The Lady in the Street

by Emmy Ellis

  They all stood at once, galvanised by her last few words.

  “I’m going to be knocking on his door with Andy, but I want two of you round the back first, the other three with us at the front. I need to go and get a Taser, just in case, and you five won’t have to do anything unless he gets lairy, all right? As far as he’s concerned, I just want to ask him his whereabouts on the nights in question.”

  They nodded.

  “See you there.” She left the break room and grabbed Andy’s elbow in reception. “I’m just going to sign a Taser out, then we’ll be off. Casual call to begin with, just to gauge what to do next.”

  Taser in her possession, she led the way to the car, following the two police vehicles with the five uniforms inside. They did as she’d instructed and pulled up down the road, then got out. She parked directly outside Landon’s house and walked along the street a bit.

  She pointed at the biggest two men. “You two go round the back. There’s an alleyway there, look.”

  The officers went that way and, once they were out of sight, she returned her attention to the others.

  “You remain behind the bushes outside his house. I don’t want him spooked seeing all of us. Me and Andy will be enough of a shock if he’s the jumpy sort. Stay hidden until I either shout or you see things are getting out of hand. If we manage to get inside, I’ll leave the door ajar. All clear?”

  “Yes, guv.”

  She took a deep breath and strode to the front door, her trusty partner right beside her. Andy knocked, keeping it light, nothing to scare Landon into thinking they were there with arresting him in mind.

  The door opened slightly, and the face of the man in the café window reflection appeared in the small gap. His eyes were set back and creepy, like they didn’t belong in his head.

  Helena smiled as though nothing was amiss and showed him her ID. She waited for him to bolt, but he just stared, opening the door a little wider.

  “Hi. So sorry to bother you.” I’m bloody well not. “I’m DI Helena Stratton, and this is DS Andy Mald. We’re making enquiries in the area and were hoping you could help us. We have reason to believe someone we’re looking for lives around this way, but to be honest, we have no clue where they actually live.”

  The man visibly relaxed. “What do you want from me then?”

  “Can we come in? We’re questioning the residents of every household in town, and it would be much easier to do inside so Andy here can take notes. Is that all right? It might rain again soon, and we wouldn’t want his pad to get wet, would we. If you can’t spare the time today, we can return tomorrow, or you can come down to the station at your convenience.”

  He blinked, seeming to think about that.

  “To be fair,” she went on, “it’ll only take a few minutes, then we can get out of your hair. Like I said, we’re talking to absolutely everyone who lives in Smaltern, so I’m afraid you’ll just have to grin and bear it.”

  He stepped back and fully opened the door.

  Helena and Andy went inside.

  Helena shooed Landon with her hand. “In there will do.” She wanted him out of the way so the door could be left open.

  He walked into the living room, and Helena glanced at Andy then checked her Taser was hidden beneath her jacket. They followed him in, and he stood by the window, looking out.

  “Want to take a seat?” she asked him.

  “No.” He lifted a shaking hand and threaded it through his hair.

  “Okay. This won’t take a minute.” She blocked the doorway. “These are just standard questions, nothing to fret about.” She stated the date and time of Felicity’s murder. “Where were you on that night?”

  He jolted but didn’t stop staring outside. “Here. Asleep.”

  “Can anyone verify that?”

  “No.” He rolled his shoulders.

  She gave the date and times of Mark’s and Den’s murders. “And that evening. Where were you?”

  “Here.”

  “With anyone?”

  “No.”

  What a surprise. “And what about last night? What were you doing then?”

  “Here.” He sniffed.

  “And I assume no one can give you an alibi there either.”

  “No.”

  “Okay, not to worry. It’s not like we think it’s you, is it?” She watched for his reaction.

  Nothing.

  “I mean, I can be a hard woman in my job, but I’m not a total witch.”

  A slight flinch, and he narrowed his eyes to slits. She hoped to God he couldn’t see through that bloody hedge. It would fuck everything up if the uniforms were visible through the greenery.

  “People say I’m like the one from Snow White,” she pushed, willing him to get angry or say something he shouldn’t—something that would get him right in the shit. “You know, they reckon a wart on my nose would suit me. My team joke about it all the time. Actually, not all the time. Just twenty-three times. I’m drawing the line at wearing a pointy hat, though. I prefer witches without them, don’t you?”

  He didn’t answer.

  You cool bastard.

  Time to switch it the other way. “Do you know any of the following people: Felicity Greaves, Mark Simons, Den Simons, and Katy Watkins?”

  He turned to look at her and grinned, and it was evil. Helena’s skin crawled.

  “Mark was a friend when we were kids, and I used to go round there for my tea. I know Den because he’s his dad. I haven’t heard the other two names.”

  Well, someone had suddenly swallowed a chatty pill, hadn’t they.

  “Did you hear about your friend’s murder on the news?”

  He maintained eye contact, but it was a bit too obvious. Like he wanted to prove he could do it. “Yeah. I haven’t been mates with Mark in years, though, since we left secondary school, and I only see Den occasionally when I go to his shop. I used to like going up into their flat. It was like a proper home.”

  “I’m terribly sorry about their deaths. You must be upset?”

  He gave the window his attention again, his smile gone, face shuttered. “No.”

  “Oh, did you have a falling out? Is that why you’re not friends anymore?”

  “No.”

  His monotone answers were getting on her tits. He seemed emotionless now, a switch flicking inside him to turn everything off.

  “So you don’t recognise the names of the women I mentioned?”

  “No.” He blinked, shoving his hands into his jean pockets.

  She glanced at Andy to be on guard in case Landon brought out a weapon.

  “I think you do know Katy,” she went on, intending to reveal her hand. “You spoke to her in Vicky’s Café last month.” She told him the date and time. “She left soon after, and you followed her.”

  He shook his head imperceptibly and swallowed. “No.”

  “We have you on CCTV,” she said. “What did you say to her to make her leave so quickly?”

  He clamped his lips closed.

  “It’s just that when someone is murdered, even innocent meetings like the one in the café are called into question, and we have to follow it up.” Why hadn’t he asked her why she’d lied on the doorstep, saying they didn’t know where the person they were looking for lived? “So I must have an answer, otherwise you’ll have to come with us and answer them at the station. However faint your connection to Katy Watkins, you must explain yourself.”

  “I asked her if she wanted a coffee. She said no. End of story. No fairy tale for me.”

  What did he mean by that?

  “Okay. Shall I make you some tea? It’s always better to chat over a cuppa, isn’t it? We’ll get this cleared up in no time.”

  She looked at Andy, jerking her head for him to take her place at the door. Then she left the room and walked down the hallway into the kitchen. She clicked the kettle on—it already showed water through the transparent panel—and studied the right-hand side of the room. It was pristine—t
idy and extremely clean, not a thing out of place.

  Except for a blonde wig draped over the radiator.

  Her pulse thudded in her neck, the whoomph-whoomph of it sounding loud in her head. She turned her back on it and faced the sink to the left. A mask hung from the tap by a white elastic strap with smears of brown on it—dried blood?

  A female face with dark lips.

  Jesus Christ.

  She made the tea and returned to the living room with it. Handing it to him, she stepped back after he’d taken the cup.

  “Why have you got a mask and wig in your kitchen?” she asked.

  The cup fell from his hand and cracked on the laminate flooring, tea spilling and spreading.

  “Not mine.”

  “Oh, does someone else live here with you then?”

  “No.”

  “Then it must be yours. Getting it out ready for a fancy-dress party, were you?” Trip yourself up, you bastard. “And Halloween has already gone, so it can’t be that. Can’t say I like trick or treating myself. Got a bit sick of always being handed sticks of rock when I was kid. I bet everyone cleared Den out buying it from his shop.”

  “No.” This time it was a low moan of a word, and he clutched his head, digging his fingertips in until his knuckles whitened.

  Was it the mention of the rock?

  “Then there’s all those bloody witches,” she said. “And those people walking around with knives, fake blood, the lot. It’s enough to look like a load of murderers trotting about, isn’t it?”

  “Leave,” he said.

  “In a sec. Before we go, are you sure you don’t know Felicity Greaves?”

  “No.”

  “No, you’re not sure, or no, you don’t know her?” If she pissed him off enough, he might crack.

  “Don’t know her.”

  “I’ll just clean up that tea for you,” she said, dashing out to get a tea towel. A knife was under it. A long, clean blade, the handle stained dark. Oh my God… Back in the living room, her heart thumping, she said, “That’s a nice knife you have on your worktop, Ian.”

  He whipped his head round to stare at her. “I didn’t tell you my name.”

  Shit.

  “Oh, I’m sure you did. The knife. Where did you get it? I could do with one of those for cutting up liver and kidneys.” She stared at him, waiting for him to catch on to the significance. “Do you like fish and chips? Den liked it. That was the last thing he had for his dinner, you know. What about spaghetti Bolognese? Mark had that.” She sounded nonchalant, but inside she was tense. She was goading him but had no idea where to take it next.

  He didn’t seem to be all there.

  A few Bibles short of a prayer meeting.

  He faced the window again. “Go away now.”

  “The killer left evidence behind,” she said casually. “We’ll be swabbing all males in Smaltern next.” Liar. “And we’ll soon catch him. Would you like to give your swab now? It’ll save us coming back and bothering you later, won’t it.”

  “No.”

  “Okay, not a problem. Can you just answer my questions, though, then we’ll leave you be. Why have you got a mask and wig in your kitchen, and where did you get that knife from?”

  “Eddie gave me the mask and wig. The knife was Mum’s.”

  “Fair enough.” She glanced around the room, and her stomach clenched a few times. Sticking out from behind the sofa was a roll of plastic. “You know you said you were at home the night Mark and Den were killed? I’m just wondering… Why are you on CCTV walking along the alley beside his shop carrying a roll of plastic, much like the one you have down there?”

  Chapter Twenty

  He was going to go mental in a minute if she didn’t shut up. They knew it was him. She’d been gas-bagging it as though just making conversation, then had come out with that line about the wig and mask. Then the knife. The plastic. He’d known then that he didn’t stand a chance so stood there trying to work out what to do next.

  He remained focused on the front garden, waiting for an opportunity to leg it. The bloke copper leant on the living room wall. She stood in the doorway, and from the corner of his eye he caught her moving her jacket and flashing off one of those Tasers he’d seen on TV.

  What, was she letting him know she’d use it?

  He shrugged, as if that would make all of this go away.

  “What’s the matter, Ian? Got nothing to say?” she taunted.

  He had plenty to say, just not to her. He had words sitting on his tongue, ready and waiting to be spoken to Benny, the next one on his list, but it didn’t look like he’d be finishing the plan now.

  That copper last night had fucked it all up.

  “Is he dead?” he asked, cursing himself for opening his mouth.

  “Who?” the Stratton woman asked.

  “Doesn’t matter.” He needed the mask and wig. That would give him courage. He’d be able to cope then. At the moment, he felt like he had as a kid, lost under Eddie’s influence, unable to make a proper decision. “I need to go and get a glass of water.”

  “Fine. I’ll come with you,” she said.

  She needed to fuck right off. She was doing his head in.

  Once she’d moved to the side, he walked past her and went to the kitchen. He lunged forward to grab the mask off the tap, her footsteps clicking on the hallway flooring. He slid the mask on, and instant calm came over him. Then he swiped the knife up and turned to face her, ready to stab her guts to pieces, slice up her liver and kidneys. Yeah, he knew what she’d been getting at when she’d said that.

  She deployed the Taser, and the volts hit him square in the gut. The knife went flying, coming to rest in front of the cooker. He doubled over, body jerking, and fell to the floor on his side. He shook, then the wicked bite of the Taser wore off, and he stared at the knife, winded. He just needed a moment to compose himself, then he’d reach out for the blade and get her.

  The man came in and, much as Ian tried to move, he couldn’t; his body seemed paralysed. His hands were wrenched behind him by the bloke, the cuffs cold as they snapped into place.

  “Ian Landon, you are under arrest…”

  “No,” he said, his voice coming out as his other self, the one who was stronger and able to cope. It was the mask, giving him strength, turning him into someone else. Someone important.

  “…for the suspected murders of…”

  Shut up. The man needed to shut up.

  The woman stared at him, her eyes steely, but she didn’t frighten him. He was strong. He was somebody now.

  “I am Bête Noir,” he said.

  He laughed then, the trill of it maniacal, and his body filled with euphoria. She stared at him as though he were a prize, something she’d been looking for all her life. He’d made it. He’d got what he wanted.

  Someone was taking notice of him.

  “…Felicity Greaves, Den Simons, Mark Simons, and Katy Watkins. You have the right…”

  The man droned on.

  Then silence.

  “You forgot the others,” Bête said, cracking up, his breath from the laughter creating condensation on the inside of the mask and wetting his face.

  “What others?” Stratton asked, panic tingeing her voice.

  Got you there, haven’t I, bitch?

  “Wouldn’t you like to know,” Bête said.

  He stared at her, hard, and she took a step forward.

  “You’re scum,” she said. “Nothing but a piece of shit.”

  Eddie had told him that once, and those words hurt him, sent him back there, where he’d been insignificant and worthless.

  His amusement died in an instant.

  He was Ian again.

  And he pissed himself.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Helena had left Landon in a holding cell for a few hours. He could fucking stew. Before two of the uniforms had transported him back to the station, he’d guffed on about his wig, saying he needed it to feel calm, that the
mask alone wasn’t helping.

  “Did you wear that when you killed people?” she’d asked.

  “What do you think, you silly cow?”

  The sound of his voice had been weird. And as for the lady in the street, it had been him all along. Why he’d killed them all wasn’t something he’d told her yet, and she hoped he would during the interview.

  A forensic team were at his house now, sifting through everything. The poor sods had been at it for hours. Still, they all pulled together in times like these, working as one unit, just different branches of the same tree.

  She got up from her desk and stared through the window, tired out from the adrenaline and just coming down from the high. It had been a mad few days, two cases back to back, and hopefully Smaltern would return to its usual sleepy self now.

  People walked towards town on paths soaked by yet another recent downpour, although the wind wasn’t as aggressive. The tail end of that hurricane hadn’t stayed for long then.

  She sighed and walked into the incident room. Louise had not long rung to say Landon’s solicitor was here. Helena had asked for Doctor Varley to check Landon as soon as he’d arrived. She didn’t want the little bastard claiming he wasn’t fit for an interview. Varley had cleared him.

  “Let’s go then, Andy,” she said, clapping him on the back.

  He rose from his desk chair and let out a deep breath. “Wonder what bullshit excuse he’s going to give?”

  “If any.”

  “Going down for a long stretch, that one. Wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t get to see outside the walls of a prison again.” He stroked his chin.

  “Consecutive life sentences, most likely.”

  “It’s what he deserves,” Ol said from across the room. “Actually, no, he doesn’t deserve three square meals and a bloody PlayStation in his cell.”

  “Are you all right, Ol? Really?” Helena asked. “I don’t want you here if you’re upset. Do you want to go home?”

  “No. I need to be at work.” Ol smiled sadly. “Thanks anyway, though.”

  “We’ll go out after work for a bevvy, shall we?” Helena asked. “All of us.”