DARK HOUSES a gripping detective thriller full of suspense

by Helen H. Durrant

  When they were outside, Greco brushed himself down. “I can’t understand how places like that stay in business.”

  “The kids like them, that’s why,” she told him. “Fast food, meeting up. When you’re in your teens, that’s what it’s all about.”

  His phone pinged. Dale had sent the photos to him. “I’m going to the station to give these to George if she’s still there.”

  “I’ll go home if you don’t need me.”

  “Okay, Grace. See you in the morning.”

  * * *

  Neither Craig nor Speedy were in the office, but George was still hard at it.

  He passed her his phone. “Have a look at these. They are images and video of Jenna Proctor at the club. There is a car parked near to where she was pushed out. See what you can do.”

  George transferred the images and handed the phone back to him. “Something’s happened, sir, this afternoon.”

  About to head off, Greco stopped. “Important?”

  “Strange — and that probably makes it important.”

  “Go on then, tell me.”

  “We’re being talked about on social media — Twitter mostly. These have been circulating since lunchtime, but I’ve only just seen them.”

  Greco looked at the string of messages on the screen. There were dozens of them, all from someone calling himself ‘smiley mouth.’

  “They’re aimed at us, sir. Some are criticising the way the investigation is going, some are goading us — betting we won’t get him. That sort of thing.”

  “Anything specific about the murders?”

  “No. But that name he’s using. I’m thinking about the way he cut their faces.”

  She was right. “Can we find out who’s posting them?”

  “I tried, but I’ve had to pass it up to the techie people. The tweets are bounced around from one IP address to another before they get to us. It’s like trying to unravel knitting wool the cat’s had hold of.”

  “The letter sent to Laycock was signed the same way.”

  “Hashtag ‘smiley mouth’ is trending, sir. He’s getting more followers by the minute.”

  Chapter 12

  Greco didn’t want to go home. The last thing he wanted was to end up arguing with Suzy. He could go to his flat, spend the night there. But for once he didn’t feel like being on his own.

  He left his car in the station car park and walked the few hundred yards into Oldston town centre. It was gone seven in the evening so the shops were closed, but the town was still busy. It was a warm evening. People were sitting outside the pubs, drinking. Everyone looked so happy, without a care in the world. Didn’t they realise they had a monster in their midst?

  He crossed the High Street and went into the Crown. He needed a drink. He wasn’t a regular pub-goer and didn’t know the pubs in Oldston, but he had been in there. If he did drink, he usually preferred to do it at home. But not tonight.

  Megan Hunter greeted him with a wary smile. “Your people were in earlier,” she told him. “I’ve nothing else to say.”

  “I’m not working,” he said. “Give me a whiskey, please.”

  Her face softened. “Hard day?”

  He nodded.

  “Shame. You’re all alone. Couldn’t you persuade Grace to join you?”

  “We’re work colleagues,” he said.

  “You could do worse, you know.” She put down his drink. “She’s an attractive woman — and single.”

  Ignoring her comment, Greco swallowed the whiskey. He’d never been a big drinker but this one hardly touched the sides. “Another, please.”

  “Well, if it isn’t one of our inept policemen!” The voice came from behind, startling him. “I’m surprised you’ve got time to drink, Inspector. That murdering bastard is still on the loose. Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?”

  Laycock.

  “I’m having a quiet drink. I suggest you go and bother someone else,” he said, keeping his voice even.

  Laycock laughed. He clapped Greco on the back, affably. “Have you eaten? I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but this pub is famous for its meat-and-potato pie. There’s a table free over there.”

  Megan Hunter was hovering, waiting for him to make up his mind. Greco had hardly eaten all day.

  “Okay,” he said, wearily.

  “You grab the table and I’ll get more drinks in.”

  Drinking with Laycock in the Crown was the last thing he’d expected to be doing. But perhaps he could work it to his advantage. For a start, he wanted to know why the reporter was so down on the police.

  As Greco sat waiting for him to bring the drinks over, he checked Twitter on his phone. There were another half dozen or so scathing missives. He’d have a closer look later and try to analyse the content. For now he had Laycock to contend with.

  He took his whiskey and made himself comfortable. The place wasn’t bad. It looked clean at least. They were sitting in the designated eating area. All the tables were covered with crisp white tablecloths and had a small posy of flowers in the centre. Ordinarily he’d think twice before eating anywhere that didn’t have its current hygiene certificate on display. But this place felt okay, and Grace had said Megan Hunter had worked hard to turn the place around.

  “He isn’t giving much away, your killer.” Laycock said, after swallowing half of his pint.

  “You can’t possibly know that,” Greco replied.

  “Get off it! He’s got you stumped. Admit it — this bastard’s clever.”

  “They’re never that clever, believe me. We’ve got one or two strong leads.”

  “He’s leading you up the garden path, you mean. This one’s a planner. He’s got you lot floundering around chasing your tails.”

  “Why are you so against us? A different attitude could pay dividends, you know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The press could help. You could encourage people to come forward, tell us what they know.”

  “This is too big for you to handle,” said Laycock. “There was supposed to be a special squad set up to deal with cases like this. Where is it? What’s happened to all the big plans we were told about in that press release three months ago?”

  “It takes time. The powers that be haven’t found the right people yet.”

  “Look, Greco, this isn’t personal. I see a story and I go after it.”

  “You turn it into a circus, you mean. You twist things, tell lies. You accomplish nothing and upset people. It was you who spoke to Mavis Weston and told her a pack of lies about what had happened to her daughter.”

  “Fine. If all I’m going to get is grief, you can go and sit somewhere else, Greco.”

  “That woman had just heard that her daughter had been murdered. You came along and stuck the knife in even deeper. What did you tell her, Laycock?”

  “The truth.”

  “And what truth was that?”

  “Whatever my readers want to read. I sell papers. A story like this one sells thousands.”

  “You’re a louse. Do you know that?”

  “Sorry, can’t help it.”

  This wasn’t a chance meeting, Greco suddenly realised. Laycock wanted something.

  “The story is everything. And this one is big.” He paused, regarding Greco closely. “When are you going to let us in, Mister Policeman? Why won’t you tell us the truth?”

  “We can’t. It’s not that sort of case,” said Greco.

  “What if we do an exchange? We’ll give you the help you talked about and you give us more information. We could run an appeal. Pitch it so that folk would come forward.”

  Greco shook his head. “Absolutely not. We cannot release any details. Besides, in my experience, people around here are very reluctant to help the police in any way — murder or no murder.

  “They might loosen their tongues for a reward. My paper would help,” Laycock said. “It’s surprising what people will do for money.”

  “Not this time.”
<
br />   “I think you’re wrong.”

  Megan Hunter chose that moment to serve the food. Greco had to calm down enough to eat it. He took another slug of whiskey. “Would you bring me a half?”

  They ate in silence. Laycock had been right about one thing. The pie was good. Greco washed it down with his beer.

  “Hope you’re not driving home, Inspector.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Laycock.”

  Laycock laughed. “Well, riveting as this is, I’ve got to go. There’s a taxi rank round the corner if you need one. Wish I could say it had been a pleasure, but we both know that would be stretching it.”

  Greco watched as he picked up his stuff and left. He’d give him a few minutes then get off himself.

  But off where? He still hadn’t decided. A battle with Suzy, or an empty flat? He found himself out on the street and walking towards Pierce Street. It was getting dark. He tried to do some thinking about the case.

  But his mind kept straying back to Suzy, and her tryst in the park. Who was he? Greco had only seen his back. All he could say about his rival was that he was tall with dark hair. She must know him from somewhere — the college where she worked? Suzy had never spoken about anyone there. But then she wouldn’t, would she? He needed to speak to her, but not yet. It was all far too raw.

  Greco had walked for a good fifteen minutes before he realised he’d taken a wrong turn somewhere. He was nowhere near Pierce Street. His head full of Suzy, he’d wandered aimlessly around the back streets of Oldston. Now he was lost.

  He walked another hundred yards or so and saw a street sign. This was where Grace lived.

  He hadn’t done it on purpose. He was confused. The drink, the shock of Suzy, and the case. At least Grace would understand. He rang the front doorbell.

  “Sir! Something happened?”

  “Call me Stephen and yes, I suppose it has.”

  * * *

  “Coffee and toast will have to do you.”

  Grace came into the sitting room where Greco lay on the sofa, still half asleep.

  “Fine.” He winced at the rattle of crockery on the table. His head hurt.

  “Me too,” Grace said. She moved his legs aside so she could sit down. “We got talking and I opened a bottle of red. You must have had quite a mix last night.”

  He couldn’t remember.

  “What did I say?”

  “You ranted a bit about Laycock. You told me your ex-wife is having an affair, and how pissed off you are about it.”

  He must have really opened up. Not like him. Greco brushed his hair back from his forehead. He still hadn’t got it cut. “I’m sorry, Grace. I don’t know why I came here, but it was good of you to let me stay.”

  “Just as well you did. You were drunk. You were quite funny, actually,” she giggled.

  “Not my usual style.”

  “What, being funny?”

  “No — sleeping on colleagues’ sofas.”

  “It’s better than crashing on some bench somewhere.”

  “Do you mind if we keep this to ourselves?” This was way off beam for him. Greco couldn’t remember the last time he’d got drunk. He didn’t think he’d ever behaved this way with a female colleague.

  “Fine by me.” She passed him the coffee. “Why — am I that embarrassing?”

  “It’s nothing like that. I just feel such a fool. This isn’t the way I carry on, believe me. Seeing Suzy with another man — it shook me up. I went a bit crazy for a while. It was so unexpected. After all, it was her that wanted to try again.”

  “Yes I know — you told me. In fact you wouldn’t shut up. You gave me chapter and verse.” She winked at him. “You also told me to call you ‘Stephen.’ But perhaps not when we’re on duty, eh, sir.”

  Grace was grinning. What else had he said? And even more worrying — how had he behaved? Time to get out of there.

  “Can I use your shower?”

  “Help yourself. Clean towels are on the shelf in the bathroom. Make as much noise as you want. You won’t wake anyone up. My mum came for Holly ages ago.”

  “She saw me — here?”

  “She didn’t bat an eye,” Grace teased. “She’s well used to me bringing men home.”

  Greco looked horrified.

  “Joke, sir. I told her you had problems. She understood.”

  “I’ve overstepped the mark.” He sat up.

  “No, you haven’t. You needed someone to talk to. I don’t mind being your sounding board.”

  “I don’t want this getting around the station.”

  “I won’t say a word,” she promised. “Given that we’re sharing confidences, I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’ve started seeing someone.”

  Greco smiled. That was good. Grace deserved to be happy.

  “It’s still early on in the relationship but I like him and so does Holly. I don’t want folk at the station gossiping about me, either.”

  “Do I know him?”

  “You might actually, but that’s all I’m saying.”

  He checked his watch. “It’s nearly nine.”

  “I know, and we’re late for work.”

  Chapter 13

  George was addressing the team, showing them the tweets that had been posted overnight.

  “They are getting more specific. Yesterday it was just general stuff. How badly the investigation was going. How we’d never catch the killer because we are all stupid, that sort of thing. But today the tone has changed.”

  “See?” She pointed to one of them.

  “He mentions the face cutting,” Greco said.

  “So what are we saying? That these are from him — the killer?” Speedy asked.

  “Can’t we find out who sent them?” Craig said.

  “The techie people are hard at it,” George told them. “But they’re having the same problem I had and it’s going to take a while.”

  “Apart from these, where are we up to?”

  “Some of the forensics are in, sir,” Craig said. “The blood on the safe did not belong to Jenna Proctor but they have no match on file.”

  Greco groaned. He had hoped the blood would yield something. “The cameras at the house?”

  “Nothing. Not a flutter. The killer hasn’t been back.”

  “We got the tox report for both girls. They’d both been given a high dose of tranquiliser. Enough to make them unaware of their surroundings,” George said.

  Greco had suspected as much. It was a blessing of sorts, given what was done to them. “Anything interesting on Jenna’s phone?”

  “The Duggan sent through what they could from the sim card, but the fire damage was too extensive. They got her history from the service provider. I’ve printed out copies for everyone,” George said.

  It was the usual stuff, teenage angst and a host of acronyms. Greco had no idea what most of it meant.

  “We got a partial car registration from one of the videos Dan Fuller gave us. We’re trying to match it to something local.”

  That would take time too. “What else are we still waiting for?”

  “The prints on the beer can, sir,” Speedy replied. “The one I pulled out of the bin in the park. It might be an idea to look at the care home a little closer. There could be something in the theory that the killer has a link with it. He knows how things work — the key safes for example. He knows where the new residents lived previously. He can tell which of those houses will suit his purpose.”

  He was right.

  “Speak to the nurse, Lorraine Hopkirk, and also the manager,” Greco said. “See what you can turn up.”

  “Sir!” Grace called out. “The papers are in. You should look at this.”

  Greco took the tabloid she held out for him. It was one of the nationals. There, on the front page was a piece by Oliver Laycock. He had written in lurid detail about the killings and once again he’d pulled the police apart for their lack of action.

  Greco sank into his chair. This was all he needed. Thi
s morning the nationals — and tonight?

  “Stephen!” DCI Green came in.

  “You’ve seen this, sir?” He passed him the paper.

  “I’ve just had the super on. He wants a meeting — you, me and him. It won’t be pleasant. The editor of that rag contacted him earlier.”

  “We are doing everything we can, sir. The Duggan are working flat out on every bit of evidence we send their way. But none of it leads anywhere.”

  “Can you produce a short report? Wilkes wants us in his office at four this afternoon.”

  Greco nodded.

  Once the DCI had left, Greco addressed the team. “You all heard that.”

  “We’re doing our level best.” Speedy shook his head. “That man wants to try it. Things have changed since his day. Villains are more forensically aware. They don’t make the mistakes they used to.”

  “But he has made mistakes,” George reminded him. “The blood on the safe, the footprint, playing loud music that half the street heard. The fact that he’s been seen by the neighbours and they are able to describe him — it all adds up.”

  “George has a point . . .”

  Greco suddenly recalled what Laycock had said — this one was a planner. “But they’re not mistakes. These so-called mistakes are deliberate. He’s been leading us on. Planting stuff for us to find.”

  “Why? I don’t see the point.”

  “Neither do I, Speedy, but he’ll have one.”

  “Inspector Greco?”

  They all turned round. A woman was standing in the doorway. The team fell silent, looking at her. She was tall and slim, but the most outstanding thing about her was her long glossy black hair. Despite an attempt to pin it back it hung in soft waves, framing her face. The hair turned an attractive woman into a stunner.

  “DS Scarlett Seddon from Daneside.” She smiled at them.

  He finally found his tongue. “I’m Greco.”

  “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. You know how these things are. We’ve had a series of armed robberies to deal with.”

  Green had mentioned help from Daneside but the DCI hadn’t updated him since then. Greco wondered if a DS from outside would help or hinder the investigation.

  “We were going over what we’ve got so far,” he said. “Come in and join us.” He pointed towards the incident board. “I don’t know if you’ve been briefed or not. We suspect a serial killer. Two murders, both the same MO.”