NIGHT OWL: Don’t worry.
NIGHT OWL: You’ll know.
She logged off from the chat room. They sat in silence for a moment. Keith was grinning. His hair was dank and stood on end, and he stank of body odour.
‘Five p.m. is rush hour at Waterloo Station,’ said Peterson. ‘We should have got him to say earlier.’
‘It’s going to make grabbing hold of her much tougher,’ agreed Erika. ‘But there’s also less leeway.’
‘Boss, you’re going to have to tell Marsh. There’s no other way to get a big surveillance op authorised… Let’s hope he’ll authorise it.’
‘Yeah,’ said Erika. She looked at her watch. It was quarter to six. ‘Let’s get something to eat, and give Marsh a chance to wake up before I tell him.’
‘I’ve got to get back. I’m on duty in two hours,’ said Peterson.
‘Course you are,’ said Erika. ‘Sorry. You go. I don’t want to get you into any trouble. And, er, you weren’t here. Well, if the shit hits the fan, you weren’t here. If it’s a triumph, you were.’
75
It was 6.30 a.m. when Erika said goodbye to Peterson outside Keith’s house on the promenade. She was surprised at how sad she was to see him go. When his taxi drew up at the kerb, he surprised her by giving her a hug goodbye.
‘Quick hug!’ he grinned. ‘I must stink!’
‘No – well, a little. I must do too,’ she grinned back.
He shook his head. ‘Keep me posted, boss.’
‘I will,’ she said. He gave her the fingers crossed sign, as he climbed into the taxi. She watched as it drove away.
She crossed the road to the beach. It was the start of a beautiful day, and in the early morning sun the air was fresh and the sand empty apart from a couple of dog walkers and a young guy who was setting out deckchairs for hire. She went and sat on a bank of shingle, a few feet from where the waves were lightly breaking on the shore, took a deep breath and called Marsh. She tried his house phone first. Marcie answered – she didn’t sound pleased to hear Erika’s voice. She didn’t exchange pleasantries, just dropped the phone on the table and yelled up the stairs for her husband. She heard him come thudding down the stairs and pick up the phone.
‘Erika, I hope that you’re calling me from somewhere hot and you want my address for a postcard?’ he said.
‘About that, sir…’ said Erika. ‘I’m not in London. I’m in Worthing.’
‘Worthing? What the bloody hell are you doing there?’
Erika told him, quickly getting to the point that she had made a major breakthrough in the Night Stalker case and detailed the meeting that had been arranged later that day at London Waterloo.
‘So you defied my orders, again?’ said Marsh.
‘Is that all you can say, sir? This is a HUGE breakthrough. I know that I should have told you, but you know I work on my instincts. Now, we need surveillance in place asap. In and around Waterloo station. I really do think that she’s going to show up and we need to be there to bring her in. I have evidence of conversations between her and this man, Keith Hardy. He uses the chat room handle “Duke”. She calls herself “Night Owl”.’
‘Where are Moss and Peterson?’
‘They’ve been reassigned. I’m here on my own, sir.’
There was a long pause.
‘Erika, you are so naive. You act as if there are no rules, as if there is no line of authority.’
‘But, sir, I’ve made a breakthrough, a huge one! When I get back to the hotel room, I can send you everything – the details of the meet, chat logs. We’ve only touched the tip of the iceberg. This guy, Keith, he’s been talking to her online for four years. We have a log of all those conversations. I also believe she was a patient of Gregory Munro. She was badly burnt. We can use this information to look back over medical records.’
‘Okay, you are to send this over to me the second you get off the phone.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘And Erika, I am ordering you to take that holiday and really think about your position in the force. If I see you near the nick, or any other nick for that matter, you will be suspended, and don’t think it will be easy to get your badge back for the fourth time! And if I see you near Waterloo station, I won’t just take your badge. You’ll be fired. Do you hear me?’
‘So that means you’re going to go ahead? Sir?’
‘I will phone you,’ he said, and then hung up.