Lethal Dose; Lethal Justice; Lethal Mind

by Robert McCracken

  Tara retrieved a paper from her bag and reached it to Rosemary.

  ‘We were wondering if you could tell us the reason for this list,’ said Tara.

  The wrinkles on the woman’s face became more evident as she read down the list of names.

  ‘My, my Jimmy Saville,’ she said with a chuckle. ‘Now there’s a surprise, not.’ A silence ensued as she continued to examine the list of names. ‘It was a long time ago, can’t believe it’s been twenty-five years. Alastair Bailey had been a friend of yours, isn’t that correct, Harold?’

  ‘Yes. We were members of the same church until he became involved with a satanic group.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Rosemary seemed to be digging into her memory. She remained in thought, still peering at the names. Tara wondered if they would get anywhere at all. At last the woman spoke, albeit with a question. ‘You say this list was in the case files?’

  ‘Yes,’ Tara replied. ‘Can you recall interviewing any of these people at that time?’ Rosemary Black seemed to glare at her young visitor, and Tara sensed that she may have sounded impatient.

  ‘Well we certainly did not go anywhere near Mr Saville, mores the pity. Might have saved some heartache for others if we had. I don’t think you should draw any significance of these names as a collection. It’s certainly my handwriting, but if I remember correctly, they weren’t all suspects or witnesses at the time. Let’s start with the easiest. Saville was believed to have been present at several satanic gatherings in Lancashire. As you have probably learned by now many of these meetings were centred on sex parties, black masses and sex magick, they call it. No surprise then that Saville’s name came up. As far as I can remember he was never contacted in relation to this case. Next is Lawrence Williams. I don’t recall him being relevant to this case, but he was already known to us around that time. I think he was a suspect in a case of attempted murder. You can check back in the files for that. Simeon Jones had some connection to either Bailey or Trudy Mitchell; I can’t remember who. Mitchell was investigated because she had an association with that actor Dale Hargreaves. It was well known that he followed some form of satanic religion.’

  ‘Was she questioned at the time?’ Tara asked.

  ‘Yes, I think so. Don’t ask me what the outcome was. Anyway, it’s bound to be in the files. There was definitely something odd in the relationship between her and Hargreaves.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Was all over the papers at the time. Apparently Mitchell moved into the home that Hargreaves still shared with his wife. All three were linked to occult activities at the house. I think the kids had to be taken away by social services.’

  Tara thought on her meeting with Trudy Mitchell. She hadn’t been forthcoming on her relationship with Hargreaves and, if Rosemary Black was right, then she’d lied about having been interviewed by police at the time of Alastair Bailey’s murder.

  ‘Angela Sanders, now there’s a case in itself. She was mixed up in all sorts. Not necessarily illegal, of course. Greenham Common protests, gay rights, legalise cannabis, free the Birmingham Six, the miner’s strike, the war in Iraq. Stuck her oar in every issue of the day. Again, though, I don’t know why she came to our attention in relation to Bailey. If she was relevant it should be in the files.’

  Tara got the feeling that Black was hinting that she should have done her own research before coming to see her. She was fairly sure though that the only time these names had cropped up in the Bailey case files was on the list she’d brought to Rosemary Black. So far the retired officer had not given a reason for the origin of such a list. But she had compiled it and had separated the celebrities from the unknown. She was willing to guess that Rosemary Black had merely committed some of her own thoughts on the case to paper. Now, having met the woman, Tara didn’t think she was likely to admit it.

  ‘Okay, now the last two names I certainly recall well. Dinsdale Kirkman, I remember putting him away for sexual assault of a young girl, but that wasn’t long before I retired, about twelve years ago. Again, check the files. But Dinsdale had a strange upbringing. Only child, was doted on by his mother and tolerated by his father is the best way to describe it. Charles Kirkman was for a time our prime suspect for Bailey’s murder. We knew he was deeply involved in devil-worship. For goodness sake, he’d published hundreds of pamphlets on the occult. And when the name, you gave us, Harold…,’

  ‘The Church of the Crystal Water?’

  ‘That’s it. When this Crystal Water thing was mentioned to potential suspects or witnesses, Charles Kirkman’s name would come up. Of course, we could never find anyone prepared to admit to being a member of this church, and when we questioned Kirkman he flatly denied its existence.’

  ‘Did you search his house?’ Tara asked.

  Rosemary glared at Tweedy and then Tara.

  ‘Of course we did. Place was as clean as a whistle.’

  ‘What about the basement flat? We have found a lot of materials to suggest that some form of satanic rituals were practised there.’ Another cold look at Tara.

  ‘As I said, it was no secret that Kirkman had an interest in the occult. The entire house was clean, no evidence of involvement in Bailey’s murder. Investigations into Kirkman came to a dead end. In any case, a year or so later he died.’ Rosemary took a final glance at the list and handed it back to Tara.

  ‘Why is Dinsdale’s name and not his father’s on this list?’

  Rosemary Black shrugged.

  ‘As I’ve said earlier, I can’t remember why I compiled this list, so I can’t tell you why Dinsdale’s name is there.’

  ‘And Kelly Pritchard?’ Tweedy asked. He’d taken the list from Tara and scanned down the names.

  ‘Again, I can’t say exactly why her name is grouped with the others.’

  ‘But you remember her?’ said Tweedy.

  ‘Oh yes, absolutely, but it may be that she was separate from the Bailey case entirely.’

  ‘How do you mean separate?’ Tara asked.

  ‘Around the same time as Bailey died, Kelly Pritchard disappeared. She was thirty years old. Her parents reported her missing to us. They said she had joined a religious cult and they were worried about her. No one heard from her again. We never found her body.’

  ‘You believe she was killed by this cult?’

  Rosemary Black shook her head.

  ‘Maybe, but the reason Kelly was never seen again was that at the time she left home she was terminally ill. Only had a few weeks to live.’

  Chapter 40

  I knew it wouldn’t take me long to hang my hat on one of these lovely women who do their shopping online. She lives way out by Tarbock Green, lovely red-brick cottage with a big garden and set back from the road through the village. A bit bigger than the women I would usually go for, more of a size ten or twelve than an eight. But I can’t resist a cracker like her. I’d guess she is close to forty, a good figure, looks bloody brilliant in a skirt and blouse. Dark hair styled around her face, dark eyes, long lashes and a cute wee button nose. I’ve delivered stuff to her house twice so far. She’s the type that tells you her life story without prompting. Naturally chatty. Don’t think I could stick living with her, probably drive me nuts, but then I’m only planning on having her for one night. So from two calls at her house, I’ve seen her kitchen, carried groceries down her hall and caught a peek of a cosy sitting room: low beams, wood-burning stove, lots of bookcases. I gave her the name Vicki; she’s divorced, no children, works in a law firm in Liverpool, her parents are both dead, she likes to holiday in the Caribbean with her sister, loves cooking, goes to the theatre with her girlfriends, drinks wine (mostly French) and doesn’t have a man on the go at the moment. When her mouth isn’t working she will listen to the answer you give to her questions. Of course, I didn’t tell her an ounce of truth. I’m just a hard working delivery man who minds his own business.

  This driving job is going to be the best job in the world. Vicki doesn’t stand a chance. Sure, I’ve
a little more research to do. Just have to choose the time and place and chatty Vicki will be having the time of her life. Hopefully, she will shut up long enough to enjoy it.

  Chapter 41

  She picked up Murray back at the station, but before setting off to see Janet Malcroft she issued Wilson and Bleasdale with another list of tasks. Not wanting to be seen as ineffectual, she thought it best to have another check through case files for the information that Rosemary Black had suggested would be there. She wanted more on the Kirkmans, more on Sanders and more on Trudy Mitchell and her peculiar relationship with Dale Hargreaves. What she also wanted at that moment was to know why Philip Tweedy had not called her and why, during the tele-conference, did he not even have the good manners to say hello. She wanted this case to be over, simply to avoid another embarrassing time spent in front of Harold while he discussed the matter with his son.

  She sat once again in the lounge of Janet Malcroft’s home, marginally tidier than on her previous visit. Whether it was the effect of colder weather outside with a strong wind blowing but the house felt cooler and less stuffy.

  ‘Mrs Malcroft, Peter told us that at the time Alastair was killed there was some talk of others, including a woman, having gone missing.’ Tara sat upon the sofa, while Murray, remaining on his feet, took the opportunity to browse the living room, examining framed photos and glancing over paperwork that was still in abundance upon the coffee table.

  ‘I wish he hadn’t told you that, Inspector.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘It was only a rumour, never confirmed.’

  ‘How did you come to hear the rumour?’ Janet Malcroft jumped to her feet and concocted a sudden interest in the mail scattered over the coffee table that Murray had been trying to study. She began tidying, stuffing sheets of paper into envelopes.

  ‘I really can’t remember. There was so much going on with Alastair’s death, the inquest, the funeral and the press taking an interest. For all I know it might have been the police who mentioned it.’

  ‘The woman who disappeared, was her name Kelly Pritchard?’

  ‘I’ve just told you I can’t remember.’

  It seemed probable to Tara that Janet Malcroft may well have learned about Kelly Pritchard from the police, but why was she so nervous all of a sudden? Her next question to the woman was unlikely to improve matters.

  ‘What do you know of the Kirkman family, particularly Charles Kirkman?’

  She stared, her eyes widening, looking worried now at Tara. Again another pause before resuming her seat and answering the question.

  ‘I’ve never heard that name before, Inspector.’ She glanced at Murray as if she thought she were being closely scrutinised.

  ‘Really? It never came up? The police didn’t mention the name at the time of your husband’s murder?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘You don’t recall meeting Kirkman on the night Alastair took you along to the party you told us about?’

  ‘I may have done. I am sorry, but I can’t remember. Now if you don’t mind I’ve some shopping to do.’

  ‘One last question. The woman you said you remembered from the party, the TV personality, was it Trudy Mitchell?’ Malcroft closed her eyes and shook her head several times.

  ‘I really can’t remember any more. This is all too much. Now please leave.’

  Tara blew air through her lips when she got back in the car with Murray.

  ‘Do you think I hit a nerve?’

  ‘I don’t understand why she became so defensive. She was the one who told her son about the other people who went missing at the time of Bailey’s murder.’

  ‘Maybe she’s not too happy about her late husband’s case being re-opened. It’s been twenty-five years and she has moved on. She probably doesn’t need the hassle.’

  ‘Where to next?’

  ‘Home, I think. Need to get my feet up for a while.’

  ‘I do a good foot massage, mam.’

  ‘Yes, Alan, I’m sure you do but I can manage on my own, thank you.’

  ‘Just saying. The offer’s there.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, enough familiarity for one day.’ He sat grinning like a man up to mischief with his girlfriend. She was his boss, for goodness sake. ‘Tomorrow we’ll have another chat with Trudy Mitchell, find out why she lied to us about being interviewed by police. Hopefully, Wilson will have found something on the Kirkmans and the rest of these mysterious people.’

  On the way home she planned her evening: a long shower, a curry from the freezer zapped in the microwave and then catch up on some television, avoiding, of course, any police dramas. Murray dropped her off at the entrance to her complex at Wapping Dock, but as she walked through the gate she was startled by a car roaring by from behind her. She turned to see a white van making the corner and speed away. For a second she wondered about James Guy, the man who’d forced her into his van, drugged her and thankfully was caught before he could rape her. She shivered, and as she did so visions of recent crime scenes flashed by. Headless corpses. She shivered again. As she approached her apartment she saw him on the floor, legs outstretched, his back against the wall. For a second she didn’t know how to react. Certainly did not feel the same way as she had when he last appeared. He looked up sheepishly from his phone as she peered down at him. Anger or delight? Neither response seemed to fit.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hi,’ she replied.

  Once inside he reached for her, and they kissed passionately. In a few seconds they were in her bed. When it was over, he was quickly asleep as she lay there trying to figure out what had just happened. So much confusion, her body had ruled her heart. She’d been turned on the second they’d kissed as they came through the door. But how was she feeling now? What was he looking for? She had no idea. She had no idea because since that first date, when they’d gone to a restaurant, they’d hardly spoken, certainly not on a level of intimacy she’d expected from a man who had already shared her bed. She was not getting to know him by simply having sex before she’d received an explanation of why he had not called her for over two weeks. She wondered if this relationship was finished before it had really got started. In answer to her initial question, she was angry.

  Chapter 42

  Now I know I haven’t lost it. Thai was me just having a bad day. Vicki was pure magic and so easy. Took her from her own driveway. Simple. No bloody CCTV out in these parts. A dark country lane, plenty of space between one house and the next. All I had to do was wait until she was reversing her lovely white BMW 4 Series Convertible out of her drive, and then I blocked her in with my latest white van. I just sat there waiting. Eventually, she climbed out of her car and came toward the van. I jumped out to greet her. She was already asking me to move out of the way when she realised who I was. When she smiled I shoved my hand under her throat, slid open the door of the van and pushed her inside. Once I got her all comfy, I went to her car, switched off the engine, locked the door and we were off to the seaside.

  Honestly, a woman like Vicki only comes along once in a millennium. She was everything I’d hoped she would be. What a fabulous body. Such a shame to have to put it to sleep forever. Maybe I could find a way of keeping a woman like Vicki for longer. If I found a place to keep her hidden, I could revisit the same gorgeous body over and over. When I grew bored with her then I could dump her at sea. Bit late for Vicki, though. The thought only occurred to me as I sailed Mother Freedom into a berth at Conwy. I wonder though if that’s what I should do when I get around to snatching Tara Grogan. I suppose that once a police officer goes missing the whole country would be turned over in searching for her. I might attract too much attention. If Tara were to go missing, I’d be the first one they’d call on since I have history with the wee cop. But there’s no way I’m giving up on her. I spent eighteen months in jail because of the wee detective. I owe her big time.

  Chapter 43

  She awoke to find he
r body encircled by his arms, and he slept on. Reaching for her phone on the bedside table, she was glad to see there were no messages from the station, although there was one from Aisling asking if she was free on the coming Saturday evening. She had passes to a gala event in the Hilton. Tara replied with a yes, deciding that her friends came before the remote possibility that Philip might turn up at her door. That done, she slipped from his arms and went for a shower. When she returned to the bedroom he was awake and taking in the image of her naked body, but quickly she covered up with the towel in her hand.

  ‘Morning, sleep well?’

  ‘I did thanks. I was wondering what you were doing today?’

  ‘I’m going to work, of course.’

  ‘Can’t you take the day off?’ he said. ‘I was hoping we could go for a drive, the Lakes maybe. Have dinner, stay overnight?’

  ‘Sounds lovely, Philip but I can’t. Up to my eyes with this case.’

  ‘Come back to bed then.’

  ‘Can’t do that either. I’m already late as it is.’ She dressed quickly, while he continued to watch her. Has he nothing else to say? she thought.

  ‘I should probably head back then,’ he said at last.

  ‘You’re not visiting your parents?’

  ‘No, I came just to see you.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, after last time when you left me, I heard nothing from you for over two weeks. You didn’t even acknowledge my presence the other day during the conference call.’

  ‘Couldn’t say much in front of the old man.’

  ‘A simple hello, Tara, would have sufficed.’