by Anita Waller
She breathed a sigh of relief. They wouldn’t be here to arrest Daryl.
‘Yes, they’re in the kitchen. Both reading, but with Carl, it’s the sports section in the paper. Daryl’s nose is in a book, thank goodness.’ She knew she was babbling.
Roberts and Heather followed her through to the kitchen, and Carl looked up, his face drained of colour.
‘Mr Clarkson, Daryl. Good morning. I’ve come to take you both down to the station. We need Daryl to watch a line-up for us.’
‘What?’ Carl frowned.
‘You can come with him, Mr Clarkson, although in the past, parents have been known to make suggestions to their child, so we will ask you to sit outside the viewing room while Daryl is looking at the line-up. DC Shaw will be his appropriate adult for that short time. So, if you’re ready?’
Daryl and Carl stood and walked to the door, a worried Aileen following them. She kissed them both as they left.
As expected, Daryl was impressed with riding in a police car. Heather demonstrated the blue flashing lights and gave a brief spurt of siren before pulling into the car park.
‘We won’t keep you hanging around,’ Roberts said. ‘I imagine the line-up is organised by now, but if not, I’m sure we can rustle up a coffee and a coke while we wait.’
They did have drinks; they had to wait for a volunteer for the line-up to get out of the barber’s chair.
Roberts said nothing about the identity parade until they were in the room. Carl was left outside, sitting on possibly the most uncomfortable chair in the station.
‘Okay, Daryl, I haven’t said anything so far, because I was worried your dad would try to talk to you about it. I need you to be completely yourself, lad. You are now going to look at six men. If you see the man who was in that car that hit you and your mum, I need you to tell DC Shaw. Heather will be with you. Each man will hold a different number. Just say the relevant number, but you must be absolutely sure it is him, Daryl. Now, they don’t know who is on this side of the glass, they can’t see you, or hear you, although you can see them clearly. Don’t say the number immediately, because halfway through they will be asked to turn sideways so that you see the sides of their faces. Take your time, and if you don’t see the man, it doesn’t matter.’
Daryl nodded. This was something to tell the others, they’d be well jealous. Heather touched him on the shoulder and turned him to face the glass. ‘We’re switching on the lights now.’
He remembered everything Roberts had told him; he took his time even though he recognised number two immediately. He walked the length of the one-way mirror, then walked back again.
‘Ready?’ Heather whispered. He nodded.
She moved to a speaker box and asked all the men to turn sideways. Again, Daryl went through the motions and was doubly convinced it was number two. His eyes on that awful day had seen this man half in profile, as he sat waiting in the car to let them out of the petrol station. But still, he took his time. He was enjoying himself.
‘Seen enough?’
He nodded at Heather, and she switched off the light. She moved to the speaker box again and said, ‘Thank you, gentlemen.’
‘It was number two,’ Daryl said firmly. ‘Definitely, no doubt at all, number two. I saw him at Ella’s funeral as well and told Dad, but he said not to say anything to anybody, he’d sort it.’
‘Thank you, Daryl. You did a good job, there. I need you to sign a statement confirming it was number two, and then, I’ll run you and your dad home.’
Kenny was taken to the interview room, instead of back to his cell. He asked for a drink of water and was given one. The bottle was almost empty by the time DI Roberts arrived.
He started the tape.
‘Good morning, Mr Lancaster. Thank you for co-operating in the line-up.’
‘Did I have a choice?’
‘Yes, we could have used photographs, but a physical line-up is, by far, the best, both for you and the person viewing. You will not be pleased to know this, but you were picked out at that line-up by our witness to the murder of Megan Clarkson. There was no hesitation at any point. When we have finished, you will be taken and charged with Megan Clarkson’s murder. Mounting up, aren’t they, Kenny?’
‘Fuck off, Roberts.’
‘And Megan wasn’t even on that list! What’s the matter? Did you have to speed away too fast to be able to take a photo?’
Roberts could see the anger building in Kenny Lancaster. He wondered how much more he could push him before the explosion happened, and Kenny said something that would incriminate him even further.
And then, his face relaxed, and he smiled. ‘No comment, DI Roberts. No comment.’
Chapter 26
Kenny lay with his hands underneath his head, contemplating his future. It was looking bleak from any angle, and he was feeling really pissed off with Grausohn; he had always said to send the pictures to his phone, but then, they would be deleted. For a man who had steadfastly said no CCTV, it could be too incriminating. He had been spectacularly stupid in printing off the pictures.
And then, there was Billy. He hoped Harding had spoken to him, hoped Billy had had the sense to go to Crete, and then on to somewhere else where nobody knew him. Billy had done nothing wrong, but that wouldn’t stop the police hassling him, if only because they were partners.
Kenny had listened to Roberts read the list of people they had managed to identify, and although most of them were down to Kenny, he was not going to carry the can for Johanna Fleischer and Ella Johnston. He was going down forever. It made little sense to plead not guilty; they had fingerprint evidence, gun evidence and probably DNA evidence when they started finding the bodies.
And it would save Cissie having to go to court and re-living the death of their daughter.
He didn’t sleep much and, the next morning, asked to speak to DI Roberts. It was time to stop playing games.
When Roberts walked into the main office just after half past eleven, he was greeted with applause and cheers.
‘Well done, sir,’ Brian Balding said. ‘Has he confessed to them all?’
‘All except Johanna Fleischer and Ella Johnston. According to Lancaster, they were down to Tommy Raines. We have locations for the bodies, and the two young lads in the photos have now been identified. They were brothers, sixteen and eighteen years old. They’re buried together. Once we’ve found them, we’ll be going to see their parents. Their names are Darren and Stephen Summers. We’ve also had a phone call confirming the address of a lock-up used by Lancaster, and it’s been used for God knows what torture. There’s blood everywhere, and the forensic team are in there now, and will be for some time.’
‘Has he said who helped him with Grausohn, sir?’ Heather asked.
‘He says nobody helped him. We know that’s a lie, but he’s saying nothing else on that subject. Grausohn gave him the kill instructions, so to be perfectly honest, I might have been tempted myself to give him a helping hand over that balcony. Right, drinks tonight in the Yellow Lion. Thank you. This case has been hard, and I appreciate everything you’ve all done. If we could only tie up the mystery of the missing package, my life would be complete,’ he added, looking around at them all. ‘Those drugs – and I’m sure it was drugs and not money – are still out there in our community, and they need tracking down. It seems several of our victims are already dead because of that package, and it’s not from the drug itself.’
They once again clapped, and he returned to his own office, a smile on his face.
He made phone calls to Sally and John Brownlow, Janey Walker, Carl Clarkson and Cissie Johnston. Cissie was distraught; he tried to placate her, but all she could say was that Kenny was Ella’s father, and she couldn’t believe he played a part in her death.
Roberts knew they would feel much safer now, but they would never forget the beautiful little girl, with the light brown skin and eyes like deep brown pools of water.
Epilogue
Two months later
Freya sat on her own every lunch break after finishing her food. It had felt strange going back to school; she knew they had grown up during that summer of 2016. She didn’t mix with her peers, and the teachers kept a close eye on her, aware she had become insular. Encouragement to join in playground games was met with a blank stare and politeness, as she said she was fine on her own.
She missed Ella. She had been the quiet one, but she had been the contrast to crazy Freya; and Freya was no longer crazy, simply unhappy.
Daryl had settled down to a life with his dad, and Aileen was becoming something of a permanent fixture in his life. He had fully recovered from his injuries, and his dad took him every week to place flowers on his mum’s grave. They went as a threesome; Aileen took flowers for Vinnie, while Carl and Daryl told Megan all their news over the past week.
Sammy and Freya were still as close; he knew it was his job to protect her, to stop her getting too upset when suddenly something happened to remind her of Ella.
Mark and Dom watched over all of them. They had gone through something children shouldn’t have to experience, and closeness was the answer. Whistles were still practised, Uno was still played, but the laughter had died along with their beautiful friend. Heartbreak had taken its place.
They had some discussions about building a new den for the next summer holidays, but by mutual agreement, they decided it wasn’t a good idea. Secondary education was now a part of life for four of them, and they had to leave their childhood behind.
It was time to stop playing games. Ella’s Gang had to move on.
The PCC meeting at the church was late starting, as usual. It had taken so long to make the teas and coffees, then hand out the relevant paperwork, that they didn’t begin the agenda until half past seven. It was a large group of people, the youngest being sixty-two, the oldest eighty-three, and they all attended because they liked their vicar and would do anything to help him. And their church gave them a feeling of peace not felt anywhere else.
Beth, the vicar’s wife, gave her husband’s apologies. A parishioner was close to death, and he had had to go to his house. She didn’t know if he would be back before the end of the meeting. She would chair it in his absence.
‘Now, we have an issue that we need agreement on, although I know we’ve been waiting for this to start. This agreement tonight is simply to formalise it,’ Beth began. ‘Item one on the agenda is that Overend’s, the builders, can start work on the churchyard next week.’
She paused for a moment to refer to her notes. ‘They will start by re-siting the headstones that are laid against the churchyard wall, making good any other headstones that are starting to lean, and then move on to the final piece of work covered by the lottery grant, the churchyard wall.’
There was a brief round of applause from the PCC members, and when she asked for a vote, everyone held up their hands.
‘It will be so good when we finally get all the rubbish out of our churchyard,’ old Mrs Carmichael said, ‘so good.’
THE END
Acknowledgments
I absolutely loved writing this book; the children played a bigger part in it than I had envisaged, and that is what made it so enjoyable. I hope you felt the same!
My thanks, as always, go to Bloodhound Books – to Betsy Freeman Reavley, Fred Freeman, Alexina Golding, Sumaira Wilson and Sarah Hardy, your rapid responses to any queries are so much appreciated.
Massive thanks go to Morgen Bailey, my editor, who saves my blushes by correcting any errors. A confession too – I have stolen your character name list idea, brilliant!
And I have a huge thank you to say to Tyrone Wilson, of Sheffield City Council, whose comprehensive knowledge of the Energy Recovery Facility in Sheffield helped me write that section of the book, with considerably more ease than if he hadn’t helped! Thank you, Tyrone.
I needed help with knowledge of the Drugs School Education in Sheffield, and my gratitude goes to Alison Marshall-Wyse for all her assistance with this.
And Katie Wild, crazy friend of my crazy daughter, you’re in this one!
Sheffield
January 2018
Copyright © 2018 Anita Wallers
The right of Anita Waller to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in 2018 by Bloodhound Books
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
www.bloodhoundbooks.com
Praise for Anita Waller
"This is a dark domestic chiller that gradually creeps under your skin until the very shocking and unexpected climax." Joanne Robertson - My Chestnut Reading Tree
"An excellent suspense filled read, and I'm looking forward to reading the sequel, Strategy." Mark Tilbury - Author
"Oh my goodness this book gripped me! I sat and read this book in one sitting over the weekend and honestly, I really didn't want to put it down..." Donna Maguire - Donnas Book Blog
"The story is well versed and the characters kept me intrigued throughout." Louise Mullins - Author
"Stunning, brilliant, gripping, heart breaking and touching!" Misfits Farm - Goodreads Reviewer
"My God ...this story is heart breaking yet such a pageturner...There are secrets...lies..betrayal ..murder... And a darkness ...so terrifying.... that lurks almost invisible." Livia Sbarbaro - Goodreads Reviewer
"Beware: when you pick up the book you won’t be able to let it go before you have reached the final chapter." Caroline Vincent - Bits About Books
"A brilliant follow on book from Beautiful . Kept me guessing until the end." Angela Lockwood - Goodreads Reviewer
"It certainly had me on the edge of my seat and the author is certainly making a name for herself in the psychological genre." Sarah Hardy - By The Letter Book Reviews
"This book scared the daylights out of me and I mean that in the best way possible." Amy Sullivan - Novelgossip
"The author writes well, weaving the story and sucking the reader into the lives of the characters within the book." Rebecca Burnton - If Only I Could Read Faster
"This is book has all the elements needed to make it creepy, read-through-your-fingers-at-times kind of read. There is spooky suspense on every page." M.A. Comley - New York Times and USA Today best-selling author
For the Huddersfield-based side of our family:
Matt, Richelle, Katie, Melissa
and our first great-grandchild, Lily Grace.
You light up our lives.
Yes, yours, my love, is the right human face.
I in my mind had waited for this long,
Seeing the false and searching for the true,
Then found you as a traveller finds a place
Of welcome suddenly amid the wrong
Valleys and rocks and twisting roads. But you,
What shall I call you? A fountain in a waste,
A well of water in a country dry,
Or anything that’s honest and good, an eye
That makes the whole world bright. Your open heart,
Simple with giving, gives the primal deed,
The first good world, the blossom, the blowing seed,
The hearth, the steadfast land, the wandering sea,
Not beautiful or rare in every part,
But like yourself, as they were meant to be.
THE CONFIRMATION by Edwin Muir
15 May 1887 – 3 January 1959
Prologue
7 September 2014
The Coffee and Cream Café was quiet; two customers were seated at a table at the far side of the room, an
d they appeared to be deep in conversation, oblivious to anything happening around them. They were certainly unaware of Phil Latimer and Liz Chambers, holding hands across their table, enjoying the moment.
The waitress arrived, bearing a pot of tea and two cups and saucers with the tiniest jug of milk, all emblazoned with the name Coffee and Cream.
The couple released hands and Liz smiled at Phil. ‘Maybe we’ll have to go and milk a cow to get any more.’
He responded with a smile of his own, although he suspected he wouldn’t be smiling for long. For the first time, the atmosphere between them felt… strained.
‘You said we needed to talk?’
She hesitated, and bit her bottom lip. It was the glance down towards the table that told him this really wasn’t going to be good. Her blonde hair fell forward, hiding her eyes.
‘We do. I’m so sorry, Phil, but I can’t see you anymore. So, so sorry…’
He put his fingers underneath her chin and lifted her head. Gently he pushed back the blonde hair he loved so much. Keeping his eyes on her face, he saw that her blue eyes were brimming with tears.
‘But it’s only a week since we sat at this same table and spoke of our love,’ he said softly. ‘That can’t have changed – at least, with me it hasn’t.’
She reached across the table and clutched his hand. ‘And it hasn’t changed for me, either. But there’s a complication.’
‘Gareth is coming home.’ Phil could hear the flatness in his voice as he spoke the words. Her husband had been away for six weeks in Ireland and they had enjoyed the freedom of being able to meet without having to invent excuses for being away from their respective partners. In his case, he doubted that Rosie would be bothered anyway, but he knew that prior to their meeting and falling in love, Gareth had been the centre of Liz’s life, along with Daniel, their fifteen-year-old son.