Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #3: Books 9-12 (A Dead Cold Box Set) by Blake Banner (read a book .TXT) 📗

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Shorter than the other four. Not a lot to go on.”

I nodded. “I agree. Brad Johnson lives in Arizona. In a place called Three Points, west of Tucson.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I have kept a file on him for the last fifteen years, well… fourteen years, in fact. After I got back, I contacted Tucson PD and the Sheriff of Pima County, went to see him, the sheriff, and told him the story. I told him that Scotland Yard suspected Johnson of being a serial killer, but that I thought they were wrong. I did, however, suspect him of gun running, and of having killed my wife. He was sympathetic, and grateful for the heads up. He agreed to keep me in the loop if anything happened.”

“And?”

“Nothing happened. So either he’d just stopped killing or he was the wrong man, as I had always suspected.”

She picked up her beer and sat holding it, staring out the window at the heavy, gray light outside. Finally, she gave a small frown and said, “Or he was killing away from home.”

I made a doubtful face. “Not his MO here.”

She made a doubtful face to match mine, then asked, “What about the gun running?”

I gave a small laugh. “In Arizona, any person twenty-one years of age or older, who is not prohibited possessor, may carry a weapon, openly or concealed, without the need for a license. Arizona is one and a quarter times the size of the U.K., and has slightly less than the population of London. So, if he is buying guns in Arizona and shipping them to the U.K. on a fairly small scale, that would be hard to detect. When it comes to gunrunning, if your name is Ali, or Mustafa, and you have a big, black beard, you’re probably on the radar. If you’re white and blond and your name is Brad Johnson, you’re probably not a member of Al Qaeda, so nobody cares.”

“So you have no hard evidence that he is or was selling guns to the U.K. far right.”

“No. It was just a hunch. A strong hunch, but a hunch. He was doing something, that I am sure of. But that isn’t the point.”

She nodded. “I know. The point is that for fifteen years, there hasn’t been another killing like those four, not near where Johnson was or here.”

“Yeah, until now.” I hesitated. “And the killing is similar, but it’s not identical.”

“Because the victim was a couple of inches shorter than the previous victims? That’s pretty thin, Stone.”

I sighed. “It’s not just that. There are other things. Where has he been for the last fifteen years? Why has he suddenly come back, at the same time as Johnson? That is weird. Too weird. It’s what I said to you, if you accept that it is not a coincidence, but also that Johnson is not the guy, where does that leave you?”

“So, hang on, hang on there a moment. What are you saying? I’m getting two things from you. You’re saying you don’t think Johnson did it, you never did; but you’re going further. You’re also saying you don’t think the original killer, from fifteen years ago, did it either. You think this is a copycat.”

I nodded. “I don’t know if it’s exactly a copycat, but this was not done by the same killer.”

“How can you know? How can you be so sure? The height is not enough… That he was inactive for fifteen years doesn’t prove anything, Stone. There could be any number of reasons for that. He might have been ill, in China, in some kind of remission—hell, he might have been in jail!”

I shook my head. “Because the original killer was probably an American, or at least he was really into Don McLean. And the man who killed that girl in Halcrow Street was English, and definitely not into Don McLean.”

THREE

Before she could ask me any more, Harry stepped through the door and approached us on heavy feet across the bare, wooden floor. His eyes flicked over my face and Dehan’s and he said, “I gather we have talked it all through.”

I gave a single nod and stood, “Any news on the girl’s ID?”

“Not much. The landlord said her name was Katie, that’s all he knows…”

Dehan got to her feet too, frowning. “What about the rental agreement? Her name must be on that.”

Harry grunted. “She paid cash, no questions asked.”

We followed him to the door. As we stepped out into the leaden, gray heat, I said, “What about her accent? Was she American or British?”

“I knew you’d ask that. He said she was very posh.”

Dehan asked, “That means she’s British? Americans can’t be posh?”

Harry laughed. I shook my head. “We can have class, but to be posh, you have to be British. It’s to do with how you speak. Don’t even try to understand. Just accept that it’s so. She was British. More specifically, English.”

“OK, so that is out of character with the previous victims, plus she was shorter.”

Harry looked at her curiously, then turned to me. “How do you feel about talking to Johnson?”

“Sure. You brought him in, or do I go get him?”

“We have nothing to bring him in on, but it might be interesting to rattle his cage. From neighbor’s testimony, we’ve narrowed down time of death to the last twenty-four hours. The students on the ground floor, that’s the first floor to you, right? They saw her standing outside yesterday morning, smoking a cigarette.”

Dehan said, “So where is this son of a bitch?”

Harry smiled at her. “He’s at the Olympia, at Earl’s Court. He has a stand at the Dragons, Daemons and Dungeons exhibition.” He handed her two tickets and a folded, glossy leaflet. “Enjoy.”