Apprehensively, he stepped up onto the podium and began his briefly practised statement.
‘I’m Detective Sergeant William Fawkes with the—’
‘What? Speak up!’ he was heckled from the crowd.
One of the men who had assembled the tiny stage ran up and switched on the microphone with a booming static click. Wolf tried not to hear the spiteful laughter emanating from the sea of faces.
‘Thank you. As I was saying, I’m Detective Sergeant William Fawkes with the Metropolitan Police and part of the team investigating today’s multiple homicides.’ So far so good, he thought to himself. His audience started shouting questions at him, but Wolf ignored them and continued, ‘We can confirm that the remains of six victims were recovered from an address in Kentish Town in the early hours of this—’
Wolf made the mistake of looking up from his notes and instantly recognised Andrea’s striking red hair. He thought she looked distraught, which further distracted him. He knocked his cue cards across the floor and stooped down to collect them back up, conscious that he had scribbled a list of details he was not to mention all over one of them. He found the incriminating card and climbed back up to the microphone.
‘… this a.m. In the morning.’ He could feel his throat drying up and knew that he would be blushing bright red like he always did when he was embarrassed, so he speed-read the final card: ‘We are in the process of identifying the victims and will be contacting the families concerned prior to releasing any names. Being an ongoing investigation, that is all I can disclose at this time. Thank you.’
He paused for a few seconds, waiting for applause, before realising that it would have been highly inappropriate and that his performance probably would not have warranted it anyway. He climbed back down and retreated from the voices shouting his name.
‘Will! Will!’
Wolf turned to see Andrea running over to him. She had managed to dodge the first officer but had been blocked by two others. He was overcome with the same confused anger that had overshadowed their few encounters since the divorce and was almost tempted to let the officers drag her away but decided to intervene when a member of the Diplomatic Protection Group, armed with a Heckler & Koch G36C assault rifle, approached her.
‘It’s OK. It’s OK. Let her through please,’ he called grudgingly.
Their last meeting, to discuss further complications regarding the sale of the house, had been an especially frosty affair, so he was taken aback when she rushed over and held him in a firm embrace. He breathed through his mouth, desperate not to smell her hair, knowing that it would be laced with her favourite perfume that he loved so much. When she finally released him, he could see that she was close to tears.
‘I can’t tell you anything else, Andie—’
‘Don’t you ever pick up your phone? I’ve been trying to call you for nearly two hours!’
Wolf could not keep up with her mood swings. Now she seemed genuinely furious with him.
‘I’m very sorry. I’ve actually been a bit busy today,’ he said before leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. ‘Apparently there was a murder or something.’
‘Next to your flat!’
‘Yeah,’ said Wolf thoughtfully. ‘It’s a shitty neighbourhood.’
‘I’ve got something to ask you and I need you to tell me the truth, OK?’
‘Hmmm.’
‘There’s more, isn’t there? The body was stitched together – like a puppet.’
Wolf started babbling uncomfortably:
‘How do you …? Where did you …? Speaking on behalf of the Metropolitan Police, I—’
‘It’s Khalid, isn’t it? The head?’
Wolf grabbed Andrea by the arm and pulled her to one side, as far from the other officers as possible. She produced a thick brown envelope from her bag.
‘Believe me, I’m the last person who wants to mention that awful man’s name. As far as I’m concerned he destroyed our marriage. But I recognised him from the photos.’
‘Photos?’ asked Wolf warily.
‘Oh my God! I knew they were real,’ she said, shell-shocked. ‘Someone sent me pictures of the puppet thing. I’ve already sat on this for hours. I need to get back to work.’
Andrea fell silent as somebody walked past.
‘Will, whoever sent me these included a list. That’s what I’ve been trying to call you about because I don’t know what it means: six names with a date next to each.’
Wolf snatched the envelope out of her hand and tore it open.
‘The first name’s Mayor Turnble next to today’s date,’ said Andrea.
‘Mayor Turnble?’ asked Wolf. He looked as though the bottom had just dropped out of his world.
Without another word he turned and sprinted back through the main doors. He heard Andrea shout something after him, but the words were indecipherable as they disintegrated against the thick glass.
Simmons was on the phone to the commissioner, who had resorted to unsubtle threats regarding his replaceability as he apologised repeatedly for his team’s distinct lack of progress. Simmons was midway through proposing his plan of action when Wolf burst into the office unannounced.
‘Fawkes! Get out!’ yelled Simmons.
Wolf leant over the desk and held down a button to end the call.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ asked Simmons, incensed.
Wolf opened his mouth to answer when a distorted voice interrupted from the speakerphone: ‘Are you speaking to me, Simmons?’
‘Shit.’ Wolf jabbed another button.
‘You have reached the voicemail of—’ started a robotic voice.
Simmons looked horrified and held his head in his hands as Wolf frantically pushed every other button on the phone.
‘How do you hang this thing up?’ shouted Wolf in frustration.
‘It’s a big red button with a cro—’ the commissioner advised helpfully before a sharp click, followed by silence, confirmed that he had, indeed, been correct.
Wolf scattered the Polaroid photographs of the grotesque body across the desk.
‘Our killer’s gone to the press with pictures and a hit list.’
Simmons rubbed his face and looked down at the photographs depicting the collective cadaver at various stages of assembly.
‘First one’s Mayor Turnble – today,’ said Wolf.
It took a moment for his words to sink in.
Simmons suddenly snapped into action and took out his mobile phone.
‘Terrence!’ the mayor answered enthusiastically. It sounded as though he was outside. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘Ray, where are you?’ asked Simmons.
‘Just walking back up to Ham Gate in Richmond Park – our old stamping ground. After that, I have a fundraiser to get to over in …’
Simmons whispered the location to Wolf, who was already on the phone to the control room.
‘Ray, we’ve got a situation: a legitimate threat against your life.’
The mayor took the news surprisingly well:
‘Business as usual then,’ he laughed.
‘Stay where you are. We’ve got cars on their way to escort you back here until we know more,’ Simmons told him.
‘Is that really necessary?’
‘I’ll explain everything when you get here.’