THE GUILTY ONES a gripping crime thriller filled with stunning twists

by Joy Ellis

  * * *

  Jackman sat in his office and stared at the table, wondering what to do. Then he thought of Laura Archer.

  She answered his call immediately, sounding very upbeat. Her old mentor, Sam Page, was with her, having dropped in for a chat. ‘Do you think Sam and I might be able to meet the children?’

  ‘I think that would be a great idea, Laura. What if I suggest that we all go this evening? I’ll pick up a takeaway, so we don’t put Ella to too much trouble. We could eat and then you could evaluate the problem.’

  Jackman heard Laura speak to Sam, who agreed, and they arranged to meet at Laura’s place.

  ‘Choose something that the boys love to eat,’ she said, ‘and then we can all relax and get to know each other a bit. And try not to worry, Jackman. This could just be a bogeyman dream. It would be perfectly understandable under the circumstances.’

  Jackman knew that to be true but still he worried. He glanced at the clock, rang Ella and hurried down to his car.

  * * *

  Robbie opened the door to his apartment. He hung up his jacket, kicked off his shoes and looked around. Stella had once said that his expensive and classy pad had all the warmth of a Premier Inn. He had never mastered the art of making the places he lived in homely. He certainly didn’t want chintzy wallpapers or floral curtains, but he would have liked to live somewhere that was welcoming and warm to come back to.

  He went to the kitchen, opened the freezer door and stared at the stacks of ready meals. He pulled out a lamb moussaka and checked the fridge to see if there was any salvageable green salad. He washed the few leaves, nuked the moussaka and sat at the breakfast bar to eat. The kitchen looked very “male.” Its black marble surfaces and black, silver and white tiled walls were cold and clinical. He needed to do something to make this place a home. A plant? He snorted. It would take more than a plant to give some life to the place.

  He finished his dinner, put the plate and cutlery in the dishwasher and wondered why on earth he was feeling this way. Usually he was quite happy with his domain. Perhaps it was the talk about Max and Rosie, and Marie describing her life with Bill. His relationship with Stella North had been the closest he had ever had. They were nothing more than colleagues, but he had loved her. After two years he still missed her, but he had moved on, and now he was content. His unease had to stem from the case they were working. Marie was becoming more and more certain that there had been a miscarriage of justice, and Brendan Symons had died an innocent man.

  Robbie had never been a drinker. His parents’ embarrassing drunken capers had turned him into a teetotaller right from his teens. Then he met a man named Harvey Cash, a witness in a murder case and an alcoholic. Something in Harvey’s situation had moved him and he couldn’t forget the man. Later, he and Marie had gone to Spain for a holiday, and they helped Harvey give up the booze and get his life back on track. While they were there, Marie had introduced him to a drink called a Tom Collins. While Harvey sobered up, Robbie learned that an alcoholic drink could be pleasurable.

  Five minutes later, he was sitting on his leather sofa, sipping his cocktail and thinking about Marie. When they went away to Spain together, the mess room jokes about toy boys had been endless. But Marie didn’t care. They were friends, and they needed a break, that was all.

  But recently Robbie found that he was looking at her differently, his gaze lingering. He had started to worry about her when she rode her powerful new motorbike, nicknamed Harvey after their friend. Robbie took a mouthful and the ice made his teeth sing. Suddenly it was clear to him why he wanted his home to seem more welcoming. He didn’t want Marie to see it like Stella had, cold and inhospitable as a hotel room. He drained the rest of his drink. Alright, so he needed help with the place. Well, he knew exactly who to ask.

  * * *

  On the way to Rainham Lodge, Jackman, Laura and Sam discussed the possibility that Miles really had seen the man who’d terrorised Sarah.

  Jackman glanced at Sam in the rearview mirror. ‘We can’t discount the fact that the child could have seen him. After all, it seems he must have been stalking Sarah for quite some time. So how do we go about this?’

  Sam leaned forward. ‘We start by making friends with the boys, and putting them at their ease. The more comfortable and relaxed the child is, the more likely he is to open up.’

  Laura held up a large bag of drawing materials. ‘I’ve brought these. I suggest that after dinner, you and Sam talk to Ryan, Jackman, while Ella and I do a spot of art therapy with Miles.’

  ‘Ah, like we do when gathering evidence from child witnesses.’

  ‘Exactly. It often produces some quite revealing disclosures,’ Laura said.

  ‘I’ve used it with children with autism as well,’ Sam added, ‘with remarkable effect, I have to say.’

  ‘How are the boys doing generally, Jackman?’ asked Laura.

  ‘I gather it’s a bit of a rollercoaster. Up one minute, down the next. Ella had to fetch them out of school today, which is the first time that’s happened.’

  ‘It won’t be the last, I’m afraid,’ said Sam. ‘Things will upset them — an unkind word or a sudden memory — but it’s all part of the grieving process. Children can be incredibly resilient. Given time, they might just surprise you.’

  ‘My brother doesn’t help. God knows, I can’t blame him. I mean, he’s just lost the love of his life, his lodestar.’ Jackman didn’t want to criticise his brother, but he resented the way James was behaving. ‘He promised to try to do all he could to help me discover who did this to Sarah, but instead he’s immersed himself in work. Almost always now the kids are in bed and asleep by the time he comes home, then he’s off and out early. I’m scared they’ll start to blame themselves.’

  ‘Ella would appear to be the positive energy in their lives at the moment,’ Sam said.

  Jackman nodded. ‘Thank God, my mother brought her in. She’s holding the whole thing together.’

  ‘How do the boys regard Ella?’ asked Sam.

  ‘They call her Auntie. She was once their nanny, and I think she’s a mother substitute now. Is that a bad thing?’ Jackman glanced at Sam.

  ‘Not at this stage. They need someone to nurture them, and they trust Ella. In time, they will adapt to their loss. Terrible things happen to families the world over, and yet people go on.’ Sam sounded sad, and Jackman wondered if there was something more personal behind his words.

  Laura turned to look at Sam. ‘I sometimes wonder if a mother figure is quite as important as we like to think. If a child has someone in their life that they can look up to, a support figure, that’s what counts.’

  Sam nodded. ‘That’s a valid point. Same sex couples and widowed husbands often do a fantastic job of bringing up their children, simply through their love and care. Do I sense another research paper coming on, Laura?’

  ‘Not exactly. I’m busy working on a paper on narcissistic parenting at the moment.’

  Sam chuckled. ‘Ooh, interesting stuff! I’d be fascinated to read that when it’s finished.’

  Jackman stared at the road ahead, terribly aware of Laura Archer’s body so close to his.

  * * *

  Ella had told the boys that their uncle was bringing two friends with him, and a big bucket of popcorn chicken. She suspected it was the chicken, but the two of them seemed perfectly happy at the prospect.

  She, on the other hand, would have been happier to see Jackman alone. She couldn’t help resenting the fact that Jackman had brought in professional help. Or was that it? Wasn’t it just that she liked being with Jackman, just the two of them? Maybe she was imagining things, but she felt they had developed an easy, comfortable comradeship together.

  Headlights scoured the drive, and Ella stood up. All at once she felt ashamed of her thoughts. She was scared too, afraid of what these “professionals” might bring to light.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Very soon the interviews would begin. By now the police would have
made all the right connections. They would know that the suicides were not what they seemed, and that the common denominator was the death of Lyndsay Ashcroft. Now they would be looking for someone who believed that the murder trial had failed them.

  He stood up and went to pour himself a drink. It was strange to be so at ease, not to feel the need to cross the fens to his quiet place, or slip unnoticed into the church. For once, he was happy to remain at home and contemplate his next move. He sipped the bourbon, his favourite. Wild Turkey Rare Breed cost over fifty pounds a bottle, and was worth every penny. He liked the name too. Rare breed. Just like him.

  He rested his feet on the coffee table, which was strewn with books and documents. He liked to study murder, especially the psychology of killers. Of course, he was looking for someone like him, but he was gradually coming to the conclusion that he was one of a kind, that his method was unprecedented. This was deeply satisfying. It took true genius to make your victims kill themselves.

  He lifted his glass and drank a toast to himself. ‘Here’s to the creator of the complicated death!’

  He hoped that the police would interview him. And if they did, should he extend the game and watch them chasing their tails? Or should he give Jackman all the information he needed? He slowly swirled the amber liquid, causing flickers of golden light to tremble in the crystal glass. Ultimately, he wanted Jackman to know. It was just a matter of when.

  He placed the glass on a coaster, picked up a folder from the table and paged through his long-term strategy. By now it was quite a thick volume and all but complete. It was unfortunate that the judge who’d presided over the trial had recently succumbed to cirrhosis of the liver, but it was consoling to know that he had been the cause of the judge’s heavy liquor consumption. Years of constant irritation, the veiled threats to one’s family and friends do take their toll.

  He grunted. He had almost forgotten his final dilemma. He had always wondered what would happen when his slow revenge had reached its climax. Now he knew.

  He was too good.

  This wasn’t his epilogue at all, it was his new beginning. It was impossible to give up now. He had found his reason for living. There was one small loose end to tie up, and then he would be his own man, free to start planning new enterprises.

  He thought again of all the people he had come to know over the course of the years. People with complex lives and deep emotional bonds. He looked at the folder on his lap. There was a whole section on the Jackman family alone, and what he didn’t know about the detective’s work colleagues wasn’t worth knowing.

  He stretched. Hmm. Decisions, decisions . . .

  * * *

  Much to Jackman’s surprise, the evening got off to a flying start. The boys immediately took to Sam Page, and were clearly enchanted by Laura.

  Only Ella seemed a little on edge.

  After the meal, the adults joined the children in a game of Lego Jurassic World. After the games, Laura produced her sketchbook and coloured pens, and Miles happily started to draw.

  ‘Not your thing, Ryan?’ Jackman gently cuffed the boy’s shoulder.

  ‘Not really. I’m pants at art.’

  ‘Me too. Couldn’t even draw water.’

  It took a while, then a small smile spread across Ryan’s face. ‘Don’t give up the day job, Uncle.’

  Sam joined them. ‘Do you think this is a good moment to have a quiet word, young man?’

  Ryan seemed to be trying to decide.

  Sam lowered his voice. ‘We don’t want to upset Miles, do we? So perhaps you could tell your uncle and me about his nightmares. What do you think?’

  Ryan nodded slowly. ‘You’re right, Sam. Would you like to see my bedroom?’

  With a quick look at Laura and Ella, Jackman followed Sam and Ryan from the room. Miles didn’t even look up.

  Upstairs, Ryan explained what Miles had seen. Their mother had taken them to the park and sat on a bench with another mother while they played football. Then all at once she grabbed them and hustled them back to the car. They had protested because she hadn’t even let them fetch their new football. ‘We thought we’d done something wrong, but Mummy said it was nothing to do with us.’ Ryan bit his lip. ‘Then Miles suddenly said, “Was it that man by the gates?” and Mummy took hold of him and shook him and asked him what he had seen. She was so angry, and Miles just cried and cried.’

  ‘Did you see him too?’ asked Jackman gently.

  ‘Sort of. I knew someone was there, but I was busy playing and I didn’t take any notice. It was Miles who saw him, and because Mummy was so frightened, he thinks it was one of the bad men we were warned about.’ He swallowed. ‘Now Miles thinks the bad man killed Mummy, and he has nightmares.’

  Sam put an arm around Ryan and said he’d been very brave to talk to them. ‘Laura is getting Miles to draw different things. It’s a way of getting someone to tell you something through pictures.’

  ‘Is it important?’

  ‘Very’, said Jackman. ‘Ryan? Have either of you seen him since?’

  The boy looked down. ‘A couple of times. Is this why you all came tonight?’

  Jackman nodded. ‘We came because we love you and we want to find out exactly what happened to your mummy.’

  ‘That’s good.’ Then Ryan grinned. ‘Is Laura your girlfriend, Uncle?’

  Sam laughed and Jackman spluttered, ‘No! What made you think that?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m glad, though. She’s very nice, but I think Auntie Ella would be a bit upset.’

  Then he jumped up and left the room.

  ‘Out of the mouths of babes . . .’ Sam was trying not to laugh again.

  Jackman sat on the edge of the boy’s bed and stared at Sam, open-mouthed. ‘What on earth . . . ?’

  Sam chuckled. ‘That boy is very perceptive, isn’t he? Funnily enough, I was thinking the same thing myself earlier. Two fair damsels, eh? What a man!’

  ‘Oh no, Sam, really, I mean, I never . . .’

  ‘Just enjoy it. It’s a predicament most men would give their eye teeth to be in.’

  But Jackman’s heart was sinking. Not now. He had to stay focussed on the investigation. He stood up and looked at Sam. ‘Not a word, my friend, please? And now we must go and see what Laura’s art therapy produced.’

  ‘Of course. My lips are sealed.’

  But as he left the room, Jackman could hear Sam’s stifled laughter behind him.

  Back in the lounge, Jackman looked surreptitiously from Ella to Laura, feeling very uncomfortable. Oh well, just as long as Ryan didn’t come out with any further insights, he should be okay. Then he noticed the two women’s solemn expressions, and knew that Laura’s drawing session had paid off.

  ‘Time for bed, lads.’ Ella shooed her two charges towards the door. ‘Say goodnight, and thank you for the meal.’

  The boys thanked them and reluctantly made their way upstairs.

  As soon as Ella came back into the room, Laura held up a drawing. ‘He’s a good little artist, which helps.’

  ‘But we don’t like his subject matter,’ added Ella.

  Neither did Jackman. He took the picture and peered at it. ‘What did you ask him to draw?’

  ‘Initially we kept it light, and had him drawing superheroes and animals.’ She pointed to some brightly coloured pictures on the table. ‘But then we asked him to draw something very good, and something very bad. This was the result.’

  The paper was divided with a thick black vertical line. To the left, Miles had drawn an angel with a bright yellow halo and large white wings standing on a fluffy cloud with her feet surrounded by pink and red flowers. The word “Mummy” was carefully inscribed along the bottom.

  On the right hand side the boy had drawn a much more complex image. Jackman could make out trees, swings and something that appeared to be a flying saucer and that he soon realised was a roundabout. Then there was a path with a lone football sitting on it. All that would have been fine, but Miles had added a tall fig
ure standing at the end of the path. Jackman looked closer, shocked at the sinister atmosphere such a young child had managed to convey. The man was drawn entirely in black pen. He was standing straight as a pole and wore a long coat and a hat with a brim. But it was his face that made Jackman shiver. Miles had made him look like an alien, with a broad forehead, pointed chin, small mouth and nostrils and very large black almond-shaped eyes. Those black eyes seemed to stare back at Jackman from the paper. The title was, “The Bad Man.”

  ‘They were watched,’ Jackman whispered to himself, ‘Sarah and the children.’

  ‘That’s what we think too.’ Laura glanced at Ella, who nodded.

  Jackman pulled out his phone. ‘Sorry, I need to talk to my superintendent,’ he muttered, and walked into the kitchen.

  Ruth Crooke answered almost immediately.

  ‘Ruth, I think Ella Jarvis, my brother James, and particularly the two boys are in danger.’ He told her about the drawing and waited for her answer.

  ‘Normally, I’d say it’s far from enough to warrant action, but with this dangerous individual still loose, and as I trust your judgement, it’s either a safe house, or I can probably arrange to put a couple of officers on round-the-clock surveillance. It’s up to you, Rowan.’

  ‘I’ll talk to Ella. She’s here more than my brother. I’ll see what she thinks and get back to you. And thanks, Ruth, I appreciate it.’

  Jackman didn’t return to the others immediately. He was haunted by Miles’s picture, and something else too. The drawing was the work of a seven-year-old, and clearly just a stylised impression, but there was something about the figure that struck a chord in Jackman’s memory. The moment he saw it, Jackman had the unsettling feeling that he knew this man.

  * * *

  DCI Cameron Walker smiled at his wife across the dinner table. ‘I’m so glad to be home tonight.’

  Kaye Walker gave him a reproving stare. ‘And are you not glad to be home with me every night?’ Then she grinned.