DI Giles BoxSet

by Anna-Marie Morgan

  “So it's true then.” Kim led them inside.

  “My team caught the killer. I have some amazing people around me. Everyone played their part, including this lady here.” She threw the last towards Tasha, who was busy picking up Tom and holding Sally's hand, allowing them to lead her to their favourite toys.

  “I realise, now, why you didn't want to tell me what you were working on. That must have been a hard case for you, given what happened to dad, and that Tom and Sally are of similar ages to...”? Kim looked across at her children.

  “It gave me a few sleepless nights, sis.” Yvonne put her arm around her Kim's shoulders. “I came here after some of the worst of them, and you guys made me feel a million times better.”? Yvonne smiled and grabbed her sister's hands. “Come on, enough of this, let's play.”

  The DI had one thing left to do before bed. She fired up her sister's laptop, organising her thoughts whilst she waited. She checked the clock –? ten pm. She clicked on the Skype icon. It was morning in Adelaide. Her mum was already online.

  “Hi, I'm glad you made it.” Her mum had her hair tied back. She looked younger.

  “Hi, how's things in Adelaide?”

  “Good. Hot, but not as hot as its gunna get.”

  “It's cooling down here. Soon be Autumn.”

  “Ah yes, that's something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “I'm thinking of visiting the UK at Christmas. How do you feel about that?”

  Yvonne paused. After everything that had happened, she felt no anger or irritation at the thought. The woman on the screen was her mother. The woman she had loved absolutely, until the day her father died. She still loved her, and missed her more than she cared to admit.

  Yvonne smiled wistfully. “I'd like that. I'd like that a lot. We have so much to talk through, and so much time to catch up on.”?

  “You look tired...” Her mum's eyes creased with concern. “Difficult case?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I can't wait to see you and Kim and to meet Kim's children.”

  The DI felt a pang of regret, that her mum had never met Tom and Sally. She knew her mother would have come over sooner, had she thought her eldest daughter amenable. Not being able to talk to Yvonne had made it too painful to return to the UK.

  “Are you bringing him?”

  “That depends on you.”

  “Do you want to?”

  “I'd like to, but not if it makes things difficult.”

  “It'll be fine.” Yvonne's shoulders relaxed. What harm could it do, now?

  “We'll book a hotel for around two weeks -”

  “Please,” Yvonne's face was earnest, “?stay at mine. It's big enough, and Kim and the children can stay, too.”

  Her mother appeared to seriously consider, pausing for several seconds, then: “That's a lovely offer, Yvonne. Perhaps in the future. But, I think this first time, a hotel might be best.”?

  Yvonne nodded. “Okay, well, if you change your mind...”

  “I'll know where to come.”

  As Yvonne closed down the laptop, Tasha gently tapped the door.

  “Come on in,” the DI called, still seated cross-legged on the bed.

  “Did you do it?” Tasha sat herself on the corner.

  “I did.” Yvonne sighed. “I don't really know why it's taken me so long.”

  “One word, grief.”

  “It's not even about what she said, but what she didn't say, back then. Like, because we were children, that we'd recover okay. That we wouldn't need so much time. That our friends and school and our social lives would make the sadness go that much quicker. Our feelings weren't given the same importance.”?

  “Your mum was grieving, too, and probably feeling hugely guilty. She may have been thinking all sorts of things, she just didn't know how to convey them to you. She would probably have been worried about your reaction.”?

  “Yes, you could be right.”

  “You probably went through something similar when David died, with certain of your friends and acquaintances. The people whose heads went down, as they crossed the street, or those you just didn't see for a while, because they were avoiding you. Some people find it hard to say the right words. So they don't say them. They don't say anything at all.”?

  “She was our mother.”

  “Mothers are many things, Yvonne. Very few of them are perfect. Just like the rest of us.”

  “You're going to tell me next, I'd understand better if I was one.” Yvonne smiled, she understood exactly what Tasha meant.

  “Maybe,” Tasha grinned sheepishly. “I wouldn't know, either.”

  “Thank you, Tasha. Thank you for everything over the last few weeks.”

  “You're welcome. Though, you know, if we carry on like this I'm going to have to move to Wales. It'd be far easier than having to up sticks every few months.”? The psychologist winked at her.

  “Don't joke. As well as being the best friend ever, you're a fantastic resource for our squad.”

  “Kelly wouldn't be happy. Her life is in London.”

  “Oh yes.” Yvonne looked down. “Of course, I forgot.”

  “Hey, come on...I have some news for you.”

  “You do?”

  “Remember Mark Grantham?”

  “How could I forget.”

  “I came in to tell you about a call I just had from a friend. Turns out Mr Grantham's being investigated by the fraud office. He has a lot of questions to answer.”?

  “What about Ryan Smith?”

  “He's not being investigated currently, but if he's still linked – as we believe he is – to Boxhall, and they're working in cahoots, I think this time fraud will nail them.”?

  “We'll see. Money talks.”

  Paul Baker paced his cell. He could hear noise from the other inmates, shouting to each other and occasionally banging their doors or walls. He heard what he thought was stuff being hauled up through windows, on makeshift ropes. He'd washed the toilet umpteen times with the soap from his basin. It still stank, to the point he almost couldn't bear it.

  He glanced around: bed, toilet, small cupboard, and wash basin. It wasn't much to show for his life. Still, as a serial killer and sex-offender, at least he was guaranteed his own cell, for now. Small things mattered big, in this place.

  He thought of the DI. He'd be in here a few years, 'til he could figure a way out. But, after that? That trumped-up little bitch better keep looking over her shoulder. And when he finished? There were still a few countries a fugitive could hide out. Especially if they had money.

  THE END

  1

  The assassination of Kate Nilsson

  A sharp snap of undergrowth. Seven o’clock. Third time she’d heard it. She dropped to her knee and turned, surveying the gaps in the tree-line. Looking. Listening. Silence. No movement.

  She picked herself up and carried on running. More sounds. Wood banging against a tree. Like a beater hounding out a pheasant. She kept running, cursing her own breath for drowning out the noises she was straining to hear.

  The ground was soft underfoot. Moss. Twigs. Rotting leaves. The occasional branch. Perhaps it was the encroaching darkness. Maybe there was no-one behind.

  ‘Thwip’

  She knew that sound and dropped instinctively.

  ‘Thwip’

  Someone was firing at her. High-powered rifle. Six o’clock.

  She rolled into the ditch, fighting for breath. Perspiration snaking its way down her neck. She snagged on an old bramble. It gouged her as she tried to free herself, tearing her thigh.

  The pounding of boots behind. She dragged herself up and ran for it, weaving side-to-side. The last time she’d done that was in Helmand. Her only tour of Afghanistan. This peaceful wood, so close to home, was the last place she would expect to do it again.

  She didn’t see the branch which caught her foot. Her momentum took her down into the mud. Its thick, sour grittiness invaded h
er mouth, crunching between her teeth. She spat out what she could and hauled herself up once more, mud-soaked clothing weighing her down.

  The dark, velvety menace of the night encroached further.

  The stench hit her before she saw the carcass. A sheep had lost its battle with tangled wire and lay where it had fallen - part skeleton, part rotting mass. She shuddered.

  Another bullet. Way too close. Was he toying with her? Harder to run now. The undergrowth slushed and snapped beneath her. She drove shaking limbs on. The weakness of futility overwhelming. She had the urge to turn and face her hunter, like the hind slowing for the lion’s teeth to sink into her jugular. Get it over with.

  She picked up a rock, holding it tight behind her back. “You.” She pushed wayward hair from her face, leaving muddy trails across her cheek.

  The attacker stayed silent, rifle strapped to his back, a pistol aimed nonchalantly at her. How dare he be nonchalant?

  She spat at the stony face. A pointless gesture, but it helped her feel better. Hot tears filled her lashes as she teetered between fight and the temptation to beg for her life. She knew in her heart the latter would be useless. His emotionless expression told her all she needed to know.

  She threw the rock at that stony face and took off, beginning another winding run. After only a few paces, the gun rang out. It felt like a punch in the back. As she fell to her knees, her lungs failed. The second shot hit near the first. The assassin took time to walk slowly over and finish her off. A callous shot to the head.

  2

  Yvonne takes the case

  Yvonne put the kettle on its stand and switched it on. She’d felt ready for this but was struggling. Perhaps it was the length of time that had passed. Perhaps it was the confines of her sister’s home, filled with so many people. Perhaps it was that she still hadn’t quite forgiven her mother.

  “Are you okay?” Kim asked with quiet concern.

  Yvonne nodded.

  “Are you sure? You don’t look okay.”

  “I’m sorry, Kim.” Yvonne sighed and brushed the hair from her eyes. “I thought I was ready for the big family get-together, but I’m not sure I am.”

  From the room next door came the strains of the CD player rocking out Christmas carols. The excited whoops of Kim’s children, as they played with their gran for the first time, had the DI feeling guilty.

  “It’s all right, you know. It’s all right to be anxious. Give it a chance.” Kim smiled and put an arm around her sister’s shoulder.

  Yvonne’s mobile bleated and she smiled an apology before crossing the kitchen to retrieve it from the opposite counter.

  “DI Giles.”

  “Ah, Yvonne.” DCI Llewellyn drew in his breath.

  “Is everything okay?” Yvonne asked, despite knowing it probably wasn’t.

  “I’m sorry to do this to you, but could you come in?”

  “Sir?” Perversely, Yvonne felt pangs of regret.

  “A young woman, a soldier, has been murdered near Llydiart. Shot in the back and head.”

  “From behind?”

  “Yes.”

  Yvonne put her hand over the phone, her gaze turning to Kim, who gave her a quizzical look.

  “It’s a case.” Yvonne paused. “They’re asking me in.”

  “But mum…”

  “I know.”

  “The kids’ll be gutted, too.”

  Yvonne raised her phone once more. “Is there anyone else who can take the case?”

  “Not with your experience or sensitivity. She was on Christmas leave with her parents.”

  “I see.” The DI gave her sister an apologetic look. “Give me an hour.”

  Kim turned towards the door and Yvonne walked after her, one hand lightly touching her sister’s shoulder.

  “I’ll be back.”

  “Yeah?” Kim frowned. She knew very well what her older sister was like when working a case.

  “Yes. I’ve got to talk to a family. Ask a few questions. I can be back tonight. I’m sure after that someone else can lead the team for a few days.”

  Kim nodded, but her drawn face signalled lingering scepticism.

  “I’ll go speak to the others.” Yvonne gave her sister’s hand a squeeze.

  Two and a half hours later, Yvonne was apprised of the full events by the DCI. Four hours after the call, and she was on her way to the muddy field, which would now be full of SOCO and uniformed officers.

  Yvonne let Dewi drive, and waited patiently as he stopped in LLydiart to pick up a paper and snacks. The post office shop in the tiny hamlet was not manned as a matter of course. It took several minutes for a dark-haired, buxom lady to open up and be ready to serve them. Yvonne took a look at her watch and left Dewi talking, choosing instead to get her wellies out of the boot.

  Snow had fallen, interspersed with sleet and rain, leaving slushy mud and driven snow piles in random array. The DI was expecting a messy trek to Kate Nilsson’s body.

  She wasn’t wrong. They followed the hedge line and the blue and white cordon of the designated pathway. The latter already well trodden. SOCO were everywhere and rows of officers walked painstakingly at the other end of the field. Dewi and Yvonne accepted the proffered plastic suits and overshoes and took their place behind the photographer.

  Pathologist Roger Hanson was hard at work. Yvonne’s gaze turned to the blood-soaked, hair of the victim, who lay, face-down in the ditch.

  “Shot in the back as she ran away.” Hanson’s knees clicked as he stood to greet the detectives. “The killer coolly finished her off with a shot to the head. There doesn’t appear to be anything under her finger nails and no defensive wounds.”

  “So, we know she wasn’t in a fight with her killer. It wasn’t a heated argument.” Dewi scribbled hard.

  “She was a fit soldier. Took care of herself. Why didn’t she take him on?” Yvonne frowned.

  “Maybe she didn’t see him coming?”

  “Or maybe she knew she couldn’t win this one.” Yvonne knelt, to get a closer look.

  Roger Hanson nodded. “This ditch wouldn’t be an obvious place for jogging. She’d gotten caught on a bramble. It’s still embedded in her jogging bottoms. All the signs are she was being chased. Body temp and rigour-state fit with that scenario. She was suffering from physical exertion.

  “Wouldn’t she have been exerted anyway, given that she was jogging?” Dewi chewed the end of his pen, flicking it up and down with his teeth.

  “Unlikely.” Hanson shook his head. “She’d only been out about thirty minutes. Someone so used to jogging would probably not be exhausted in so short a time. Unless she’d tried a faster pace, which I cannot rule out.”

  Dewi nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Okay.”

  Yvonne sat back to look at Hanson. “Can we turn her over?”

  Hanson checked with the photographer, who nodded. Hanson completed the turn.

  The DI’s heart banged in her chest. Kate’s eyes were wide open. Her mouth was also partially open. The pathologist clicked on his torch and squeezed the victim’s face, to peer inside her mouth. Yvonne balked at the matter-of-factness of it.

  “She’s got mud inside her mouth and grit between her teeth. She was certainly trying to get away. She’d probably fallen prior to her final drop.”

  The DI shuddered and scanned the tree-line. “Well, whoever he was, he must have been fit.”

  “Or she.” Dewi corrected.

  “Or she.” Yvonne conceded. “When we speak to her friends and family, we should find out if she ran with anyone else. They’d still have to go some to outrun a soldier at the peak of physical fitness.” She pointed to the cracked watch.

  “Five minutes past four,” Hanson offered before being asked. “Stopped when she hit the deck.”

  “Wow.” The DI scratched her head. “Ken Davies called the station at four-twenty. She could have been dead only minutes before he arrived. He said he hadn’t witnessed her being killed. How did her murderer disappea
r so quickly?”

  “We should speak to Ken Davies, ASAP,” Dewi agreed. “He had to have seen something.”

  “Which direction is the farm?” Yvonne asked.

  “As the crow flies, it’s behind that copse and through the fields,” Dewi said, pointing. “Davies was on his quad bike. He could have been back at the farm within five minutes. Definitely within ten.”

  “So it may have been four-ten to four-fifteen pm when he got here.”

  “And the quad tracks mightn’t be much help.” Dewi sighed. “There are numerous sets and hard to say, definitively, which are the most recent.”

  Yvonne nodded. “I know. But they do follow roughly the same arc, and if those…” She pointed off to her left, “are the incoming, then the killer may have disappeared off into the copse.”

  “Right.” Dewi agreed. “He’d have heard the quad approaching from some distance away.”

  “Maybe he was wearing camouflage.”

  Dewi raised his eyebrows.

  “Just a thought, Dewi. Just a thought.” She pinched her tongue between her teeth. “Okay. Let’s get SOCO and uniform to comb that copse. See if we can get a trace on him. Get the dog team up here. The killer may be long gone, but if he’s local-”

  “I’ll get the postmortem results to you as soon as I can.” Hanson peeled off his gloves, signalling to his assistants that he was ready for the body to be taken.

  Yvonne stared down at the body bag, placed next to the girl. She mused that soldiers might be no strangers to body bags, but not here. Not in a muddy field next to their home.

  3

  Who was Kate Nilsson

  Yvonne and Dewi headed for Mill House, a large cottage near Llydiart, fifteen minutes from Lake Vernwy. Dewi agreed to wait in the car while Yvonne made a sensitive entrance.

  It had started to snow again. Small flakes becoming larger ones. The DI looked skyward, listening to the birds as she waited for the door to be opened. The peacefulness of the country dell contrasted vastly with the turmoil in her head, left over from abandoning her own family that morning. She was filled with guilt, relief, and unanswered questions.