“No, it’s okay. I’m pretty tired, actually. I’ll get going home if you don’t mind?”
“Of course not. What about the outfit though?”
“I can grab it off you next week.” He fumbled in the glove box and pulled out a bottle of makeup remover. “Here, you’ll need this.”
“Oh, shit. I meant to buy some of this, thanks mate—you’re a star.”
“You can keep this one, it’s a spare.”
“Goodnight then, mate.” I tottered out of the car and into the house, kicked the shoes off at the door and groaned—my feet were killing me.
Collapsing on the sofa, I reached for the TV remote and froze. A bump from upstairs had me on high alert.
Getting up, I crept into the hallway and picked one of the shoes back up, and made my way upstairs—my heart thudding in my chest.
At the top of the stairs, I scanned the empty bathroom, then pushed myself along the landing to my partially opened bedroom door—the shoe raised above my head, and my breath held tight.
The door swung inwards with a creak.
Steve lay on the bed, partially covered with a single white sheet, a long-stemmed red rose held firmly between his teeth, a box of Belgian chocolates sat on his bare chest.
I exhaled noisily. “Bloody hell, Steve. You freaked me out.”
“What the hell?” He discarded the rose, his face a picture.
“What?” It suddenly dawned on me, I was still in full drag—wig and all. “Oh.” I laughed. “Steve, meet Avaline.” I curtsied.
Thirty-Four
Steve was up at the crack of dawn, banging and clanging in the kitchen and whistling some god-awful tune.
I groaned covering my head with the pillow which seemed to do the trick until the clomping of Steve’s boots on the wooden staircase chased the last vestiges of sleep away.
“Wakey, wakey, sleepy head—I’ve made you some breakfast.”
“Do I have to? It’s Saturday for God’s sake.”
“Tell that to your phone, it’s been vibrating for over half an hour.”
I jumped up. “Really? Bloody hell, I forgot to turn the ringer back on after my performance last night.”
“Here, don’t panic.” He handed me my phone.
My heart dropped to my stomach as I checked the screen. “Five missed calls, all from Will. Shit!”
“Is that bad?”
“It means something’s happened.” I returned the call and Will picked up immediately.
“Sorry to disturb you on a Saturday, boss, but you’ll wanna hear this.”
“Oh, God. What now?”
“We’ve found another body, I’m afraid.”
“Fuck! Same MO?”
“I’d say so.”
“What are the details?”
“Konrad Walker. He, or I should say she, was found by a neighbour this morning. 79 Sundown Avenue, Toxteth.”
“I’m on my way. Where are you?”
“I’m already there. I didn’t hang around when I couldn’t get hold of anyone.”
“Good. Keep everybody out, I won’t be long.” I hung up and turned to Steve. “Sorry, but I’ve got to go.”
He glanced down at the fried eggs and bacon congealing on the plate. “Oh, well. I’d best eat it myself. Drink your coffee though.”
I grabbed one of the triangles of toast and took a bite, then, after slurping a mouthful of hot coffee, I kissed the tip of his nose and headed to the bathroom.
Being Saturday morning, Sundown Avenue was heaving with a mixture of kids and adults, all trying to get wind of what had happened at the bottom of the street.
I parked as close as I could then walked the rest of the way, stepping over the police cordon.
Will met me at the front door.
“What do we have?” I asked.
“The next-door neighbour, Deborah Mitchell, noticed the victim’s cat out this morning, which struck her as odd as he wasn’t usually allowed out. She caught him and brought him home. When there was no answer at the door, she knocked on the window and spotted a load of blood spatters on the curtain. She called the station right away. Uniform discovered the body shortly after.”
“Has Lauren been informed?” I asked as I climbed into a pair of overalls and bootees Will had left beside the front door.
Will nodded. “Yes, she’s on her way.”
I stepped inside.
“First door on the right,” Will said. “I hope you’ve not eaten.”
“Thanks for the warning.” I glanced around the small, tidy hallway and, spotting a jacket covered in small badges, my blood ran like ice water. I gasped and rushed into the lounge. There my fears were realized. Kimberley’s dead grey eyes stared up at me. Her forehead had been split in two as though someone had smashed her with an axe. I rushed to the kitchen and, not wanting to contaminate the crime scene, I threw up in a cup.
“Sorry,” I said to Will once I returned.
“I take it you knew her?”
“Sadly, yes. Get Darren Wilkes picked up now.”
“You think this was his doing?”
“Yeah.” I thought of the sweet girl, now lying dead on her floor and felt the threat of tears. “He assaulted her and threatened to kill her last night in Dorothy’s.”
Lauren arrived shortly after me and got straight to work but I didn’t need her to tell me the murder had been committed by the same killer. Because Kimberley was pre-op she hadn’t had her penis mutilated, but the opposite was true of her breasts which had been butchered beyond recognition.
“He was trying to remove the implants, but this little lady didn’t have any,” Lauren said, inspecting the tattered remains of Kimberley’s chest. “This guy is a right sicko.”
I turned away, not able to look at poor Kimberley any longer. “He’s a sick bastard, alright, but I’ll make sure he doesn’t do this to anybody else.”
Will was waiting for me once I’d finished with Lauren.
“Her parents live in West Kirby—A Jemima and Rex Walker.”
Just what I needed right now; a trip through the Liverpool tunnel in Saturday traffic. “You want to head over there with me? I could do with the company.”
“Of course. Do you want to drive or shall I?”
“We can drop your car off at the station, if you like, and then I’ll drive.”
“Sounds good.”
I followed him to the station and then together we headed to West Kirby, an upmarket town on the north-west corner of the Wirral peninsula.
Forty minutes later, we pulled into the grounds of an impressive detached house—a far cry from where Kimberley’s life had been savagely snuffed out.
A top of the range silver Mercedes and a sleek red Audi were parked on the drive outside the open garage which was big enough to accommodate most people’s houses and still have room for a couple of cars. A man in his late twenties, dressed in black sweats, was busily cleaning them. Sounds of Ed Sheeran filled the air between us.
The man’s feet almost left the ground when he spotted us standing behind him, and he leaned inside the Audi and turned off the music. “Sorry, guys. I didn’t see you there,” he said with a broad cockney accent.
I held up my ID. “DI Monroe and DC Buckley. We’re looking for Mr and Mrs Walker.”
“I think they’re both inside, shall I check for you?”
“No, it’s okay, I’ll find them.”
We approached the front door and a woman in her sixties, who was very well presented for a Saturday morning, answered the doorbell.
“Mrs Walker?”
She eyed us suspiciously then shot a dirty look towards the guy in the drive. “Yes. Can I help you?”
We showed our badges.
“DI Monroe and DC Buckley—may we come in please?”
“What’s this about?” The woman had a definite haughty attitude, so unlike her daughter.
“I’ll tell you, just not on the doorstep, if that’s okay?”
“Very well.” She al
lowed us to enter and then led us through to a conservatory at the back of the vast property.
A man, dressed a little more casual than his wife, jumped to his feet, folding the newspaper, startled by the intrusion. “Oh, good morning.”
Once the introductions were out of the way, Mr Walker offered us a seat.
“So, cut to the chase. What are you here for?” his wife snapped.
“We’re here about your son, Konrad, or Kimberley as she was also known,” I said.
“Not in this house, he wasn’t,” Mr Walker said.
“What the hell has that boy done now? As if he hasn’t brought enough shame on this family,” his wife sneered.
I felt the hackles rise on my neck and it took all my self-control not to bite. “He’s done nothing, actually. Konrad was attacked in his home last night. I’m sorry to inform you, your son’s dead.”
The next twenty minutes turned out to be the most bizarre of my career to date. Kimberley’s parents were more upset about the shame this would bring on their family and career than they were to hear their only child had been brutally murdered.
I couldn’t wait to get out of the place before I said something I’d regret. Poor Kimberley deserved a family that would grieve her death—to mourn her absence—not be embarrassed at the way she chose to live her life.
“Hateful bastards,” I said to Will once we were back in the car. “Let’s go to the station and see if they’ve picked up Darren Wilkes yet. I’m in the mood to tear him a new arsehole.”
Thirty-Five
I waited at the station for a good three hours before deciding enough was enough.
A squad car had attended Wilkes’ apartment and gained entrance from the building manager, but he was nowhere to be found. Only upon further questioning did the manager inform them Wilkes hadn’t been home all night.
Where the hell was he? I was beyond irritated the slimy little shit had evaded me and issued a warrant for his arrest. He wouldn’t get far.
Walking out of the station I decided to pay Layla a visit. Janine was on my case, and, with having no contact from her, I couldn’t keep her out of the firing line any longer. Monday morning she would be getting a letter from HR and I wanted to do the decent thing and pre-warn her. That way it wouldn’t come as too much of a shock.
Pulling up outside her house, I noted the curtains were drawn and it looked like nobody was home, apart from the fact Layla’s car, which also happened to be covered in bird shit, was parked on the driveway. I wondered why she didn’t use the garage, but that was the least of her problems right now.
Stepping out, I walked up the path to her front door and knocked.
One of the twins, whose names I couldn’t remember pulled the door open and glared at me.
“Is your mum home?”
“We don’t want any,” he grunted and made to close the door.
“I’m not here to sell you anything. I want a word with your mum. She works with me.”
“She’s in bed,” he snapped.
Friendly little bugger, I thought. “Would you mind waking her up? This is important.”
Just then I heard Layla shouting from the top of the stairs. “Who’s at the bloody door?”
I poked my head inside. “It’s only me, Dylan.”
She rushed downstairs and peered around the door. “What are you doing here?”
I noticed how dishevelled she looked. “I hadn’t heard from you so thought I’d pop round and see if there was anything I could do to help.”
“I’m on the sick, Dylan. You shouldn’t be here.”
“But you’re not on the sick, not officially.”
Her tone changed instantly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Look, I don’t want to shout your business all over the close. Why don’t you invite me in for a coffee and we can talk? It really is in your best interest, Layla,”
She wasn’t pleased by my presence, but if she valued her job, she would listen to what I had to say.
The door swung open. I was surprised by her fluffy pink pyjamas. “You better come in then but let me run upstairs and put some clothes on.”
“Thanks.”
“Take a seat in the living room.” She turned to her son and ushered him towards the stairs. “You get up there and clean that bedroom.”
“I wanna go and live with my dad.”
“Tough luck, buddy. He doesn’t want to live with you.”
I flinched at her harsh words.
The kid ran up the stairs and the house shook when he slammed a door.
Layla came down a few minutes later, wearing faded blue jeans and a baggy top. Her dark hair had been scraped back into a messy ponytail. “What are you really doing here, Dylan?”
“You called in the first day to tell me you were sick, then nothing. What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry, I meant to, but I couldn’t face talking to anyone.”
“You could have emailed me, text, anything, just so I had some sort of explanation to give to Janine.”
“I’m gonna lose my job, aren’t I?”
“Not if I can help it, but I won’t lie to you and say everything is hunky dory.”
“I don’t wanna get fired.”
“Look, I’ll do what I can, but you can’t go AWOL again. Make sure you message me if you’re not up to talking until you get a sick note. I assume you are going to go to your GP?”
“Yeah, I have an appointment on Tuesday next week.”
“Good, but keep me in the loop, and I’ll try to square it with Janine and HR, tell them it was an error and you didn’t realise you had to call daily because you can self-cert for a week.”
“Thanks, Dylan.”
“I’ll help you as much as I can, but you have to start helping yourself. This isn’t you.”
“I don’t have the energy to do anything right now.”
“Are you still having problems with Max?”
She looked on the verge of tears. “I hate him so much for what’s he’s done to me and the kids.”
“Marriages end all the time, Layla, but you can’t allow yourself to fall apart, for your sake and the boys.”
“Have you ever felt so mad inside, or felt such hatred for one person?” She pulled anxiously at her top, and my heart went out to her. Her fingernails were bitten down to stumps, and for the first time, I saw my partner on the edge. One more push and she’d topple over.
“I get why you hate him, but if you don’t get a grip on yourself, you’re gonna end up losing your job, and right now, you need it more than ever.”
“My job is all that is keeping me sane.”
“Well, that’s good then. Focus on that and the kids. Day by day, you’ll start to feel better, I promise.”
“It’ll take more than that. But I’ll try.”
“I can help you to clean up the place if you want me to? I’ll even clean your car and park it in the garage.”
“It won’t fit.”
“How come?”
“My dad’s storing his stuff in there until he gets back from France.”
“Okay, but your car’s covered in bird shit. Do you want me to clean it for you?”
“No. It’s fine, really. I’ll pull myself together and take it to the carwash in town.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind.”
“You’ve done enough.”
I didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. “I’m only a phone call away.”
“I know, and thank you for being a friend, I do appreciate it, now if you don’t mind, I’m gonna get this house into some semblance of order and tidy myself up with it.”
I got to my feet. “Please see your doctor on Tuesday and get the sick note in as soon as possible. I’ll speak to Janine first thing Monday morning, but you still need to text me daily till you get the sick note from your doctor.” I made my way to the door and left, not bothering to discuss the latest murder with her. She was off sick and discussing the case wouldn’t
be professional as I was there as a friend, not her boss.
Thirty-Six
Sunday started no better than Saturday had.
Darren Wilkes still hadn’t been located, which only served to prove his guilt in my eyes. But his car had been found parked in the street at the back of Kimberley’s house. Why had he left it there?
I wanted to catch the bastard and throw the book at him but trudging around his usual haunts on Saturday had proved fruitless. Nobody had seen him,
Making enquiries in Dorothy’s was out of the question for me, so I sent Joanna instead.
“He hasn’t been seen since he was thrown out for attacking Kimberley. The manager gave me the CCTV footage, though. And all the staff are on high alert. If he shows up there, we’ll know about it, believe me.”
“Good thinking, Jo. Let me know if the footage picks up the assault.”
I hung up, feeling totally frustrated. What that monster had done to Kimberley sickened me, and one thing was clear; the attacks were becoming more brutal and savage. We needed to find Wilkes, and fast.
“I’m back,” Steve shouted when he returned from the shop. He’d offered to get the local newspaper for me.
I rushed downstairs, desperate to see what had been reported.
“Thanks,” I said, kissing his cheek.
“You’re not gonna like it.”
Grabbing the paper from him, I looked at the front page.
“Shit,” I said, rushing back upstairs for my phone.
“Told ya,” Steve called out.
“I need my phone. Janine is gonna go fucking apeshit when she sees this.”
Janine answered after a few rings. “Please tell me you’re calling this early on a Sunday to give me good news.”
“I wish I was. Have you seen today’s paper?”
“Not yet, why?” Her tone had changed.
“Darren Wilkes has been named as a suspect in the murders.”
“Where have they got that from?”
“I have no idea, but I’m just gonna get dressed and head into the office.”
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