THE MURDERER'S SON a gripping crime thriller full of twists

by Joy Ellis

  Jackman puffed out his cheeks. ‘Phew. Hard to tell really when a body is in that condition. It’s difficult to see beyond the decomposition and the injuries, but I’d say she was mid-twenties, most likely British, and not on the breadline.’

  ‘Mm, I agree, especially about being fairly well off. She had a T-shirt under her top, and I’m sure it was a designer label. I think I recognised a pretty pricey logo underneath all the staining.’ He kicked at a piece of loose asphalt. ‘Do we have a serial killer here in Saltern, sir?’

  Jackman swallowed. That was something no copper wanted on their patch.

  There would always be killers, in the same way that there would always be talented artists, child prodigies, concert pianists, left-handers and people who could fart Rule Britannia! It was one of the varied talents humankind had developed. One man had the ability to dive from a ten metre board and enter the water with barely a ripple, and another could take a life, with as little fuss. But the serial killer, that most feared and heinous of beasts, was something else altogether.

  ‘It’s far too soon to start thinking like that. For all we know, the killer could have had a deep-rooted personal grudge against both the dead women. There are a dozen different scenarios that we could apply to what has happened, Max, and none of them involve serial killings.’ He tried to look stern, but deep down he was wondering exactly the same thing.

  After a few words with the uniformed officers, they hurried back to the car. The superintendent would be champing at the bit for an update, and they needed to tackle the mountain of work that this new find had thrown their way.

  Max drove, and after a mile or so Jackman realised that there was none of the non-stop chatter that usually accompanied their journeys. He glanced across, and was shocked to see a tear squeezing itself from the corner of Max’s eye.

  He touched Max’s arm. ‘Want me to drive?’

  ‘I’m okay, sir.’ He rubbed his jacket cuff roughly across his eyes. ‘But how can someone do that?’ He swallowed noisily. ‘I mean, it’s inhuman! To take some lovely young woman, some girl, well, she was little more than a kid really, and do that to her.’ He shook his head as if to rid himself of something that clung to it. ‘It’s just horrible. How is someone capable of a thing like that? Why do they do it, boss?’

  ‘If I knew that, I’d be a rich man.’ Jackman exhaled. ‘There’s no simple answer, I’m afraid. From what our case files tell us, I can only guess that some of them live in a fantasy world, disconnected from reality, where violent crime is all part of some horrible psycho-sexual game that they need to play out. Some seem to simply like inflicting hurt on people. And others think that they are perfectly justified in killing, for whatever reason their twisted mind has come up with.’

  Max murmured his assent and returned to concentrating on the road ahead. After a while, he sighed. ‘I just can’t look at their faces.’

  Jackman recalled the detective staring intently at his notebook, recording the details of the woman’s clothing. ‘I can understand that.’

  ‘Is there something wrong with me, boss? All the others seem to cope. Some of them even manage to joke about it.’

  Jackman shook his head. ‘It’s what we said about Jacobs, Max. Everyone finds their own way to cope with bad situations. Black humour is high on the mechanism list, but others find it heartless, offensive even. It depends on your personality.’

  ‘You won’t tell the others, guv? About me blubbering.’

  ‘It’s the last thing I’d do.’ Jackman meant it, although he knew that no one on his team would think any the less of Max for shedding a tear for a dead girl. In fact he was pretty sure that Marie would find it endearing. ‘Oh, and it’s not a sign of weakness, Max, it’s compassion for others. Without that, you’d be a crap copper.’

  * * *

  Jackman talked to the pathologist. Marie sat across the table from Daniel Kinder, alongside Charlie Button.

  Kinder was very calm, maybe a little too calm. Marie wondered if he was still suffering the effects of the sedative.

  As they had on every previous occasion, she recommended he use the services of a brief, but once again he refused, so she continued. ‘We have received the results of fingerprinting taken at the scene where you profess to have committed a murder.’ Marie paused, staring at the impassive face opposite her. ‘There is nothing in the report to place you at the scene, Daniel.’

  ‘I was obviously very careful.’ He sounded unemotional.

  You, my son, are a very different animal to the one I met in here last night, thought Marie. She narrowed her eyes. Until Jackman had assessed the situation out in Bracken Holme, they had decided not to mention to Kinder that another woman had been found. Marie was still certain that he hadn’t killed anyone, and that news of another body would come as a complete surprise to him, but now was not the time to present him with that particular nugget of information. Even now she heard Jackman’s warning to be careful, that Kinder might just be playing a dangerous game.

  ‘What do you want from all this, Daniel?’

  There was confusion in his staring eyes, then he asked, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you’ve come to us, you’ve set the scene, you must have a finale in mind.’

  ‘It’s not a game.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Marie matched his stare. ‘I’m not convinced.’

  Daniel didn’t answer. He drew in a long breath and fixed his gaze on the scratched surface of the table in front of him.

  ‘You didn’t kill Alison Fleet, Daniel. But for some reason you are very, very anxious to make us believe that you did. If that’s not a game, I don’t know what is.’

  ‘I killed her.’

  ‘And you can recall every last detail, can you? Where she was? What she said to you when she saw the knife? How it felt as the blade parted her soft flesh?’ Her voice rose with every sentence until it echoed around the small room. ‘You can remember what you did with that knife, can you? Where’s the knife, Daniel? Where is it?’

  ‘I don’t know! I don’t know!’ His voice rose, then he fell silent. After a while he looked directly at her, and he said, ‘I just know that I killed her. Now I can’t remember anything. It happens sometimes. I forget things.’

  ‘Like killing someone?’ Charlie Button’s expression was incredulous.

  ‘Like anything! I have gaps. There are times when I don’t know where I’ve been or what I’ve done. Usually it’s only seconds or minutes, but recently it’s got worse.’

  ‘And you had one of these “gaps” on the night that Alison Fleet died?’

  Daniel Kinder nodded miserably.

  Marie frowned. ‘So when you were “yourself” again, was there blood on you?’

  ‘No, but I think I was wearing different clothes to the ones I put on that morning.’

  Marie’s frown deepened. ‘And where are they now?’

  Kinder shrugged hopelessly. ‘I can’t find them.’

  How on earth did the psych department at the hospital let this go? Marie thought. If they weren’t linked to dementia, serious memory lapses were generally the result of a trauma, or due to an underlying disease, like a tumour. Or stress, of course, and she’d seen that Daniel Kinder could become stressed to breaking point in the blink of an eye.

  For some reason she didn’t think he was faking this. She’d seen and heard it so many times before. “I can’t remember” was a well-worn excuse, and she usually saw through it straight away. But Kinder was different somehow.

  She sat back in her chair and looked at him earnestly. ‘Know what I think?’

  Kinder’s eyes didn’t leave hers, but he said nothing.

  ‘I think you’re scared about your memory loss. You’ve convinced yourself that you are a murderer’s son, and you are trying to protect Skye Wynyard.’ She intensified her stare. ‘Protect her from what you believe you could do to her.’

  Daniel’s face became immobile, a mask devoid of emotion. He seemed to switch off complet
ely. His back straightened, and in an arctic tone that could have frozen molten lava, he said, ‘No comment.’

  * * *

  Skye Wynyard sank down onto the sofa and heaved a sigh of relief. The last of the police officers had left and she was thankfully alone. It would take all evening to put things straight again, although she had to admit that the search team had done their best not to cause too much disturbance. They had mostly concentrated on the attic, and frankly she was glad that they’d stripped it out. She never wanted to go up there again. Even seeing the closed door at the top of the stairs was giving her the heebie-jeebies.

  Sergeant Marie Evans had rung her a while back, saying that the Thai Embassy had confirmed that Mrs Ruby Kinder had flown up to the north-eastern province of Loei, with the intention of joining a meditation group in the Phu Ruea mountains. Apparently she had then gone into the forest on a silent retreat at an undisclosed location. There was no way of contacting her, although the local police had been alerted and would make every effort to reach her.

  Skye and Ruby got on well. The older woman was more like a friend than the mother of her boyfriend, and part of Skye was relieved that Ruby was not around to see the carnage that her only son had caused. And not around to feel the heartbreak that he was dishing out to those who loved him. Sergeant Evans had said that Daniel was back in custody and after he’d been interviewed, she would see if a visit could be arranged. She made no promises, and Skye had gathered from her words that Daniel was in deep shit.

  She lay back on the sofa and tried to relax. She was exhausted, mentally and physically, but she still had the house to put to rights. She knew that Ruby would never blame her, but she still felt responsible, and she wished like hell that she’d never committed herself to helping Daniel feed his pet neurosis.

  Skye stood up and went to the kitchen where she found the vacuum cleaner, dusters, polish and other assorted cleaning materials. With a determined intake of breath, she decided to get the house into some semblance of order.

  She was just plugging in the hoover when she heard her phone ringing.

  ‘Skye? Sorry to bother you, but are you okay? One of the porters here said there were police vans outside the house where you are staying.’ The worried voice of her departmental manager was the last thing she had expected to hear.

  ‘Yes, Lisa, I’m fine. It’s all just a dreadful misunderstanding.’ She wanted to blurt the whole thing out, but managed to rein herself in.

  ‘Is this the personal problem that made you take leave at such short notice?’ Lisa Hurley’s voice was full of concern. ‘It’s so unlike you to ask for time off, I’ve been worrying about you ever since. If there’s anything I can do, or if you need to offload? I’ve got an A-level in Active Listening!’

  Skye smiled for the first time in days. ‘How long have you got?’

  ‘All night, if it helps.’

  ‘Well, right now I have a very large house to clean. We’ve had policemen’s size twelve boots tramping all over it. But maybe tomorrow?’ Would it really hurt to talk to someone? She didn’t think so. If someone was good enough to help her out, why should she say no?

  ‘I’ve got a better idea. Tell me where you are and I’ll come over with a bottle of Fitou, an M&S microwave meal, a can of Pledge and an industrial-sized packet of J-cloths. How does that sound?’

  ‘Like the sound of a lifebelt landing next to a drowning woman.’

  ‘Excellent. Give me your address and I’ll be there within the hour. By the way, have the press caught on? Are you being staked out by reporters and cameras?’

  ‘Not yet, but I’m sure it’s imminent. See you later!’

  Skye closed her phone and blew out air. She didn’t have to tell Lisa everything, after all, and then she could get her opinion. Lisa’s speciality was working with stressed-out staff and patients, so she could be a very useful person to talk to.

  Skye felt a huge weight lift from her shoulders. Lisa Hurley was not only highly intelligent, she was also practical, and funny with it. Of all the people she knew, if she could have picked someone to unburden herself to, even though Lisa was technically her boss, it would have been her.

  Skye picked up the hoover and switched it on. She no longer felt so alone.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It was evening by the time Jackman caught up with Marie, and her troubled face told him that Kinder’s interview had been far from straightforward.

  They sat in his office and he told her about the dead woman.

  ‘The super is keeping everything quiet until we have the pathologist’s report. Then we’ll know what we’re dealing with.’

  ‘How is she managing that?’ Marie looked tired and worried.

  ‘Luckily there was a sweep of field workers in the Bracken Holme area scheduled for today. One of the other teams had a tip-off that a gang master had a new batch of illegal immigrants coming in. She’s using that as a cover for the police presence out there. It seems to be working so far, but obviously she can’t stretch it out for ever.’ Jackman leaned back in his chair and raised his arms above his head to ease his aching shoulders. ‘Because the place is so remote, and the body is down in the cellar, there’s no tent or awning, so that helps to keep the profile low.’

  ‘So much for the recent directive about transparency. Now diplomacy is the watch-word. And you think we have a second murder by the same killer?’

  Jackman nodded. ‘Jacobs said as much, off the record. Although . . .’ His voice tailed off.

  ‘Oh no. I sense a huge but about to descend on us!’

  He gave her a weary smile, ‘No, it’s not that. I’m certain it’s the same killer, but there wasn’t that sense of the body being carefully “arranged” that we picked up on at Alison Fleet’s crime scene. The girl today had just been dumped. End of story.’

  ‘So you don’t think she was killed in situ?’

  ‘I very much doubt it. There was no sign of a struggle, no blood spatters. I’d say she was killed somewhere else and taken to the Drover’s Arms because the killer knew it was abandoned.’

  ‘And that it was miles from anywhere.’

  ‘Exactly. The moment we get some info from Jacobs, we can get out there and start asking questions. What we don’t want to do is start a panic. The moment someone says “serial killer,” we will be at the centre of a maelstrom. And there’s still an outside chance that we already have the killer lounging comfortably in our own custody suite.’

  ‘Look out! There’s a pig flying over!’

  ‘Okay, okay. I know you think he’s just deluded, but an old aunt of mine always used to say, “If you believe you can do it, then you can.”’

  ‘Her words of wisdom are duly noted, sir, but I still think he’s caught up in this ridiculous illusion that he is Françoise Thayer’s diabolical offspring and that if he’s left alone with her, he’ll probably slice and dice Skye Wynyard.’ Marie yawned. ‘Did the super say we can get an expert in?’

  ‘In her own crusty way. I think she’s on our side regarding that. But her budget requires her to make cuts somewhere else to cover the cost.’

  ‘I’m not sure what’s left to cut,’ replied Marie gloomily. ‘We’re on an austerity programme already. Our staffing levels are rock bottom and our vehicles look like they came direct from the knacker’s yard. Even our once splendid dog section is down to PC Nobby Clarke and a half-blind German shepherd called Itchy.’

  ‘Nice, though.’

  ‘Which one are you talking about?’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ Jackman threw her a withering look. ‘Nobby Clarke, of course.’

  Marie smiled. Then she looked at him with concern. ‘Are you alright, sir? It couldn’t have been very pleasant, seeing that dead girl.’

  ‘Is it ever? But no, I’m fine. You never get used to it, but you find ways of getting by, don’t you?’

  It was Marie’s turn to nod. ‘You do, but maybe it’s time you went home, had a long, hot shower and a very large Scotch, in whichev
er order you see fit.’

  ‘Soon. I think I’ve got everything in place that I can. Someone is trawling through missing persons for any female who was reported missing around two to three weeks ago. Forensics promised to send us reports as and when they have them, and there’s little more I can do tonight.’ He scratched his head. ‘Except maybe have another word with Daniel Kinder.’

  ‘Well, good luck, sir. He well and truly clammed up when I told him why I think he’s here.’ She stood up. ‘Still, it’s worth another try. I’ll join you, if you like? He’s had a supper break and a strong coffee so he should be good to go again.’

  * * *

  But Daniel was far from good to go.

  Marie watched his body language while Jackman questioned him, and he was not a happy bunny.

  ‘My colleague here seemed to strike a nerve earlier on. Is she right about your concerns for Skye Wynyard’s safety?’

  Daniel’s jaw was thrust forward and he didn’t speak for some time. Then he said, ‘No, the sergeant is not right. It was her ridiculing my belief that my biological mother was Françoise Thayer that upset me. I simply cannot understand why you can’t appreciate the truth.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘I suggest you take a look at the Haines murder case, and the trial of Françoise Thayer, because there will be strong similarities with the killing of Alison Fleet. And if I know that, then I had to be there, didn’t I?’

  Jackman was silent, but Marie snapped back, ‘I thought you couldn’t remember what happened. Your convenient memory loss.’

  ‘Just check the old case. And that’s all I’m saying tonight.’ Daniel Kinder clasped his hands together in his lap, lowered his head and stared unblinking at his long, pale fingers.

  Jackman glanced at the clock and abruptly stood up. ‘Interview terminated at eight fifteen.’

  Outside, he snorted angrily. ‘I know how we can settle this rubbish once and for all. Tomorrow we contact the evidence storage facility and get hold of everything that pertains to Françoise Thayer. We’ll access the database and check her DNA against Kinder’s for a maternal match. Maybe he can’t find the answers he needs to untangle his head, but I’m damn sure we can.’