Scared to Death (A Detective Kay Hunter novel)

by Rachel Amphlett

  He had to get the keys to his mother’s car.

  He’d spent the past few hours camped out at the lock-up garage, mired in paranoid thoughts.

  What if the police found something and had let him go to see where he went?

  How was he going to explain himself to the one who mattered most in all of this?

  Would he be allowed to keep his collection of things? Would he get them back?

  He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes sweeping the neighbouring cars and houses.

  No one followed.

  In fact, the street was deserted, and despite being cold and wet, Eli figured the weather had at least made his job easier.

  Now he had to return to the girl – and quickly, before the effects of the drugs wore off.

  He slammed the garden gate shut, and stomped up the path towards the front door. Rivulets of muddy water ran from the overflowing plant pots next to the step, and streaked past him towards the street, the sound of water gushing from the broken gutter above the living room window reaching him as he inserted his key into the lock.

  The door was opened before he could turn the handle, and his mother peered through the gap, her eyes flickering over the street behind him, before her glare found him.

  ‘The police were here,’ she said, and grabbed hold of his shirt.

  She flung the door open, and yanked him inside.

  He stumbled across the threshold before the door was slammed shut with such force that the window at the top shook in its frame.

  Eli could smell the alcohol on her breath, and staggered back along the narrow hallway. He reached out and gripped the stair bannister beside him to regain his balance.

  He’d forgotten how strong she could be when she was drunk.

  Two years away from her had numbed the memories, though the ache in his left arm from where she’d fractured it when she’d pushed him down the stairs in a fit of rage when he was eight years old still ached in cold weather.

  He’d only returned because he’d had to, after the incident in Suffolk. He’d been lucky to avoid police scrutiny then, and had nowhere else to go. Returning here was meant to be temporary, a chance to take stock, reinvent himself before moving on again. He frowned, wondering how he’d missed the signs and become complacent about her moods.

  ‘You frowning at me?’ she slurred.

  Her hand shot out and slapped his right cheek.

  Eli’s eyes watered from the strike.

  Her grip on his shirt relaxed, and he recoiled, turned his body away from her, and rubbed his face.

  ‘No,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Why were the police here?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ she spat.

  Although he stood a head taller than her, she was thickset against his skinny frame, and had used her weight advantage to beat him throughout his childhood.

  She relied on verbal abuse as well as physical, belittling him on a regular basis, wearing him down until he believed every vicious word that escaped her lips. Often though, her fists would lash out at him.

  He’d felt powerless until the first time he’d been tagging along with a group of kids after school when he was sixteen, the remnants of the boys no one else wanted to hang around with, and even then he was the bottom of the pecking order. They had psyched themselves up to mug an old lady in an alleyway off Wheeler Street, and Eli had felt the first flush of excitement as the leader of the group had dared the youngest to go first.

  The look of terror that flashed across the woman’s face had filled Eli with a rush of adrenalin and lust, and he’d suddenly understood why his mother was as she was.

  Power.

  His mother shoved him hard enough to send him sprawling onto the floor.

  ‘You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?’

  He cried out as a well-aimed kick met his left shin.

  ‘Get up!’

  His mother turned to the small table against the hallway wall, her hand brushing against the telephone before she turned around and held up a business card. ‘DC Carys Miles,’ she said. ‘Said she had authorisation to search the house. My house.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Sorry?’ She advanced on him, her eyes blazing. ‘Sorry? You have any idea what the neighbours are going to say?’

  Eli shrugged. The neighbours never spoke to them, so he was at a loss for words.

  His mother poked a pudgy finger into the soft tissue beside his collarbone, hard enough that it would leave another bruise. ‘They left a mess. Because of you.’

  Eli tuned out as she began to berate him for being useless, an embarrassment, all the things she usually dredged up, and let the words wash over him.

  A fury began to well up within his chest, and his vision blurred for a moment.

  And then he lashed out.

  He couldn’t recall afterwards whether she cried out before her head shot back from the blow, but he would always remember the crack as her skull hit the stair bannister a split second before her limp body sank to the threadbare carpet.

  He stood for a moment as blood rushed to his head. His chest heaved with every breath.

  ‘Shit.’

  He crouched, rolled her body towards him with effort, and then recoiled as he saw the dent in her head behind her ear. A trickle of blood ran from her nose and dripped onto his shoe.

  Eli pushed her away, stood, and ran up the stairs two at a time.

  He held his breath as he entered her bedroom, the stench of urine and vomit too much to bear.

  She’d clean up each time of course, but over the years, the stink clung to everything, and it turned his stomach.

  He crouched and reached under the bed, and then pulled out her handbag and began to rifle through the small vials that she kept in an old make-up bag.

  He removed two, and shoved them into his pockets, then grabbed more, just in case.

  He straightened, ran back down the stairs, stepped over her body, and hurried into the kitchen. The car keys hung from a copper-coloured hook next to the internal door that led through to the single garage, and he swiped them off as he passed.

  The small rusting hatchback sat in darkness, and he wondered when she’d last managed to be sober enough to drive – and whether there was any petrol in it.

  He pushed past the protruding wing mirror to the garage door and wrested it open, ran to the bottom of the driveway, and pegged open the two metal gates.

  Returning to the vehicle, he inserted the first key to unlock the driver’s door, then inserted the second into the ignition, and twisted it away from him.

  The engine stuttered, and then failed.

  Eli swore, and then remembered the old car had a manual choke. He pulled the lever out halfway, and then tried again.

  The vehicle puttered to life, and he threw it into reverse.

  It charged from the garage, and Eli eased off the accelerator. The last thing he wanted was to draw more attention to the house than the police already had.

  Eli swung the car out into the street, left it running while he ran back up the driveway, and closed the garage door.

  As he returned to the car, a curtain twitched in the front window of the house opposite, and the man who lived there peered out.

  Eli held his hand up, then got in the car, and powered away.

  He needed to get to work.

  FIFTY-THREE

  Kay drummed her pen on her desk, her eyes roaming the investigation reports.

  She wouldn’t admit to feeling desperate, not in front of her team, but Eli Matthews had been clouding her thoughts ever since she’d first listened to him in the interview room.

  The man was a deviant, and she had no doubts about his intelligence or cunning.

  During the interview, he’d been too self-assured, too comfortable. The only time she’d seen him falter was when Sharp had announced they’d obtained the search authorisations.

  Eli had recovered quickly, but she’d seen the flicker of doubt cloud
his eyes. Only for a second, but she’d seen it.

  Frustration could cause mistakes, so she bottled it down, and forced herself to continue reading.

  A coffee mug appeared in front of her, the contents steaming.

  ‘Thought you might need that,’ said Barnes.

  ‘Thanks, Ian.’

  She leaned back in her chair, and wrapped her fingers around the ceramic surface, her eyes drifting to the rain that pounded the windows of the incident room.

  ‘Penny for your thoughts?’

  She sighed. ‘What have I missed, Ian?’ She held up a hand and counted off using her fingers. ‘He’s got a van that was spotted late at night with no explanation of what he was doing there; it’s a vehicle that’s an old courier van, identical to the one in the CCTV footage; he hasn’t got a solid alibi for his whereabouts on that night, and yet that’s still not enough to hold him.’

  ‘We need more, Sarge,’ said Barnes. He perched on her desk and sipped his own brew. ‘He must’ve made a mistake somewhere.’

  ‘But the lock-up was clean – so was the house.’

  ‘Maybe he’s got somewhere else,’ said Barnes.

  Kay put her coffee mug down. ‘I’m not giving up on him. I’m going to track down his old employers here in Maidstone. Find out why he left and moved to Suffolk.’

  ‘You don’t buy his story of a change of scenery, then?’ said Barnes, a quirk at the side of his mouth.

  ‘No, I don’t,’ said Kay. She wagged her finger at him. ‘And nor do you.’

  Barnes shrugged. ‘We’re clutching at straws though. He’s going to get away with it, isn’t he?’

  ‘Not if I have anything to do with it,’ she said. ‘He’s getting careless. That means he’s getting desperate.’

  ‘For another fix, you think?’

  She nodded. ‘I guess that’s a good a name for it as any, yes.’

  ‘How long do you think we’ve got before he grabs someone else?’

  ‘I don’t know. I—’

  She broke off as a uniformed officer stuck his head around the corner of the door. ‘Sorry to interrupt. Thought you should know – a triple nine call came in from a Mrs Evans. Next door neighbour of Beryl Matthews, Eli’s mother, half an hour ago.’

  Kay leapt from her chair and slung her jacket over her shoulders. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Uniform attended the scene immediately. Beryl Matthews has been found dead, and Eli is missing. Forensic team are on their way.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She turned to Barnes. ‘Come on.’

  FIFTY-FOUR

  He relished the silence of his office, the door locked for now.

  He could concentrate for a start.

  Undisturbed, he could work for hours, without the hubbub of noise from other people. Without the constant interruptions.

  He didn’t mind the long hours that came with his role; after all, a successful business needed to be nurtured, coaxed along. His position brought with it a level of responsibility that he enjoyed.

  He was more than worthy of the role.

  He ran his eyes over the paperwork that covered the surface of the desk, and then his gaze fell upon the laptop computer pushed to one side.

  He ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

  He’d promised himself he’d finish the paperwork before he watched again.

  A sigh escaped his lips, and he felt the familiar tightness in his trousers.

  Dammit, the paperwork could wait.

  He leaned forward, and pulled the computer towards him. He closed the file in front of him, slid the papers out of the way, and tapped a key twice to wake the computer.

  Password? k12

  He typed in a messy sequence of symbols, letters, and numbers that were nonsensical in nature, and the laptop whirred to life.

  His fingers worked the keyboard until the internet explorer program opened, and he sat back in his chair with a groan.

  She was awake!

  He reached out and ran a finger down the screen, tracing her outline.

  The date rape drug Eli had used had now worn off completely he realised, and tried to contain his excitement.

  The girl – Emma, Eli had informed him – was staring at her feet, and as his eyes travelled down her body, he choked out a gleeful laugh.

  The water was rising, just as Eli had predicted.

  He watched as Emma struggled against her bindings, and for a moment wondered if she would escape.

  But, no.

  He relaxed as she stopped, frustration clouding her features.

  She wouldn’t be going anywhere.

  He frowned, and leaned closer to the picture.

  Despite her efforts, the girl wasn’t out of breath.

  He tapped a key, and zoomed the lens closer to her skin.

  Goosebumps peppered her arms and legs.

  He sat back in his chair, the furrow in his brow deepening.

  She should be perspiring, her chest heaving from the effort, her heart rate accelerated.

  Instead, she looked cold.

  He watched as she took a deep breath, before she pulled at her bindings once more, using her weight to stretch the fabric to its limits.

  Then he realised what was wrong.

  ‘Shit,’ he murmured.

  He reached out for his phone, and dialled a number.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  Kay pulled on overalls and plastic booties before she locked her car and followed Barnes through the garden gate to Beryl Matthews’ house.

  Neighbours had gathered on the street; a small cluster who were all of an older generation and, Kay noted with a sense of relief, without smartphones to record the crime scene investigators at work.

  A white tent had been erected at the front door, where two uniformed officers stood, one with a clipboard. Kay signed herself and Barnes in, and then crossed the threshold into the Matthews’ hallway.

  Lucas glanced up at her from his crouched position on the floor. ‘Blunt trauma wound to the back of her head,’ he said. ‘Given the blood and tissue on the stair balustrade, I’d say she fell against that. Death was instantaneous.’

  ‘Fell, or pushed?’ said Kay.

  His lips thinned. ‘It would have been quite some force to cause that sort of injury.’

  Kay turned to Barnes. ‘Get a description of Eli out to all uniforms. He’s our lead suspect in the murder of Beryl Matthews, and should be apprehended as soon as possible.’

  He nodded, and pulled out his phone. He turned away to speak to the uniformed officers, and Kay turned her attention back to the pathologist.

  Lucas straightened. ‘Harriet’s team found vials of insulin in Mrs Matthews’ handbag. She was keeping them in an old make-up bag.’

  ‘Was she a diabetic?’

  ‘We’ll find out from her GP in due course,’ he said. ‘But there appear to be some missing.’

  ‘And they weren’t spotted before?’ said Kay. She tore her eyes away from the woman on the floor. ‘Sounds as if he was raiding her supplies.’

  ‘Maybe she suspected he was, and tried to hide them from him.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘I’ll let you know if we find anything else.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Kay shoved her gloved hands in her pockets and moved towards the front door, then stripped off the booties and overalls.

  Barnes finished talking with the two uniformed officers under the shelter of the porch, and one of the officers rushed towards the patrol car parked at the kerb, his radio to his lips while the other maintained his presence on the doorstep.

  Barnes saw her approaching, and pulled his phone from his ear.

  ‘We’ve received a phoned-in report from a neighbour saying they heard shouting earlier this morning.’

  Kay’s gaze shifted to an elderly man who beckoned to her from the other side of the road, a large umbrella with a familiar golfing brand emblazoned over its surface held above his head, sheltering him from the steady downpour.

  ‘I thi
nk someone wants a word with us.’

  She led Barnes across the street at a jog, and the man held out his hand.

  ‘I’m Felix Peters,’ he said, and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘I live there.’

  Kay introduced herself and Barnes. ‘Was there something you wanted to tell us, Mr Peters?’

  He nodded, his eyes moving to the white tent and the people moving to and from the Matthews’ house. He held out the umbrella so it offered some shelter to them both. ‘I saw him. A few hours ago. He took his mother’s car.’ His brow creased. ‘She never lets him drive that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘She doesn’t let him do anything – except go to work,’ he said. His shoulders sagged. ‘It’s the drink. It was worse when he was a kid. Couldn’t protect himself, especially after his dad left when Eli was only five.’

  Kay raised an eyebrow at Barnes. ‘Did he see you?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Peters. ‘He’d run down the driveway to open the gates. He waved, then went back, reversed the car out and drove away.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘Surprised it started. Must be years since Beryl was in any fit state to drive.’

  ‘What’s the make and model?’

  Peters told them, and made sure he gave Barnes the registration number twice, to be sure.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Peters, you’ve been very helpful,’ said Kay. ‘We’ll be in touch over the next day or so, to get a formal statement from you.’

  He called out as they began to walk away.

  ‘She’s dead then?’

  Kay stopped and looked over her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Peters, but I can’t discuss—’

  ‘Good riddance to the bitch,’ said the old man, and hawked into the gutter before turning on his heel.

  ‘Sounds like Beryl Matthews was a right charmer,’ said Barnes.

  ‘She’s still dead,’ said Kay. ‘And Eli Matthews is still our main suspect.’

  As they reached the Matthews’ garden and the taped-off cordon, she placed a hand on Barnes’ arm.

  ‘I’m going to have a quick word with the boss to bring him up to speed,’ she said. ‘Get that car registration number circulated. All patrols to immediately report any sightings and apprehend Eli Matthews.’