THE GUILTY ONES a gripping crime thriller filled with stunning twists

by Joy Ellis

  ‘Of course I am, but . . .’

  ‘Joking.’ Her smile vanished. ‘I’ve not seen you so worried since your Darren got injured on duty. This investigation is really getting to you, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s an understatement. It’s a bastard. The way this man destroys lives is beyond all comprehension. I don’t think I, or any of the other officers for that matter, have ever come across such a heartless, evil individual. I heard from Saltern just before I left. He’s already taken another two lives.’

  Kaye groaned. ‘Oh no. More innocents?’

  Cameron nodded. He knew he should not talk about his ongoing cases, but he and Kaye were practically joined at the hip and told each other everything. ‘Not only that, but one of Jackman’s brightest young detectives is traumatised after walking in on the killer’s latest murder-fest. She was our liaison with Saltern, but the FMO has signed her off.’ He chewed his steak thoughtfully. ‘We’ve come off lightly here in Beech Lacey, with just one death. Poor old Jackman is on the firing line and well and truly taking the flak.’

  Kaye sighed. ‘I shouldn’t say thank heavens, I know, but I will.’

  ‘I know what you mean. Still, I have to help him all I can.’

  ‘Oh, I know that. It wouldn’t be like you to shy away from anything, or leave a fellow officer wallowing in the shit.’ Kaye grinned. ‘Excuse the vernacular.’

  ‘I’m thinking we can help him out by taking over some of the background research stuff, while he gets down to the nitty-gritty. We have just about exhausted our lines of enquiry regarding our woman, but his team are way ahead on looking into the Ashcroft murder trial. I think he’d appreciate it.’

  Kaye helped herself to more mustard. ‘I’m sure he’ll appreciate any help you can give him. What’s he like, this DI Jackman? Is he like your friend, DI Nikki Galena?’

  Cam laughed loudly. ‘He’s nothing like Nikki! Except for the fact that they are both damned good detectives. Jackman is a “gentleman” in all senses of the word. I like him. He even offered to share responsibility for this case, when he needn’t have done. Nice guy.’

  ‘Like you, my darling. Far too nice to be a DCI.’

  ‘Well, I’m going no higher up that ladder, more money or not. I want to be a policeman. Things are already getting dodgy. I’m constantly being reminded to delegate, so I can spend more time on risk assessment and health and safety procedures.’ He grimaced. ‘Not what I had in mind when I joined the force.’

  Kaye smiled warmly at him. ‘You love it! You know you do.’

  Cameron frowned. In truth, the job wasn’t what it was a few years back. There were so many areas where he believed they were letting the public down, mainly through lack of funds and manpower. He loved the job, but for how much longer?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Jackman, Laura and Sam waited until James arrived home from work, so as to back up what Ella had decided. Though privately Jackman thought his brother would agree with anything Ella said, simply because he was incapable of deciding for himself. He seemed to have lost all ability to concentrate on anything except business. Knowing how their father had behaved for most of their lives, Jackman knew he couldn’t change him, but it still hurt to see what James was doing to his sons.

  Ella had opted to stay in Rainham Lodge, as long as there was a police presence there, and Jackman had rung Ruth Crooke to arrange it.

  It was gone midnight by the time he got back to Mill Corner, and now he was in early to prepare the daily orders. He wanted to get on with the interviews as swiftly as possible. They would start with the Symons family, and then tackle the “followers” that had continued to support them over the years.

  Unfortunately, he was one officer down. Rosie had been signed off for a week, and when she would be fully fit for work again was anyone’s guess. Jackman hoped that it was a temporary problem, but he kept thinking about Ella and how she’d walked off the job and never returned.

  Deep in thought, he jumped when his desk phone rang. ‘DI Jackman. How can I help?’

  ‘It’s more a question of what I can do to help you.’

  Jackman recognised the deep voice of Cameron Walker, and breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘I’ve got two officers that I can put at your disposal, if that helps — oh, and one of them is me. Plus, I’ll do the liaising directly, so that will free up another of your detectives.’

  ‘Music to my ears, Cam. We have a string of people to interview and I get the feeling that time is not on our side. I can almost hear the killer’s mind ticking over as he decides what horror to present us with next.’

  ‘There aren’t too many people left who were involved in that trial. Did you hear about Judge Henry?’

  Jackman said he had. ‘At least he was spared the wrath of our Grim Reaper.’

  ‘Was he? I wonder?’ Cam drew in a breath. ‘Word on the grapevine says he changed a few years back, became “unsettled” and started drinking heavily. Maybe our man was quietly getting at him.’

  ‘That could well be the truth,’ Jackman said. ‘Thing is, I can’t see him stopping, can you?’

  ‘With no righteous cause to fight for? Maybe he’s run his course,’ Cam said.

  ‘I don’t believe that for one moment.’

  ‘Nor do I, but maybe there’s a tiny chance he was only out to fulfil an oath of retribution. Once that’s done, he’ll close the book.’ Cam grunted. ‘Anyway, we can continue this debate when I get to you. We’ll be there in half an hour, okay?’

  Jackman thanked him and hung up. Cameron’s help would make things easier. He was a very astute detective and had a reputation for dealing well with difficult interviews. ‘Something is actually going my way,’ Jackman whispered to himself.

  ‘You know what they say about talking to yourself?’ Marie grinned at him. ‘Morning, boss.’ She placed two coffees on his desk.

  He looked up at her and smiled. ‘You’re early, and I’m very pleased you are.’

  He gestured to a chair and proceeded to tell her about the events of the previous evening. He showed her Miles’s picture.

  ‘My God! That speaks volumes, doesn’t it? And he’s only seven? He draws better than me!’ She took the picture from him and stared at it.

  Jackman watched her eyes linger on the “Bad Man.” Had she seen something there too?

  ‘Why . . . ?’ Marie frowned. ‘Why do I think that I should recognise that figure? Is it a cartoon character? Or someone from a film?’ She looked up at Jackman with a puzzled expression on her face.

  ‘I felt the same, but a whole night of lying awake going over all the possibilities has produced nothing but mental exhaustion.’

  Marie put the drawing back on his desk. ‘It will come to me, I’m sure. And we can ask the others when they get in. Maybe one of them will know.’ She sipped the hot coffee. ‘I’ve been awake too, trying to look at our killer from a different perspective. I’m wondering if I might try a slightly different approach?’

  Jackman smiled. ‘All suggestions gratefully received! And we have Cameron Walker and one of his team joining us today, so we are back up to full power. Tell me more about your thoughts.’

  ‘While the interviews with the Symons family and their cohorts are going on, I wondered if I might be allowed to dig deeper into the family histories of Lyndsay Ashcroft and her contemporaries? I know the others have been looking at the trial and all the media comments about it, but there is precious little in the old files about Lyndsay herself. Perhaps I can turn up something that leads to the source of the killer’s reign of terror.’ She scratched her head. ‘And I’m going to approach it as if Brendan Symons really was telling the truth, if that’s okay? It could just throw up someone else lurking in the shadows.’

  Jackman considered her suggestion. ‘Absolutely. I agree entirely. Someone has made it his life’s work to bring down everyone who was connected with the case. His motive has to be about as strong and hate-driven as it’s possible to get.’


  ‘Hate-driven. Mmm. Interesting use of words.’ Marie stared at him. ‘I was thinking more about being driven by love.’

  ‘A double-edged sword, I believe. If he loved either Lyndsay or Brendan, then that could transmute into hate for those who brought about their deaths.’

  ‘And his voyage into vengeance begins.’

  They sat in silence for a moment or two.

  ‘Use Gary, he’s good at reading people,’ said Jackman at last. ‘I’ll take the rest of the team and our colleagues from Beech Lacey, and we’ll talk to everyone involved with Sheila Symons’s campaign. You never know, we might just find someone who overlaps with your historical enquiries. That suit you?’

  ‘Great, thank you.’ Marie finished her coffee and stood up. ‘I’m sorry you feel your family could be under threat, Jackman, but that event in the park took place well before Sarah died.’

  Jackman sighed. ‘Oh, didn’t I tell you? The boys have seen him twice since then, and the second time was two days ago, outside the school.’

  * * *

  Jackman thought he should talk to Sheila Symons first, and under the circumstances, decided he would do it alone. He felt that she might open up more, one to one. Knowing how ill she was, he had rung ahead but she insisted he come immediately.

  On the drive to Nettleby Oaks, he tried to formulate his questions. He was aware that Sheila did not have long to live, and this might be the only interview.

  He was invited in by Yvette, and he was careful not to mention her visit to the station. He climbed the stairs, and Kenny met him outside his mother’s room.

  ‘Mum’s having a good day today, but please don’t overdo it. The good days are few and far between.’

  Jackman assured him he would keep it brief and Kenny opened the door for him.

  Sheila was propped up on a mountain of pillows, looking considerably brighter than when Jackman had last seen her.

  ‘I’ve spoken to the whole family, Detective Inspector, and I’ve requested that they share anything with you that might help your investigation.’

  ‘I appreciate that, Mrs Symons.’

  ‘Not that Liam or Dale will be anything other than hostile, I’m sure.’ Her tone was almost apologetic. ‘They have the campaign in their blood, they’ll never give up.’ She pulled herself up. ‘And even though I know I won’t be around to see an outcome, I’m glad they’ll keep trying.’

  Jackman sat in a chair close to her bed. ‘Tell me about Brendan.’

  Her face softened. ‘You’ve heard the term “angels with dirty faces,” I’m sure. Well, that was my boy. A little terror, but he had a heart of gold. He was a cheeky devil, but he charmed people. Brendan never killed Lyndsay, although I know they went together, if you understand my meaning?’

  Jackman nodded. ‘So did you ever have any suspicions about who did kill her?’

  Sheila sighed. ‘We’ve been over this a million times. If we could have provided another name, then maybe Brendan would have been exonerated. But no, the few people we did wonder about all had watertight alibis.’

  Jackman looked at her. ‘The man who is killing people connected to the trial is ruthless, cunning, and has no human values whatsoever.’

  Sheila shook her head. ‘The people who help us are all ferociously loyal, but we’ve always done everything by the book. We’ve used the media, organised vigils and protests and written more letters than there are chapters in the bible.’ She smoothed the bedcover with stiff, knobbly fingers. ‘Liam has sometimes been confrontational, and he’s had a few fights, but no one I know of would stoop to anything like murder.’ She gave him a searching look. ‘It was murder that brought us to where we are now. Can you honestly see us falling that low?’

  ‘No, I can’t,’ Jackman said. ‘But someone has, so we need to talk to everyone who either knew Lyndsay or Brendan, or had a connection with the outcome of the murder trial. Has anyone you’ve come across during your campaign ever seemed overzealous, possibly manic, in the way they’ve spoken?’

  ‘We were all hot blooded to start with. We fought hard for Brendan and we believed we’d win.’ Tears welled up in her eyes. ‘Who would have dreamed it would go on this long? And we’re no nearer than we were at the start.’

  Jackman handed her a box of tissues from the bedside table. ‘That is why we now have to investigate everything again, to try to discover who this killer is. If it’s any consolation, I believe the truth will come out this time, although it may not be exactly what you want to hear.’

  For a moment Sheila didn’t answer. Then she said, ‘If the truth comes out, then you’ll find that my son was not guilty. I couldn’t have gone on for so long if I didn’t believe that.’

  ‘Whatever the outcome, I promise to tell you everything we uncover, and I truly hope we can give you closure.’

  ‘I hope that happens. It may come too late for me, but it would mean my children could finally be allowed to live their lives, without committing so much of them to their dead brother.’

  ‘They seem very different from each other, your children. In looks and temperament.’

  ‘Oh, they are! But then they are all adopted. My husband and I fostered dozens of abandoned and damaged children, and these are the ones I couldn’t let go. Brendan was my only natural child.’

  ‘I see.’ This struck Jackman as important, but he couldn’t say why. ‘Finally, Mrs Symons, is there anyone in your group of supporters that bothers or worries you in any way?’

  She was silent for a while. ‘There were a few people who didn’t exactly bother me, but I never quite took to them. We had a young man called Jeremy Shaw, an intelligent chap, but I was never truly certain about his motivations. I was told that he studied theology and had gone into the church, but had suffered a crisis of faith and left. I wondered if taking up our cause was a substitute for what he’d lost.’ She paused again. ‘And although I should never criticise Mark — that’s Mark Courtney, he’s been my spokesman for years — I still find him puzzling. He practically took over the whole thing at one point, but I always wondered why. He never even knew Brendan.’

  Sheila was starting to look tired, and Jackman brought the meeting to a close.

  As he got to the door, she said, ‘You’re different, aren’t you?’

  He stopped and smiled back at her. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘So do I.’ Sheila lay back and closed her eyes. ‘I believe you’re our last hope.’

  * * *

  ‘How’s Rosie?’ Robbie asked Max.

  ‘Pretty grim, mate, if I’m honest.’ Max flopped down into a chair in the CID room and yawned. ‘I’ve been up half the night with her.’

  ‘I thought the doc gave her something to help her sleep?’

  ‘She wouldn’t take it, the stubborn little mare! I told her she really needed help, but she’d have none of it.’ He shook his head. ‘She hates taking tablets. Said she’d seen too much of what drugs do to people.’

  ‘I can understand that, but a mild sedative would hardly have her hooked for life.’ Robbie smiled. ‘But she is stubborn, I’ll give you that.’

  ‘Immovable! One good thing, her eldest sister has come over to keep an eye on her. She’s a force of nature, and Rosie adores her, so, hopefully . . . ?’

  ‘Try not to worry, Max. Rosie will come through this, I’m convinced of it. I did, when I had a really bad time, and to be honest, I don’t think I have nearly as much strength of character as Rosie. So hang on in there, my friend.’

  Max swallowed and sighed heavily. ‘It kind of puts things into perspective.’

  ‘Like, how much you really care for someone?’ asked Robbie gently.

  ‘Bang on target. I mean, I knew I was pretty smitten, but hell . . .’

  ‘Dare I mention the word love?’ Robbie grinned.

  ‘With bells on!’

  ‘Then you’ll see her through.’ Robbie leaned forward and grasped his friend’s shoulder. ‘And if I can help, just let me know. I’m here for you, both of y
ou.’

  For a minute Robbie thought the tough Cockney was going to burst into tears. Then Max shook himself. ‘Ta, mate. Appreciate it. And now I guess we better get some work done, huh?’

  ‘Fancy interviewing some suspects for our DIY killer?’ Robbie asked.

  Max winced. ‘DIY killer. Gross, man. Don’t tell me you came up with that one?’

  Robbie held up his hands. ‘No way! It’s what the mess room are calling him. So, are you in? Because I’ve got a couple of names here that the boss wants us to talk to.’

  Max looked at the names on the memo Robbie showed him. ‘Christian Ventnor and Shaun Cooper? Who are they?’

  ‘Ventnor is one of Sheila Symons’s crusaders, and Cooper is a local guy who never joined the protest group, but he had a lot to say to the media. Very much an activist, but more of a loner by the sound of it.’

  Max rubbed his hands together. ‘Right. Then we better go talk to them, I guess.’

  It took fifteen minutes to reach the village of Saltville and Christian Ventnor’s house.

  Max whistled. ‘Nice pad. Wonder what this guy does for a living?’

  Robbie glanced at his notes. ‘Architect, I think.’ He looked up at the Georgian house. ‘But he sure didn’t design this.’ The house was a beautiful example of the middle-class homes of that era. Robbie reconsidered his preference for modern houses.

  ‘Are you thinking of just memorising this property, mate, or shall we ring the bell?’

  Robbie laughed. ‘Sorry, daydreaming.’ He rang the bell and stepped back.

  Christian Ventnor took a while to answer, but when he did, he merely glanced at their ID and swung the door wide. ‘Come in! Come in! This way, gentlemen.’

  He ushered Robbie and Max into an elegant sitting room. The focal point was an arched cast-iron fireplace set in an intricately carved wooden surround. Robbie liked it. ‘Lovely house, sir.’

  ‘Family home, Officer. But even though it’s just me left, I can’t part with it.’

  Ventnor was a tall, thin man. He wore his hair rather too long for someone in their mid-forties. His skin was pale, his eyes a washed-out blue, but he radiated energy.