A Passion To Kill (DI Matt Barnes Book 5)

by Michael Kerr

  The phone rang as he was sitting at the table in the kitchen drinking tea.

  “Yes?” he said, and then listened to the caller. Tears formed in his eyes and tippled out onto his cheeks. He blinked them away and squeezed his eyes shut. Keith Ratcliff said that Rascal had died. The rest of what the vet told him went unheard. He told Keith that he would call by later in the day, and then hung up.

  “Fuck everything!” he said aloud. Life was basically a series of good and bad events. Happiness was offset by tragedy. Everyone had their own take on it, but would all too soon be slowly weighed down by the yoke of time that brought most people to their knees eventually.

  Matt and Pete walked into the squad room and Tom Bartlett was there, sitting on the edge of a desk talking to Tam and Errol.

  Tom gave Pete a stony, dismissive look before turning his attention to Matt. “Your office, now,” he said, leading the way.

  Matt followed Tom in and closed the door behind them.

  “You and your bloody sidekick Tonto are out of order, Barnes,” Tom said. “You can’t go round beating up suspects and shooting their dogs. This isn’t the sixties or seventies, back when your dad was a cop, and you and Deakin aren’t Regan and Carter in The Sweeney.”

  “We can and we did,” Matt said. “The guy assaulted Pete and resisted arrest. And his mutt was trying to eat me. It was a cross between an alligator and a grizzly bear. Look at my arm.” He held it up for Tom to see the torn, bloodied sleeve of his fleece.

  Tom sighed. “Talking about grizzlies reminds me that Adams is on the warpath. He wants something to feed the pack of human dogs in grey suits on the top floor with. Have you got any scraps to throw them?”

  Matt shook his head. “We’ve spoken to the last few men that had any connection with David Madsen. None of them look good for it.”

  “Which leaves us where exactly?”

  “I still think that this has everything to do with the first victim. Connolly was murdered because of what he did to Josie Madsen.”

  “That’s supposition.”

  “It’s all we’ve got at the moment. I believe that David Madsen paid someone to kill Connolly while he and his wife were in Australia. I want you to arrange for us to check his bank and building society accounts, and also those of his brother’s. It could show a large payment that neither of them would be able to easily explain away.”

  “I should be able to get warrants, due to them being suspects in a murder inquiry.”

  “Is that it?”

  “No. I want your gun, and a report to back up why you discharged it.”

  Matt drew the pistol from his shoulder rig, removed the magazine, checked that the chamber was clear and placed the weapon on the desktop.

  “I won’t ask you about the other case,” Tom said as he fished a zip lock bag from a side pocket of his jacket and placed the weapon and mag into it. “Tam and Errol have told me that you’ve got zilch.”

  Matt said nothing. Tom was under a lot of pressure from above. They were good friends, and Tom knew that Matt was doing all that he could to find leads.

  “I’m going home,” Matt said. “I need a break, a few Scotches and some sleep.”

  Beth’s day had been better than Matt’s.

  Abby was sitting at the window, and looked round and smiled at Beth when she knocked on the partly open door and entered the girl’s room.

  “Good morning Abby,” Beth said. “How are you feeling today?”

  Abby picked Eeyore up and hugged him tightly to her chest, but kept her silence.

  “I think that we should go shopping in Uxbridge this morning,” Beth said. “The Pavilions is a shopping mall with a really nice ice cream parlour. And we should let Eeyore and Tigger come, and I’ll take some photos of us all with my phone. How does that sound?”

  Abby raised the donkey up to her face and whispered something next to its long, floppy ear, and then used a finger at the back of its head, pushing it forward in a nod.

  “Well, I’ll pop and get my coat and gloves, while you put yours on, and then we’ll go and have an adventure.”

  Abby picked Tigger up off the sill, and then placed him and Eeyore on bed while she walked over to the wardrobe.

  “Meet me downstairs at the back door in a minute,” Beth said.

  Soon after, Abby was climbing into Beth’s Lexus, and didn’t need to be told to fasten her seat belt. She even tucked the two stuffed toys behind the belt.

  At the shopping centre, Beth took Abby on a tour of it, and then they went into the ice cream parlour and Abby stared in amazement at the pictures of all the different splits, sundaes and floats. She finally pointed to the illustration of a hot fudge sundae that was made up of rich chocolate ice cream topped with marshmallows, hot fudge, whipped cream, almonds and a cherry. Beth decided to have the same, and ordered. When the waitress came back and set the dishes in front of them, Beth asked her if she would take a photo of Abby and her, and handed the teenager her phone.

  As they ate, Beth paused a few times and took several more photos of Abby, and some of Eeyore and Tigger as Abby pretended to feed them off the long spoon.

  It was after Beth had paid for the ice cream and they were leaving the parlour that Abby said, “Thank you.”

  Beth said, “You’re welcome,” and then stopped in shock as she realised that Abby had spoken.

  “I was very unhappy,” Abby said by way of explanation. “I couldn’t speak for a long time, and then when I could I had nothing to say. I was full up with sadness, but you’ve made me feel better Doctor Beth.”

  Beth knelt down and hugged Abby, and Abby hugged her back.

  “Just call me Beth,” Beth said. “I’m so happy that you’ve talked to me.”

  “Sometimes it’s easier not to say anything.”

  “You’re right, Abby. But to not say anything all the time isn’t good for you.”

  “I know…Beth. Are you my friend?”

  “You bet I am. And I will be for always if you want me to be.”

  The waitress that had served them asked, “Are you both okay?”

  Beth looked up and nodded. “We’re better than okay,” she said. “We are possibly two of the happiest people in the world.”

  The waitress looked embarrassed, not knowing that an almost magical event had just taken place. The tears that Beth and Abby were shedding were of joy not sorrow.

  “What will happen to me now?” Abby asked as Beth drove back to Morning Star.

  “What do you want to happen?” Beth said.

  “I want to be with my mummy, but I’ve heard people saying that she isn’t well.”

  “Your mummy is beginning to feel a lot better, Abby. I’m sure that eventually she will be back at home, and you’ll both be together again. Until then I know that your grandma and granddad love you very much and will want you to stay with them.”

  “Aren’t they angry with me because I wouldn’t talk to them?”

  “Oh, no, honey. They understand just how broken-hearted you were.”

  It would be a few days before Abby was assessed by the board and allowed to be reunited with her grandparents, but bar a relapse that Beth was positive would not occur, Abby was now back on track and able to go forward, still missing her father terribly, but with the strength of mind and ability to accommodate the loss. Life goes on, and that’s the cold, hard truth of it.

  Back at Morning Star, after giving Beth another hug, Abby ventured into the dayroom and actually started a conversation with two of the other children. Within seconds they were giggling and acting like kids that had not suffered the traumatic experiences that they were slowly recovering from. It struck Beth that what had happened today with Abby had been the most significant event in her working life. In part she had been responsible for bringing the little girl back from a dark, lonely and desperate place.

  After going upstairs to Sylvia’s office and telling her about the breakthrough with Abby, Beth drove home.

  It was seven p.m.
when she received a text from Matt that read, ETA 30 MINS X. She fixed a pot of fresh coffee to brew and waited, always impatient to be with him. And she was excited, and wanted to tell him about Abby. After all, the ice had been broken due to his idea to take a cuddly toy of a character from Pooh in.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  HE liked the old-fashioned way that Beth met him at the door; the hunter home from the hill. His left arm was sore to the bone, but he raised it with the other to place around her in an embrace, and to savour a loving kiss.

  As they moved apart, Beth saw his arm. Her smile died as concern formed a new expression on her face. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” he said, feeling anything but. “I had a tussle with a dog, that’s all.”

  Beth put her hands on her hips. “Define tussle,” she said.

  “Pete and I were calling to interview a lowlife in Aldersbrook. He did a runner out the back of his house and left a pitbull behind to deal with us.”

  “And you got bitten?”

  “‘Fraid so. I had to shoot it. I truly believe if I hadn’t had my gun it would have ripped me to pieces.”

  “But Pete was with you.”

  “He’d legged it down the street to cut the guy off. When he cuffed him and brought him back to the house, he somehow managed to open the dog’s jaws and release my arm.”

  “Did you have it treated?”

  “No, it was dead.”

  “Not funny. I meant your arm, not the poor dog.”

  “Yeah, I went to the hospital and they patched me up and gave me a couple of shots.”

  “You’ll want something stronger than coffee, then.”

  “Not yet. Coffee will be good. The stronger the better.”

  “Go and change, and I’ll put fresh bandages on your arm.”

  He went upstairs, undressed and dropped his shirt and fleece in the waste bin in the bedroom, but didn’t dump his jeans, which only had a few spots of dried blood on. He didn’t get dressed again, just pulled on his old, chunky dressing gown ‒ that Beth kept threatening to throw out ‒ and slippers that were down at the heel and threatening to come apart. He didn’t like new clothes, and only bought cheap gear. He wasn’t, and never had been, a follower of fashion. Comfort was paramount, not how others viewed him. Truth was, apart from Beth, he didn’t give a rat’s arse what anyone else thought. Fortunately she loved him for who he was, not his lack of dress sense.

  They sat in the nook again, as per usual, and drank coffee and talked.

  “Are you any nearer to closing either of the current cases?” Beth asked.

  “Only in the sense that we’ve eliminated a lot of suspects. That puts us back to square one.”

  “Do you still think that The Clown is someone David Madsen knows?”

  “Somebody that he or his brother knows. I’m sticking with the idea that the first victim was specifically targeted for what he’d done to Madsen’s daughter. It was arranged, and the killer isn’t a pro. He wouldn’t have kept going with the same MO if he had been, or contacted us. What he did to Connolly flipped a switch. Now it’s an undertaking. He’s found a reason to live; an obsession.”

  “Does his brother look good for it?”

  “Not really. He has military experience, so I assume taking life isn’t something he would find difficult to do. He lost a leg in Iraq, and when we talked to him he was on crutches and wasn’t wearing a prosthetic limb. That could have been for show, to appear to us as if he would have been incapable of doing the deeds. Tom is arranging to have his and David’s bank details scrutinised, to look for any large withdrawals made before Connolly was murdered.”

  Beth got up and went for the coffeepot and poured them both refills. “Bottom line being it could be totally unrelated. All serial murderers have to start with someone.”

  “I hope you’re wrong,” Matt said. “That would leave us relying on him killing again, and hoping that he makes a mistake, which I wouldn’t expect him to do.”

  “He will keep killing,” Beth said. “He’s found his calling.”

  “Then we could be in for the long haul. The only good thing is that he’s targeting men that have committed serious crimes.”

  “Good thing?” Beth said.

  “Better than him targeting innocent people.”

  “What about the other case?”

  “The team are digging through names of people that have been highlighted on the TV show, or lost their careers or spent time in prison as a direct result of investigations made by Danielle Cooper, Jeff Goodwin and Dominic Wilson.”

  “So you’ll have a long list?”

  “Too long.”

  “And you’re sure that the murders are linked to someone that the show was involved with?”

  “Seems the best bet.”

  “What about the agent that you told me about?”

  Matt shrugged. “I didn’t see her as being some homicidal maniac that would have clients murdered because they were going to leave her agency. She seemed a professional who has been in the business a very long time. If a customer of any company chooses to move on, the company doesn’t usually take a contract out on them.”

  Beth nodded. “Let me see your arm,” she said.

  Matt pushed up the sleeve of his dressing gown to above his elbow and let Beth gently loosen the tape that was holding the bandage in place, which she then unrolled. Blood had seeped through it, and the dressing beneath was also stained with the yellow antiseptic that they had liberally soaked the wounds with.

  “That’s a mess,” Beth said as she stared at the large round puncture holes that the dog’s teeth had made.

  “Could have been a lot worse if it had latched on to my throat.”

  Beth cleaned around the wounds with hot water on a wad of cotton wool, and then placed a fresh lint pad on his arm and bound it with new bandage.

  “Thanks,” Matt said. “How was your day? All we’ve talked about are my problems.”

  “It was the kind of day that I don’t suppose comes along too often. I took Abby out for a walk round The Pavilions in Uxbridge, and we called in that American-style ice cream parlour. After we’d eaten and I’d paid, Abby said ‘thank you’ to me. I couldn’t believe it.”

  “So she’s talking again?”

  “Yes, she’s snapped out of whatever world she was stuck in for a while. I think she’ll be fine now.”

  “Perhaps Eeyore and Tigger told her to shape up and get back with the programme.”

  “You think?”

  “No. I’m sure that it was you that found a way to reach her.”

  “Your idea for me to take in another refugee from Hundred Acre Wood helped her turn the corner.”

  Matt grinned. “Pooh Corner?”

  Beth giggled and said, “You’re a big softy at heart, Barnes.”

  “I know,” he said. “But don’t tell anybody, it would damage my street cred.”

  “Shit!” Carl said as he pulled his hand away from the side of the van. He had been attempting to pull the decal off, and the edge of it had slipped under his fingernail and sliced into the soft flesh with the same effect as he would have got from a paper cut.

  It didn’t take long. He soon had the new builder’s merchants decals smoothed out on the Volkswagen. Dressed in black donkey jackets and jeans, he and Jay-Jay were ready to go.

  It was nine p.m. and a little foggy, which was perfect. When they reached the bowling club, Carl parked outside a small church next to it, which was closed due to a lack of funds for essential repairs, with the windows boarded up to keep out dossers and vandals, although it went without saying that anyone determined enough would have made it up to the roof to strip it of lead.

  The bowling green’s office was in darkness, but there was a light on in the small function room adjacent to it.

  Jay-Jay tried the door, to find it locked, so he knocked.

  Stan Hodges was the manager of the club. He had been doing some bookwork, and had put his c
oat on and was about to leave when the knock came at the door.

  As he opened it, an extremely tall black guy entered, backing him up a few feet. Another smaller white man followed on behind and closed the door.

  “We’re closed,” Stan said. “You’ll have to leave.”

  Jay-Jay smiled. “What’s your name?”

  “Stan Hodges, I’m the manager. What do you want?”

  “Information,” Jay-Jay said, rightly assuming that Stan was a pensioner, and that this job on the side didn’t pay very much. “For two ’undred quid I need de name of one of your members. Simple as dat.”

  “That’s confidential information,” Stan said, his expression hardening. “I can’t help you, so I suggest you go.”

  “Dat’s twice you’ve told us to leave, Stan,” Jay-Jay said. “You need to realise dat dis is not a request. De only choice you ’ave is whether to be sensible or stupid.”

  Stan decided on stupid. He walked over to a table with a phone on it and picked up the receiver.

  It was Carl that stopped him from phoning the police. He took two strides over to the table, wrenched the phone from Stan’s hand and clubbed him across the side of the head with it.

  Stan groaned and reached up to the seat of the sudden pain as he fell to his knees.

  “You’re gettin’ too old to be an ’ero,” Jay-Jay said. “Don’t end up in ’ospital wiv a ruptured spleen. You ’ave a club member in ’is fifties who owns a black lab, an’ we need to get in touch wiv ’im, so tell me ’is name an’ address before my friend starts beatin’ on you.”