“I thought the phone was nicked that’s why I’ve not exactly been straight okay. But I really did find that phone.”
“Tell us where then, and stop messing us about or you’re back in that cell and on remand,” Grace snapped back.
Billy dropped his head into his hands, but only for a second. He wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead and pushed himself back in his seat. “It was partially buried in the woods over by the canal - honest, you’ve got to believe me. I walk Spike and Sabre there every morning. I go over the canal bridge near the Low Lock and then let them loose in the woods. A couple of days ago they were digging round a hole just above a dyke and when I shouted to them they wouldn’t come away. I thought they’d found a badger set or a foxhole with cubs in so I went to drag them away. When I got to them they’d dug out a black bin liner and started to shred it. Inside it there was some clothing, a backpack and that mobile phone. I thought it was gear from a burglary that someone had buried to come back for later. The bag was only filled with what looked like schoolbooks and so I just took the mobile. It was the only thing worth anything.”
Grace turned her gaze away from Billy and looked towards Hunter.
If he was to be believed then this meant that the investigation was taking another twist.
Hunter had been carefully watching Billy throughout the last half hour of the questioning, studying every aspect of his body language. Looking for those tell-tale signs that spelt guilt. To put a finger on what those signs were was never easy and certainly not something Hunter could define. It was built on years of experience, gained with every arrest and interview. And he’d also learned from others – others like Barry Newstead. He had heard his colleagues refer to it as a sixth sense. Whatever it was he knew he had it. As he had observed Billy he had noticed that the man had always held Grace’s stare. He had never shifted nervously, or gulped when he had responded to her probing questions. Hunter somehow sensed that on this occasion Billy was telling the truth.
Hunter said. “Billy it’s getting late now, we’re going to terminate this interview, lodge you in the cells overnight and then tomorrow go and see if you’re telling us the truth. First thing in the morning, I want you to show us where you found the mobile.”
- ooOoo –
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
DAY TWENTY-SIX: 1st August.
As soon as he had made contact with Kirsty over the Internet and hooked her with ‘Josh’ he had begun the same process as he had done with all the others. For over three weeks he had been following, watching and hiding from her, learning her life. And he had collected hundreds of photographs along the way. He had placed the digital images in an album and brought them out nightly from their hiding place to run his hands over her pretty face, imagining he was touching that smooth unblemished skin.
Two days ago, after all his hard work, he had pulled it off. He had finally managed to entice Kirsty into meeting his seventeen year old creation, and as he stood very still beside the bushes of The Barnwell Countryside park he knew that very soon he would be meeting and physically touching the girl who had so far only been a two dimensional vision in his fantasies.
He took another glance at his watch and scanned the area around him. There had been a couple of dog walkers earlier but he knew from previous visits to this location that around this time the majority of people who used it would be at work. It was the perfect meeting place. He knew as soon as he had suggested the venue to Kirsty that it would lure her into a false sense of security. She didn’t know the area as well as he did. He had done his homework.
He had made attempts to disguise his appearance, to make himself look old enough to be the father of a seventeen year old. He had waxed down his hair, put on a pair of unfashionable spectacles from a charity shop and had donned his father’s old pit duffel jacket, which had been left behind all those years back. When he had looked himself over in the mirror before leaving home he had thought he had got the effect about right. After all he didn’t want to scare her off because he looked weird. And he had rehearsed his lines so many times.
Spotting movement by the stile, which he had under surveillance, he caught his breath. When he had done an earlier recce of the park he had identified it as being the entranceway nearest to the woodland.
He squinted at the moving figure, bringing it into focus. He could tell by the outline it was her. He double-checked that the area was clear, slipped on his gloves and slid out of from the bushes.
* * * * *
“Hi I’m Josh’s Dad.”
The man had suddenly appeared from nowhere and had made Kirsty jump.
“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you like that. Josh was delayed at his football training and he asked me if I’d come and meet you and run you back to the house.”
Kirsty’s mind was racing. She hadn’t expected Josh’s Dad to turn up. She looked him up and down. He looked silly in that coat – it was too big for him. Although a good eighteen inches taller than her she could tell he was only slightly built. There were signs that his hair was thinning despite covering it with a layer of wax and he had the kind of facial growth that looks like a perpetual five o’clock shadow. The heavy rimmed glasses hid his eyes, but she did notice they seemed to be darting around, not really focussed on her.
In that instant she thought his face was familiar, and yet somehow different. It puzzled her.
“You okay with that?” He asked.
Now where had she had heard that voice before. She hesitated for a second, trying to remember where she had seen this man.
“Well I’m not too sure,” she replied.
Then the man pulled his mobile phone from his pocket. “You can give him a ring if you want.” He slid the screen up to reveal the keypad, and edging closer proffered it to her.
This didn’t feel right one bit Kirsty thought to herself.
“I’ll just ring my mum and tell her what’s happening.” She could feel her voice burbling nervously, the words almost sticking in her throat. She reached into her own pocket for her phone, but the man took hold of her arm gently.
“Josh will be so sad if he doesn’t meet you. I can assure you everything’s fine, you’ve no need to worry.”
She tried to act normally and not to freeze. She knew what she should do – what her parents had always told her to do, but her legs wouldn’t let her. A panicky fear enveloped her.
Then the man turned sharply. Kirsty saw his eyes in those too big spectacles widen revealing a look of real evil and she opened her mouth to scream.
He swung back his hand and she felt the sharp slap on her cheek, which rocked her head sideways. It was less painful than expected; the terror inside was more frightening. She choked back her scream as he grabbed at her jacket.
“I’ll fucking kill you if you fucking scream.”
His voice had taken on a deep and menacing tone and she could feel his breath hot on her face, and it smelt stale.
“You’re coming with me and if you fucking struggle I’ll kill you right here and now.”
For a split second it entered her head that this must be the killer who had murdered her best friend Rebecca. She made an attempt to pull free from his grip. She never saw the fist, just felt the searing pain around her right eye. There was a crunching noise from the bridge of her nose and a series of flashes and stars clouded her vision. Then came the pain – a sharp and hot pain that made her feel sick.
The man grabbed at her hair, but she twisted away from him and she felt strands being ripped from her skull. Instinct to survive was now taking over and Kirsty was thrashing and kicking out, screaming for all she was worth.
Another blow to her face momentarily stopped her from fighting back. She felt something trickle into the back of her throat and it sent another wave of panic through her body. Then something tightened around her neck closing off her ability to breathe. She clawed at her throat. She felt herself slumping forward and there was a painful thump in between her shoulders. There was
the strange sensation, which felt like a warm trickle of fluid running down her spine. Then it was as if someone had thrown a bucket of water onto her back. Darkness seemed to drift over her. The dark became thick, cloying and sticky, throttling and choking her senses. The darkness became black; black as pitch.
* * * * *
“See I told you I was telling the truth,” Billy Smith said, delving his handcuffed hands into a muddy hole and dragging out a dirtied and battered bin liner which had seen better days.
“You wouldn’t believe how many times we’ve heard that,” Grace replied dryly, slipping on her latex gloves to preserve the evidence. “I’ll take over now Billy,” she continued, jumping across the dried up dyke.
“And I’m guessing you want me to take those cuffs off you now?” Hunter asked, following Grace’s lead across the dyke.
Billy offered his encased wrists, prayer like, and Hunter snapped off the police bracelets.
“Thank Christ for that,” Billy said rubbing the red weal marks on his wrists. “You had me sweating back there in the nick. I really thought you were going to stitch me up for murder you know. Even when I’d offered to show you where I found that mobile.”
“We don’t do things like that Billy,” Hunter responded. “Anyway that’s for all the times you’ve got away with it. And you’re not exactly in the clear yet we’ve still got your alibi to check out.”
Billy coloured up and returned a sheepish look.
In one respect Hunter was disappointed. He had thought that the finding of Rebecca’s mobile in Billy’s caravan was the breakthrough they had been waiting for. Finding this lot buried as Billy had said took the enquiry into another dimension. It also meant that if Billy’s alibi did check out, and he now firmly believed it would do, it would mean he was also in the clear over the Carol Siddons murder, and therefore his link with Karen Gardner and Paul Goodright wouldn’t need to come out. He couldn’t wait to ring Paul up later and put his mind at ease.
Grace eased the black bin liner further out of the hole. Looking back over her shoulder she said “Whoever’s hidden this certainly didn’t want it to be found.” She clawed around the entrance way, scooping away debris and depositing it behind her mole-like.
Slowly she picked out the contents from the liner, examining each item carefully before placing them on the ground beside her. Rebecca Morris’s pink schoolbag, her school uniform and books were all here.
“Is it that murdered girl’s stuff?” Billy asked.
Hunter watched his face. Billy looked to be fascinated by the events unfolding before him. Hunter guessed that he’d be recounting all this later in the pub, telling his cronies how he had been helping police with their enquiries. It almost brought a smile to his lips.
“It certainly is Billy. How much of this did you actually handle before you put it back into the black bag?” asked Grace.
“I just opened the bin liner and looked inside. The mobile was virtually on top of everything. I had a quick rummage around inside but didn’t pull anything else out. Why is that bad for me?” he replied, concern now etched on his face.
“It just means forensics will have to separate your DNA from any other we find on these.” Before she could say anything else the ringing of her own mobile disturbed her. She flipped up its top, slipped the unit under her thick curly hair and slotted it to her ear. Crooking her head she trapped the mobile between the top of her shoulder, listening to the call as she carried on examining the contents of the black plastic sack.
Hunter watched on as lines appeared on her forehead, slowly creasing into furrows as she listened intently. He attempted to catch her gaze, wondering what was being said over the other end of that phone which was causing her to be so concerned. He tried to grasp her mumblings but only caught, “We’ll be there inside the hour,” before Grace dropped the phone from her ear and snapped it shut.
“That was Bullars,” she announced anxiously. “He’s at the District General hospital. It looks as though our killer’s just struck again. And get this; it’s Kirsty Evans, Rebecca Morris’s best friend. She’s in a critical condition but she is alive.”
* * * * *
Hunter and Grace had tried their best to avoid the press who were now swarming all over Barnwell District General hospital, but after finding every entrance way barricaded by the gauntlet of reporters, they had ended up resorting to storm-trooper tactics in order to get into the hospital. In one case Hunter had actually smacked shut the entrance door of the Intensive Care Unit in a camera-man’s face. Hunter mouthed the words ‘sorry,’ trying to not break into a grin and jammed his foot against the bottom of the door until a uniformed officer rushed to his aide and took over the department’s security.
The surgeon who had operated on Kirsty Evans met Hunter and Grace in the reception area of ITU. He was still in his green surgical scrubs.
“She is one extremely lucky girl,” he began, removing the green cotton cap to reveal a thinning head of ginger hair. “She’s been stabbed repeatedly in the upper back area, but none of the knife wounds have penetrated her vital organs. There was also an attempt to strangle her with a leather belt but luckily her attacker was disturbed and the guy who saved her managed to get it off before any serious harm was done. I’m told that the Good Samaritan was an off duty paramedic who was out jogging, chased off the girl’s attacker and then administered first aid before the ambulance and police arrived. She has lost a lot of blood and in fact we’ve had to put ten units into her during the operation. There’s no doubt she would have died had it not been for him. We’ve stitched her back together for now and later she will need plastic surgery to some of the wounds. She’s not exactly out of the woods just yet but she is off the critical list.”
“Thanks for that,” replied Grace. “Will we able to speak with her at all?” she asked.
“Certainly not today I’m afraid. In fact it might not even be tomorrow. She has come round since the operation but as you can imagine she is in a lot of pain, so we’ve had to sedate her with quite a strong dosage.”
Hunter spotted Tony Bullars hovering at the end of the corridor trying to catch his attention. With a raised hand he acknowledged him, shook hands with the surgeon thanking him and left Grace to finish off the conversation.
He saw that Tony was clutching an abundance of brown forensic evidence bags. He had already bagged up Kirsty Evans’s clothing.
“What have you got for me Bully?” Hunter enquired.
“These are just her clothes,” he replied tapping the forensic bags, “but I can tell you that we’ve recovered the belt he used. The guy who found her had loosened it but it was still around her neck when uniform got to the scene. I’ve had a quick word with Mike Sampson who’s down at the park and bagged it up for forensics. He tells me that from the width of the belt and the buckle shape and size that it looks like the same one our killer used on Rebecca. The surgeon who operated on Kirsty allowed forensic into theatre and they’ve recovered blood and fibres from underneath her fingernails. She put up a hell of a fight and it means we should be able to get his DNA for the first time.”
This is one of those Eureka moments Hunter thought as Grace sidled up beside him.
He was pleased to see that a uniformed officer had been stationed outside Kirsty’s side room. At least for the time being the killer wouldn’t be able to get to her.
Hunter flashed his warrant card and he and Grace entered.
The beeping noise from the heart monitor was the first sound, which greeted them. Kirsty was hooked up to an IV and a nasogastric tube. Her head was covered in a turban style bandage and under the bright fluorescent lighting they couldn’t help but notice the signs of a real battering around her face. Both eyes were heavily bruised and her nose was disjointed and twice the size it should have been. Mr and Mrs Evans were at her bedside, faces creased with anguish, her Mother tightly gripping Kirsty’s left hand and gently stroking the back of it with her other. They acknowledged the officers’ arrival wi
th a solemn nod and Mr Evans rose from his high-backed seat. “Have you caught him yet?” There was a sharp edge to it, his question almost a demand.
They understood the tone. The anger was inevitable.
“Not yet, but don’t worry we will do,” Hunter responded.
Grace moved closer to the bed. Kirsty’s breathing was laboured; the sedative, which had been administered, was playing its part in relaxing her system. The girl’s eyes fluttered for a second and then stopped.
“The doctor said she’s going to be okay.” Mrs Evans caught Grace’s gaze.
She returned a sympathetic smile. “She is Mrs Evans. Kirsty will pull through. You watch in another couple of weeks she’ll be her old self. Young people are extremely resilient”
“Was she -?” Mr Evans paused and gulped.
Hunter knew what he was trying to say, but was afraid of the answer. He offered, “There are no signs she was attacked like that. The man who did this was scared off before he had time to do anything else. He wouldn’t have had time to do anything like that.” Like Mr Evans, he avoided using the word rape.”
“Is it the same man who killed Rebecca?” Mr Evans asked.
“We don’t know for definite. That’s something we’re working on. We’ll know better when we get Kirsty’s clothing and the samples from under her fingernails up to our forensics lab. Your daughter was very brave, she put up a hell of a fight and it saved her life.”
“Do you think Kirsty was hiding something about Rebecca’s murder and that’s why he’s tried to silence her?”
Hunter recalled what Grace had told him following her clandestine meeting with Kirsty, less than a fortnight ago. It brought to the fore the secrets about Rebecca which she had revealed, and which Kirsty had kept from her parents; the drinking of alcohol and the meetings with older boys.
Hunter decided that no one would benefit by revealing what Kirsty had told Grace. Especially he knew it was something that her parents wouldn’t want to hear at this time.
Heart of the Demon (D.S.Hunter Kerr) Page 18