Next Victim

by Helen H. Durrant

  “Alice?” Elwyn asked, checking his watch. “Up to it?”

  “Yeah, why not? Then a takeaway and home.”

  “Er, my stuff?”

  “Can we do that tomorrow? By the time we’ve spoken to Alice, we’ll be totally knackered.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rachel pulled up outside Alice Brough’s address. “Nice area,” Elwyn said.

  It was a large detached house, built in the fifties. “I know. That’s why I live here too.” She glanced at him, smiling. “You do know where we are?”

  Elwyn shrugged.

  “Our cottage is about half a mile away, that’s all.”

  “Background?” Elwyn asked.

  “Her dad is fairly well-heeled. But he works hard for it and is away a lot, leaving her at home alone for long periods of time. Over the last few years that’s made Alice more insular than is good for a teenage girl. She has a tendency to become obsessed with things, ideas and people. For a while I was concerned about how attached she was to Megan.”

  “Are they the same age?”

  “Yes, although I think Alice is young for her age. Sometimes she comes across as almost childlike.” Rachel pressed the doorbell. “We’ll go easy. Alice is emotionally delicate. There has been no mother on the scene since she was very young. Her father tries, but he’s too wrapped up in his work.”

  Alice answered the door. “Mrs King?” She looked puzzled. “Megan isn’t here.”

  Rachel gave her a friendly smile. The girl had her hair tied in the usual plaits, and she was wearing a fake fur onesie. Rachel gave Elwyn a discreet nudge. She didn’t want any smart comments. “I know. It’s you we’d like to talk to. Can we come in?”

  Alice stood aside and gestured towards the living room. “This isn’t a social call then?”

  “No. We’re here to ask you some questions about Oliver Frodsham,” Rachel said.

  “Ask away. But I won’t pretend I’m sorry he’s dead,” she admitted. “I’m glad. He deserved everything he got, and more. I’ve heard the rumours, and I hope he suffered.”

  Rachel was taken aback by her outburst. This wasn’t the Alice she knew. “That’s harsh. You surprise me.”

  “You have no idea what he was like.” She spoke sharply. “Ask Megan, she knew.”

  “The lad is dead, Alice. Murdered in the most horrific way,” Rachel said gently.

  “He deserved it, and more. He played the most awful trick on me. I can never forgive that. He made me the laughing stock of our class at college. I have a hard enough time fitting in as it is without help from morons like him. Most folk saw only one side to Ollie. But it was all a sham. In reality, he was crafty and underhand, and even violent. I tackled him about his methods once. He just said that was how he needed to be to get what he wanted.”

  “And what was that?”

  “His own way.”

  The hatred was real. Rachel saw the steel in her eyes. A side of Alice that was both shocking and new to her. This Alice was a world away from the mild-mannered, soft-spoken girl who’d often eaten at their house.

  “When did you see him last?” Elwyn asked.

  “The day he died. You found his body the following morning, so it must have been.”

  “How was he then?”

  “Just as hateful as ever. Kept going on about how he’d taken me in, what a soft touch I was. I gave him money, you know. I’d have done anything for him. I really thought he was my Alfie.”

  It dawned on Rachel just what a huge deal this was for Alice. Her search for her twin brother, Alfie, had dominated her young life. But was the joke he’d played on her a good enough motive for murder? “Do you have an alibi for the night Oliver was killed?”

  “I saw him that afternoon outside uni. I went to a lecture at two. It finished at three thirty, and then I came home.”

  “Was anyone else here?”

  “No. My dad’s away, some conference in Amsterdam.” She thought for a moment. “Oh, Sarah was here. She lives up the road. Her mother made me some tea and Sarah brought it round. We got talking, opened a bottle of wine, and she didn’t leave until gone midnight.”

  So that was that. According to Butterfield, the lad was already dead by then. Providing her alibi stuck, that ruled Alice out.

  “You said you gave him money. How much?”

  “Five hundred. He said he needed it to get some new clothes and stuff. I let him stay here too, when my dad was away.”

  “Didn’t you consider telling your dad about Oliver being Alfie?” asked Rachel. “That would have been the obvious way to go.”

  “My dad refuses to admit that Alfie ever existed.” Alice sifted through a pile of papers on a coffee table by the sofa. “Here, look at this, Mrs King. You’ll understand this stuff.”

  She handed Rachel a birth certificate. It was indeed for an Alfie Brough, and the parents had the same names as Alice’s. “This is my birth certificate.” She handed Rachel another document. “Same day, date, parents — everything in fact.”

  “Is it genuine?” Elwyn was looking over Rachel’s shoulder.

  “Yes. The question is, is this is a coincidence or not? Another Alfie Brough, born to parents with the same surname as yours, Alice.”

  “Born and registered on the same date! I’ve been to see the registrar, checked the register myself. You’re as bad as my dad. He said exactly the same thing.” Her face twisted in anger. “I’m sick of having to keep saying it. The boy named on that certificate is my twin brother! I remember him, then he disappeared. No one took it seriously at the time, so what chance do I have, all these years later?”

  “How can that be true?” Elwyn asked, puzzled. “Children don’t just go missing without a big hue and cry. What about your mother? She would have been desperate.”

  “I don’t know what she did. No one will tell me anything.”

  “Where is your mother, Alice?” Elwyn asked.

  “No one will tell me that either. She just disappeared. My father doesn’t seem to care. They were always fighting anyway.”

  “Was there someone else?” Rachel asked.

  “No. He hasn’t been out with another woman since.”

  “Do you have any other proof that your brother existed?” Rachel asked her.

  “I have this.” She passed over a photo. It showed a woman standing with a small child on either side of her, a boy and a girl. She was smiling happily, and so were the children.

  “Me, my mother and Alfie in the garden of this house. We would have been about five.”

  “Which hospital were you born in, Alice?”

  “Stockport,” Alice said.

  “I don’t understand how your father can deny this.” Rachel handed the photo back. “You have a certificate, a photo . . . why doesn’t he just tell you what happened?”

  “Because I think he killed them.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was early evening, dusk just beginning to fall. The man usually stayed out of sight at this time, too many prying eyes. But today was different. Today was the day Luke had agreed to meet him.

  He’d done the best he could to disguise himself. Trimmed the newly grown facial hair into a neat beard and moustache and dyed his hair a shade darker. He was tall, and not bad-looking for his age but no oil painting. Studying his reflection in the mirror, he was pleased at what he saw. He’d done the best he could. He looked at his expensive shirt and tie, and his smart suit. With the addition of a wallet full of money, he’d be irresistible.

  He took the train into the city, and then it was a short walk from the station to Canal Street. The crisp evening air would clear his head. He wouldn’t drink too much either. He needed to keep his wits sharp. His plans were going too well to botch things up by getting pissed.

  He’d done his research, found a name and used it cleverly. Soon the police would have the lead they must be frantic for, a lead that would keep them going round in circles for some time to come.

  He’d been on a hig
h since the killing. It felt great but exhausting. Luke would be next, following the same pattern but at a different venue. He knew a street where the houses were due for demolition and stood empty. Like the last place, this one too was close to the canal. The land had been bought by the council, and the plans were still being argued over. The perfect place for a little fun.

  The outside table that he’d earmarked was empty. He began to feel nervous. This was important, it had to go right. He called to a waiter and ordered a bottle of red and two glasses. The alcohol would calm him down. All he had to do now was wait.

  “Excuse me, sir.”

  The man looked up. He was young, pretty, but with dark hair. Not Luke — pity. Nonetheless, he offered him a drink.

  “No thanks.” The young man smiled and backed off slightly. “I’m a police officer, name’s DC Farrell. Would you mind looking at this photo? And would you tell me if you’ve seen the young man around here recently?”

  Heart in mouth time. But the police couldn’t be onto him so soon, surely? The man took a closer look at the copper and could see he was nervous. He was clearly inexperienced, well out of his comfort zone among the gay bars of Canal Street. No need to worry. This was exactly what it looked like — the police were fishing.

  “The photo, sir.” The policeman thrust it in front of him.

  And there he was, his first victim, fresh as a daisy. Standing not two metres from where they were now. “What’s he done?” He handed the snap back, forcing a smile.

  “He got himself murdered.”

  “Oh dear. I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere. He was good at this. “But I can’t help, I’m afraid. I don’t know the lad.” That was true, he didn’t. He’d killed him, not cultivated him as a friend. “Why not ask inside the bar? Someone in there might be able to help.”

  The man saw the hesitation on the detective’s face. “You’re nervous, aren’t you? Don’t be. First time in a gay bar?” He smiled and patted the hand holding the photo. “Don’t worry, we don’t bite.”

  “James?” A voice called from behind. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Luke!” The man smiled.

  The detective and Luke regarded each other for a second or two and exchanged nods, then Luke sat down at the table.

  “I’ll leave you to it.” The detective tore his eyes from the couple, and scuttled off.

  “Anxious and twitchy. First time in this neck of the woods, I reckon,” the man said, smiling.

  “Was he chatting you up?” Luke asked.

  “Good heavens no!”

  “Damn buses are running late again. There’s been an accident. Traffic is backed up all through the northern quarter,” Luke said.

  He was annoyed, possibly even jealous. That amused the man. He looked at him. Yes, it was all there. The golden hair, the angelic face with big eyes, and the petulant mouth. He had chosen well.

  “No matter. You’re here now. Nice to meet you.” The man poured him a generous glass of wine. “Drink this, and relax. That guy I was talking to was a policeman. Some poor soul got himself murdered near here, and he’s making enquires.”

  “I read about that in the papers. So young. Such a tragic waste of a life. He was good-looking too.”

  The man changed the subject quickly. “Have you been here before?” He was genuinely curious. He couldn’t recall ever seeing Luke on Canal street.

  “Perhaps once or twice, that’s all. I don’t live local.” He took a slug of the wine. “I really do hate being late, I’m sorry. It wasn’t deliberate.

  “Stop stressing, it’s fine. Besides, the detective kept me company.”

  “Do you come here a lot?” Luke asked.

  “I love the place. The atmosphere, the people I meet, there’s nowhere like it.”

  “You’re not like your profile photo.” Luke gave him a sly smile.

  “Now it’s me who should apologise. But a bloke has to try. A little help from the software, or I’d get nowhere. It’s not all about what we look like though, is it?”

  Luke shook his pretty head, his golden curls ruffling in the light breeze. The man closed his eyes for a moment. This boy was perfection.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Wednesday

  “Is there a problem, DCI King?” Harding asked.

  The truth was, Rachel didn’t know. What to tell him? Right now, she wished that Alice Brough had kept her big mouth shut. But she hadn’t, so Rachel had no choice but to take it further.

  “DS Pryce and I went to see Alice Brough yesterday evening, making enquiries regarding the Frodsham murder. She told us something unexpected, and I don’t think we can ignore it.”

  Rachel saw the stare. He wasn’t happy. Complications were not something Harding countenanced, and this was a biggy. She inhaled, bracing herself. “Alice Brough accused her father, Alexander, of killing her mother and brother. If it is true, sir, it happened almost twelve years ago.”

  Rachel saw the twitch, high on the cheekbone in his otherwise immobile face. She’d seen it before. He was shaken. He liked order. Things went awry, he didn’t cope well. This case, with its many ramifications, was getting to him. Harding was just about keeping it together.

  He coughed. “The girl could be fantasising, you know. I’ve looked at the reports that have come in so far. She’s an only child, often left alone. She could have made this up, a ploy to get attention.”

  “It is a good possibility that she’s mistaken, sir. Alice is an odd one. However, she does have compelling evidence that a brother did exist, something her father apparently denies, and always has.”

  “The mother?”

  “Not on the scene. Not since Alice was a child. As far as she recalls, they disappeared at the same time. Not spoken about either. It’s like the woman, just like Alice’s brother, never existed.”

  “And neither Ms Brough nor her father has ever reported this?”

  “No, sir.”

  “And you’re sure she simply didn’t leave and take the child with her? If there is no record of the disappearance then there must have been a plausible explanation. People would have asked at the time where she was. Brough must have told them something. Why’s it coming up now?”

  “Alice knew Oliver Frodsham from college. They didn’t get on. In fact, and Alice makes no bones about it, she hated him. Oliver played a cruel trick on her. He pretended to be her long-lost brother. I think that’s what caused her to tell us. And she’s friendly with my daughter, Megan, so she trusts me. I did consider that it might be a motive for his murder, but she has provided an alibi. We’re checking that now.

  “She didn’t simply tell you this tale out of spite?”

  “I doubt it, sir. Alice has always had a thing about finding her brother, and everyone who knows her is well aware of it.”

  “Do you know the father?” Harding asked.

  “I’ve met him a couple of times.”

  “What’s your opinion?”

  “He seems a straightforward sort of man. He’s in his mid-forties, works hard. He could spend more time at home, but the two of them seem to muddle through.”

  Harding sat in silence, obviously considering what Rachel had told him. She wished he’d hurry up and decide, and then they could get on with it.

  “You’ve spoken to the father about this?” he asked eventually.

  Rachel shook her head. “He is away working until the weekend.”

  “I’ll appoint another team to look into it.” This was not what Rachel wanted to hear. “DCI Bridges, I think. Give him the information you’ve gathered, and the background.”

  “Isn’t DCI Bridges on leave, sir? It might be better to allow my team to start the preliminary investigation. It does dovetail with our existing enquiry.”

  Harding’s eyes narrowed. Now she was for it. He didn’t take well to criticism.

  He pointed to the door. Dismissed. “Not your problem.”

  Not your problem. That didn’t add up to leave it alone, well, not really. Perhaps
she would risk it. At least make a few enquiries, get the ball rolling and see where it went. She could check if Alice’s mother actually gave birth to twins. After that, a word with the girl’s father.

  Chapter Twenty

  Now they had ruled Alice out, they must look at what else they had. Rachel called over to the information officer, Stella. “Find out everything you can about that piece of land by the canal. Who owns it, what’s planned — you know the stuff. And it’s urgent. I’ll lay odds that it’s the land that’s at the bottom of that dispute between Oliver and Greyson.”

  “If Greyson wants it, wouldn’t he simply ask the owners?” Elwyn said. “If the land is for sale, given his firm’s proximity to it, I would imagine he would have approached him anyway.”

  “Until we get all the facts, we can’t presume anything. Dynamite, Oliver reckoned. The way he was living is bound up in this somehow. He was living rough from choice, not necessity. I’m sure Greyson was lying to us yesterday — my gut told me. He knows a lot more. One way or another, we need to find evidence that forces him to come clean.”

  “Ma’am, I took a team of uniformed officers and spoke to the workforce at Greyson’s. It’s as we suspected, no one knows or saw anything.”

  “Thanks, Amy.” She could have predicted that one. Rachel stood in front of the incident board, looking at the photos she’d put up of Greyson and Alice Brough. “She’s an interesting one. We might have ruled her out as a suspect, but I’d still like to clarify what happened during that spat she had with Oliver in the canteen,” she told Elwyn. “Weird. I thought I knew that girl, now she’s coming across as a complete stranger.”

  “One of the uniforms spoke to her friend, Sarah. Alice’s alibi checks out. Why waste valuable time and resources raking up the fight in the canteen? We know it didn’t lead anywhere,” Elwyn said.

  “It’s my gut again. Now I’ve seen this other side to Alice, it’s bothering me, given how close she is to Megan. I just want a rounded picture, that’s all. And then there’s what she said about her father.” She shook her head. “What did you think about that, Elwyn?”