Her Secret Past: A completely gripping and heart-stopping crime thriller

by Kerry Watts

  The first huge raindrops began to hammer the roof of the bus as it slowed down at the set of traffic lights just outside the first village it would pass through. Gordon smiled when he remembered kissing a girl for the first time in the park there. More accurately, in the gazebo in the far corner of the playing field. He’d almost done a lot more for the first time in that hidden corner until a dog walker came close to catching him.

  He realised he was hungry and reached down for the packet of crisps and can of Coke he’d grabbed from Grandad’s kitchen. He wasn’t going to need it, was he? Grandad shouldn’t have been drinking that stuff anyway because of his high blood pressure.

  ‘Gordon, are you still there?’ his mum’s voice drifted into his thoughts.

  Gordon sat right up in the seat. ‘Yes, I’m here.’

  ‘When will I see you then?’ she asked. ‘I’ll make the bed up for you, shall I?’

  ‘Soon, I’ll see you soon. I have to go.’ Gordon abruptly ended the call.

  The bus was almost at the far end of the village and Gordon rang the bell. He thrust his rucksack over his shoulder and pressed the end-call button on his phone as he stood to make his way to the front of the bus.

  Dylan held his ID high enough up to show the woman who was sweeping up in the bus-station café. The middle-aged woman with tight brown curls, peppered grey, frowned at him.

  ‘Hello, what can I do for you?’ she asked.

  Dylan held up a photo of Gordon Angus that he’d been given. ‘Did this lad come through here recently?’

  She took the photo from him and pulled a pair of glasses from her apron. ‘Don’t recognise him but if you ask in the office, maybe they’ve seen him.’ She pressed the photo into Dylan’s outstretched hand. ‘What’s he done?’

  ‘Thanks for your help,’ Dylan answered. He pushed open the office door, which squeaked loud enough to announce his arrival. He smiled at the dishevelled homeless man and his dog who were in there keeping dry from the torrential rain.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ a voice piped up from behind the counter. The man, who could be no more than five feet five, looked at Dylan’s ID without expression.

  Dylan produced Gordon’s photo again. ‘Have you seen him?’

  The man took Gordon’s photo then smiled and handed it back. ‘Aye, I know Gordon.’

  Dylan’s eyes widened. This man knew his name. ‘Great – has he been here today?’

  The man shrugged. ‘I couldn’t tell you. I’ve just arrived myself.’

  Dylan was confused. ‘How do you know Gordon?’

  A wry smile grew on the man’s lips. ‘That lad is here at least three or four times a week, sometimes more. He’s a big traveller, Detective.’

  Dylan frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  The man behind the counter tapped his finger on his own temple and screwed up his face. ‘The lad has some kind of bus obsession. He’s got that, what do you call it? You know that thing they say bad kids have these days. Oh, I can’t remember – but no, I haven’t seen him today.’

  ‘OK, thanks anyway.’ Dylan turned to walk away when the man’s voice echoed through the office.

  ‘What’s he done?’

  Dylan didn’t answer this time either and wondered why they’d both decided Gordon had done something rather than worrying he might need help. He was grateful to hear his phone ringing as he opened the door.

  ‘Hey, Jess.’

  He listened to Jessie’s tale of her experience with Tommy and was about to disappoint her with his lack of progress when the homeless man tapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘Hang on a minute, mate.’ Dylan rummaged in his pocket for some change to give to him then handed him a two-pound coin. He smiled. ‘Sorry, it’s all the change I’ve got.’

  The homeless man nodded and muttered ‘thank you’ and stuffed the change into the pocket of his ripped jeans. He tapped Dylan’s shoulder again.

  ‘Sorry, hang on, Jess.’ He lifted his phone away from his mouth while the man’s large cross-breed terrier jumped up at Dylan’s waist. ‘Look, I’m a bit busy, mate…’

  ‘Don’t you want to know where Gordon was going?’ the man asked.

  Dylan stared at him. ‘Jess, I’ll have to call you back.’ He quickly ended the call and focused on the dishevelled man in front of him.

  ‘He gave me a damn sight more money than you did, too.’ The homeless man pressed his hand into his pocket and produced a wad of twenty-pound notes.

  ‘Where was he when you saw him? When was it? And why did he give you that much money?’ Dylan was shocked by the amount of cash he’d shown him.

  This man was at least the same height as Dylan and looked bigger than the lean young man he’d seen up at the Anguses’ farmhouse. He looked more than capable of robbing Gordon.

  ‘I didn’t ask him for it if that’s what you’re getting at and I certainly didn’t steal it. I’m homeless. I’m not a thief.’

  Dylan could see the look of indignation on his face and regretted that he’d offended his potential witness.

  ‘Never mind the money. Do you have any idea where he is now? I need to speak to him urgently.’

  The man shrugged. ‘Don’t know but he got on the bus that left that last stop up there half an hour ago.’

  ‘Where do buses from that stop go?’ Dylan urged. ‘It’s important.’

  The man shrugged again. ‘Don’t know sorry. I didn’t see the number on the bus but there’s a timetable on the post over there.’ He pointed to the far end of the station. ‘That’ll tell you probably.’

  Dylan began to walk away while dialling Jessie’s number. ‘Thanks. You’ve been really helpful.’

  The man’s dog gave one loud, sharp bark as Dylan began to quicken his pace to a jog. He waited for Jessie to answer while he scanned the three timetables stuck to the post. Why would Gordon feel the need to leave town the same day his grandparents were killed? Dylan wondered.

  12

  Jessie hung up. Dylan’s call had left her intrigued but optimistic, she had to admit. Between that and the forensics found at the scene, things looked promising. A hair and boot prints had been found in the soil outside the living-room window – the same boot prints left on the wooden floor inside. It wasn’t often they were handed such simple, clean evidence this early in a case – or indeed even at all. It might have irked her to have the officer interrupt her chaotic interview with Tommy but it had been worth it.

  Tommy had been examined immediately by the police doctor on duty who confirmed he was suffering withdrawal from alcohol and recommended detox treatment in hospital straight away. Not being able to question him about that damn red box irritated her but there was no choice. David Lyndhurst had also called to say he wanted to see her and Jessie was pleased to hear from him so soon. She was sure this wasn’t the Christmas he had planned either. After a recent heart episode, David had led Jessie to believe he was about to retire but she had to admit she was pleased to still have him.

  She grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair and lifted her keys before remembering her Fiesta was currently abandoned at the side of a road just outside Stanley. She searched her pocket for the car key and frowned when she thought she’d mislaid it. She would have to take a patrol car if she could get one. And she needed to let someone know about her stricken vehicle before it was reported by a member of the public.

  She closed the door to her office and turned to see a female officer walking towards her with a bunch of flowers in her hand and a wry smile on her face.

  ‘What’s all this?’ Jessie was surprised when the young officer handed her the freesias and the card that came with them.

  How did Ben know I love freesias?

  ‘They’re lovely. You’re a lucky lady. Wish my husband would send me flowers once in a while.’

  Jessie thanked the woman and watched her retreat before opening the card. A wave of nausea rose in Jessie’s stomach when she recognised the handwriting immediately. The flowers were not f
rom Benito. They were from Dan.

  ‘Wait,’ she called out to the officer who’d brought them. ‘Who delivered these?’

  The woman shrugged with a grin. ‘Not sure. A tall, good-looking guy in sunglasses was all I got told.’

  Jessie had to steady herself on the desk in front of her. She inhaled a long, slow breath and exhaled to control the anxiety that had built inside her.

  Why can’t he just leave me alone?

  Jessie tossed the flowers and the unopened card into the bin and walked away.

  ‘You OK, Jessie? You look a bit peaky,’ David Lyndhurst greeted her once she’d made her way to the mortuary, her mind reeling from her ex-husband’s stunt. What the hell was he playing at? She couldn’t dwell on it even if she wanted to. She didn’t have time for Dan’s nonsense today. Or any day for that matter.

  ‘What? No, I’m fine,’ she answered and painted a smile on her lips. ‘You have a cause of death already.’

  ‘Yes and no – I’m not sure.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Jessie probed. ‘I thought it was a simple gunshot wound that killed each of them.’

  David nodded. ‘It looks that way but I’ll be happy to agree to that definitely after the toxicology results come back. Lack of defensive wounds mean it must have been hell of a quick attack.’

  ‘Have you heard about the forensics we’ve found?’

  David shook his head then winced from the pain in his hot fiery cheek.

  Jessie felt bad for him. He’d been so kind to Tommy Angus about it but it looked really sore.

  ‘We’ve got hair and a solid boot print.’

  ‘My goodness, that’s a lot.’ But David gave the hint of a shrug.

  ‘What?

  ‘What do you mean “what”?’

  ‘I know you too well, David Lyndhurst.’

  David sighed and held his hands up. ‘You got me. Don’t you think a single hair and boot prints are a bit convenient?’

  Jessie narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Maybe their killer was careless.’

  David shrugged. ‘Maybe. It’s your job to find out, isn’t it?’

  Jessie tried to ignore the nagging seed of doubt that David had sown. ‘Have you got a definitive time of death for me?’

  ‘Between nine and ten in the morning, I’d say.’ He peeled off a pair of rubber gloves then pressed his size-fifteen boot on the flip-top bin’s button and tossed them in. ‘It would seem their son and grandson just missed them by such a short time. What time did he say he got there?’

  ‘Half eleven.’

  David sucked in a large breath though his teeth. ‘Close, very close.’

  13

  Rachel Ferguson sat on the armchair that faced the large bay window in the conservatory and stared out over the paddock that had caused her neighbours such angst. Rachel considered whether it was worth reapplying for permission to create the gallops. Would that be inappropriate? She tried to flick through the Racing Post newspaper but her mind kept drifting back to what had happened to Malcolm and Jean. She glanced at her watch, which read just after 7 p.m. She and Kenny should be sitting back, enjoying a glass of wine or even a wee nip, but neither of them felt much like celebrating. Not after what happened. It didn’t seem right. She would get in touch with Tommy in the coming days to ask if they needed anything. It was the least she could do.

  ‘Rachel, I have to go out.’

  Kenny’s voice boomed towards her through the long hallway. Rachel had already seen the car pulling into their driveway. His PA Caroline Peters, a young woman who barely scraped five feet tall, waved to Rachel from her Mini. Rachel didn’t bother to object, or ask questions anymore. It would start an argument and she didn’t feel up to that tonight. She watched her husband’s beaming smile greet his assistant, then looked away from them both.

  She lifted her mug from the coffee table as the sound of Caroline’s car disappeared. She wouldn’t wait up. His meeting would perhaps go on all night again. He’d been working very hard recently.

  She headed into her large galley kitchen and made a fuss of the three Labradors that hurtled from their beds to greet her, one of them buckling her knees under her and sending her crashing to the floor before licking her face with his slobbery wet tongue. Rachel laughed at the absurdity of anyone walking in and seeing her being pinned to the wood floor by three overenthusiastic chunky black dogs.

  ‘You silly boys,’ she said, giggling, and struggled to pull herself into a sitting position.

  A strong gust of wind rattled the stable door behind the house and the heavy rain on the roof grew louder. Rachel stood up and ruffled the fur on one of the dogs before slipping her feet into a pair of boots at the back door and heading out to check on her horses. She tugged the hood of her green fleece tighter over her head against the frequent strong gusts that almost pushed her off balance.

  ‘Shh, it’s OK,’ she called out to her horses because she knew how skittish they could be in strong winds. Rachel didn’t blame them. She wasn’t a fan of stormy weather herself. It often reminded her of her early years in her grandparents’ farmhouse on the remote outskirts of Portree, where strong winds meant gusts of up to fifty miles an hour over open countryside, lifting the surface water from the lochs and forcing the spray onto land.

  Rachel slid open the stable door and found her large chestnut stallion with three white socks scraping the floor with his hoof and violently thrashing his head up and down. If she couldn’t get him calmed down he risked serious injury and she needed him for the race she’d entered him in at the next meeting at Perth. It would be great for her business as well as her bank balance if Dexter won; he was tipped favourite ante post because of his unbeaten record over two miles.

  ‘Hey there, big man,’ Rachel whispered but feared he couldn’t hear her over the sound of the horrible wind and rain battering the roof. She held a hand up in front of her and unbolted the door to his stable. ‘Hey, you.’

  Within a couple of minutes his scraping and thrashing decreased until he moved closer and nuzzled his large head into her shoulder.

  ‘There now.’ She ran her fingers over his face and allowed that scent to envelop her. Rachel loved the distinctive smell of horses. There was nothing that could come close to the happy feeling it created in her. She’d been introduced to horses during her time in the young offenders centre. Her social worker thought she was perfect for the programme and she’d been right. Working with horses gave her structure and purpose when she felt she’d been cast adrift, not knowing where she belonged or who to trust. There were some dark days that she’d had to overcome. The confusion. The sense of betrayal, then the guilt.

  A loud bang outside startled both Rachel and the horse, who reared and kicked out his front legs, almost colliding with Rachel. She lost her balance in her haste to avoid getting kicked and had to grab the stable doorframe to avoid falling onto the straw. She stood up and bolted his door after her then went to see what had happened. Whatever it was it sounded big.

  Rachel turned the corner out of the stable and found the lid of one of the food buckets scraping across the yard in the wind. She smiled when she realised that was all it was and moved towards it. She picked the lid up and retraced her steps as the now torrential rain poured over her, soaking the fabric of her light hood quickly, until the raindrops dripped even from her eyelashes.

  As she was removing her filthy boots outside the porch, she heard the house phone ring. She peeled her saturated fleece off and tossed it onto the floor next to them then jogged to answer the call, relieved to get back inside.

  ‘Hello,’ she said and waited for the caller’s response but heard nothing. ‘Hello, who’s this?’

  When she got no reply again she hung up, irritated that a cold caller would intrude on people tonight of all nights. She hated those silent calls. If you stayed on the line long enough you ended up talking to someone who began the conversation by hoping you were having a good day before trying to persuade you to buy something or do a survey.


  Rachel had moved only three steps away from the hall table when the phone rang again. She sighed and turned back to answer it.

  ‘Hello,’ she said again. This time the silence irked her even more, and she shouted down the line, ‘I don’t want to buy anything. I haven’t had an accident and I don’t want to take your survey.’

  As she removed the handset from her ear she heard a voice say her first name. She became fearful at the sinister tone. ‘Hello, who is this?’

  Her words were greeted with more silence. Rachel pressed the end-call button and tossed the phone onto the table, confused. Her heart raced when the phone rang again. She swallowed back her fear and slowly picked it up again.

  ‘Hello,’ she murmured. ‘Who is this?’

  There was no silence this time. ‘I know what you’ve done.’

  The anonymous caller had said what they needed to say and hung up.

  Rachel dropped the phone and clasped her hands to her lips. She’d been so careful. Her head fizzed with all kinds of ideas until a loud knock hammered on the porch door. She froze.

  The three dogs barked behind the utility-room door as the knock echoed along the hall again. She swallowed hard and opened the utility-room door to let the dogs through to join her. All three Labradors ran at the door and continued to bark in unison.

  Rachel edged closer to the porch door. Her palms felt clammy when she reached for the handle.

  She thrust the door open and all three dogs shot outside, barking and growling as they ran into the darkness. She peered out. There was nobody there. All she heard was the distant barking into the wind. She jumped with fright when her dogs came bounding back inside. This was a game to them.

  She slammed the door shut and locked it behind her. Whoever had knocked on that door wasn’t playing games.