‘And who the hell are you?’ asked the woman. Her body language made it clear that she was in charge.
Vogel told her. ‘You’re MIT, I assume?’ he said.
The woman nodded curtly. ‘These officers are DCs Wagstaff and Carlisle,’ she said. ‘And I’m DCI Clarke.’
So that was what lay behind Forest’s knowing smile, thought Vogel. Nobby Clarke was a woman.
‘Now, how about telling me what you’re doing at my crime scene?’ DCI Clarke continued. ‘Your reputation precedes you, Vogel, but that doesn’t mean you can trample all over one of my cases without my say-so.’
‘Sorry, ma’am,’ said Vogel. Then he tried, to the best of his ability, to explain his presence, glossing over the fact that he had deliberately disobeyed an order from his superior officer.
‘I thought because of the knowledge I’d gained in my previous inquiries, both concerning the deceased and her group of friends, that I might be of some use, ma’am,’ Vogel said. ‘I mean, I hoped I might be able to contribute.’
Clarke grunted.
Vogel cleared his throat. He decided to be bold. After all, what did he have to lose?
‘Also, ma’am, the case brought to mind the murders of two young women in the King’s Cross area, around fifteen years ago. It was pretty rough around there in those days, as I’m sure you know, ma’am. One of the victims was a prostitute, out plying her trade. But the other was a student nurse from Sweden who almost certainly had no idea that she’d wandered into an area known for its vice trade. Both were killed in exactly the same way, ma’am: strangled, and then stabbed repeatedly in the same part of their body.’
Vogel paused. He was afraid that he sounded coy, and wondered if this was because he was addressing a woman. Surely not? Clarke was a top homicide cop. Nonetheless he was struggling to say the words that would accurately describe what had happened to the two women. And indeed to Marlena.
‘Go on, Detective Sergeant,’ instructed Clarke, her impatience evident.
Vogel coughed again.
‘Their reproductive organs were removed from their bodies, ma’am,’ said Vogel. ‘Which is what seems to have happened to the victim in this case.’
‘I see,’ said Clarke. ‘Right, thank you, DS Vogel.’
Vogel knew he was being dismissed. He stepped into the lift, unaware of DCI Clarke’s thoughtful eyes following him, his thoughts entirely occupied by those two unsolved murders.
At the time of the King’s Cross murders, the Met had feared some kind of crazed serial killer was at large. But fifteen years had passed without any further killings that fitted the same profile. Not in London, at least. And nowhere else in the country, as far as Vogel knew. Despite mammoth resources being thrown at the inquiry, the police had failed to come up with a single clue as to the killer’s identity. Neither case had ever been closed. Technically at least, police inquiries into the murders were still ongoing. Vogel had not been involved in the investigations into the earlier murders nor had he attended the crime scenes, but as part of Forest’s drive to improve clear-up rates he had been asked to review the case files.
Vogel felt a terrible foreboding as he stepped out onto the street. Despite the age difference between the victims, there was that one striking similarity between the King’s Cross murders and the killing of Marleen McTavish. The sexual organs, the womb and ovaries of all three women had been hacked from their bodies.
But Marlena, unlike the earlier victims, had not been strangled beforehand. Her internal organs had been ripped from her body while she was still alive, and she had bled to death. That was what Dr Fitzwarren had said, wasn’t it?
That being the case, Marlena had died slowly. Vogel shuddered at the thought. The poor woman would have been in mortal agony for what must have seemed like an eternity.
Fourteen
When my work was done, I dissolved into the night. It was something I had always been able to do. I knew how to cover my tracks, how to disappear without trace. My feet were winged. My soul was free. There would be no blood-covered, raincoated murderer on the streets of London, no easy target for the CCTV cameras to focus upon.
I was the Houdini of death. I was the messenger from Hell, and after I had wreaked my vengeance it was as if I evaporated into thin air, leaving little more than a ghostly presence.
Everything had gone according to plan. Moreover I had found a strength and a will beyond my own expectations. I’d wondered if I might falter, but even though the blood and gore exploded from her living body with far greater force than I had anticipated, I did not waver. Quite the reverse. As I watched her face twist in agony, as her life’s blood washed over me, my resolve grew ever stronger, so that the power of my arm achieved greater magnitude with every stroke, and the thrust of the knife grew ever bolder and more incisive.
I had a memory, of course, a kind of gene memory, of how to cause great pain without myself being consumed by it. I knew what I was capable of because of what I had done before. Because of all that had been forced upon me. In childhood and beyond.
But this had been a step further. An extraordinary new experience. From the moment I had learned the truth, my entire being had been focused on this ultimate act of revenge. I had lain awake at night, imagining what it might be like to carve into a living body and feel it tense and try to escape the agony I was inflicting, to be able to stare into the eyes of my victim as the life slowly ebbed from them...
The reality had exceeded my imaginings.
On his arrival back at the station, Vogel was summoned to DI Forest’s office. This was no more than he had expected. After all, he had blatantly disobeyed orders.
‘I’ve had DCI Clarke of the MIT on the phone,’ began Forest, glowering at Vogel. ‘Apparently you went behind my back and blundered into her crime scene.’
‘Sorry, sir,’ said Vogel, keeping his voice level and his face as expressionless as possible. He’d assumed Clarke would make a formal complaint about his unauthorized appearance.
‘I’ve supported you, Vogel,’ continued Forest, quivering with rage. ‘I’ve given you a free hand, let you do things your own way. And this is how you repay me.’
Only because of the results I’ve delivered, only because of what I do for your crime figures, that’s why you support me, you pompous prat, thought Vogel.
‘Yes, sir, sorry, sir,’ he said.
Forest grunted. ‘However, it seems you must have been blessed at birth.’
‘What, sir?’ Vogel wasn’t following this.
‘DCI Clarke tells me she was impressed with your knowledge of the case and with your suggestion that there could be a link with two unsolved crimes. “The man’s a thinker,” she said.’
Forest continued to glower at Vogel, as if he had delivered a thoroughly damning insult rather than passing on a remark most people would take as a compliment. ‘Anyway, she wants you on her team as Assistant SIO.’
Vogel’s jaw dropped.
‘Seems her usual number two’s just taken early retirement.’ Forest sniffed. ‘Not bloody surprised.’
Vogel waited to see if any further explanation might be forthcoming. It wasn’t.
‘I haven’t got the rank, sir,’ he said eventually.
‘You have now,’ replied Forest with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. ‘As of this moment, you’re Acting Detective Inspector Vogel. Clarke’s already fixed it with the top brass at the Yard. Moves fast, that one. And what she wants, Nobby Clarke gets. She is the golden girl, after all. Wonderful crime figures...’