Satisfied, she turned back to the sofa, and picked up the remote control for the television.
She balanced the tray on her lap as she flicked between channels, until she found the local broadcaster that would soon show the news on the hour.
She ploughed through the salad, and realised she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. A smile crossed her lips as she thought of what Sharp would have to say about that – he was a stickler for making sure his team kept up their energy levels, and skipping meals was something he’d managed to drill out of her.
Until now.
She pushed the tray aside when she was done, and turned up the volume on the television as the news programme’s familiar theme tune played out.
The kidnapping and death of Melanie Richards was the top story, and she settled back to watch.
Sharp had spent an hour with the media officer prior to going in front of the cameras. Every word of his statement had been analysed, tweaked, and rephrased until it contained enough information to engage the public without releasing valuable intelligence that only the killer would know. The decision had been taken early on in the meeting that the exact details of Melanie’s death would not be mentioned.
The method used had been so elaborate, so calculated that any leads from the media appeal would be treated as a priority if a member of the public brought information to their attention that linked to those particular facts.
In addition, they needed the public to be vigilant, not scared.
The photograph Yvonne Richards had provided of her daughter now appeared on a one-page briefing sheet that would have been handed to each attendee at the press conference. It provided a precis of the facts known – at least, the ones they were releasing to the public at this time – as well as the names of the senior officers leading the enquiry, and the national Crimestoppers telephone number.
Finally, they had brainstormed and worked through the questions they anticipated from the press.
Sharp had been reticent upon his return to the briefing room, and Kay wondered if that was because the media conference had gone well, or otherwise.
She reached out for the remote control, and increased the volume as Sharp approached the podium.
He began by thanking the press for their attendance, and then read out the prepared speech.
‘It is with great sadness that I also have to report that Tony Richards, Melanie’s father, passed away this afternoon due to suspected heart failure,’ he added at the end. ‘The perpetrator of this terrible crime is now responsible for taking two innocent lives, and we will not rest until that person or persons is brought to justice.’
Kay listened intently while the gathered journalists fired questions at Sharp. The media officer and DCI Larch stood to one side, their faces grim.
There were no surprises; the journalists were respectfully well behaved, and the newscaster repeated the Crimestoppers number, the image of Melanie displayed in the background replacing the footage of the media conference.
Kay switched off the television, checked her watch, and decided to have an early night.
Tomorrow would be a busy day.
EIGHTEEN
The mobile phone on the sofa next to Eli began to ring.
He cursed under his breath. It was rare to get the house to himself, but his mother had disappeared – to the off licence or pub in all likelihood. She wouldn’t return until she passed out, or was kicked out. Either way, he had a few precious hours to relax, and could watch the local news.
He silenced the television, picked up the phone, and checked the number. He’d been expecting the call for the past three hours. In fact, he was surprised it had taken the other man so long to get in touch.
The local six o’clock news had been an extended edition as the police had tried to elicit help from the general public in tracking down Melanie’s kidnapper. The story had even made the national news, and had been repeated at nine o’clock on all channels.
He’d slid from the sofa to his knees when the detective revealed that the girl’s father had perished, too.
A cry of ecstasy had escaped his lips as Melanie’s photograph was displayed on the screen, and he recalled the terror in her eyes as she’d tried desperately to maintain her balance.
He wet his lips at the memory. He’d seen a recording of her demise the day before, watching again as she’d teetered on the brink of death, slipping from one foot to the other as the oil snaked down the rungs.
Somehow, though, it hadn’t been as satisfying as watching it happen live.
It hadn’t been as thrilling.
Eli had been surprised at the police’s decision to appeal to the public so early on in the investigation, and then it hit him.
They didn’t know who he was.
No motive.
No suspect.
Nothing.
He answered the phone after the fourth ring, silencing the factory-installed melody.
‘What do you want?’
There was an intake of breath at the other end of the line, before a wavering voice replied. ‘We need to talk.’
‘You picked up the money?’
‘You’ve seen the news?’
‘Did you get the money?’
‘The girl died, Eli.’ The caller paused, and took another deep breath. ‘She died.’
Eli changed the phone to his other ear, and muted the volume on the television. He checked the football score displayed in the top left hand corner of the screen. ‘Did anyone see you taking the money?’
‘No. The lane was deserted, like you said it would be.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Well, I – I think so.’
A sly smile stole across Eli’s face as an idea began to form. The sensation began between his ribs, slipped over his stomach and washed across his groin. ‘Where’s the money right now?’
‘Here.’
‘In your flat?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Jesus.’ Eli stood, and injected a level of concern into his voice. It was easy. He’d heard other people do it, and had studied how to mimic their reactions. Eli could hear the other man pacing back and forth, back and forth.
‘Yeah.’
‘What if they went to the police?’
‘What?’
‘What if the girl’s parents did go to the police, and we didn’t know?’ said Eli.
‘What do you mean?’
‘The police. If they got involved, that money could be marked with something. To make it traceable.’
‘Oh, Christ.’
‘You need to leave your flat. Right now. Keep your head down for a few days.’ He almost laughed out loud, and instead expelled the air as a cough at the last minute.
‘Where do I go?’
‘I don’t know. Better still, don’t tell me. Then, if the police find me, I can’t tell them where you are, right?’
‘Shit, Eli. This is huge. This is really bad.’
‘I know. We just have to wait until it’s safe.’
‘But when will I know it’s safe?’
‘I’ll phone you. Don’t call me, remember? Delete all your call logs. I’ll do the same.’
‘Okay.’
‘And for fuck’s sake, don’t phone me again.’
‘What do you mean?’
The panicked tone had increased; the pacing stopped.
‘Eli – wait!’
Eli pulled the phone from his ear, and held his forearm over his mouth. Tears welled in his eyes as he relished the fear emanating from the other man’s voice. He could hear him, shouting his name at the other end of the line. Eventually he answered.
‘What?’
‘What are we going to do?’
‘I don’t know. But I have to go.’
‘Go where?’
‘Best I don’t tell you, just in case, yeah?’
A fractured silence filled the phone line.
‘She was never meant to die, Eli.’
The man’s voice
wavered, and Eli smiled.
‘I have to go,’ he hissed. ‘I think there’s someone coming.’
He ended the call, ripped the battery and SIM card from the rear of the phone, and set the components on the scuffed coffee table.
He smiled, checked his watch, and then sank back onto the sofa, picked up his can of soft drink, and increased the volume on the television remote.
Fear could be a powerful motivator.
He’d give it an hour, and then follow the other man, to make sure.
NINETEEN
Guy Nelson peered out through the curtains of the double-glazed window at the front of the flat.
Two storeys up, he rented the building with three other tenants, a central hallway and landing bisecting the building that had once been a grand Victorian terrace. He kept to himself, paid the rent in cash on a weekly basis, and made sure to mind his own business.
The realisation that his meagre wages would mean he’d never escape the monotony of his day-to-day life had led to this.
An accomplice to murder, and in hiding from the police.
With twenty thousand pounds in tidy bundles of five hundred pounds poking out from a ripped-open padded envelope on the threadbare sofa behind him.
His hands trembled as he let the curtain fall back into place.
The street below was quiet and poorly lit. No lights shone from the houses across the street, and no sounds escaped from the other flats around him. His immediate neighbour across the landing had switched off his television an hour ago.
It was just him, and his thoughts.
He blinked away tears.
Eli had seemed genuine about ensuring no harm be done to the girl when he had first brought up the idea.
‘It’s an easy way to make some money,’ he’d said.
Nelson had swallowed the last of his can of beer with effort, the warm liquid sticking in his throat. He’d wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and turned to see Eli staring at him, waiting.
‘What?’
‘I’m serious,’ he’d said. ‘Twenty thousand pounds. We’d have it within forty-eight hours.’
Nelson had glanced over his shoulder. The rest of the group had fanned out across the car park, and no one was within earshot of them.
‘What about the police?’
‘They never call the police.’ Eli shrugged. ‘Too scared. Too embarrassed it’s happened to them.’
‘But what if they do?’
‘Then we walk away. Tell them where the kid is, and say nothing. No one would ever know it was us.’
Nelson’s eyes had narrowed. ‘Have you done this before?’
Eli had pursed his lips, his gaze moving away as his eyes scanned their work colleagues. ‘Once.’
‘What happened?’
A smile twitched at the side of the other man’s mouth as his eyes met Nelson’s. ‘I made fifteen thousand pounds.’
Nelson stepped back. ‘Really?’
Eli nodded.
‘And you never got caught?’
‘I’m here, aren’t I?’
No more had been said that day. Eli’s manager had wandered over, complaining that they should make more of an effort to socialise with the rest of the group, and the afternoon had progressed to evening, the staff members gradually becoming more and more drunk.
Except Eli, Nelson now recalled.
He’d smiled, made small conversation, but had seemed to flit around the edges of the crowd, watching, almost waiting for something.
Eli’s shifts changed the following week, and it had been four days before Nelson cornered him.
‘How easy would it be?’
‘Very.’
Nelson had shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘What do you need me to do?’
And Eli had told him.
Nelson had been relieved he wouldn’t be involved in the actual kidnapping itself. All he had to do was carry out a reconnaissance of the parents’ house, and the industrial building Eli had selected, and report back. Then pick up the money. Eli said he’d take care of the rest.
Now, he wiped angrily at the tears that blinded him.
It had all seemed so simple.
He’d spent the past four hours pacing the small flat. His hand hovered over his mobile phone, first to call Eli, then the police. Each time, he’d snatched his hand back, cursing Eli, cursing himself for being so stupid, so greedy.
Eventually, he slipped out onto the landing and down the stairs. He sat on the last stair tread and pulled on his shoes, lacing them tightly.
His stomach rumbled painfully. Between bouts of throwing up, his stomach had twisted and cramped so much since he’d seen the first news report he’d barely left the bathroom for an hour afterwards.
How could Eli sound so relaxed?
He leaned forward, and held his head in his hands.
If only he hadn’t been desperate for the money. If only he’d stopped Eli before it got this far.
He hadn’t seen the girl, hadn’t been there when Eli had snatched her and taken her to the biosciences building. Eli had told him to stay away, to forget all about it, and simply ensure the money was collected.
And now she was dead.
Nelson stood on shaking legs, zipped up his jacket, and pushed his way out the front door, making sure it didn’t slam shut behind him. He jogged down the path, checked the road left and right, and turned in the direction of the park.
He kept a brisk pace, determined to reach his destination before he changed his mind. His pockets empty of house keys and mobile phone, he felt strangely liberated now that his mind was made up.
The night air held a freshness to it, as if the silent town revelled in the lack of traffic and pedestrians.
Ahead, a ginger and white cat scurried across the pavement before diving into the sanctuary of a privet hedge that bordered one of the larger houses on the street.
At the end of the road, Nelson turned right, and then jogged across the pitted asphalt to an alleyway between a house and a block of garages.
He stopped, and checked over his shoulder.
No shadows moved amongst the triangles of light under the street lamps, and yet the tiny hairs at the back of his neck prickled.
He shivered, and then turned back to the dark maw of the alleyway.
The stink of dog shit filled his senses as he hurried along the narrow thoroughfare, the shadow of the house to his right looming over him, blocking out any natural light the waxing moon might have offered.
A fence ran the length of the property, while to his left the solid brickwork of the garages faced the alley. At the end of the fence line and brickwork, the alleyway ended, opening out into a small wooded area that bordered the local park.
He paused for a moment, hands in pockets, as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings and familiar forms began to take shape.
The wooden goalposts that had been rotten when he was a kid, kicking ball after ball into the net; the swing set from which his younger brother had tumbled after a dare too many, breaking his wrist in the process.
He blinked, and the goalposts and the swing set disappeared.
His familiarity with the local area had been what Eli had relied upon.
‘Find the perfect place to hide her,’ he’d said.
Nelson fought the retching sensation that clawed at his throat, and tried again not to think about how terrified the girl would have been.
He avoided the open expanse of the park in front of him, and instead turned left, keeping close to the brambled hedgerow that lined the perimeter.
He cursed under his breath as his foot slipped down the shallow entrance to a rabbit hole, and then choked back a snort at the thought of his plan being thwarted by a broken ankle.
No.
He would see this through. See this finished.
The scent of mulch and fertiliser drifted over the hedgerow from the vegetable allotments beyond, a heady aroma of rotting organic matter and whatever chemicals the gardeners had added to
their prized crops.
Debris lay strewn across the hedgerow and into the path he walked; rubbish that the allotment owners had neglected to take home and dispose of properly, preferring instead to toss it out of the way, out of sight.
Nelson glanced down as his foot kicked something wooden, then bent down and picked up the small crate.
It would come in handy for what he had planned.
He stuffed his right hand back into his jacket pocket, his fingers touching the folded paper there.
He’d agonised over the words, wondering how to explain his remorse to his younger brother, and the mother and wife of the dead girl and husband.
His ballpoint pen had scoured scars into the wooden surface of the cheap coffee table, as time after time he’d torn the page from his notebook and started again. Before he’d left the flat, he’d placed the unwanted pages in the kitchen sink before setting them alight with a cheap cigarette lighter he kept for emergencies.
The stink had filled the small room, but he’d managed to prevent the smoke alarm going off and waking his neighbours by drenching the ashes as soon as they’d started to smoulder, before washing the remnants down the drain.
He picked up his pace.
The allotments ended with a cluster of sheds built with their wooden backs to the hedgerow, and Nelson became aware of the sound of running water.
A breeze tugged at his hair.
He wondered what Eli would do when he found out, a split second before he realised he didn’t even know where the man lived. They had only spoken at work.
The thought made him stop in his tracks.
Had this been Eli’s plan all along? To engineer the kidnapping so that if anything went wrong, Nelson would take the blame?
Were the police at his flat right now, hammering on the door to get entry? Wasn’t that what they did? Raids in the early hours of the morning to catch their suspects unawares?
He checked over his shoulder again.
No one followed; the park remained silent except for the trees rustling in the light wind.
He squinted at the dials of his watch.
Scared to Death (A Detective Kay Hunter novel) Page 8