“Twenty-five years ago, a Judith Calf got married in Oldston,” he announced to the team. “It was a long shot but I wondered if the woman who claimed Liam might have used her maiden name.”
He could see from the look on Grace’s face that she was impressed. George and Craig both stopped what they were doing and stared at him.
“Who did she marry?” Craig asked.
“Percival Webb,” he told them all. “And there is no record of the Webb’s ever having a child of their own. So Liam Donnelly must have become Nathan Webb.” Greco looked around at the heads all nodding. “What do we know about him?”
“Not a lot. He doesn’t have any sort of police record. He’s a hard-working young man with moneyed parents and a promising future,” Grace told them. “So why get mixed up in that lot?” She nodded at the board.
“Because he harboured resentment and hate, probably all his life,” Greco surmised. “We need to pick him up.”
“What’s going on?” Quickenden asked, just then coming into the office.
Greco nodded at the board. “We know who he is.”
Greco watched Quickenden move closer to read the new notes. “Odd-coloured eyes . . . I’ve seen a pair of strange eyes recently . . .” He thought for a moment. “In the Spinners the other day. That new kid I told you about, he was waiting for Geegee. It must be him — he must be this Liam.”
“You and I will take a ride over to Webb’s workshop, see if he’s there. Grace and Craig, you two go and have a word with Mrs Webb, see what she has to say.”
“How did you find him, sir? I was only gone half an hour or so.”
“It was down to a hunch.”
“I didn’t think you liked hunches, sir.”
“An educated hunch, Sergeant, the one about women using their maiden names in certain situations.”
* * *
The Webb family lived in a huge, rambling stone house on the outskirts of Oldston. It was surrounded by a high fence and the gate was locked. Grace pressed the button and waited.
“DCs Harper and Merrick from Oldston CID,” she told the male voice who answered.
Moments later the gate sprung open and they were able to drive in. “Some pile they’ve got,” Craig noted.
“Business must be good. It’s a shame that we have to do this. I wonder if Liam’s given them much aggro over the years. He’s such a troubled young man I can’t see life with him being sweet, can you?”
“Is it about Brenda?” Percival Webb greeted them at the door. “It really shook everyone up, losing her like that.”
“Is your wife in, Mr Webb?” Grace asked with a smile.
“Judith? Well, yes, come on in,” he offered.
Judith Webb met them in the hall. She was about fifty years old. Her hair was greying, she was thin and she looked twitchy.
“This is about Nathan,” Grace began, “or perhaps I should call him Liam.”
Grace watched her reaction closely. Judith Webb’s expression did not change. She stared silently at both detectives for several seconds and then she looked at her husband.
“They know,” she almost whispered.
“We know that he isn’t your biological son, and we know who he really is. We need to find him. Liam has done things, terrible things, so we need to stop him before he does anything else.”
Grace saw the tears, the woman was upset. “I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong.”
“He wasn’t your child, Mrs Webb.”
“No, but he wasn’t wanted by his real parents. We couldn’t have children of our own, and we were desperate,” sobbed Judith. “He was unwanted, ill-treated, but such a lovely little boy. When I heard the local news on the radio that day I had to do something, so I decided to take him.” She shrugged. “It was easy. I went to the police station and spoke to the officer on the desk. He brought Liam through to sit with me. We sat on a bench; I’d taken some toys and a bag of sweets. We chatted as we waited, I read him a story. They were very busy that day, there had been a robbery I think and everyone was called away. Me and Liam sat there in that draughty room for ages, but no one came. Eventually he fell asleep. I’d given the officer on the desk a false name. I know I was wrong but I was desperate for a child. We’d tried everything and got nowhere,” she explained as if it justified her actions. “Finally, I picked him up and took him out. No one came after us, we simply walked away. We raised him as our own. No one ever came looking and Liam seemed happy. We sent him to school and provided everything he wanted. One day he’ll inherit the business.”
“Where is he, Mr Webb?” Craig asked. “He’ll be at the workshop.” He went to stand beside his wife.
Craig took his phone and rang Greco.
Grace thought the whole incident sounded extraordinary. Why wasn’t the boy’s welfare followed up on? There must be more to it, but this was not the time to find out more.
* * *
It was late afternoon and getting dark. The workshop was bathed in fluorescent light as they approached. “Park behind that truck.” Greco pointed. “We don’t want him to see us coming.”
“Backup is on the way. They are blocking off the surrounding roads too. If he does do a runner then he’s got nowhere to go.”
Liam Donnelly had a hosepipe in his hand and was washing down a coach. He didn’t hear them approach and turned as one of the mechanics called out.
“What do you want?” His tone was sour. “We’re about to close up, can’t it wait until Monday?”
“This is not a business visit, Nathan, we’re the police.” Greco showed the young man his badge. “We want you to come with us, answer a few questions.”
“You’re wasting your time because I know nowt.”
“We’ve spoken to Mrs Webb, we know the truth about who you are,” Greco told him. “Look at me, Liam.”
* * *
Liam Donnelly turned slowly, dropped the hose and his odd-coloured eyes looked straight into Greco’s. This was the moment he’d been half expecting. He was clever; he could always get one over on the likes of the Hussains and Geegee, but the police were bound to be a close match for him. “I don’t care,” he smiled. “I got them and they suffered plenty for what they did to me.”
“Rose and Gibbs?”
“Sounds like a firm of solicitors.” His laugh was almost demented. “But they were far from that. They were my parents, can you believe that?” There was more manic laughter. “But joking apart, they were evil, the pair of them. I wanted to get back at them for screwing up my life.” He took a rag and started to clean the oil from his hands. “I planned and schemed with the worst of them. I did it well too. Shame about the drugs, though. I was set to be the new Mr Big around here,” he told them proudly. “I’ve stuffed the Hussains, big style.” He looked at Greco. “But you know that, don’t you, copper? A clever bloke like you — bet you’ve worked it all out.”
“Eventually,” Greco allowed. “The bomb scares?”
“Me, all me. My way of getting rid of Kashif and his cronies.”
“No real terrorists, then?”
“Not this time. Good plan though, don’t you think? Bomb in the luggage put in the hold of a coach. That system of doing things needs tightening up. A traveller doesn’t come back after a stop and the coach just continues — luggage left where it is. Big with possibilities that one.”
“Brenda Hirst — why kill her?”
“She stumbled onto the canal bank just as I was meeting Rose. I’d already given Rose something to make her — well, let’s just say, more amenable. Brenda got in the way. So I clobbered her.”
“You took her eyes, like with the others.”
“I like eyes,” he smiled. “They’re my hobby. I collect them, you know.”
“You need to come with us now, Liam.”
* * *
“He’s as mad as a hatter,” Quickenden decided as he came back from the cells. “He thinks he’s done well. He doesn’t see it at all.”
“I’m ju
st glad it’s all over,” Grace added, leaning back on her chair and closing her eyes. “What about you, sir?”
“Absolutely.” He was looking at the incident board. “You all did very well in the end.”
Greco was particularly impressed with Grace. She’d contributed a lot to the case. Far from being one of the no-hopers, she had a future. Quickenden he wasn’t so sure about. The jury was still out on that one. Craig Merrick was a plodder and so was George. He’d see if the next case could ignite a spark before he made any decisions about their futures with the team.
“Coming for a drink with us, sir? It is Friday night.” Craig asked.
Greco was about to refuse. After all, he always did. But they were all looking at him expectantly. This case had changed something within the dynamic of the team. Team — yes; perhaps now they might be.
“Okay, but just one. I’ll give Suzy a ring first; tell her I’ll be late.”
The End
Book 2:
DARK HOUSES
A gripping detective thriller full of suspense
Helen H. Durrant
Prologue
Murder.
It was a skill. It was addictive. It was his life.
The skill lay in the planning; making sure you wouldn’t get caught. The addiction was incurable. There was no rehab for people like him.
He watched the young man go into the café. He already knew his name — Neville Dakin. They had never spoken, but he was about to change that. He’d lined up Neville Dakin weeks ago. On one occasion their eyes had met, just fleetingly. There had been a spark in that look. And then he knew.
Soon he would strike again — three times. And it would be Neville who took the blame. The police would see only what he put in front of them. It would never occur to them that Neville had been set up. Then, just as he had in the past, he’d walk clean away.
He sat down in a chair facing the young man. “I don’t talk to strangers,” Neville said.
“But I’m not a stranger. You know me. Look closer.”
The young man peered at him. “Are you sure?”
The café was empty. There were no prying eyes. He couldn’t pass up this opportunity. “Yes, I’m your friend. You must remember me.” The smile he gave Neville was open and confident.
Neville shook his head. “Sorry. I forget things, you see. It’s the pills. They make me weird. They make me sleep as well. Sometimes I wake up in the morning and I don’t even know who I am.”
“In that case they aren’t doing you any good. You should stop taking them.”
“I have to take them. I’ve been ill.”
“But you’re better now? You look fine.”
“It’s not what I look like. It’s what’s going on up here that matters.” Neville tapped the side of his head.
“I can help you recover.”
“I’ll never be right. They said so.”
“They get it wrong.”
“Are you real?” Neville leaned forward, reaching out to touch him, and he ducked away. “You’re not, are you?” Neville said. “But I don’t mind.”
Neville smiled shyly.
“I don’t think much of where they’ve put you.” He stirred his coffee. “That block’s where they put all the no-hopers they want to hide away. Everyone will think you’re a nutter. You should complain.”
“I am a nutter. That’s the whole point. That’s what’s wrong with me. But I like it there. I have my own room,” said Neville.
“You won’t be happy on your own.”
“That’s what Edna said. Will you visit me?”
“No — but you can visit me. You can help me with something if you like.”
“Will you take me out?” Neville said.
“Do you like girls, Neville?” Girls. Just the hook he needed.
“I don’t know any.”
“When you come out with me you’ll meet some. If you do as I say, the girls will like you — a lot.”
“They don’t usually like me. I think I frighten them.”
“Not this time.”
“Can I kiss them?”
“Yes, and lots more beside. We’ll have some fun.”
Neville blushed. “I’ve never been with a girl.”
“Do as I tell you, and I’ll give you one of your very own.”
“Can I tell Edna?”
“No. This is our secret. You can keep a secret, can’t you?”
Neville nodded enthusiastically. “When do we start?”
“What medication are you on?”
Neville took a bottle of pills from his pocket and showed him.
“Those aren’t good for you.” He snatched them away and poured them out into his pocket. “These are better.” He opened a packet and emptied them into Neville’s bottle. “Take these instead. I promise — you’ll see a difference right away.”
Chapter 1
He heard the tap, tap of her high heels on the cobbles of the dimly lit street. She was getting close. He turned the light out. The flicker from the open fire would be more inviting. He stuck the poker deep into the glowing coals. He wanted it good and hot. Good and hot. The thought sent a shiver of need running through his body.
Silence. Her shoes had stopped tapping. Horrified that she might have changed direction, he peeked through a hole in the threadbare curtains. All was well. She was standing a few yards from the house, balancing on one foot. She was fiddling with the strap on one of those stupid high-heeled shoes.
It was time to make his move.
He stood in the doorway, whistling. She was close enough now that he could smell her cheap perfume. She wore an ultra-short skirt wrapped like cling-film around her thighs, a low-cut top and a pink fake fur jacket. A cheap tart. He’d chosen well.
“Oatmeal or mocha?” he asked. He held out two samples of paint. “I have to get it right or the wife will kill me. It’s our first place,” he said. “Not much, I know — a small terrace on a back street in Oldston, but it’s all ours.”
“What’s it going with?”
She was chewing gum and, despite her youth, she had a couple of teeth missing.
“Flowery wallpaper. The wife chose it for the chimney breast. It’s a vivid orange with cream. I don’t have much of an eye for this sort of thing.”
“Let’s take a look,” she said with a friendly smile.
His spine tingled. This was so easy. She pushed past him through the front door. He followed her in, grinning and stroking himself.
* * *
Day One
“It’s not pretty,” the pathologist Natasha Barrington warned.
Detective Inspector Stephen Greco walked into the room. He had seen a lot of horrific sights in his time, but this was one of the worst.
“Grim, isn’t it?” That was a major understatement. “I’ll let the CSI do their stuff, then they can get her down,” she said.
The young woman hung from an oak beam set in the low ceiling. She was naked. A rope bound one wrist to the beam. It wound around her neck several times, then tied the other wrist. Her arms were stretched horizontally and her head lolled forward onto her chest. Each ankle was tethered to chairs placed either side of her, splaying her legs apart. Her dark hair hung limp, blood-soaked, to her shoulders. Her eyes bulged and her tongue protruded.
Staring into hell.
“Who found her?”
“The owner, one Rashid Rahman. As you’ll see from the sign outside, the house is for sale. It’s unoccupied. A neighbour heard a noise, saw smoke coming from the chimney and rang him. He’s in rather a state. He’s gone next door for a shot of something strong. There’s no sign of a break-in. The lock’s intact, no broken windows. A PC looked all round and reckoned they must have had a key.”
“Sergeant!” Greco called out, tapping on the window. “Get in here.”
Sergeant Jed Quickenden, known as Speedy, had taken one look and dashed outside to throw up.
“Is he usually this squeamish?” Natasha asked Greco.<
br />
“Yes, I’m afraid he is.”
“Even though it’s my job, sights like this don’t do me any good either. But we have to get on with it. We have our work to do . . . Anyway, the wound to her chest is what killed her. They cut into the chest wall with something sharp.” She nodded at a poker lying on the floor beside her. “That, I suspect, was heated and used to burn a hole through her heart. There has been extensive burning to her face too.” She winced as she looked at the girl’s body. “The burning has made those holes in her cheeks. There has been a fire in the hearth. The embers are still warm.”
“Anything else from your preliminary examination?”
“She was raped, and brutally too. I’ll know more when I get her on the table. Not content with the burning, she’s also been cut about the mouth and scalp. Her mouth has been cut crosswise extending up into the cheek like a cartoon of a wide smile.”
“When, do you reckon?”
“Sometime last night. Late on, I’d say.”
A woman spoke from behind them. “The clothing is interesting.”
“This is Doctor Roxy Atkins, our new lead forensic expert,” Natasha said. She introduced her to Greco and Quickenden, who was cowering in the background.
She was hidden in her coverall. All you could see was that she was small and slim. A wisp of black hair stuck out from under her hood.
“How so?” Greco asked.
“They appear to have been cut neatly from the body, I’d say with scissors. They’ve been folded and left on that chair over there. Her bag still has her purse and mobile in it. Her purse contains a debit card, a photo of her and a young man, and some cash. I’ll bag everything up and look at it in the lab.”
“Does the debit card have a name on it?” Greco asked.
“Jessie Weston,” Roxy replied. “There’s an envelope too. Her address is on the Link Road estate. You’ll need to inform the next of kin, have her identified formally.”
Quickenden took the envelope, now in an evidence bag, from Roxy and copied down the address.
“When will you do the post-mortem?” Greco asked.
Complete Detective Stephen Greco Box Set Page 20