about him. So he picks him up inside or outside the club, it doesn’t really matter, and they probably go back to Graydon’s. They have sex. Hellier drinks it all in – absorbs everything − and once he’s sure Graydon is worthy of his special attentions he leaves, but watches him. He watches him for days, his excitement building, the fantasy in his mind growing increasingly violent and depraved until he can stand it no more, so he waits for him, outside the club. When Graydon eventually appears, alone, he follows him. Stalks him. Maybe he followed him all the way home or maybe he stopped him in the street – the victim wouldn’t be too afraid; after all, they’d already had paying sex together. But whatever happened once they were back at the flat, Hellier made his fantasy come true. Only, as we know, he made two mistakes: the fingerprint and being seen with the victim. So he spins us this story about some sort of relationship he was having with the victim and has us chasing our tails, desperately trying to establish some logical reason why he would want to kill Graydon, knowing we’ll never find one, because there isn’t one. And while we’re looking for it we’ll miss the real reason he killed Daniel Graydon – because he wanted to. Because he had to.’
‘Christ,’ Donnelly cursed. ‘So what now?’
‘Take someone with you and bail Hellier out. Tell him to come back in two weeks. His brief will ask why he needs to come back. Tell him we’ll be checking his story. That Hellier hasn’t been eliminated yet.
‘And scramble the surveillance team again. I want Hellier picked up the second he steps out of the station. We run twenty-four-hour coverage. We keep the pressure on and wait for him to drop the ball. Sooner or later he’s going to hang himself. Who knows, maybe he already has.’
Hellier stood in the corridor of the police station, waiting to exit the building. First Templeman went outside to ensure no one was about. When he returned, the news wasn’t good.
‘I’m sorry, James. Looks like the media’s got hold of this.’
‘What?’ Hellier snapped. ‘You sure they’re here for me?’
‘I’m afraid so. They’ve already asked me for a statement. They know you’ve been arrested on suspicion of murder.’
‘That bastard Corrigan. He told them. He’s trying to destroy me.’ Hellier’s words were venomous.
‘Listen,’ said Templeman, ‘you need to stay calm. I’ll speak to them, deny you’ve been arrested, tell them you’re helping the police with their inquiries. You stay in here until I’m finished, then I’ll bring the car around. And I also recommend you cover your face when we leave.’
‘What?’ Hellier’s voice was raised.
‘Just in case there’s a photographer sneaking about. You can use my raincoat.’
‘You want me to crawl out of here with that over my head, like some paedophile? You might as well tell them I’m guilty.’
‘Please, James, try and stay calm.’ Templeman almost had his hands on Hellier’s chest. ‘A name’s nothing if they don’t have a face to go with it.’
Hellier sounded cold. ‘Fine, but hear this. No one humiliates me without paying the price.’
‘I wouldn’t be talking about revenge if I were you, James,’ Templeman advised.
A look of disgust spread across Hellier’s face. He put his face close to Templeman’s. Templeman could smell a virile, animal stench on Hellier’s breath. ‘You do as I fucking tell you and get me out of here. I’m expected at the damn industry awards dinner tonight. There’ll be hell to pay if I’m not there. Sebastian’s already on my back.’ Hellier stretched the stiffness out of his neck, the cracking noise making the lawyer shudder. He snatched Templeman’s coat from him and gave him a final order. ‘Get me a damn taxi.’
By the time Sally arrived back at the murder inquiry office it was already early evening and she was keen to catch up on developments. The place was all but deserted, except for Sean who sat alone in his office. Sally knocked on the door frame, making him look up. ‘Everything all right?’ she asked.
‘Wonderful,’ Sean answered sarcastically.
‘I take it Hellier didn’t confess then.’
‘Correct.’
‘And his fingerprint in the victim’s flat?’
‘Said he’d lied earlier. He now admits to having been there on several occasions in the past.’
‘That’s exactly what I’d say if I was in his position.’
‘Me too,’ Sean agreed. ‘We bailed him, pending further inquiries. Anyway, how did you get on with what’s-his-name?’
‘Korsakov,’ she reminded him. ‘I managed to track down one of the original investigating officers, which was interesting enough, but he couldn’t tell me much more than Method Index had. The intelligence record at Richmond was a bit thin, no photographs either.
‘If you have no objections, I thought I’d have Korsakov’s prints compared to any recovered from the scene. You never know your luck.’
‘Be my guest,’ Sean told her. ‘The identification officer dealing is IDO Collins. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go home before my kids forget what I look like. You should go home too. Get some sleep.’
‘I will,’ she said, then hesitated. ‘If he’s guilty, we’ll get him sooner or later. It’ll only be a matter of time before we can prove it.’
‘Of course we will,’ Sean assured her. ‘We always do, in the end. By the way, speaking of Hellier, did you show your man the photograph?’
‘I did.’
‘And?’
‘Meant nothing to him. Sorry.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Sean said. ‘It was a long shot anyway.’
Jarratt sat at home with his wife and daughters. An article on the local evening news programme caught his eye. Somebody had been arrested for the murder of Daniel Graydon. That was the name DS Jones had mentioned. The name of the murder victim.
The reporter standing outside Peckham police station had used the term, ‘helping police with their inquiries’. Jarratt knew that meant he’d been arrested.
It was only a small item on the news. The death of a prostitute caused little stir in London these days. He listened to the reporter’s closing statement.
‘Although the police have so far refused to comment, it is believed that the man helping with their inquiries is one James Hellier, a renowned accountant and partner with the respected firm of Butler and Mason, whose offices are in the exclusive Knightsbridge area of central London.
‘The solicitor representing the man believed to be Mr Hellier claimed his client had nothing to hide and was happy to assist the police in every way possible, although he declined to confirm the man was indeed James Hellier.’
This was disastrous. Everything he feared most was becoming reality. Jarratt’s chest was close to exploding. He excused himself and went to the kitchen. He poured too much whisky
