Cold Revenge by Alex Howard

Author:Alex Howard [Howard, Alex]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Detective/Crime
Published: 2015-02-11T00:00:00+00:00

33

‘Four hours, I was in that fridge before they found me,’ fumed Hanlon to Enver. It was midnight and they were sitting in the Euston police station where Enver was based. He looked at her thoughtfully. It obviously wasn’t the fridge that was bothering her, he thought. If anyone could sit locked in a fridge with a fractured, bleeding wrist for hours without worrying about it, that person was Hanlon. And he thought her attitude was uncalled for. The response, once the body of Dame Elizabeth had been found by the security man doing his rounds, had been extremely efficient.

The police really could not have done a better job. The university building was vast, labyrinthine, and once the dog team had arrived, they’d led them straight to Hanlon, while their colleagues, who’d started at the top of the building, were still working their slow way down, floor by painstaking floor. More or less every square metre had to be checked out.

She’d had her arm X-rayed and strapped up at nearby University College Hospital. She’d given a statement and Enver had filled her in on what they had so far on the progress of the murder investigation. It was getting nowhere fast. Nothing on what few internal cameras there were. No trace evidence left by the killer.

Hanlon was more shaken than she cared to admit by Dame Elizabeth’s death. She’d always been profoundly affected not so much by the waste of a life inherent in murder, but by the incredible selfishness of the murderer. Dame Elizabeth had been a woman whose life had been a beacon to others. She had touched maybe thousands of people for the good. Hanlon didn’t doubt she had flaws, but her life had been extinguished by some creep with less worth in her mind than a cockroach.

Three women, possibly four, if the theory of Abigail Vickery’s death as a sex killing proved correct, were dead. To add insult to injury, she’d seen the killer playing with the body of Dame Elizabeth as if it were some sort of toy. And it was an insult. It was deliberately degrading to the corpse.

Then of course there was the personal aspect. Hanlon had expected the evening to end with a sense of finally knowing who she was and where she came from, and now this had been snatched away from her by the murderer. He’d killed Dame Elizabeth and he’d killed her dreams.

Hanlon wanted revenge.

She had been unable to identify anything about the man in the mask. No forensic trace had been found. Gloved, masked, careful as ever, it could have been anyone.

Fuller was another dead end. Murray had gone round to Fuller’s flat in person. Fuller had answered the door. He’d been drinking. Murray told Hanlon he’d looked considerably the worse for wear, unshaven and bellicose. He refused to allow them in; they had no warrant. He’d said, ‘Yeah, I’m really going to let you in so you can fit me up like you did in Oxford.’ Or words to that effect.

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