Viper - Michael Morley [156]
‘Serial killers of this guy’s calibre have approach and escape routes from their burial scenes,’ explained Jack, as Blue hurtled them at a frighteningly high speed through the fog. ‘And I mean routes, not route.’
Sylvia shut her eyes as the passenger-side mirror slapped that of a passing car. ‘So this is all still a game of chance?’ She clutched a grab handle as the Alfa zigzagged into the outer lane of the autostrada. Its siren wailed again and its blue roof lights flashed incessantly.
‘To some degree. This particular squirrel in the woods will have many routes, and they’ll lie north, south, east and west of his burial site. He’ll also have several safe points. Bolt-holes that he can hide in if he’s really spooked.’
‘The whole area’s littered with old farms, disused cottages and outbuildings,’ Sylvia added. ‘I’ll radio Lorenzo and see if we can get some bearings on them.’
Brown patted Jack’s belt. ‘This thing – it looks like a palmtop – is a tracking device. See – it registers your position here, but change the screen like this and you get full access to all real-time satellite imagery of the area.’
Jack was impressed. He saw their flashing dot exit the A3 and begin the ascent of the winding mountain road that he and Sylvia had taken the first time he’d visited the crime scene. He’d said at the time that he wanted to see it at night, needed to look at it in the same way the killer did. Now that late shift might just pay dividends.
‘Okay?’ checked Brown.
‘Very. Very okay.’
‘Good.’ Brown handed him a balaclava and Jack rolled it down over his face.
‘Now you look the part!’ The GIS man’s eyes smiled approval. ‘You need these too. They’re Gen 2 Night Vision goggles – are you familiar with them?’
‘Pretty much. I’ve used them, but not this model.’
‘It’s simple. Usual head-mount strapping. Tell me if you can’t work it. There’s a Picatinny rail on both the handgun and the MP5 that I’m going to give you, and a second scope to fit it. Okay?’
Jack clamped the goggles on to his head and felt mildly claustrophobic. ‘Forget the rifle. Up close I’m fine. Beyond twenty metres, the way I shoot, I’ve got more chance of bringing him down with a rock.’
‘Should have brought him a shotgun and some buckshot,’ shouted Blue from behind the wheel. Both GIS men laughed.
Sylvia switched from her radio to her phone. She picked up three missed messages from the Murder Incident Room. She called in and asked for Mancini. When she finally reached him, the update he gave her almost made her drop the phone.
One of her task forces had come up with an ID on victim Number One.
Numero Uno.
Jack’s profiling was spot on.
There had indeed been a relationship between the killer and the victim.
A very special one.
The tailor’s label had led them to an old family firm called Tombolini who’d made bespoke suits for city gents for more than a century. Their designs and attention to detail were legendary, and they still kept detailed accounts of every fitting and every suit they’d ever made. She clicked off the phone, let Jack finish giving directions to the driver, then updated him. ‘Numero Uno was Luigi Finelli.’ Sylvia twisted in her seat so she could see the impact on Jack’s face. ‘Salvatore Giacomo had murdered Luigi, no doubt on the instructions of the Don’s own son, Fredo Finelli. Like you said, there was a good reason why Fredo kept him around for so many years.’
Static burst from Jack’s belt. ‘Jack, this is Lorenzo, can you hear me?’
‘I can hear you. Loud and clear.’
‘What’s your ETA?’
‘How long?’ Jack shouted to Blue.
The driver took one black-gloved hand off the wheel and held it up.
‘Five minutes. We’ll be there in five.’
The total blackness reduced Sal to a slow jog.
Arms outstretched, he felt like a blind man. Twigs