by Joy Ellis
THE FOURTH FRIEND
A gripping crime thriller filled with stunning twists
DI Jackman & DS Evans Book 3
JOY ELLIS
First published 2017
Joffe Books, London
www.joffebooks.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The spelling used is British English except where fidelity to the author’s rendering of accent or dialect supersedes this.
We hate typos too but sometimes they slip through. Please send any errors you find to [email protected]
We’ll get them fixed ASAP. We’re very grateful to eagle-eyed readers who take the time to contact us.
©Joy Ellis
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THERE IS A GLOSSARY OF ENGLISH SLANG IN THE BACK OF THIS BOOK FOR US READERS.
JACKMAN & EVANS BOOK 1
THE MURDERER’S SON
https://www.amazon.co.uk/MURDERERS-gripping-crime-thriller-twists-ebook/dp/B01LWY0PUJ/
https://www.amazon.com/MURDERERS-gripping-crime-thriller-twists-ebook/dp/B01LWY0PUJ/
"What if your mother was a serial killer?"
A BLOODY KILLER SEEMS TO HAVE RETURNED TO THE LINCOLNSHIRE FENS
Twenty years ago: a farmer and his wife are cut to pieces by a ruthless serial killer.
Now: a woman is viciously stabbed to death in the upmarket kitchen of her beautiful house on the edge of the marshes.
Then a man called Daniel Kinder walks into Saltern police station and confesses to the murder.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
EPILOGUE
OTHER BOOKS BY JOY ELLIS
The DI Nikki Galena books
Glossary of English Slang for US readers
Character List
FREE KINDLE BOOKS AND OFFERS
DEDICATION
For Snowy
In fond memory of a good friend
Doreen Wells.
Jan 1937 - July 2017
PROLOGUE
Carter McLean stared out of the plane’s tiny window at a vast cumulonimbus. The pilot had assured them they would make it through the storm, and Carter trusted him. He had flown with him before.
The plane dropped suddenly, making his stomach lurch, and then there was nothing but grey cloud, and rain lashing the window. They were in.
Carter enjoyed an adrenalin rush. Throughout his life, he’d never taken the easy route. And now his job as a CID drugs squad detective kept him where he liked to be — on the front line. So with a grim smile, he pulled his safety belt a little tighter and braced himself for a bumpy ride.
In retrospect, maybe he would not have been so cavalier if he had known that the plane was approximately thirty seconds from going down.
The engine noise changed, the steady thrum seemed to break up, cough. Carter peered through the sheets of rain slashing across the cockpit windows. He frowned, not understanding what he was seeing. Trees? He put his hands over his ears, the aircraft lurched drunkenly to one side and it seemed to scream. Carter’s mouth was dry as sandpaper. He looked at his four best friends. Just moments ago they had been discussing Ray’s stag weekend and his forthcoming wedding. Now their faces were masks of horror and disbelief. They knew what was coming.
Carter felt no panic. Instead, he felt cheated. He was thirty-six, fit and healthy. He had all his teeth, a full head of hair. It was too soon.
Sounds inside the cabin became hollow, slow and echoing. When it happened, the impact was not sudden. The six-seater Piper Seneca jerked and slewed, ricocheting across the uneven ground. Then with a scream of tearing metal, one wing ripped away and the plane’s nose dug into the earth, throwing the tail section high into the air and flinging its occupants forward towards the cockpit.
* * *
Carter couldn’t move. He had no idea why, and no inclination to find out. For a while he seemed to float in the eerie silence. It was a cold, disturbing quiet. The only thing he could hear was a ringing in his ears.
He lay, suspended. It could have been hours, days even. Then, from the remains of the cockpit, a tangle of exposed wiring suddenly fizzed and spat. Carter needed to act.
He moaned. He tried to move and found that something was pinning him to the back of the pilot’s seat. It took a while to realise that it was Jack’s weighty torso, crushing him and forcing the air from his lungs.
He tried to slide from under his friend’s motionless body and cried out at the pain that tore through his chest. The safety belt, before it tore free, must have broken his ribs. He thought of the wire, fizzing like a lit fuse, and knew he had to get out, fast. Groaning, he managed to ease out from beneath Jack.
‘Guys . . . ?’ Was that his voice? He sounded like an eight-year-old. ‘Hey, guys? Are you okay?’ He waited.
‘Oh, sweet Jesus!’ Tom’s Scouse accent filtered across the cabin’s gloom. ‘Carter? Is that you?’
He closed his eyes in relief. Tom was his best mate. Tall, dark, and far from handsome, but all heart. ‘Yeah, it’s me. Are you injured, mate?’
‘I dunno, but my head bloody well hurts.’ There was a pause. ‘Oh my God! The others?’
Carter stared across at Jack’s lifeless body. He had seen many dead bodies. It was his job. But those bodies, although often terribly harmed, were strangers. This was one of his closest friends.
Jack’s throat was split open. His shirt was dark with blood. Something had sliced through his windpipe, severing it, and the creamy white bones of his spinal column were visible through foamy blood. Carter stifled a sob and began to cast around for the others. There was little or no hope for the pilot. He hung, half in, half out of the torn cockpit section of the plane, his head at an impossible angle to his limp body.
At least Matt was still breathing. Thank God! Carter could hear his uneven gasps and see the erratic rise and fall of his chest. One of the seats had ripped from the bulkhead and pinned both his legs to the floor.
Ray. ‘I can’t see Ray,’ said Carter.
‘He’s here. Still trapped in his seat.’ Tom’s heavily accented voice came back quickly. ‘He’s out cold and his arm’s a mess, but he has a pulse and it’s pretty strong.’
The wiring spat and crackled again. Carter fought to quell his rising panic. ‘We have to get out of here. Tom, I think I’m close to the door. If I can open it, we can drag the others out.’
‘The pilot’s dead, isn’t he?’ whispered Tom. ‘And you haven’t mentioned Jack or Matt.’ His voice shook.
‘Matt’s alive, but
we can’t deal with their injuries now. We have to get them out and away from this wreck! It could go up at any moment.’ Carter crawled towards the door and struggled with the lock.
‘Ahh! Shit!’ Pain tore through his neck, arm and shoulder. The door remained jammed shut. ‘You have to help me, Tom! The sodding thing is buckled. I can’t budge it.’ He groaned again. ‘I’ve bust some ribs and I think my arm is knackered too. I can’t grip the damn thing!’
Carter heard muffled swearing and then Tom was crawling into the tiny space between Jack, bits of wreckage, and the door.
‘Jack? Oh no!’ Tom looked at his friend and crossed himself.
‘The door!’ breathed Carter. ‘Concentrate on the door! We have to get them out of here!’
Tom drew in a noisy breath and knelt beside him. ‘Okay, okay, you’re right. Look, you free the handle and get ready to push. I’ll brace myself and kick forward with both feet. Ready?’ He sat down and put his feet to the door.
Carter nodded, twisted the handle and screamed. The door flew open, catapulting him from the plane, a human projectile.
He hit the sodden ground painfully. The Piper had come to rest at an acute angle. The wing had torn off, and this had lifted the right side of the fuselage high into the air. To his horror, the door, now flapping open, was some ten feet above him. He shrieked into the wind. ‘Tom! I can’t get back in! Just push them out and I’ll try to drag them to safety!’
Tom’s face appeared in the doorway. ‘I’ll get Ray and Matt first. Maybe they have a chance.’
The face disappeared. Then Tom was back at the door, ‘I’ve got Ray,’ he gasped. ‘He’s still unconscious. Are you ready down there?’
‘Just get him out!’ wheezed Carter, and stared up at the dark hole above him.
Tom moved back into the plane and began to drag Ray forward.
A sudden squall of rain and wind blasted against the wreckage, and slammed the door closed. Carter froze.
‘Tom?’
Carter could see the dark shape of his friend desperately throwing himself against the jammed door. He staggered to his feet and stared up, aghast. Carter could see Tom clearly, silhouetted against the bright light coming from the interior of the cabin. He stepped back, his jaw slack and his eyes unblinking. It wasn’t just light, it was flames. Tom’s gentle face was now twisted in anguish.
With a cry, Carter started forward and tried to claw his way back up to the closed door. He forgot his pain in his struggle to get back to his friends.
The blast denied him even that.
* * *
At dawn the next morning, Carter McLean awoke and tried to ease himself up in the uncomfortable hospital bed. With each movement, the pain in his ribs tore the breath from his lungs and left him gasping. When at last the pain subsided, Carter saw Tom sitting at the bottom of the bed, staring in silence at his burnt and blistered hands.
It wasn’t just Tom. On the other side of the room Matt, Ray and Jack leaned against the wall and argued noisily about whether Man U could win the Europa League or finish in the top four.
Carter tried not to look at them. Something was terribly wrong. Why had he received immediate treatment while his friends were left untended? He looked closer. They hadn’t even cleaned up Jack’s neck. His head wobbled unnaturally each time he spoke. If the doctors don’t do something soon, thought Carter, it will fall off.
And poor Matt! His legs looked like raw meat. Worried about infection, Carter rang the bell for the nurse.
‘No point, mate,’ said Tom quietly. ‘Why don’t you just try to get some rest and forget about us for a while?’
‘But I don’t understand,’ whispered Carter.
‘No, I know, I know. But just try to sleep, yeah?’
Carter stared at his best friend, and tears coursed down his face. He only knew it was Tom because of his accent. Half of his face was gone, and most of his flesh. He smelt awful. The acrid stench clung to Carter like a second skin. ‘Why don’t they do something?’ Carter whined. He barely recognised his own voice.
‘Because it’s too late. So you just rest, huh? We’ve got to go now, but we’ll talk later. Try to make things better, alright?’ Tom stood up, beckoned to the others, and they followed him out of the room.
Must be their turn for treatment. He hoped so. He bit his lip. He knew the health service was in a bad way, but their treatment of his friends was appalling. With a sigh, he pushed the button on the morphine pump, slid down under the sheets and waited for oblivion.
CHAPTER ONE
Eighteen Months Later
DI Rowan Jackman handed DS Marie Evans a memo. ‘Have you seen this?’
Marie skimmed through it, and handed it back. ‘Carter McLean? Yes, he’s been returned to full duties as from next week.’
Jackman raised his eyebrows. ‘You don’t look exactly delighted.’
Marie shrugged. ‘I’m not sure how I feel, sir.’
‘He’s been riding a desk for almost six months now, and doing a damned good job too. I’m sure he’s ready. I heard that he steamrollered through his medical assessment.’ Jackman smiled at her.
‘Mmm.’
His smiled faded. ‘What’s that supposed to mean, Marie? What’s the problem?’
Marie sank down into a chair and sighed. ‘I’ve been friends with Carter for a very long time, sir, and I’m sorry but I don’t think the force medical officer and those in charge are seeing the whole picture.’ She paused. ‘Well, I think Laura Archer has her reservations, but she’s just one voice against many.’
‘Surely, as the consultant for the psychological assessment, she would have the greatest say?’
Marie nodded. ‘I think she doesn’t want to stand in Carter’s way. If he believes that he is ready, she is prepared to go along with the FMO, at least for a trial period.’
‘He’ll be monitored carefully, I’m sure.’ But Marie still looked worried. Jackman stood up and went to the door, closed it and returned to his seat. ‘If you are really concerned, my friend, perhaps we should talk about it.’
Marie sighed. ‘Yes. Especially since he’ll be working with us, and we are in the middle of investigating the disappearance of Suzanne Holland.’
Jackman nodded. ‘Ah, I see. The wife of one of Carter McLean’s dead friends.’
‘Carter says that obviously he knew her. After all, she was the wife of his oldest mate. But they were never great pals or anything. Even so . . .’ Marie shook her head.
‘Mmm, but it’s a connection to the past, isn’t it? Something Carter does not need.’
‘Exactly,” she said. “I think he wants to prove that he’s fit for whatever the job throws at him, even if it’s painful.’
‘Painful and dangerous,’ added Jackman. ‘I’ve seen coppers and soldiers suffer from flashbacks, and it isn’t pleasant.’
‘I get the feeling the upper echelons have decided that as long as he can pass muster as a police officer, they don’t give a shit if his world falls apart as soon as he gets inside his own front door,’ Marie said angrily.
Jackman looked at her. ‘You think that’s what’s happening? On the surface, he seems to be coping remarkably well. The chief constable thinks his conduct is pretty amazing, considering what he’s been through.’
‘God! He makes it sound like a stiff upper lip is all you require to recover! And you too, sir. Talk about Carry on Regardless!’ Marie was almost shouting.
Jackman looked at her in surprise. Such an outburst was most uncharacteristic. Then he laughed. ‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Carter McLean has just put a really high-profile case to the Crown Prosecution Service. Complex stuff, but he’s nailed it. And without moving out of the CID office.’
‘Yes, exactly. You said it yourself, sir, he did it from the office. He’s safe there. He’s in control. Unless the Good Lord was unkind enough to crash a plane directly on top of the nick, he’s unlikely to have to confront his worst fears in the CID room, is he?’ Marie frowne
d. ‘It’s when he’s alone in his bed that I suspect things get really bad.’
‘He’s still having nightmares?’
Marie nodded. ‘Carter McLean will probably be having nightmares for a very long time, along with disturbed sleep patterns, increased anxiety, panic attacks, clinical depression, oh yes, and those flashbacks you mentioned.’
Jackman stared at her. ‘You seem to know a lot about this.’
‘I know very little, other than what Carter has told me himself. We’ve talked a lot.’ She gave him a sad smile. ‘He was my Bill’s crewmate when they were in uniform, and they were very close. I saw a lot of Carter before Bill was killed, and I guess I feel I owe it to Bill to try to be there for his old friend.’ She paused. ‘Someone has to look out for him. After that bloody crash, he has no one else left.’
Jackman nodded slowly. ‘I see. Well, I do understand what you are saying about him, but he really is keeping it together remarkably well at work.’
‘As I said before, it’s a safe place to be, and what else has he got, sir? He needs the stability of the job he loves. He was always so damned good at the paperwork side that he probably put that whole last case together simply by working through the records. I’m just not so sure how he will react out in the great wide world.’
‘We need to let him try, Marie. You know what they say, The one who falls and gets up is so much stronger than the one who never fell.’
‘Oh Lord, you sound like one of those ghastly life coaches.’
‘You think maybe I should stick to detective work?’
‘A very good idea, sir.’ Marie grinned.
‘Well, before we get stuck in to some proper police work, have you read the new directive from the chief superintendent?’
‘Oh yes, but I’m not paying too much attention to it.’ She grimaced. ‘Nor will most of the other officers here.’