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

by Joy Ellis

  As the lift slowed down, Jackman’s pulse speeded up. Perhaps it was neither. Orac was a one off. She was like no one he had ever come across in his entire life, even at university. He shook his head, tried to quell what felt suspiciously like excitement, and walked towards the door of the IT room.

  He pushed it open, only to find an empty workstation. For a moment he wasn’t certain if he was relieved or disappointed.

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’

  A woman came out of an adjoining office. Her long dark hair was caught back behind her ears with a wide scarlet hair band and she looked to Jackman just like a latter-day Alice in Wonderland. ‘Er, yes, thank you, I’m looking for the HOLMES operator.’

  ‘Oh, good. I thought you might be looking for Orac. She’s taken a few hours off.’ She stuck out her hand. ‘I’m Sylvia Sherwood. HOLMES is my baby.’

  Jackman smiled. He’d been granted a reprieve. ‘Brilliant. I’m DI Jackman, and I need your help. We now have three murder victims on this patch, and we suspect a serial killer, which is, of course, your domain.’ He pointed to the fat folder he was carrying. ‘This is what we have to date.’

  ‘I’ve been expecting you actually. So it’s three deaths now, is it?’ The IT officer’s face became immediately serious. ‘Okay, I’ll get onto it immediately. The system is considerably faster than it used to be. I’ll link up and get the searches underway and keep you updated as we go, DI Jackman.’

  He handed her the folder and turned to go. ‘Oh, and when you see Orac, would you tell her I called by to thank her for all the information she sourced for us? It’s much appreciated.’

  The woman gave him an amused smile and said, ‘I’ll be sure to pass on the message, sir. She will appreciate your thoughtfulness, I know.’

  As the lift doors sighed shut, a bemused Jackman thought he heard a muffled laugh emanating from the computer room. He frowned, then to his horror realised that his irrational fear of being in the same room as Orac had spread around the station. Oh, just great!

  * * *

  Marie looked up from Peter Hodder’s notebook, and stared blankly at the wall. She had seen some terrible things in her time, but they paled into insignificance compared with what this man had had to deal with.

  She sat back, amazed that he had dealt with it all with such dignity. Without Peter Hodder and his calm, diligent perseverance and methodical detective work, Françoise Thayer might have gone on killing for years.

  She shivered as she closed the first book. There were several more but she wasn’t sure she could cope with them all in one sitting.

  ‘Sarge?’ Max flopped down in a chair opposite her. ‘Got a minute?’

  ‘As many as you want, my friend. If I read much more about Françoise Thayer, I’ll finish up as a head-case myself.’

  ‘I’ve been trying to make sense of Alison Fleet’s early life, and although I haven’t tracked down her first husband, I’ve had a long talk to her sister-in-law, Lucy Richards, and I think I’m beginning to piece things together.’ Max scratched his head.

  ‘Let’s have it then,’ said Marie.

  ‘Bruce Fleet’s business was on the verge of total collapse, a far worse scenario than anyone originally thought. Without telling his wife, he had mortgaged their house to the hilt, and the bank was calling it in. What he didn’t know was that Alison had noticed money disappearing from their account and suspected him of having an affair.’ Max raised his eyebrows. ‘She told Lucy of her suspicions, and Lucy convinced her that there was no way Bruce would be unfaithful, he loved Alison to pieces. So there had to be another reason.’

  ‘So, was that why she started taking antidepressants?’

  ‘Hold on, Sarge, I’m coming to that.’ Max sat back and continued, ‘Alison intimated to Lucy that something terrible had happened while she was married to Ray Skinner. I haven’t discovered what exactly, and she never gave Lucy any details, but it had to be something pretty epic, because she’s kept in touch with Skinner ever since. And I think that’s where her money was going.’

  Marie frowned. ‘Bruce Fleet never knew? Surely his sister would have told him?’

  Max shook his head. ‘Lucy and Alison were like this.’ He crossed his fingers. ‘Really tight.’

  Marie puffed out her cheeks. ‘What could be important enough to keep in touch with an allegedly abusive ex when you are happily remarried?’

  ‘Pass, but whatever happened, it sent Alison off the rails for a time. Lucy said that Alison admitted to needing mother’s little helpers, but Lucy had no idea where they came from or what had caused the breakdown. And . . ,’ Max paused dramatically, ‘after the event, whatever it was, Alison spent time in Saltern General Hospital.’

  ‘Another connection to that damned hospital,’ said Marie, biting her bottom lip. ‘But I thought we’d checked there when we were trying to find out where her medication came from?’

  ‘We did, but she was admitted under the name of Alison Skinner, wasn’t she? I have requested her notes, but it was a long while ago and prior to the computerisation of the records. The medical records officer said she’d do her best to locate them but frankly, Sarge, she sounded dead iffy about finding them.’

  ‘The more you hear about the Fleets’ problems, the more you can understand Bruce Fleet topping himself.’ Marie sighed. Her head was beginning to ache. Every little snippet of information that they dug up seemed to lead to further mysteries, and it was easy to get side-tracked. ‘Well, at least we know now that Alison was taking drugs to help her cope with something, even if we don’t know what the problem was or where she got them from.’

  ‘Well, I guess it rules out her being drugged by her killer.’ Max sniffed. ‘Where she got them from? My money’s on Ray Skinner. I reckon she kept in touch because he was her dealer.’

  Marie nodded. ‘And maybe he was her killer too.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘We need to find him, Max.’

  ‘I’ve put all the details onto QUEST and marked him as “of interest” to us.’

  ‘Good.’ Marie knew that the search technique linked to automatic fingerprint recognition and also to the DNA database. ‘Where and when was he last seen?’

  ‘One week before Alison’s death, in Peterborough Market. And that coincides with the last entry on Alison’s tablet. We tried to contact him from her phone, but his number was unobtainable, and since then, zilch. He’s dropped off the radar.’

  ‘Either because he’s a killer or because he’s a drug dealer.’

  ‘Or both.’ Max pulled a face.

  ‘Right. Well, we’d better tell the DI about this. He’ll want to give Ray Skinner’s name to the HOLMES operator. HOLMES might pick up a connection between Skinner and our other two victims.’

  ‘Now that would be very nice, wouldn’t it?’ Max gave her a grim smile. ‘But going on present form, I get the feeling that lady luck isn’t going to be that generous.’

  ‘Oh, thee of little faith.’ Charlie Button placed a hand on Max’s shoulder and grinned at him. ‘You can forget QUEST. Guess who’s just found Mr Ray Skinner?’

  Max raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, looking at that self-satisfied grin, I’d guess it’s you, you smug little git.’ He punched Charlie’s arm. ‘Okay, how did you manage it?’

  ‘I decided to take a different tack.’ Charlie pulled up another chair. ‘We are all so used to dealing with scumbags that we believed he was hiding because he was a villain, either threatening Alison or supplying her with drugs. So . . ,’ he paused, ‘I began to wonder if he was just an ordinary nice guy. And if he was, why had she been keeping in touch with him without telling Bruce Fleet?’

  Marie leaned forward. ‘But what about the alleged domestic violence?’

  ‘It wasn’t him, Sarge. It was Alison who dished out the right-handers.’

  ‘What? Alison Fleet? Faithful wife and charity worker?’ Marie’s eyes were wide.

  ‘It wasn’t her fault, Sarge.’ Charlie looked down at a sheaf of notes.
‘And Ray Skinner is well cut up about her death. But he is coming in to see us and I’m sure that now he knows that Bruce is dead, he’ll drag all the secrets out of the cupboard and fill in the details. The crux of it all is that Alison and Ray had a baby. It was conceived before they married, when she was little more than a kid herself, and she couldn’t cope. She suffered terrible post-natal depression, and it ended with some kind of situation that made Ray fear for the baby’s safety.’

  Marie drew in a long breath. ‘They split, and he kept the kid. That’s why Alison never lost contact with him, and her missing money went to supporting her child.’

  ‘Ah, and she never fessed up to her new husband,’ added Max.

  ‘More or less. Alison was in a very bad place for quite some time,’ said Charlie. ‘Apparently it was messy, but that’s the bottom line.’

  ‘So she spent the rest of her life trying to make up for what she’d done as a youngster.’ Marie nodded. ‘Makes some kind of sense now. So when is Skinner coming in, Charlie?’

  ‘First thing tomorrow.’ Charlie pulled a sheet of paper from the sheaf. ‘By the way, Sarge, he’s devastated to know that she was still self-medicating. He thought she was off the tablets donkey’s years ago.’

  ‘So he has no idea where she got them from?’

  ‘None whatsoever.’

  ‘Well, good work, Charlie. How did you track him down?’

  ‘Worked out their ages when they married, then used Facebook and a couple of other networking sites to find an old school friend of Ray’s who had kept in touch.’ He pulled a face. ‘Not exactly expert police detecting, more like something from CBeebies actually.’

  ‘But it worked, mate,’ said Max cheerfully. ‘Who needs Orac and HOLMES 2, when you’ve got Charlie Button and social media?’

  Marie laughed. It took away the horrors of what she had been reading in Peter Hodder’s old notebook. But not for long. Finding Ray Skinner was a good thing, but it didn’t help with finding their killer, or Daniel Kinder.

  Her amusement faded. They were no further forward. ‘Okay guys, time to press on. We have three dead women, and we’re as much in the dark as we were on day one.’

  As the two younger detectives returned to their desks, Marie’s phone rang.

  ‘It’s Guy. I just thought I’d report that I’ve seen Skye Wynyard.’

  ‘How’s she holding up?’

  ‘Frustrated, scared, but pretty well, all things considered. I wasn’t able to have an in-depth talk as she had one of Daniel’s friends with her.’

  Marie thought that Preston sounded mildly irritated.

  ‘So I’ve come home,’ he continued. ‘I don’t think for one moment that Daniel will turn up for his appointment, but just in case he has a moment of lucidity, or maybe nowhere else to go, I thought I should be here for him.’

  ‘Good idea, Guy. I’ll ring you if any of our officers pick him up in the meantime.’

  ‘Thanks, and while I’m twiddling my thumbs here, I’ll get on with his profile.’ He paused, and then added, ‘Marie? I’m sorry if you misunderstood me earlier. I was only suggesting a drink to catch up. After all, it’s been years since we worked together, but now I’m thinking that maybe it didn’t come over quite like that.’

  Marie gritted her teeth, but said, ‘Oh come on, Guy, we’ve known each other for long enough, haven’t we? Of course I didn’t get the wrong impression. When this is over, a drink would be lovely.’

  She had told Jackman that she had no problem working with this man, but was that true? Even after such a long time, Guy Preston still had the power to affect her, and she wasn’t sure that she liked it. Last time she had had Bill to pour out her heart to, but now there was no one, other than Jackman. He was certainly sympathetic and a damned good listener, but considering the severity of the case they were working on, she wasn’t sure that it was appropriate to start bleating about her personal problems.

  Marie said, ‘Sorry, but I have to go, Guy.’ She hung up and let out a loud, exasperated sigh. Everything was irritating her. She was certain it was because as soon as they had let Daniel Kinder out, another dead woman had turned up. He might have had nothing to do with it, but it certainly didn’t look good, and when the press got hold of it, God help the Fenland Constabulary.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Daniel was scared. Tez had assured him that the back of his house was clear of blue uniforms, but when he had crept along the alley that backed onto his property, he had found a white squad car blocking the exit. For one moment he had been overwhelmed by an urge to run up to it and throw himself into the arms of the waiting coppers, but something had stopped him.

  And now he was cowering in a musty-smelling shed in one of his neighbours’ back gardens. He knew that it had already been searched, as muddy chevrons still marked the wooden flooring where damp boots had trodden.

  Only a matter of hours ago he had been begging the police to keep him locked up, and now he was avoiding them. His arm hurt, it felt like hot coals were being pressed against his torn skin, and he was so tired that all he wanted was to lie down on the wet floor and go to sleep. But he couldn’t even do that. He dreaded sleep and all that came with it.

  He drew the smelly jacket closer around him and tried to think straight. After a few minutes he gave up. Pain and confusion were making logical thought impossible. What had happened to his arm? Why was he cut so badly? He stared at the damp and bloody dressing wrapped around his forearm and tried to remember. But he had no memory of what had happened, although he was certain that he had not injured himself — well, not deliberately.

  He leaned back against the wooden slats of the shed and felt tears welling up behind his tired eyelids. He should get his arm treated before it got infected, if it wasn’t already.

  With an effort that felt almost superhuman, he struggled to his feet. There was only one place he could think of to go. It wasn’t too far away and hopefully he wouldn’t be recognised in Tez’s old jacket. Daniel gave a bitter little laugh. One thing was for sure, he resembled a down-and-out far more than the up-and-coming young journalist of just a week ago.

  Daniel slipped out of the back gate and stumbled off in the direction of the only person who could help him.

  * * *

  It was a second or two before Guy Preston recognised the bedraggled figure leaning heavily against his doorframe.

  ‘I didn’t know where else to go.’

  The voice was broken, sending anguish and pain into the surrounding air. Guy knew that the young man was close to meltdown.

  He held both arms out wide in welcome. ‘Come in, come in, Daniel.’ Then he looked closer at the sagging figure. ‘What on earth has happened to you?’

  Daniel pushed himself from the doorframe and moved inside. ‘I wish I knew.’

  Guy led him to the kitchen and pulled out a chair. Daniel dropped into it gratefully, and Guy eased the filthy jacket away from Daniel’s left arm. ‘Can I take a look at that for you?’

  ‘I thought you healed minds?’

  ‘I trained as a medical doctor before I decided to study psychology.’ He smiled at Daniel, trying not to look as though he was analysing him. He carefully removed the stinking jacket and let it fall to the floor. ‘Not your usual style, Daniel.’

  ‘A friend gave it to me. I could hardly roam the streets looking like a hit-and-run victim.’

  ‘And you have no idea how this happened?’

  Daniel didn’t answer.

  ‘One of your “gaps,” I presume?’

  Daniel nodded silently.

  Guy looked at the blood-soaked bandage with something like confusion. ‘Well, if the person who dressed this was the “friend” who owned that salubrious jacket, he must be quite something. This has been applied with considerable care, unlike his choice of outdoor attire.’

  ‘Sorry but the Salvation Army handout store isn’t exactly Armani.’

  Guy tried to gauge the extent of the injury before removing the bandages.
There had clearly been considerable bleeding but it seemed to have stopped now. ‘I think the best thing we can do is get you into the shower and cleaned up, and then I’ll deal with your wound.’ He moved towards the door. ‘Come on, I’ll get you some fresh clothes and some towels.’

  In the bathroom Daniel stripped down to his boxer shorts and held his arm over the bath for Guy to remove the dressings. It was the first time Daniel had seen the wound, and the moment the pressure was taken away, fresh blood began to ooze from the gaping, ragged gash in Daniel’s arm.

  ‘Right. Shower as quickly as you can. Irrigate it thoroughly. I’m going to need to stitch that.’ Guy opened a cabinet and took out a box with a red cross on the lid. ‘Luckily I keep a few sutures and needles in case of emergency.’ He turned to the door. ‘Shout when you’re decent and I’ll try to put you back together again.’

  ‘I wish you could do that for my head.’

  ‘It’s not impossible, Daniel. Give me time and I’ll try, I promise.’

  As Guy moved towards the door, Daniel said, ‘Professor Preston? Please don’t call the police just yet. I know you have to, but can you give me a few moments to talk to you first?’

  Guy nodded. ‘No problem.’

  Outside the door, Guy exhaled. In a strange kind of way Daniel’s injury was a blessing. If he could help him now, Daniel would trust him more. And if he were to give a correct evaluation of his state of mind, he had to gain his trust.

  Guy went into his bedroom. From his wardrobe he removed a plastic container that held an assortment of sterile dressings and plasters. It was going to hurt like hell, but the best he could offer Daniel was a couple of paracetamol and tell him to grit his teeth. It was either that or take him to A&E. Guy was certain which option Daniel would choose.

  ‘Ready!’ Daniel called out from the bathroom.

  ‘On my way!’ he called back, and picked up the box. ‘Let’s get you fixed.’

  It took some twenty minutes to suture the wound and redress it. And after checking that Daniel was up to date with his tetanus jabs, there was little more that Guy could do.