An Eye for an Eye (Detective Kate Young)

by Carol Wyer

  ‘You’re suggesting he was involved in Ian’s death and probably Alex’s, too. No, Chris. That’s crazy.’

  ‘Of course he’s fucking involved. Come on, Kate. Use your wits, like I taught you to.’

  ‘I’m not as good as you at flushing out the truth. You’ve got a keen journalistic instinct. I haven’t. I can’t see the full picture.’

  ‘You’ve got instinct, Kate. Stacks of it. You’ll soon see the bigger picture. Stick at this investigation.’

  Morgan’s incoming call halted their conversation. ‘Boss, I’ve finally got some info on Cooper Monroe.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Not only did he work as a security guard for Alex, he moonlighted as a guard for a private members’ club called the Maddox Club. Apparently, they sometimes needed a “heavy” to keep the clients in check.’

  ‘I know the place you mean. I’ve been there. The club owner knew Alex and Ian.’

  Morgan continued. ‘Well, according to one of his workmates, Cooper told them the members sometimes got carried away by the entertainment laid on at the club and had to be kept in order, hence he was on hand to remove anyone who misbehaved. I pressed him, but that’s all he knew.’

  ‘I was told there isn’t any entertainment at the club!’

  ‘Not what I’ve heard.’

  ‘Then somebody is lying. I’ll investigate those claims myself. Any luck locating Cooper yet?’

  ‘I’m still on the hunt for him.’

  ‘What about his phone provider?’

  ‘No joy. I’m following up some leads at the moment.’

  ‘Has he been reported to MisPers yet?’

  ‘Sierra says this isn’t unusual behaviour. Her dad often goes off hill-walking and stays out of touch or can’t get a signal.’

  ‘You believe her?’ Kate wondered if Sierra was covering up for her father.

  ‘Yes. Both Bradley and the security guard, Jack, said exactly the same. Cooper suffers from depression and this is how he handles it,’ said Morgan.

  His words didn’t sway Kate. ‘Isn’t Sierra worried her father has been missing for over forty-eight hours?’

  ‘No. She’s sure he’ll be back in a few days’ time.’

  ‘She might know more than she’s telling you. I can’t believe she isn’t the slightest bit concerned. Even I’m worried the killer might have Cooper in his sights, or have already struck. Talk to her again.’

  Morgan said he would. She stared at the phone screen. Did the Maddox Club hold the answer to this investigation? It was somewhere that linked all the men. She wasted no more time. She ought to be able to catch Xavier at work. Maybe he could tell her about Dickson and enlighten her as to why the Maddox Club required a bouncer on its doors.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  TUESDAY, 8 JUNE – LATE MORNING

  Outside on the weed-strewn path to Raven Cottage, Emma shuffled from one foot to the other. The cool wind that had blown up whipped strands of hair across her face, but even with cheeks smarting, it was better being outside than in the grim cottage.

  Kate picked up quickly.

  ‘Hi, Kate. We’ve come across something you should be aware of.’

  Kate’s voice was guarded. ‘What, Emma?’

  ‘It’s an impression on a notepad, a message suggesting Ian Wentworth arranged to meet Chris Young at the Maddox Club at 2 p.m., but we can’t make out the date. I thought you ought to know about it.’

  ‘There are lots of people called Chris Young. Why would it be my Chris?’

  ‘He also wrote Gazette beside his name.’

  Kate sucked in a deep breath. ‘Okay. Leave it with me. I’ll investigate it.’

  ‘Kate, you realise if Chris is somehow involved, it compromises the investigation and you’ll have to step down?’

  Kate didn’t miss a beat. ‘I understand. Are you planning on sharing this information with anybody else?’

  ‘No. I thought you should make that call.’

  ‘Thank you. That’s what I hoped you’d say. I’ll handle this. If I think for a second I should let somebody else take over the investigation, then I shall. For the moment, let’s keep this conversation between ourselves.’

  ‘Deal.’

  ‘Good. And Emma . . . thank you.’

  Emma rang off. She was halfway back up the path when Faith came out of the house. Her mouth was a thin line in her face, her eyes flinty.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘There are fingerprints on the table too small to belong to adults.’

  ‘Children? He had sex with children?’

  ‘For certain. I’ll arrange for the table to be transported to the lab, but I’ll take the travel trunk and its contents back with me for a more thorough examination. I’ve dusted upstairs for prints and taken some swabs of what looks like blood for analysis. I can’t find any fingerprints matching Rory’s anywhere. Are you going back to the station soon?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll lock up behind you once I’ve given you a hand to move the chest.’

  ‘Did you mention the note to Kate?’

  ‘I did. Look, would you keep it to yourself for the moment, until we work out how best to handle it or work out its significance?’

  ‘I’m a forensic scientist. It’s none of my business how you run your investigation. Mum’s the word. Besides, I like Kate. I don’t want to drop her in it.’

  ‘Thanks. Any idea when the message might have been written?’

  ‘Sorry. There’s no evidence to suggest when Ian last used the notepad, but there’s a layer of dust particles covering it, so I assume it was a while ago. I hope the note has no relevance to the investigation.’ Faith glanced at her mobile. ‘I have to go. I’ll be in touch with any results.’

  Emma helped her load her car, and once she’d pulled away, marched towards the cottage. Leaves, like the shaking of hundreds of maracas, rustled noisily, and were joined by the cawing of a huge crow above her, perched on a dead branch of an oak tree, beady eyes observing her movements. A second crow joined it, swooping low over her head before settling close to its companion, feathers lifting in the breeze. The door handle had to be pulled hard into the frame before the key would engage. It was as if the house were fighting her, and once locked, she returned to her car with quick steps, enveloped by a sense of hostility. Raven Cottage had left her discombobulated, and not purely because of what she’d discovered there.

  Kate rested her head against her steering wheel, allowing it to cool her forehead. Chris had arranged to see Ian Wentworth, but why? What had he stumbled across? He’d never mentioned Ian to her.

  ‘Chris, what the fuck were you up to?’

  ‘Research for an article.’

  ‘What article?’

  She was met with silence.

  ‘Chris. Talk to me!’

  No one replied.

  She would divert to her house, halfway between Stafford and Stoke. Xavier could wait. She needed to check through Chris’s gear.

  Back home, she pushed open the door to his office and wrinkled her nose at the musty smell. There was no window to open to let in fresh air and she was forced to turn on the light to illuminate the little space. His computer keyboard was thick with dust, but she didn’t glance at it, choosing instead to examine his 2021 diary. There were no entries for any meeting with Ian Wentworth.

  She opened the filing cabinet and riffled through the manila files, her eyes grazing the names that meant little to her until she reached the letter ‘M’ and she read the name Maddox. Her heart thumped against her ribcage. What was Chris’s involvement? Her hand hovered over the file. Should she?

  The shrill ring of her mobile prevented her. William Chase was breathless, each word issued in a short gasp. ‘Xavier . . . Durand is dead. He’s . . . at the club.’

  She slammed the drawer shut. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the file and she had to get to the Maddox Club immediately.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  TUESDAY, 8 JUNE – AFTERNOON

&
nbsp; Having spoken to Jack, the security guard, and another of Cooper’s colleagues, Morgan was certain that in spite of all his SAS training, Cooper would still check on his daughter, even if he was in hiding. At present, they couldn’t track his mobile; it was switched off and not emitting a signal. Morgan had involved the tech team and requested that Sierra’s be monitored for unusual activity, especially calls from pay-as-you-go phones. Cooper could well have taken a burner phone with him, and if he tried to contact the girl with it, they’d be ready to trace it.

  Morgan had been persistent and had tried talking to Sierra again, but she wasn’t cooperating any more than Cooper’s SAS friend Bradley, whom Morgan was currently watching. If Bradley suddenly took off, Morgan would be sure to follow him. The technical team was also monitoring calls made to and from both the man’s mobile device and the house phone. Cooper would have to reach out to Bradley or his daughter at some stage.

  At the moment, Bradley was currently outside his house, washing his car. Morgan had been watching through binoculars. He wasn’t sure if he was going against protocol or not, but Kate had told him to find Cooper and that was exactly what he was doing. They were working as a special team on this case, so he figured they’d have some dispensation to follow their own initiatives.

  An alert pinged on his phone: a message to say an unknown number – a pay-as-you-go number – was attempting to contact Sierra Monroe. Morgan scanned the contents. The caller was in the Peak District, near Hartington. He slipped away unnoticed. He knew Hartington, a popular destination for tourists and walkers. There were numerous places for somebody to bed down there, including a campsite at a farm.

  Morgan loped off in the direction of his car, parked some way down the road, abandoning his covert operation. He needed to be quick if he was to locate Cooper before the man moved off, maybe deeper into the Peak District. He launched himself into the driver’s seat and, as he drove off down the lanes, rang Kate on the hands-free. She didn’t pick up. He was alone in his quest to track this man down, a highly trained soldier who could well be dangerous. He might need support. He rang the person he knew would always have his back – Emma.

  Like the other victims, Xavier Durand’s hands and feet had been cable-tied and he’d been left dead in a chair. However, there was no sign of any apples and both eyes were undamaged.

  Kate knelt beside the body of the young man, whose head was slumped against his chest.

  ‘You can quite clearly see where he was injected with what I’m guessing was GHB, although I’ll know more after I’ve examined him,’ said Harvey, pointing at the angry red spot on Xavier’s neck. ‘He’s been dead a good eleven hours and was probably murdered sometime late last night or the early hours of this morning.’

  ‘What do you think was the cause of death?’

  ‘Without a doubt, asphyxiation.’

  ‘Caused by choking on an apple?’

  Harvey shook his head and picked up a tube from his case containing a small object. ‘Not on this occasion. The airway was occluded not by a piece of apple, but by this peanut.’

  ‘Anything else you can tell me?’ asked Kate.

  ‘There are cuts on the insides of his cheeks and mouth.’

  ‘Any leaf-shaped marks?’

  ‘It’s difficult to tell because the skin is shredded and covered by coagulated blood. I can’t make out any distinct outlines. He clearly struggled and, as a consequence, there’s a great deal of damage, masking any obvious markings.’

  ‘You can’t tell if the same implement was used?’

  ‘Not without further examination in the lab. There are abrasions on both wrists and ankles caused by the bindings. He also has grazes, resembling friction or carpet burns, on the palms of his hands. Ervin has swabbed them for fibres. And finally, we found a sliver of what looked like white thread under one fingernail. I have no more for the moment.’

  Harvey continued to amass his paraphernalia, ready for departure, and Kate left him to it. She crossed the room, avoiding the officers, to the bar in the corner where two empty whisky tumblers sat in evidence bags on the marble top and next to them, in another plastic bag, a ceramic bowl of salted peanuts. Ervin was nearby, crouched on his haunches, scraping at the table leg. She approached him and said, ‘Can you spare some time and tell me what you’ve got so far?’

  ‘A raging headache. I don’t know how many people have visited this room but it’s going to take forever to identify all the fingerprints in it,’ he grumbled.

  ‘Harvey says Xavier choked on a peanut and there’s a bowl of them on the bar,’ said Kate. She looked around. The furniture in the room seemed relatively undisturbed. There was no obvious sign of a fight. ‘There’s a forensic marker on the floor near the library table. Why’s it there?’

  ‘It’s representing where we found a paperweight – a recumbent bronze Sphinx on a marble base – approximately seven inches high, three inches wide and five inches deep. It’s one of a pair. The other one’s still on the table.’

  She spotted the object in question. ‘Do you think it was knocked off by accident?’

  Ervin got to his feet. ‘Unlikely. We found Xavier’s fingerprints on it, which wouldn’t be the case if he accidentally knocked it over. I don’t want to get your hopes up too high, but using luminol, we discovered microscopic traces of blood on it, and we’ve also found a droplet on the carpet close to the table. Xavier might have used the paperweight to attack his assailant.’

  The whooshing in her ears was like a train passing through her head . . .

  The gunman’s body lies face down in the aisle. Another body is covering his legs.

  ‘One of the passengers prevented him from killing anyone else. They’d been shot but somehow still managed to attack him. They used this to hit him.’

  The words won’t come. Her lips are numb, her throat constricted.

  The object is stained brown but is still in one piece. The heavy crystal award has a name engraved on it. She reads the inscription and her breath catches in her throat. She gasps for air, her eyes widening.

  Ervin hadn’t noticed Kate’s sudden lack of concentration and was still offering his theory of what had taken place. ‘If the blood we found on the carpet isn’t Xavier’s, then we might have a clue to the killer’s identity.’

  Kate was focused once more. This could be the lucky break they needed. ‘When will you know for certain?’

  ‘Soon. Tom over by the window is running a few tests, including colorimetric assay.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You want the short version or a lecture?’

  ‘Brief as possible.’

  ‘It’s a biomarker. Men and women have slightly different levels of creatine kinase and alanine transaminase in their blood. By testing the sample against known colours, we can work out if it is male or female. This is a brand-new version we’ve got from the States. Normally we do this in the lab, but this is a version for use in the field. It’s not as accurate as DNA testing, but it’s pretty good.’

  Kate was drawn to Xavier’s body again. The killer had changed their MO. They’d not tortured him or removed an eye and Xavier had not been murdered at home. ‘Why has the killer changed tack, Ervin?’

  ‘Maybe they’re becoming cocky, or they didn’t have time to set up the whole apple and plate routine.’

  Kate agreed it was possible, but she was sure there had to be another reason. It felt different this time. ‘I take it that Faith hasn’t returned from Raven Cottage yet?’

  ‘I haven’t heard from her so I expect she’s still there or on her way back to the lab. This is bonkers. How many more victims are we going to stumble across? We’ve had three in a little over a week.’

  ‘Only if it is one and the same person,’ said Kate, absent-mindedly. ‘Have you had a chance yet to find out if it was Ian’s eye Dickson received?’

  ‘It’s still being processed. You should get results back soon. It was marked top priority.’

  The gurney had a
rrived to transport Xavier. Tom called Ervin across to the window, and with their heads lowered they fell into deep discussion. Kate watched two paramedics lift Xavier on to the stretcher. Had the attacker changed MO out of frustration at not being able to reach Dickson, or was this the work of a different killer?

  Ervin was back by her side. ‘We’ve got a result for the blood on the carpet and the paperweight, and they’re a match.’

  ‘I sense a “but” coming,’ said Kate.

  ‘It’s a sort of “but”. The biomarkers point to an absence of the Y chromosome.’

  ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘As sure as we can be. Tom ran the tests three times. The results were the same each time.’

  ‘Oh, crap! Either we’ve got a female murderer, or the blood isn’t anything to do with this crime scene. Could be a visitor’s, or it might even belong to one of the cleaners who cut herself on something sharp. I’ll ask who might have been in here.’

  William Chase appeared at the doorway and beckoned. She hastened across.

  ‘The cleaner’s outside by his van, waiting to be interviewed. He gave a statement to the first officers on the scene, but I asked him to hold on. You want to talk to him?’

  ‘He?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then yes, definitely. Are you staying here for much longer?’

  ‘No, I’m needed at the station. I’ll leave this in your hands. Let me know if you need anything at all.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Superintendent Dickson?’

  ‘Naturally, I had to let him know about this development, and it goes without saying, we’re keeping him well out of harm’s way. Now, if you’ll excuse me—’

  She observed him as he took off at speed: long, purposeful strides across the lobby towards the main door without glancing back. Was it her imagination, or was he edgier than usual, and keen to depart once she mentioned Dickson?