That was a concept Vogel had considered, but he had so far been unable to come to a properly thought-out conclusion.
‘Until we apprehend this man and can acquire detailed psychiatric reports on his state of mind, I’m afraid we cannot comment on his motivation,’ he said.
‘Exactly how do you plan to apprehend him, DI Vogel? I mean, isn’t he really little more than some kind of fantasy figure?’
‘Not exactly, we do have a photograph of our suspect,’ Hemmings interrupted.
The DCI waved a hand at Janet Jackman, who had her laptop open in front of her. She tapped the keyboard and a large image of the photo emailed to Manee Jainukul flashed up on the big screen above the platform.
Vogel turned to look at it. He’d already pored over the photo on the train as soon as Hemmings had emailed it to him the previous evening and again when he got home and again that morning. He had a feeling that face was vaguely familiar but then, he’d spent so much time looking at it he supposed it would be.
‘The experts tell us this image has been heavily Photoshopped,’ said Hemmings. ‘We have no idea how alike it is to our suspect — whom we believe to be Saul Homer, Leo Ovid, and Al — but it’s the best we’ve got. Please use it to help us find him. He is highly dangerous.’
The media went ballistic.
Aeolus
I wasn’t quite sure what I felt when I watched the news and read the TV reports. In a way I was proud of the attention. Who wouldn’t be? My story led the news on every TV bulletin and I was splashed all over every front page. My picture was everywhere, well, the picture they thought was me. It was the same on the net.
Of course, I knew the story was a captivating one. A damned good yarn, the press boys would say. I particularly enjoyed headlines like POLICE PUZZLED AND BEFUDDLED BY TRIPLE KILLER…, MYTHICAL MURDERER MAKES MOCKERY… and THREAT OF THE THREE-IN-ONE FIEND…
I was, of course, aware that merely by working out what I was, the forces of the law had put me at greater risk of discovery. Detective Inspector David Vogel was clever for a police officer, there was no doubt about that, but not as clever as me. I wasn’t too worried.
The media asked one question. The same question.
‘Who is Aeolus?’
I am Aeolus. I am not the pathetic creature whose picture the police released. I’d used and doctored that picture, for my own ends. It barely resembled me. Nobody would recognise the real me from that picture.
I am Aeolus. I am the ruler of the winds. I have powers the likes of which DI Vogel can only ever dream of.
Twenty-Six
The results of the press conference wildly exceeded anything Vogel had ever experienced. Even the coverage of the Sunday Club murders in Covent Garden, which had attracted extensive media attention, paled into insignificance compared with this.
It was approaching mid-morning the following day and Vogel was still trying to get to grips with the sheer enormity of public response to the massive media onslaught, when his phone rang. Bill Jones, the duty sergeant at Trinity Road — the police station which covered the St Pauls district, where the body of Manee Jainukul was found — sounded unusually animated.
‘Woman just walked into the front office here. I think you should see her personally, sir,’ said Jones. ‘Claims she had an internet relationship with your Saul. Got a feeling about this one, sir.’
‘You’ve talked to her yourself?’
‘Briefly, sir.’
‘All right,’ said Vogel.
He respected Sergeant Jones and was pretty sure the man wouldn’t bother him directly with anyone likely to turn out to be a nutter. If Jones thought this woman was worthy of Vogel’s personal attention, then she almost certainly was.
But, for once, even Vogel didn’t dare leave his office. He really had to remain at the hub of the investigation of which he was DSIO. Hemmings was not going to stand for anything else.
‘Look, there’s no way I can come over to you,’ he told Sergeant Jones. ‘Would this woman be prepared to come here, do you think, if you got a uniform to drive her?’
Sergeant Jones replied that he reckoned that could be arranged.
Miss Sonia Baker arrived less than half an hour later. Vogel had her brought straight to his office. She was now sitting opposite him, a fair-haired woman, probably in her late thirties, just a little plumper than she might like to be and well dressed, in a rather old-fashioned sort of way. Discomfort oozed from every pore of her body. A handkerchief was clasped tightly in her left hand. She looked as if she may have been crying.
Vogel introduced himself, offered Sonia Baker coffee or tea and tried to do everything he could to make her feel less ill at ease. The woman attempted a weak smile. He noticed that her lips were trembling, but he needed to start questioning her swiftly in order to ascertain whether she really was the genuine article or just another time-waster.
‘Could you please begin by telling me what you told Sergeant Jones at Trinity Road,’ he said.
Sonia, in spite of being so upset, related clearly how she had met Saul Homer on line, through marryme.com, how they’d corresponded in detail for some time and had eventually arranged to meet.
‘And you are sure it’s the same Saul Homer we are now looking for?’
‘Oh yes. Well, it’s an unusual name, of course, but that’s not it. As soon as I saw the picture on the TV this morning, I recognised him at once. It’s the same photo he posted on marryme.com. It’s not there now though, I checked. But I have a print-out.’
Sonia Baker reached into her handbag, removed a sheet of A4 paper and put it on Vogel’s desk. Vogel glanced down. The bespectacled face, which had been haunting him for a day and half now, was before him. It was the same Saul all right.
‘So did you ever meet him, Miss Baker?’ he asked.
‘No, he didn’t turn up, you see,’ said the woman ‘I stood on the railway station at Bath like a total idiot. He was supposed to be arriving there from Swindon, where he said he lived. I looked all along the train he was supposed to be on. I even thought I saw him. There was this man who was about to step out of one of the carriages and then turned away and went back in. I thought it was him at first. There was definitely a similarity, although it might just have been that he was wearing tinted glasses like Saul’s. I caught a glimpse of him again, looking out of a window. Straight at me, I thought, but he wasn’t my Saul, obviously. My Saul never arrived. I waited for the next two trains from Swindon. We’d spoken on the phone a couple of times. He had this quite gentle voice, with the hint of a rural Wiltshire burr. I thought he sounded so nice. What a fool. I couldn’t phone him from the station. He said he’d lost his phone, a lie obviously. I realise now how stupid I was, but he seemed to want all that I wanted. He must have told the same sort of story to this poor woman from Thailand. It still upsets me, which is ridiculous really because I could be dead, couldn’t I, Mr Vogel? I could have been another victim. It all fits.’
‘If you are right and I suspect you are, then I think you may have had a very lucky escape indeed, Miss Baker.’
Vogel asked the woman if she would make a full statement and she agreed to do so at once. He said he would arrange for someone to go through the procedure with her and asked her to accompany him to reception. In the corridor, they met Willis and Saslow, clearly on their way out.
Vogel asked Sonia to wait a moment and took Saslow to one side.
‘I need a word with you two, where are you off?’ he asked.