THE GUILTY ONES a gripping crime thriller filled with stunning twists

by Joy Ellis

  ‘More like this stage in her death, Inspector.’

  Kenny sounded tired, as if he were doing everything on automatic. Maybe it was like that when you were waiting for someone you loved to die. Jackman could not imagine life without his mother. His father was a different story. His dad had always been more of a figurehead than a hands-on parent. He would hate to lose him — after all, you only had one father. But miss him? How could you miss someone who was never there in the first place?

  ‘Are you married, Kenny?’

  Kenny nodded. ‘Jennifer. She’s a really lovely human being. Patient, too. She knows that I have to support Mum, and she’s taken on everything until I get home again.’

  ‘That’s good. You need someone like that when things get difficult.’ Jackman paused. ‘Kenny, I need to get a picture of the real Brendan. I’ve had your mum’s version, now can I have yours? Please be as candid as you can.’

  Kenny was silent for a while. ‘We were close, but I always felt there was part of him I didn’t know. He was funny, easy-going. He liked people to think of him as a bit of a bad boy, but he was really very sweet.’ He stared down at his hands, clasped tight. ‘I knew what he had in mind that night.’

  Jackman tensed. He remained silent.

  ‘He borrowed a condom from me. He said he and Lyndsay had decided that they wanted to . . . to do it, but he was worried about getting her pregnant.’

  Kenny looked thoroughly miserable.

  ‘I told him to wait, but he said she was really up for it, and he didn’t want to let her down.’ He sniffed. ‘Jesus, how I wish he had! Stupid sod. For all his bravado, it was his first time too.’

  ‘Did Brendan have a temper? Is there any chance that he got carried away in the heat of the moment? Wanted more, maybe?’ Jackman asked.

  Kenny looked up at Jackman. ‘Brendan was the peacemaker in our family, Inspector. I never saw him lose his temper, never once.’

  They sat in silence for a moment, then Jackman said, ‘Is there anyone in your group of supporters who you believe is capable of taking the law into his own hands, of committing terrible crimes to right a perceived wrong?’

  ‘How can I answer that? Everyone was fired up at one point. There was a time when I could have named quite a few like that, but now the flames burn low, and with a few exceptions we’re running out of steam.’

  ‘And those exceptions?’

  ‘Mark Courtney seems as passionate as he ever was. And Art Pullen, well, he’s just a constant. Reliable Art, the girls call him. Every meeting, every rally, every protest, Art’s there.’

  Jackman hadn’t heard that name before.

  ‘And let’s not forget my brothers.’ Kenny’s tone was sombre. ‘The girls and I agree that as we run out of steam, the more enthusiastic Dale and Liam get.’

  ‘What do you think will happen when your mother passes?’

  ‘I’ve thought about that long and hard. I believe the family will disintegrate, Inspector. Mother is the glue that holds us together. Unless she gives some deathbed edict that we have to obey, we’ll all just fade away like the pearled dew of May.’

  ‘What did you study at university, if I might ask?’ Jackman made a bet with himself.

  ‘English Literature.’

  ‘I thought so,’ Jackman said. ‘It explains your evocative language.’

  Kenny raised an eyebrow. ‘Purple prose? It’s the mood I’m in at present.’

  Jackman stood up. ‘I’m sorry, this is an awful time for you. But please, if you think of anything, or hear anything that could help us, just ring me.’

  Kenny stood up and looked thoughtfully at Jackman. ‘Mother trusts you. She’s never trusted a copper before, and she’s got good reason. Can I ask? Do you know something about our Brendan? Could there be some new evidence that would prove his innocence?’

  Jackman had to remind himself that this man was still a possible suspect, despite his educated and pleasant manner. ‘Sorry, Kenny, not yet. But as I said to your mother, we are going to take this whole case apart, so who knows what we might uncover?’

  Jackman left Kenny at the door, staring after him.

  As he got into his car, his phone rang. ‘Marie?’

  He listened and broke into a smile. ‘Brilliant! I’m on my way back. This could be what we’ve been waiting for! Well done!’

  * * *

  It was lunchtime when Jackman got back. Even so, the CID room was full of officers.

  ‘How about an impromptu meeting, just to bring each other up to speed on where we are?’

  Everyone agreed.

  Jackman began with his opinions on Sheila and Kenny Symons, ‘Dale, Liam and Susie were out when I called, so they are next in line for a chat. What luck did you have, Robbie?’

  In glorious technicolour, Robbie and Max described the pompous Christian Ventnor. Max added that they had had no luck with tracking down Shaun Cooper. ‘The neighbour said he was often around in the afternoons, so we’ll try again.’

  Marie reported on their meeting with Beatrice Harper. ‘We’re doing all we can to find out what happened to Lyndsay’s brother. If nothing else, he might have been a witness to her murder.’

  Jackman nodded. ‘Nevertheless, keep up the interviews, but the rest of your time, help Marie and Gary find Alistair Ashcroft, okay? And Charlie? Any news from forensics on our double murder?’

  ‘No, sir. Shall I ring the professor?’

  ‘No. If he has anything for us, he’ll let us know.’

  Marie raised her hand. ‘Shall I run this by Orac, sir? She seems to be able to access records that we’ve never even heard of. Perhaps she could help track down Alistair.’

  ‘Good idea. You liaise.’

  Marie grinned.

  ‘Okay, folks. Back to work.’

  ‘DI Jackman?’ Jackman turned and saw the drawn face of Annie, the supervisor of the cleaning team. ‘Sorry to bother you, but could we clean the offices early today? We’ve had a bit of a week with illness and staffing problems and I’m left with only Eric to do the whole station.’

  Jackman nodded. ‘No problem. Just let us know where you need to go.’ He liked Annie. She was reliable and a hard worker. He couldn’t say the same for Eric. He didn’t even know the man, but he didn’t appreciate people who went off and left their fellow workers to mop up their mess. ‘It’s not like Stefan to be sick.’

  ‘Poor lad, he’s not sick, but his little kiddie is. She has some sort of congenital illness and apparently she’s quite poorly this time.’

  ‘I never knew,’ said Jackman.

  ‘Not many do. Stefan’s not like Eric, who tells anyone who will listen all about his illnesses and his problems.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Actually, sir, I’ve requested that Eric be moved from my team. He spends far too long chatting to the women. He’s not a team player, sir, and I’ve had enough of him.’

  ‘Good for you, Annie. Hope they agree.’

  ‘Me too, and I’ll make sure to do your office myself in future. Eric’s been doing it, and although he spends a lot of time, he doesn’t seem to get much cleaning done.’

  ‘Then it’s time he moved on, Annie. Want me to endorse your recommendation?’

  ‘I’m okay, sir. They’ll take my word, I’m sure. I’ve worked for the company since it began, twenty-five years ago.’ Annie grinned at him. ‘I’ll get my own way over this, you’ll see.’

  * * *

  Ella finished her chores early, running on nervous energy. She had phoned the school twice, just to put her mind at rest, even though she knew there was a plainclothes police officer there, disguised as a trainee teaching assistant. What now? There was only so much cooking, tidying up and ironing you could do. She was beginning to understand how terrified Sarah must have felt. She hadn’t seen the Bad Man herself — it had been the boys who had spotted him — but she believed them absolutely, and was certain he wasn’t imaginary. True, Miles was artistic and sometimes fanciful, but she was sure that his nightmares were based
on reality. Ryan was too serious to make up stories.

  Ella folded the boy’s ironed pyjamas and took them upstairs to the airing cupboard. She was just closing the door when she had an idea. It had been suggested that one of the police officers collect the boys from school. She had protested that she should continue as normal, to give the lads continuity. But what if she agreed to them being picked up? She could go to the school early and find a hidden spot from where she could watch the gates. If their Bad Man really was watching them, she might just see him for herself.

  She went back downstairs and thought it over. There was nothing to lose, and it was better than pacing the house and worrying herself sick. Should she tell Jackman? She pulled a face. He had more important things on his mind. She just hoped one of them wasn’t Laura Archer. Ella flopped down into an armchair. She was sure there had been a spark of electricity between Jackman and Laura last night. The trouble was, she really liked Laura, which made it much worse.

  She jumped up again. This was stupid! She hadn’t felt like this since the sixth form! Wasn’t she a bit old to develop a crush? Action, that’s what she needed, something to take her mind off gorgeous detective inspectors.

  Ella pulled on a jacket and went to find her car keys. She’d talk to the police officer stationed at the entrance to the school drive, and arrange for Ryan and Miles to have a police escort home. Meanwhile, she would do her own detective work

  * * *

  Brushing straw from her trousers, Harriet Jackman left the stable. Her newest acquisition, a rescue pony called Sherbet, was showing signs of improvement. Harriet ran a riding and livery stables, but occasionally someone would tell her a sad story of an animal that needed help, and before she knew it, she’d find herself with yet another mouth to feed. Sherbet had been left in a field with no shelter and only a matted old rug for protection. He had developed rainscald, a skin infection caused by persistent saturation, and his back and quarters had been covered in sores. Now the skin was healing and the hair growing back, and Harriet was delighted. Sherbet was a grey Connemara Pony that would be perfect for the boys. Connemaras were good-tempered and intelligent, and Harriet thought that having a pony of their own would be a wonderful way to lift their spirits.

  As she walked back across the yard, she saw one of her stablehands, a teenager called Erin, talking to a tall, rather good-looking man in a Barbour wax jacket and beige moleskin trousers.

  ‘Can I help?’ she asked.

  ‘This gentleman was enquiring about stabling his horse with us, Mrs Jackman.’

  The man held out his hand. ‘I’m Edward Craven. I have to go abroad on business in a month’s time, and sad to say, I don’t trust my daughters to give their horse sufficient care while I’m away. They are not bad girls but their attention seems to be wandering from horses to boys — need I say more?’

  Harriet laughed. ‘Probably not. What breed is your horse? And how old is it?’

  ‘She’s a Snowflake Appaloosa, Mrs Jackman, twelve years old. Her name is Fleur. She’s a docile creature and loves being ridden. Do you think you could take her?’

  ‘I’ll have to check the diary. Would you like to come across to the office, Mr Craven?’

  They strolled over to the stables’ office and Harriet opened the diary. ‘Do you live round here?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh yes, and you came highly recommended.’ The man grinned. ‘Your son, actually. I met him at a function and we got talking horses. He told me all about his lovely Arabian event horse, Glory.’

  Harriet smiled. ‘I thought he was never going to get over the death of that horse. She was his world.’

  ‘So he said.’

  ‘So what dates are you looking at?’ Harriet looked up at him.

  ‘Let’s say exactly one month from now, then even if my trip is delayed, I’ll know she’s settled in.’

  Harriet found herself thinking that he would make a brilliant narrator for audiobooks. His voice was quite mesmerising. ‘Yes, we can do that. I suggest we work on a weekly rate, then if your trip is extended, or shortened, you won’t be paying more than you have to. Naturally, we will provide a contract. All the usual things — vets, farriers, insurance, stable rules and so on.’

  ‘Of course. I have transport, so I’ll bring her myself.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Oh, is that the time? Lord, I have an appointment. Can you pencil me in, and I’ll ring you later with all my details?’

  He gave Harriet a mobile number.

  ‘We’ll be pleased to look after her for you,’ Harriet said.

  ‘Thank you so much and forgive me for being so rude, Mrs Jackman. Give my best to your son. I’ll ring tonight. Around seven?’

  ‘Perfect. Hear from you then.’

  Harriet scribbled a note to remind herself to expect his call, then went to the pharmacy cupboard to work out Sherbet’s next course of treatment. If he kept up this rate of recovery, in a few weeks’ time her lovely grandsons would have a pony of their own.

  * * *

  Once she had notified the police and the school of the temporary change of routine, Ella felt quite excited to be doing something positive. Part of her missed her old job as a scene-of-crime officer. It was something that made a difference.

  Prior to Harriet Jackman’s request for her help, Ella had been dangerously close to a serious breakdown. The plight of the Jackman boys had spurred her into action and given purpose to her life, and she knew that by the time the family no longer needed her, she would be capable of moving forward again.

  The school was situated at the bottom of a leafy, tree-lined avenue. The parents parked along the avenue, and then gathered at the gates to wait for their chattering offspring to be released back into their care. Ella walked towards the school, looking for suitable places to conceal herself.

  She chose a spot a little to the left of the gates, on a grassy mound that housed a seat, a litter bin and a few straggly bushes. Some parents would sit there and wait if they had arrived early, so she didn’t feel too conspicuous. After all, she could hardly lurk behind a tree, could she? Better to just act naturally.

  Her view of the gates was about as good as it got, so she settled down with a book open on her lap, and kept a careful eye on the gathering throng of parents.

  Some of them she knew by sight, a few she occasionally spoke to, and there were a couple of local women she remembered from her own schooldays.

  There were very few men in the company, and she recognised those from when she collected Ryan and Miles. She sat on, beginning to feel very silly. There was very little chance of Miles’s Bad Man turning up every day. How often would she have to come here?

  And then she saw someone she didn’t recognise.

  A man stood at the back of the group. He was tall, wearing a black leather bomber jacket and black jeans. He wasn’t watching the school gates.

  He was watching her.

  Ella realised that she’d stopped breathing.

  Then he made a small gesture, and it froze the blood in her veins. The man pointed to himself, lifted his hand and directed two fingers at his eyes, then aimed a finger at her.

  The message was as clear as it could possibly be: I’m watching you.

  Ella sat, unable to move. She watched, rigid with fear, as he moved away from the crowd of waiting parents. Then all she could see was his back, disappearing between the parked cars.

  For a moment she had no idea what to do, then she pulled out her phone, rang Jackman, and sprinted towards the school gates just as they opened. All she could think of was that she wanted the boys in her arms.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  When Marie arrived in Orac’s basement underworld, she was surprised to see a whole group of technicians hard at work. Generally Orac worked alone, or with just one or two assistants.

  ‘Bad time?’ she asked.

  ‘No, no. Come in, Marie.’ Orac smiled at her, those disturbing eyes glinting in the half darkness. ‘Housekeeping. I’m cleaning.’

  M
arie frowned. There were no dusters or polish in evidence.

  ‘Cleaning out the crap that builds up in the systems. We can’t afford to leave the smallest bit of info hanging around for some hacker to grab hold of. I run a tight ship, my friend.’

  Marie didn’t doubt that for one second. ‘I need your help.’

  ‘You? Or Jackman?’ There was a hint of amusement in Orac’s voice.

  ‘Well, both really. We wondered if you could trace a boy who went missing in 1995. It was assumed that he was sent to a special school, for autistic children. He’s never been seen since.’

  Orac ran the tip of her tongue across her lips. ‘Sounds interesting. Give me what you have.’

  ‘His name is Alistair Ashcroft and his address was Ash Grange, Nettleby. Father, Charles, mother unknown. One sibling, named Lyndsay. Aged around nine when he was sent away. Said to have learning difficulties, possibly autism. And that is all we have.’

  ‘That’s plenty to be getting on with.’ Orac spun her chair to face Marie. ‘Can I ask why you are interested in him?’

  ‘He might have witnessed the murder of his sister, Lyndsay Ashcroft.’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘That’s a good reason to want to find him.’

  ‘There is also an outside chance that he is our killer.’

  ‘Then I’d better start work immediately, hadn’t I?’ Orac picked up a folder. ‘Before I forget, these are for you. The results of the checks I ran on Sarah’s laptop. It’s basically a string of locations, but what it comes down to is that Sarah’s nemesis made the calls and sent the emails from here in Saltern. We will never find the caller ID but I’m guessing it doesn’t even exist anymore. It’s the best we can do.’ Orac turned back to her screen. Still facing it she said, ‘Something really bothers me about those two women’s deaths.’

  Marie waited.

  ‘Why London? Why not throw yourself in the Westland River? Jump from the local hospital roof? That’s the tallest building round here. Why go all the way to London to kill yourself?’