He heard in reply: “I don’t look at all like that sketch, you know.” It was a man’s voice, perfectly friendly. Some sort of tea-dancing music played in the background. “The one on telly. And what is it that you prefer to be called: superintendent or m’lord?”
Lynley hesitated, a deadly calm come over him. He was all too aware of Mitchell Corsico’s presence in the room. He said to his caller, “Would you wait a moment please,” and was about to tell Corsico to give him a few minutes’ privacy when the voice continued.
“I’ll ring off if you try that, Superintendent Lynley. There. I suppose I’ve made my decision about what to call you, haven’t I.”
“Try what?” Lynley asked. He looked towards his office door and the corridor, fixed upon flagging someone down. Failing that, he reached for a yellow pad on his desk to write the necessary note.
“Please. I’m not a fool. You won’t be able to trace this call because I won’t be on long enough for you to do it. Just listen.”
Lynley waved Corsico over to his desk. Corsico feigned misunderstanding, pointing at his own chest and frowning. Lynley wanted to strangle the man. He waved him over again, “Fetch DC Havers” on the paper he finally shoved at him. “Now,” he said, covering the mouthpiece of the phone.
“You’ll get the computer records of this call anyway, won’t you?” the voice asked him pleasantly. “That’s how you work. But by the time you do it, I will have already impressed you once again. Indeed, I’ll have absolutely dazzled you. You’ve a beautiful wife, incidentally.”
Although Corsico had already gone for Havers, Lynley said to his caller, “I’ve a reporter in my office. I’d like to usher him out. Will you hang on while I do that?”
“Come now, Superintendent Lynley, you can’t expect me to fall for that.”
“Shall I put him on the line to convince you? He’s called Mitchell Corsico and-”
“And unfortunately I can’t get a glimpse of his identification, although I’m sure you’d like to arrange that. No. There’s no need. I intend to be brief. First, I’ve signed a letter to you. The mark of Fu. The reason for this doesn’t matter, but does the information itself suffice to convince you who I am? Or shall I add a reference to navels as well?”
Lynley said, “I’m convinced.” Those details were among the few which the papers had no knowledge of. They identified the caller as the real thing or as someone close to the investigation, in which case Lynley knew the voice would have been familiar to him, which it was not. He had to get a trace on this call. But a single wrong move on his part and he knew that the killer would break the connection before Havers got to the room.
“Good. Then hear me, Superintendent Lynley. Out I went looking for a spot to thrill you another time. It was difficult to find, but I wanted you to know I have it now. Sheer inspiration. A bit risky, but it’ll make a real splash. I’m planning an event you won’t soon forget.”
“What are you-”
“I’ve already made my selection too. I thought you’d like to know that, fair being completely fair.”
“May we talk about this?”
“Oh, I don’t think so.”
“Then why have you-”
“Few words, much action, Superintendent. Trust me. It’s better this way.”
He rang off. Just as Havers came into the room with Corsico half a step behind her.
Lynley said to Corsico, “Get out.”
“Hang on. I’ve done what you-”
“What follows is none of your business. Get out.”
“The assistant commissioner-”
“Will survive the news that I’ve escorted you from my office for the moment.” Lynley took the reporter by the arm. “I suggest you follow up on the information from Yorkshire. Believe me, it will make good reading for your next edition.” He thrust him into the corridor and shut the door. He said to Havers, “He’s phoned.”
She knew. “When? Just now? Is that why…?” She jerked her head towards the door.
“Get on to the records. We need to find out where he phoned from. He’s got another victim.”
“In his possession? Sir, those records…It’s going to take-”
“Music,” Lynley said. “I could hear dance music in the background. But that was it. Tea-dancing music. That’s what it reminded me of.”
“Tea…Not at this hour of the day. Are you thinking-”
“Period music. Thirties or forties. Havers, what does that suggest to you?”
“That he could have phoned from inside a lift with Muzak playing above his head and that could be bloody anywhere in town. Sir-”
“He knew about Fu. He said it as well. Christ, if that reporter hadn’t been in the room…This has to be kept away from the press. He wants it. Corsico and the killer as well. They both want it front and centre. Page one with the accompanying headline. And he’s got the victim, Havers. Picked out, already with him, or whatever. And the place as well. Christ, we can’t be sitting ducks for this.”
“Sir. Sir.”
Lynley brought himself round. He could see the anxiety on Havers’ pale face. She said, “Something more, right? There’s something more. What is it? Tell me. Please.”
Lynley didn’t want to give it words because then he knew he would have to face them. And face his responsibility as well. “He mentioned Helen,” he finally said. “Barbara, he mentioned Helen.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
AS BARBARA HAVERS CAME BACK TO THE INCIDENT room, Nkata clocked the expression on her face. He saw her go to DI Stewart and have a few words, after which the DI left the room in a tearing hurry. This, in conjunction with Corsico’s having come from Lynley’s office to fetch Havers, told Nkata something was up.
He didn’t approach Havers to be brought into the picture just yet. Instead he watched her go to the computer on which she’d been digging round for information on the bath-salts bloke from the Stables Market. She did a credible job of setting herself back to the task at hand, but from across the room, Nkata could see that more than bath salts was on her mind. She stared at the computer screen for at least two minutes before she roused herself and picked up a pencil. Then she stared at the screen for two minutes more before she gave up the effort and got to her feet. She headed out of the incident room, and Nkata saw she’d dug her fags from her bag. Sneaking off for a smoke in the stairwell, he thought. This would be a good time for a chat.
But instead of heading for the stairs to light up, she went for coffee, plugging coins into the machine and dismally watching the brew dribble into a plastic cup. She fished a fag out of her packet of Players as well, but she didn’t light it.
He said, “Company?,” and felt round in his pocket for change for the coffee machine.
She turned and said tiredly, “Winnie. Come up with anything?”
He shook his head. “You?”
She did likewise. “The bath-salts bloke-John Miller?-turns out to be squeaky clean. Pays his council tax on time, has a credit card he pays off once a month, has his telly licence squared away, has a house and a mortgage and a cat and a dog, a wife and three grandkids. Drives a ten-year-old Saab and has bad feet. Ask me anything. I’ve become his Boswell.”
Nkata smiled. He plugged his own coins into the coffee machine and punched white with sugar. He said, with a nod back in the direction of the incident room, “Corsico coming for you like that, earlier? I reckoned he picked you for the next profile in the paper. But it’s something else, i’n’t it. He came to get you from the super’s office.”
Barb didn’t even try to misdirect him, another reason Nkata liked her. She said, “He phoned. Guv had him on the line when I got there.”
Nkata knew whom she meant at once. He said, “Tha’s what Stewart got on to?”
She nodded. “He’ll get the records.” She took a sip of her coffee and didn’t grimace at the flavour of the brew. “For what good it’ll do. This bloke’s not stupid. He’s not going to phone from a mobile and he’s not going to ring us up from his bedroom land line, is he? He’s in a call box somewhere and he’s damn sure not going to make it in front of his home, his work, or anywhere else we’re likely to connect him to.”