THE GUILTY ONES a gripping crime thriller filled with stunning twists

by Joy Ellis

  “John Edward Blake, you are charged that on the Eighth Day of June, 1995, you did wilfully rape and murder Lyndsay Beth Ashcroft. How do you plead? Guilty or not guilty?”

  Once again they heard the sounds of a struggle. Jackman could envisage the man in the dock fighting to free himself.

  After a while a different voice cried out, “You’re mad! I’ve never killed anyone!”

  “Liar!”

  The words were screamed, so loud they all jumped. From that moment, Alistair Ashcroft seemed to abandon his carefully-staged courtroom procedure, and instead of calmly presenting his opening statement, unleashed a volley of accusations that Jackman and the others found hard to follow.

  As the rant continued, Jackman gradually came to realise that if Ashcroft was telling the truth, his lovely sister-in-law Sarah and her closest friend Suri had made a terrible mistake all those years ago. And what was worse, Brendan Symons really had been innocent.

  As Ashcroft’s story unfolded, Jackman began to feel something approaching despair. Initially the accused man, John Blake, denied everything or refused to answer the accusations against him. Then, as the minutes ticked by, they could hear him being slowly worn down by Ashcroft’s unrelenting pressure. Finally, snivelling and pleading to be set free, he admitted the lot.

  Jackman and Marie, and their colleagues gathered in the doorway, listened in shocked silence while the rage in Ashcroft’s voice abated. Abruptly, his voice changed to a local accent, and now he was the foreman of the jury, and he was finding the man guilty.

  Just as quickly, Ashcroft reassumed his “judicial” tone. They heard the “judge” pass sentence, and the other man screaming and pleading to be released from this madness.

  It was hard to listen to. Ashcroft had left the recording running while he sedated the “prisoner” and then forced him up the stairs. The last thing they heard was the sudden creak of the rope as Blake’s weight snapped his own neck. Jackman swallowed hard.

  The recording ended.

  No one spoke, and then they all trooped out into the fresh air. Darkness was falling and he was chilled to the bone. It would be hours before forensics were finished, and right now he needed to go over everything they had heard with his team.

  ‘Back to the station everyone, and Sam and Laura too, if that’s okay? We need to talk this through.’

  He thought the group looked like mannequins posed in some dark tableau. They stood as if unable to move, clearly shocked to the core by what they had just heard. Then, still silent, they nodded and began to drift away towards their respective vehicles.

  ‘Max?’ Jackman called the young detective back. He had noticed Robbie Melton giving a brief worried glance in Max’s direction when he had asked them all to return to the station.

  ‘You should get home, Max. I know how worried you are about Rosie. You can catch up in the morning.’

  Max took a deep breath. ‘No, sir. I’ll see this through.’

  Jackman stared at him, touched by his loyalty. ‘I appreciate your devotion to duty, Detective. But on this occasion, I really think you should go home.’

  ‘No, sir’, said Max doggedly. ‘As you said earlier, we have to catch this man before he does any more damage. I’ll go, but only after your debriefing.’

  Jackman watched Max walk back to join Robbie, realising, perhaps for the first time, just how deep the young man’s feelings were for Rosie McElderry. Max’s divided loyalties were painful to see. Then Laura’s words came back to him, reminding him that he should look carefully at the weak points of those around him. There was no doubt as to Max Cohen’s Achilles heel.

  Where was this all going to end?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  As soon as they returned to base, Jackman had Robbie look for the name John Edward Blake on the Police National Computer. Finding nothing, he checked local intelligence and then in desperation, Googled him and checked on social media. He found him there.

  ‘Hey! This guy was one of the Symons family’s greatest adversaries! He was adamant that Brendan was guilty, and he was interviewed at the time of Lyndsay’s death. He lived in the same village and apparently knew her quite well.’ Robbie stared at his monitor screen. ‘Looks like he ran an opposing campaign group that used to turn up at Sheila Symons’s demonstrations and heckle them.’

  Jackman frowned. ‘If he really was the man who killed Lyndsay, then he was obviously trying to keep the blame pinned firmly on Brendan.’

  They had all gathered in the CID room and sat around with cups of coffee and tea, attempting to make sense of what they had heard.

  Jackman stared into his coffee. ‘The bottom line is that on the night of Lyndsay’s murder, there were three sets of people in the woods watching her and Brendan. Sarah and Suri, Lyndsay’s little brother Alistair, and John Blake. Sarah and her friend didn’t lie, they reported exactly what they saw, but they didn’t see it all.’

  ‘The only one to see the whole horrible incident was a small, disturbed boy — Alistair Ashcroft,’ Marie said quietly.

  ‘Little brother watched Brendan leave his sister in the clearing, and then saw John step out of the trees and approach her. He saw him argue with her, shouting that she wouldn’t let him touch her but she let the Symons boy go all the way. Bitterly jealous, he forced himself upon her and when she resisted, he killed her. Possibly killing her was never his aim, maybe he was trying to stop her screaming, but whatever, he lost it and killed her.’ Jackman sat back.

  ‘And, Little Al saw the whole thing, and totally traumatised, made the big mistake of telling his father.’ Robbie sounded glum.

  Laura was swirling her tea around in her mug. ‘Did I gather correctly from the recording that Daddy Ashcroft was business partners with John Blake’s father?’

  Jackman nodded. ‘And I think we can safely assume that there was no way Charles Ashcroft was going to have his lucrative business ventures ruined, which is why he sent the boy away before he could tell anyone else.’

  ‘What a heartless bastard,’ murmured Max. ‘And look at the chaos his decision caused. Twenty-two years later, his demented son is stalking the streets of Saltern, killing anyone who was involved in that cock-up of a trial.’

  ‘Well, he has concluded his vendetta,’ Sam added. ‘This trial and judgement was certainly his coup de grace. The thing is, and I mentioned this earlier, I don’t think he’ll be able to stop killing now.’

  Laura sighed. ‘I agree with you. And from his mood swings during that “trial,” going from controlled to manic and back again in a matter of seconds, I think he is becoming disorganised.’

  Sam nodded vehemently. ‘And that is a very nasty supposition indeed. On the one hand, he might get overconfident and hence sloppy, which could help you to catch him, but on the other hand, he’ll be volatile and unpredictable, which could make him very dangerous indeed.’

  ‘More dangerous than this?’ Marie said.

  No one spoke.

  ‘Going back to John Blake,’ Robbie rubbed at his chin thoughtfully, ‘we should check the whole transcript of the real trial of Brendon Symons. I only read through it briefly, but there were a dozen character witness statements and I don’t recall seeing Blake’s name.’

  ‘Me neither,’ added Max. ‘Shall I pull it up, sir?’

  Jackman shook his head. ‘Not tonight. And since the original verdict was wrong, it won’t help us catch this killer. Right now, I want you all to get home. This meeting was just to consolidate our recollections of what we heard. Until we get an official working copy of that recording, it’s all we have to go on.’ Jackman was careful not to look at Marie, or the smartphone that was in her hand.

  ‘All I keep hearing is the creak of that rope,’ Laura said softly. ‘I think I’ll go on hearing it until the day I die.’

  Jackman bitterly regretted having allowed her to be there. If she had nightmares, it would be his fault, and that wasn’t what he wished for Laura Archer. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said helplessly. ‘I should
never—’

  ‘Stop right there.’ Her tone was sharp. ‘I’m a professional, Jackman. I’ll deal with it.’

  As everyone finally pulled on their coats and jackets, Jackman’s eyes stayed on Laura. One of his vulnerabilities.

  * * *

  ‘What time do you call this?’

  Max opened his mouth to make excuses, then saw a glint of amusement in Beverley’s eyes. Rosie’s sister had a powerful personality, and to tell the truth, she scared him a bit.

  ‘Bad night,’ he muttered, wanting only to get past her and see Rosie.

  ‘We’ve been waiting up for you. I thought you were never coming home.’

  He stood still. ‘Is Rosie worse?’

  Bev laughed. ‘No, she’s a whole lot better.’

  ‘Then . . . ?’ Max was tired and confused.

  ‘She wants to talk to you, Max. I’m off to bed. See you in the morning.’

  He found Rosie curled up on the sofa, her legs tucked up underneath her, cradling a big mug of hot chocolate.

  ‘Hey, you!’ He bent and gave her a kiss. ‘Bev says you are feeling a bit better.’

  Rosie patted the seat next to her and he flopped down thankfully. She seemed much more like her old self, but he was wary of asking too many questions. Instead he took the mug from her, placed it on the coffee table and took her hand. He squeezed it gently. ‘I’m really sorry I’m late, sweetheart. I wanted to be with you, not working.’

  ‘It’s alright, Max. I know you have to work.’ She squeezed his hand in return. ‘And I can guess what’s happened, but for once I’m not going to ask. Instead . . .’ She turned and looked into his eyes. ‘I’ve found out why this case has upset me so badly.’

  She looked so intense that Max wondered if he was ready to hear what she had to say.

  ‘Apparently pregnant women can react to things in a rather over-emotional way.’

  He re-ran the sentence several times before it made sense.

  ‘Pregnant? You are . . . ? We are . . . ?’

  Rosie smiled tentatively. ‘Yes, Max. You’re going to be a father.’ The smiles faded. ‘I just hope the news is—’

  ‘It’s the best thing ever!’ he blurted out. He took hold of her in a tight embrace.

  Max came from a big family, and his childhood had been happy. It hadn’t been easy, being the youngest of so many, but he’d learned the importance of having a loving support network about you as a kid.

  ‘I couldn’t be more delighted, I . . . !’ For once in his life, Max Cohen couldn’t think of a thing to say.

  ‘I only did the test this morning. It was Beverley who thought of it. I never dreamed . . . I mean, we were so careful.’

  ‘Except once.’

  ‘Oh, yes. You mean that time in the—’

  ‘Yep. But, just once, and this happens?’ Max could hardly believe it possible. It would turn their lives upside down, but he didn’t mind at all. His child! He smiled. It was like a blessing.

  ‘All day I’ve been wondering how you’d take it. I thought you’d be pleased — I mean, you love kids, and you’re so good with them — but it will mean a lot of changes.’ She looked down. ‘I could never, ever have an a—’

  ‘Don’t even say the word. It’s not going to happen.’ Like the Cheshire Cat, Max’s grin stretched from ear to ear. ‘You know what, Rosie McElderry? I think it’s come at just the right time, don’t you?’

  * * *

  Jackman was exhausted when he got back to Mill Corner. He pulled into his carport, got out and locked the car.

  It felt good just to unlock his big, old, wooden door, looking forward to seeing the things he loved. He wanted to escape the madness for a few hours, have some peace for a while.

  ‘Stand perfectly still, DI Jackman.’

  Jackman froze.

  ‘Not one move. Understand?’

  Jackman took a breath and tried to gather his scattered thoughts. ‘I understand.’

  ‘Good.’

  Alistair Ashcroft stood in the shadows. Jackman heard a dull metallic click, and knew what it meant. The gun’s safety catch was off.

  ‘I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to talk.’ Ashcroft’s tone was calm and reasonable.

  ‘And I just want you in my custody suite,’ spat Jackman.

  Ashcroft gave a low chuckle. ‘I’m sure you do, but it’s not going to happen, and you know it.’

  Jackman said nothing for a moment. ‘Okay, we’ll talk.’

  Ashcroft stepped onto the porch. The security light lit him up like a spotlight on an actor. He looked vaguely familiar. Yes, it was the man from the CCTV footage, but there was something else too. Jackman knew him from somewhere.

  ‘It doesn’t matter who I was, who I became. All you need to know is who I am now, and you know that already.’

  ‘Alistair Ashcroft.’

  ‘Yes. I began life with that name, and then had it taken from me. But now I’m back. That’s all that matters.’

  ‘What matters to me is that you drove Sarah, and a lot of other people, to take their own lives. You had no right to do that.’ Jackman struggled to keep an even tone.

  ‘I had every right! The law,’ he snorted, ‘the law failed Lyndsay miserably, and it caused the death of an innocent boy — Brendan Symons. I righted that wrong, Mr Policeman. A wrong that you and your kind couldn’t even see, though it was staring you in the face.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you tell us? You saw what happened, for God’s sake! If anyone was to blame, it was you!’

  In the silence that followed, Jackman thought he’d gone too far. He clenched his hands and waited for the shot, desperately regretting his words.

  ‘Have you any idea what it’s like to be a neglected and abused child, Rowan? No, of course you haven’t. You had a mother who adored you. Your father wasn’t around much but you had everything you needed, and more. You were privileged. Fortunate. I wasn’t. Very nice woman, your mother, by the way. I liked her a lot.’

  Jackman took a step toward Ashcroft, unable to prevent himself.

  ‘Think it through, Jackman. Not a single move, remember?’

  Jackman closed his eyes for a moment and tried to regain his composure.

  ‘Sensible man. Now relax, and I’ll tell you why I never spoke out.’

  ‘I think I already know. You were just a kid, and you’d just witnessed something too horrific for words. Of course you weren’t to blame, I shouldn’t have said that. But I can never forgive you for what you’ve done to my nephews.’

  ‘If they are strong, they will survive. After all, I survived.’

  Jackman wondered at what cost his survival had come.

  ‘They needed to pay. Everyone who had anything to do with that travesty of justice had to pay.’

  ‘And now they have.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘My God, you’ve just hanged a man! Don’t you feel any remorse at all?’

  Alistair laughed. ‘Why should I? Did he feel remorse for what he did? No, he didn’t. Instead he stood by while an innocent young man went to prison and subsequently died there. He got what he deserved.’

  Ignoring this, Jackman decided to chance a question. ‘There’s something I don’t understand. Your sister was dead, and there was nothing that would bring her back. It looks to me as if you are avenging Brendan’s death rather than hers.’

  ‘Brendan was the only person who was kind to me. Even Lyndsay was unkind sometimes, although I know she loved me deep down. But she made me promise, swear . . .’

  ‘Promise what, Alistair?’

  ‘Never to speak of what she and Brendan were planning to do. She made me swear.’

  As Ashcroft spoke these words, Jackman became aware of a change in his voice. All at once he sounded like a frightened child.

  ‘She said . . . oh, she said terrible things would happen to me. I believed she died because I followed her and spied on her.’

  ‘But you told your father, and you hated him,’ Jackman said.<
br />
  ‘He knew.’ Ashcroft’s voice trembled. ‘He took one look at me and just knew. And he beat me until I told him everything. I even told him they’d been planning on running away and taking me with them. I betrayed her.’

  He couldn’t be sure, but Jackman thought Alistair Ashcroft was crying. That day, a small boy’s hopes and dreams had all been shattered. Not only did he lose his sister, he lost his one chance of gaining a better life.

  ‘Then he sent you away,’ Jackman said softly.

  ‘And then he died.’ Now Ashcroft sounded almost gleeful. ‘And my new life began.’ He paused. ‘Anyway, Jackman, I just thought it would be nice for us to meet face to face for once. I’m going to leave you now, but we’ll meet again, you can be sure of that.’

  How could he let him just walk away? But Ashcroft was armed. Jackman felt helpless. ‘Who are you?’

  Ashcroft sighed. ‘Work it out. It will come to you as soon as I’ve gone. But can’t you understand? It doesn’t matter! How many more times do I have to tell you? I am Alistair Ashcroft, and I’m your worst nightmare.’

  * * *

  Close by, a motorbike engine roared into life and Ashcroft was gone.

  With shaking hands, Jackman let himself into his house. He shut the door and locked it, and then poured himself a brandy. “Work it out. It will come to you as soon as I’ve gone.” The words rattled around in his head. Why then? What had he meant? Jackman swallowed a good third of the drink and exhaled loudly.

  Ashcroft had told him nothing that he didn’t know or couldn’t have worked out for himself. His visit had been all about power.

  Jackman took another mouthful of the brandy and saw in his mind’s eye the tall, slim-hipped figure, clad in black. “It will come to you . . .”

  Jackman groaned and the glass almost fell from his fingers. When he uttered those words, Ashcroft’s voice had taken on the slightest hint of an accent.

  Jackman grabbed his keys and rushed out into the night. He had to get back to the police station. Fast.

  * * *

  ‘Annie! Is she in tonight?’ he shouted at the officer at the desk.

  ‘Yes, sir, she’s probably on the super’s floor by now.’