived at his favourite place. This was where he watched and observed. There was an old mattress in one corner, propped up on the side, blankets behind it, next to a broken window over which he’d placed a piece of roof tile. It was held in place by a bent nail, so that he could turn to release it. He removed it and peered through. It was just the usual scene. Streets and apartment blocks, the flickers of the headlights on nearby roads.

  He stepped away and went to the opposite corner, where he’d wedged a piece of tarpaulin in a hole in the roof that he’d created. It went a small way to keeping out the rain but it still made it through, slowly rotting the wooden flooring. Not that it mattered. The place had been deserted for years and he couldn’t imagine anyone developing it soon.

  He pulled at the tarpaulin and blinked at the stars that burst into view. The view from the window wasn’t enough. He wanted to
feel the night, not just gaze at it. He reached up into the gap and wedged his elbows onto the tiles. It was getting harder all the time, unfitness getting the better of him, but by hoisting himself upwards and then sliding forwards onto his stomach, he was able to tumble into the bottom of the V where the two roofs met.