‘I know you want to believe that. I do too. But we don’t know for sure.’
She looked annoyed with him and moved away.
‘Thank you, thank you … Much obliged … Come again,’ said Baxter as she hurried the armed officers out through the door.
Wolf rushed to the window, climbed out onto the rooftop and descended the first fire escape that he came to. He tried to conceal his face as he passed the officers guarding the entrance to the service road and heard the tinny tapping of rain striking the market’s metal shutters fade away as he climbed the stairs of Goldhawk Road Station. He boarded a train just as the doors were closing and watched the flashing blue lights pass beneath him as it pulled away and rattled over the bridge.
He had just lost his advantage.
CHAPTER 34
Monday 14 July 2014
5.14 a.m.
Baxter was woken by the sound of rain hammering against her apartment windows. As her eyes flickered open, a gentle rumble of thunder rolled across the sky somewhere in the distance. She was lying on her sofa in the cosy glow cast by the kitchen spotlights, her cordless phone pressing uncomfortably into her cheek where she had fallen asleep on it.
Part of her had expected Wolf to call. How could he not? As angry and betrayed as she felt, too many things had been left unresolved – or did she really mean so little to him? She was not even sure what she would want out of their final conversation: an apology? An explanation? Perhaps confirmation that Wolf had completely lost his mind and that her friend was, in fact, sick rather than evil.
She reached for her mobile phone on the coffee table to find no missed calls or new messages. As she sat up and swung her legs off the sofa, she sent an empty wine bottle rolling loudly across the wooden floor and hoped that she had not woken her neighbour downstairs. She went over to the window and looked out over the glistening rooftops. The angry clouds above looked a dozen different shades of charcoal every time the blanket lightning lit up the sky.
Whatever happened, she was going to lose something forever before the day was out.
She only wished she knew how much.
Edmunds had worked through the night analysing the incriminating monetary trails zigzagging across the city like numeric breadcrumbs. Combined with being in possession of Chambers’ laptop, it amounted to irrefutable proof of Lethaniel Masse’s guilt and, incredibly, that the Ragdoll and Faustian murders were one and the same. He felt a little disappointed that he would not be there to apprehend this fascinating and imaginative serial killer himself, although, there was no doubt that the revelation of Wolf’s involvement was significantly more shocking than whatever monster he had been conjuring up in his head.
He wondered whether the world would ever really know.
Edmunds was tired and was struggling to concentrate as he finished up his work. He had received a text message from Tia’s mother at around 4 a.m. and had immediately phoned her back. Tia had had a very minor bleed during the night and the maternity ward had asked her to come in as a precaution, to ensure that everything was all right with the baby. They had taken themselves down to the hospital and been told that everything was fine and that there was no need to worry. They just wanted to monitor her for a few hours.
When Edmunds asked, furiously, why she had not thought to phone him earlier, she explained that Tia had not wanted to worry him on such an important day, that she would be livid when she found out that they had spoken. The idea of Tia going through this scare in secret upset him and, after getting off the phone, he could not think about anything else other than how much he wanted to be there with her.
At 6.05 a.m. Vanita walked into the office dressed in an attention-grabbing trouser suit in anticipation of a day in front of the cameras. Her dripping umbrella marked her route from the doorway, abruptly changing course on spotting Edmunds at his desk.
‘Morning, Edmunds,’ she greeted him. ‘You have got to hand it to the press – they’re determined. It’s apocalyptic out there!’
‘They started setting up just before midnight,’ said Edmunds.
‘You’ve been here all night again?’ she asked, more impressed than surprised.
‘It’s not a habit I intend to continue.’
‘None of us ever do, and yet …’ She smiled at him. ‘You’re going places, Edmunds. Keep up the good work.’
He handed her the completed financial report that he had spent the night compiling. She flicked through the stack of paperwork.
‘Airtight?’ she asked.
‘Completely. The studio flat at Goldhawk Road is owned by a charity that provides housing for injured soldiers, hence why it was harder to find. He just pays them a heavily discounted rent. It’s all on page twelve.’
‘Excellent work.’
Edmunds picked up an envelope off his desk and handed it to her.
‘Is this related to the case?’ she asked as she started ripping it open.
‘In a way,’ said Edmunds.
She paused on hearing his tone, frowned at him, and then walked away towards her office.
Baxter arrived at the office at 7.20 a.m. after being asked to leave the Central Forensic Image Team in peace. In truth, she was relieved to get out of the darkened room. She had no idea how the CFIT officers endured their hours confined to the headache-inducing room, where they oversaw feeds from CCTV cameras from all over the city.
A team of super-recognisers, chosen for their unrivalled ability to pick out and identify individual facial structures in large crowds, had been working through the night alongside the facial recognition software in search of Wolf and Masse. Baxter knew that it was like looking for two needles in a haystack, but that did not soothe her frustration when they, unsurprisingly, failed to find either of them.
She had chided a member of staff when he returned from his break two minutes late, holding a coffee. The supervisor had taken exception to this and made a show of dressing Baxter down in front of everyone before instructing her to leave. She stormed back to Homicide and Serious Crime Command and approached Edmunds, who was midway through composing a text to Tia.
‘Any progress in the camera room?’ he asked as he finished typing and put his phone away.
‘I got kicked out,’ said Baxter. It spoke volumes that Edmunds merely shrugged; he did not even bother to ask the reason why. ‘It’s a waste of time anyway. They don’t know where to look. They’re watching the area around Wolf’s flat, which he obviously isn’t going back to, and Masse’s flat, which I can’t see him going back to either.’
‘What about facial recognition?’
‘You’re joking right?’ laughed Baxter. ‘So far, it’s flagged Wolf up three times. One was an old Chinese woman, the second was a puddle, and the third was a poster of Justin Bieber!’
Despite the immense pressure that they were under and the severe consequences of CFIT’s failure to locate either man, they both smirked at the preposterous list of matches.