With both Baxter and Wolf otherwise engaged, he had seized this opportunity to visit the Central Storage Warehouse, located in a secure facility on the outskirts of Watford. Over a gruelling five-year period, the inconceivable feat of scanning, logging and photographing every record held by the Metropolitan Police had been completed; however, the physical evidence still had to be retained.
While items relating to lesser crimes could be returned to the families or destroyed after a period of time set by the court, all evidence concerning homicide or serious crimes was kept indefinitely. This would be stored locally at the relevant police station for a time, dependent on space and resources, and then transferred to the secure temperature-controlled archives. Cases were so often reopened when fresh evidence came to light, appeals were made or when advancements in technology revealed something new, that these assorted souvenirs of death would be preserved to long outlive those involved.
Edmunds stretched his arms out and yawned. He had heard another person wheeling a trolley a couple of hours earlier but was now alone in the colossal warehouse. He packed the evidence carefully back into the box, finding nothing to suggest a connection between this headless victim and the Ragdoll Killer. Sliding the box back onto the shelf, he crossed it off his list. It was only then that he realised the time: 7.47 p.m. Cursing loudly, he jogged towards the distant exit.
His phone was returned to him once he had passed through security and he climbed up the stairs to ground level to discover that he had five missed calls from Tia. He had to return the pool car to New Scotland Yard and drop into the office before he could even think about heading home. He dialled Tia’s number and braced himself for her reaction.
Wolf was approaching the end of his second pint of Estrella as he sat outside the Dog & Fox on Wimbledon high street. He was the only person braving the chilly outdoor tables, especially now that an ominous rain cloud had settled overhead, but he did not want to miss Baxter returning home to her trendy apartment across the street.
At 8.10 p.m. he saw her black Audi almost take out a pedestrian on the corner before parking up the side road. He abandoned the rest of his now lukewarm beer and started making his way over. He was ten metres away when Baxter climbed out of the car laughing. Then the passenger door swung open and a man he did not recognise stepped out.
‘One of these places must sell snails, and I’m doing it,’ said the man.
‘I don’t think the idea’s to bring your last meal back up,’ said Baxter with a smirk.
‘I refuse to go without first putting a disgusting, slimy, dirty mollusc into my mouth.’
Baxter opened the boot, removed her bags and then locked the car. Wolf, sensing an awkward situation developing, panicked and crouched behind a postbox as they started to approach. Baxter and her acquaintance had actually walked past him before noticing the imposing man crawling on the pavement.
‘Wolf?’ asked Baxter in disbelief.
Wolf casually got back to his feet and smiled, as if this was how they normally greeted one another.
‘Hi,’ he said, before offering his hand to the sharply dressed man. ‘Wolf – or Will.’
‘Jarred,’ said Garland, shaking his hand.
Wolf looked surprised: ‘Oh you’re …’
He let the question disintegrate when he noticed Baxter’s impatient expression.
‘What the hell are you doing here? Why were you hiding?’
‘I was worried it might be awkward,’ mumbled Wolf, gesturing towards Garland.
‘And it’s not now?’ she asked, going red. ‘Could you give us a moment?’ she said to Garland, who wandered up towards the high street.
‘I was coming to see you to apologise for last night and this morning and, well, everything really,’ said Wolf. ‘I thought we might grab a bite to eat, but it looks like you’ve already got … plans.’
‘It’s not what it looks like.’
‘It doesn’t look like anything.’
‘Good, because it’s not.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘You are?’
The conversation was becoming excruciating with all that was not being said.
‘I’m gonna go,’ said Wolf.
‘You do that,’ replied Baxter.
He turned around and walked away in the opposite direction to the station, just to escape. Baxter swore under her breath, angry with herself, and then went to join Garland at the end of the road.
CHAPTER 18
Friday 4 July 2014
5.40 a.m.
Baxter had barely slept. She and Garland had had dinner at the Café Rouge down the road, which, as luck would have it, had run out of escargots. In feigned disappointment, Garland had promptly ordered a steak instead before the dubiously French waiter could suggest some other inedible delicacy. She had been too distracted by Wolf’s impromptu visit to be much company and, despite his best efforts, had arranged for Garland’s protection detail to collect him from the restaurant by 10 p.m.
She struggled to carry her bags up the narrow stairs to her apartment alone but knew that Garland would have read imaginary subtext into her acceptance of his offer of help. She unlocked the door and stumbled into her pristine one-bed flat. Her cat, Echo, came skidding across the wooden floor to greet her in the hallway. The temperature was refreshingly cool thanks to a gentle breeze pouring in from the open skylight. After kicking her shoes off on the mat, she carried her things through to the bedroom and set them down on the thick white carpet. After feeding Echo, she treated herself to a large glass of red wine, collected her laptop from the living room and climbed onto the bed.
She had spent over fifty minutes clicking around aimlessly on the Internet, checking her emails, catching up on over a month’s worth of news on Facebook. Another one of her friends was pregnant, and she had received an invite to a hen do in Edinburgh. She adored Scotland but wrote an unnaturally girly message apologising for not being able to make it without even checking her diary.
Her mind kept returning to Wolf. He had made it quite clear how he felt, or rather did not feel, the previous night. She now had bruises on her arm from where he had grabbed her earlier in the day and then he had shown up wanting to take her out for dinner. Had this just been out of guilt? Had he regretted rejecting her? Was she sure that he had even rejected her? Bored thinking about it, she poured herself another glass and switched on the television.