by Joy Ellis
* * *
PC Kevin Stoner was on his third day of sick leave and until now, he hadn’t left the house. Working with Zane Prewett was pushing him to within touching distance of seriously screwed, and he was at a loss to know what to do. Pulling sickies wasn’t the answer, but until he could get his head straight, it was all he could think of.
Even if it hadn’t been his turn to pick up his nine-year-old niece from taekwondo, he would have had to go out. Over the last few hours he had developed an intense disliking for the person he had become. Two months of working with Prewett had turned him from a pretty good copper into a gold-plated loser.
He walked towards the footpath that led to the sports complex, and wondered what his colleagues were thinking about him. They probably considered him a right wimp. Not that anyone liked Prewett, not even the senior officers. DI Jackman had actually taken him aside a week or so ago and warned him off crewing with Zane Prewett. Kevin pushed his hands deeper into his jeans pockets and sighed. Nothing in this world would make him happier than ditching that shit-bag, but it wasn’t that easy.
Kevin knew things about Prewett. Bad things.
But then Prewett had made it his business to find out things about him too, and that was where the problem lay. From his first day as a probationer, Kevin had taken great care not to speak about his home life, and in particular about his father’s vocation. And luckily for him, no one had ever asked if he had any family connection with the Right Reverend Michael Stoner, the county diocesan bishop. But then it wasn’t that surprising. Half of his colleagues were philistines, and the other half only entered a church for a wedding or a funeral.
As the ugly cement block building grew closer, Kevin decided that after he’d delivered Sophie safely home, he would talk to his brother. He couldn’t go on bottling this up forever, or he’d finish up in a small locked room, dribbling and singing nursery rhymes to himself. Ralph was coming up to thirty and had a good head on his shoulders, so Kevin’s revelations would probably not surprise his older sibling.
The footpath ran in a straight line and passed a row of back garden fences before opening out onto the playing field area. The sports hall and gym were on the far side of the football pitch. He was early. He was always early. There was a bar and café inside the complex that made a wicked double espresso and Sophie knew that’s where she would find him.
‘Hello, Kevin.’
He wasn’t sure which came first, the words or the flattened side of a hand powering into his solar plexus.
With a grunt of pain and exhaled air, he doubled over, clasping his ribcage.
‘A word, my friend.’
Hardly knowing what was happening, Kevin was grabbed and thrust roughly through an open gate and into an overgrown jungle of a garden.
‘What the f . . . ?’ He gasped out, but a grip of steel had fastened itself around his wrists and as he heard the gate slammed shut, he found himself thrust downwards into the grass and mud. A knee found its way accurately into the well between his shoulder blades and a jab of pressure made him squeal in shock and pain.
‘Now, much as I enjoy a bit of roughhouse fun, we need to talk.’
The pressure eased, but Kevin found himself choking with the damp soil and weeds that had been forced into his mouth when he hit the deck.
With a little murmur of exertion, his assailant suddenly yanked him back into a standing position and thrust a finger into his mouth to remove the garden rubbish that had lodged there.
Kevin coughed and spat out mud.
‘In here. This place has been empty for months, but the shed will do nicely for our little heart-to-heart.’
It wasn’t so much a shed, more of an aging summerhouse, rotting and dilapidated, but it did have some vaguely serviceable plastic garden chairs. And it was into one of these that Kevin was pushed.
‘Sit, and stay there. I need you to listen.’
Zane Prewett stood over him, his eyes cold and pitiless. ‘I thought we had an understanding, Kev, my boy? A friendly agreement?’
Kevin didn’t feel like talking yet. Gritty soil still coated his tongue.
‘See, it’s not looking good on me, you swinging the lead like this. Because everyone knows that’s what you’re doing, and quite soon some nosey bit of brass is going to start asking questions, understand?’
Kevin gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head.
‘I want you back, I want everything cosy, and I want to see you smiling.’ Zane’s own smile made Kevin feel sick to the stomach.
‘I know where I am with my own little crewmate, and I don’t like working with the spare dicks they keep giving me. They cramp my style, if you catch my drift?’
Oh yes, thought Kevin. I know exactly what you mean. Someone might just spot some of your dirty little deals, the ones I have to turn a blind eye to.
Zane drew up another chair and jammed it in front of him. He flopped down into it and they sat toe to toe. ‘Obviously I need to make the situation a little clearer for you, and that’s fine. We’ve got,’ he glanced at the massive diver’s watch that dwarfed his wrist, ‘oh, another fifteen minutes before you have to pick up sweet little Sophie.’
Kevin felt a boiling anger rising inside, but he knew that he was powerless against Zane’s size and his dirty way of fighting. He gritted his teeth and said nothing.
‘Good, I see we understand each other. And I’d hate for anything to happen to such a pretty kid, so we’ll leave that part of this conversation there, shall we?’ Zane sat back and stared at him. ‘But the rest still stands, young Kevin. You remain the loyal crewmate, my constant companion and trusty sidekick, and your father, bless his saintly soul, doesn’t find out who you’re fucking. Deal?’
Kevin wanted to die. This wasn’t histrionics. It just seemed like a really good idea.
‘And just in case all that is not enough . . .’ Zane reached into his inside pocket and produced an envelope. ‘It never ceases to amaze me what people will do for money. And some will even do it for nothing if you press the right buttons. Helping an upright police officer like myself in the execution of his duties, getting dirty coppers off the streets . . .’ Zane chuckled. ‘Oh, the public spirit rises and they are so happy to help.’ He removed a wad of computer-printed photographs from the thick envelope and held the first one up for Kevin to see.
If he’d wanted to die before, then what he felt like now was indescribable.
Two young men executing a tonsil-destroying kiss. One was thrust back against a darkened wall, and the other had his hand reaching eagerly into the tight jeans.
Kevin closed his eyes, then blinding, white-hot rage burst from him. ‘You bastard! Give me those!’ He lunged forward, but Zane was already on his feet.
‘Oh, don’t worry, sweetie, these are all yours.’ He flung them in the air, and they cascaded down onto the filthy floor of the summerhouse. ‘The originals are perfectly safe, and copies are packed up ready to mail to the Right Reverend, if, and I repeat, if you are not back on shift tomorrow, bright and chirpy and fully recovered.’ The eyes were little more than slits. ‘Got it? Now, take your little fag-bucket and get your fucking act together!’ He strode to the door, as Kevin threw himself to the floor, grabbing at the pictures.
‘Nothing will happen, okay? Either to your pretty niece, or to your pious father’s blood pressure, as long as you play ball with me. Although not literally, of course. I’m not like that.’ He glanced down at the photographs and raised a sardonic eyebrow. ‘Right little dark horse, aren’t we?’
Then leaning back around the flaking wooden door frame, he grinned lasciviously, and blew Kevin a kiss.
* * *
It was edging towards ten o’clock when Lisa Hurley finally looked at her watch and gasped. ‘Lord! I have to go. I’m in early tomorrow to take an induction course.’
Skye had known how late it was getting, but had chosen to ignore the fact. It just felt so good to have some company in the big house. She feigned shock at how t
he time had flown, and reluctantly went to get Lisa’s jacket.
‘I can’t thank you enough,’ she said, meaning it. ‘From the moment when that knock on the door came, and I saw that the police were there, well . . .’ She gave a little shake of her head. ‘It was horrible. But talking to you has helped me get back to some normality. I really believe that Daniel and I can sort everything out now.’
Lisa took her jacket, and lightly touched Skye’s arm. ‘I’m sure you will. And I’m touched that you trusted me with your story. I know it can’t have been easy for you.’ She smiled warmly. ‘Skye, I’m always around if you need me.’ She walked towards the door. ‘And I’ll cover your leave of absence from the department for as long as I can.’ She opened the door and a flash made them both jump.
‘Shit!’ Lisa stepped back inside and pushed the door to. ‘I do believe that’s the first of many cameras that will get stuck in your face over the next few days. Sorry, Skye, but the media circus has just begun.’ Lisa drew in a deep breath. ‘Oh well, here goes. Lock the door, don’t answer the bell and put the security alarm on immediately I’ve gone.’ She paused. ‘Will you be alright?’
‘I was expecting it. I’ll be fine. And tomorrow, I’m heading out of this mausoleum and back to my flat.’
‘Smart girl. You take care.’ Lisa stepped out into the humid evening air, and Skye saw her hurry across the drive with her head down. She locked the door behind her.
Skye switched off the electric doorbell, made sure all the windows were locked, and activated the alarm system. She hadn’t needed Lisa to tell her that. She had said she was fine, but she wasn’t. Her head was clearer and she felt much better about Daniel and his misguided crusade, but she still hated being alone in the house.
Skye went to her room and sat on the edge of the bed. She didn’t even want to undress. As they cleaned the house, Lisa had talked easily to her, and Skye had found herself revealing more and more, until Lisa knew almost everything.
And it really had helped. Not once had Lisa ridiculed or put down some of the wilder aspects of Daniel’s “mission,” and she’d given Skye some serious food for thought when it came to looking at the situation from a psychological point of view. Lisa had done a course on genetic influences, with a special interest in adoption studies involving different natural and adoptive parental environments. It had also covered intelligence and how differently certain people reacted to being told that they were adopted. Skye understood that only too well, although she hadn’t said so. She was adopted too, but she saw it in a completely different way from Daniel. He was obsessed with knowing about his biological parents, whereas she couldn’t give a damn. As far as she was concerned, she was the luckiest kid alive. She had a wonderful loving family, and the reason why she had been rejected by her natural mother was irrelevant to her. Whatever it was, it would have involved something painful or unpleasant. Sod that for a game of soldiers!
Skye yawned, kicked off her shoes but kept her clothes on. She wrapped herself in the duvet, closed her eyes and tried to shut her ears to the repeated knocks on the door. She couldn’t bring herself to switch off her bedside lamp.
* * *
Lisa Hurley sat in her car on the opposite side of the street to the Kinder house. Two or three men now hung around the door, huddled together and talking gruffly. Every now and then, one would hammer on the door for a while until he gave up and let one of the others try.
Lisa leaned back in the seat and watched them impassively. She would take bets that by tomorrow morning the neatly raked gravel drive would be heaving with reporters and media vans.
Then her gaze turned to the upstairs rooms of the house. She had followed the pattern made by the house lights as Skye moved from room to room, checking windows, closing curtains and extinguishing lamps. Now there was only one square of light left on the dark façade of the expensive property.
Lisa watched it for a very long time, before turning on the ignition and slowly pulling away.
* * *
Daniel dreamed about his mother. It wasn’t a pleasant dream.
He had been walking along beside one of the long, straight waterways close to home. He had been holding Skye’s hand, and they were walking towards a brightly coloured merry-go-round, the kind of gilded, decorated carousel that you still find all over Paris. He could hear the evocative sound of the mechanical organ, and Skye was asking if they could ride the painted horses.
As the smiling Skye tugged his hand and drew him towards the swirling carousel, he felt a terrible sense of foreboding, and his feet refused to move forward.
From somewhere behind them he could hear someone calling his name, but he was too scared to turn around. Now the music had turned into the sound of a howling wind, and whatever was behind him was pulling him back with enormous strength. He shrieked out to Skye to run, but her hand had already been torn from his and he saw that she was high above him, clinging to the back of a golden wooden stallion with blazing, blood-red eyes.
And then the horses were racing, galloping in a blur of colour, and taking Skye with them.
As the merry-go-round spun faster, it began to rise up and move away from him. He screamed out for Skye, but she was just a tiny toy figure on a toy horse that was disappearing into the thick white clouds that tossed and turned over the waterway.
“My boy.”
The words filtered through the howling wind and Daniel’s heart turned to ice. He tried to run, but he was held fast, attached to the horrible apparition that was materialising behind him. He realised that he was being held by a thick rope. He dared to turn, to see if he could free himself, and saw that it was not a rope at all, but a pulsating, slimy, purplish-blue umbilical cord.
“No!” he screamed. “Skye!”
“She has to go.”
“No!” he cried again, but he was being drawn slowly backwards.
“Oh, my boy,” she crooned.
The darkness was encroaching. He smelled the foul breath that fell across his shoulder. As he disappeared into the black abyss opening up beneath him, Daniel heard the words, “Come to Mummy.”
CHAPTER NINE
Heavy grey clouds had accompanied Marie on her trip into work this morning. No magic moments to savour today, and frankly, that was fine because the big dark skies echoed her mood. It was one of those mornings, thankfully rarer now, when she missed Bill. Missed him so much her chest ached. Her husband had been killed almost ten years previously, and sometimes it still hurt like hell.
When she arrived at the station, she realised that she wasn’t the only one who felt as though the end was nigh.
God knows what time Jackman had got in and surprisingly, both Max and Charlie were also at their desks.
‘No one told me there was a pyjama party last night!’ She unzipped her leather jacket and looked at her colleagues. ‘I’d have brought the popcorn.’
‘Couldn’t sleep,’ grumbled Max, shaking his head. ‘And I always sleep. My gran says I could have slept through the Blitz.’
‘I had a bad night too,’ added Charlie.
‘Yeah, but in your case it was brought on by eating that Ruby at midnight.’
Charlie sighed and gave Max a long-suffering look. ‘It was closer to eleven actually, and it’s not my fault that the only late night takeaway in my street happens to be Indian.’
Marie hung her jacket over the back of her chair and looked over to where Jackman was staring thoughtfully at the whiteboard. ‘And you, sir? Bad dreams? A bad curry?’ She grimaced. ‘Or both?’
‘Neither.’ He turned to her with a tired smile. ‘I settled for a Spanish omelette and air-fried chips, then spent most of the night in the company of the Blonde Butcher.’
‘I agree there was nothing much on the telly, but I could think of better things to do.’ Marie drew out her chair and sat down.
‘She bothers me,’ said Jackman.
‘Not as much as she bothered George and Lydia Haines,’ added Max grimly. He pushed his chair
away from his desk and turned to Jackman. ‘Why did she kill them, guv? It was long before my time, and I can only remember bits and pieces.’
‘If you’d asked me that yesterday, I wouldn’t have known.’ Jackman walked over and sat on the edge of Marie’s desk. ‘But after my late night cramming session on the computer, I can tell you quite a bit about the thankfully departed Françoise Thayer.’
Marie scanned her mental databank but only came up with newspaper headlines containing words like evil, vicious, cold-blooded, monstrous and heinous, depending on whether they were tabloid or broadsheet.
‘To begin with, and this is not widely known, she was suspected of killing at least five other people before the Haines. And as this was both unproven and took place in France, it didn’t filter through the system at the time.’
‘And she still managed to get a job as an au pair in the Lincolnshire countryside?’ asked Charlie.
‘She changed her name prior to coming to England. There was no way she could disguise the fact that she was French, so she took another French name and disappeared into our system.’
‘The age-old story,’ grumbled Max. ‘But how come she turned psycho on her employers?’
‘Over a power cut and a bacon sandwich.’ Jackman threw Marie an enigmatic smile. ‘The final straw is usually something quite insignificant, I know, but this really takes the biscuit — or the sandwich.’
‘Tell us more.’ Marie leaned forward and rested her elbows on her desk, suddenly very interested.
‘Françoise Thayer was an obsessive personality. She was jealous, dominating and fancied the pants off the farm manager, a man named Ian Farrow.’
‘He was in the frame for the murders, wasn’t he?’ asked Marie, as snippets of the old case filtered back into her memory.
‘Yes. He was suspected of being in it with Thayer, but he was just another of her victims, even if she didn’t kill him.’
‘Did he feel the same about her? Fancy her, I mean?’ Charlie asked.