Her Final Hour: An absolutely unputdownable mystery thriller

by Carla Kovach

‘Let me tell you about Melissa. Did you know Melissa was shagging some theatre luvvie? I bet you didn’t.’ He roared with laughter. ‘What am I thinking? You never leave the house. You don’t know any of my friends. How could you? You haven’t attended a social event in years. No wonder I am the way I am. Here goes. Melissa was going to leave Darrel for that idiot and take his child. Did he deserve that?’

  She shook her head as tears flooded her face. ‘But she didn’t deserve what happened to her.’

  ‘You make me laugh. Are you sure I did it? You think you know everything just because you saw what happened to Ellie. Let me tell you something,’ he spat, ‘I admit to being a very bad boy in the past but I hadn’t killed up until little Ellie. Oh yes, I tied her up and I confess, a part of me was a little turned on. Kill Melissa – no. That’s one cord I didn’t pull.’ He walked over to her and kissed her forehead. ‘You know why I’m being so straight with you?’

  ‘No.’ A lump formed in her throat and her nose ran. She turned, unable to look into the eyes of the man she no longer recognised. She knew what he wanted her to say but she wasn’t going to say it. The only way she would leave that room was to die. ‘Who killed Melissa?’ She had to know.

  He smiled and stroked her head. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know? That’s not for me to tell. Open wide.’ He grabbed a bottle of water from the bedside table and poured. Her hungry mouth opened, gulping all that he’d give her. Without warning, he popped a tablet in her mouth and continued pouring. She knew she’d swallowed it. ‘Have a lovely sleep and I’ll see you soon. I’ve very important work to do.’

  ‘No. Don’t leave me here. Please, let me go. I won’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry.’ It was no good. The light went off and the door closed. She yanked at her binds but they were going nowhere. She heard him on the phone, something about him getting some help was mentioned. ‘Help,’ she yelled. Maybe the person on the phone would hear. Her husband didn’t sound worried by her yelling. They were all in on it, she knew it, and she was next.

  The neighbours wouldn’t hear her yells for help. They lived in the country, a good distance from the next house. They had a long drive and a long garden and double glazing. She thought of Craig, named after the brother she lost to sepsis at only twelve years old. Craig, her boy, who she was so proud of for following in his father’s footsteps and studying accountancy. If only he knew who his father really was. Bruce had been her saviour during her episodes, but now it was all beginning to make sense. He’d carefully engineered her path to anxiety, he’d made her ill and she’d trusted him fully. Soon the outline of the moon through the curtains became fuzzy around the edges as she drifted off to sleep thinking about Craig, wondering if she’d ever wake up. ‘Please, I don’t want to die.’

  Fifty-Five

  Gina stood tall on the temporary stage that had been erected in the conference room, lights blinding her, fading the journalists’ faces that filled the room. As she finished relaying the information relating to Melissa Sanderson and a second murder victim, she suddenly felt a lump forming in her throat. The journalists were hungry for their next story and were awaiting their moment. Her aches and pains controlled her every move. She knew they could see her discomfort.

  As soon as she opened the floor up to questions, it wouldn’t end. Not one of them sat on the tired-looking chairs that had been laid out, all preferring to stand next to their camera and boom operators. Flashes filled the room. More photos, all of which would be appearing online soon after the interview, and then in the morning papers. Her bruised head and bandaged wrist would take prime position in their articles. She knew the intense lighting was probably melting her foundation.

  ‘As you can appreciate, the person who did this is dangerous. If you have any information, please do not hesitate to call the number on the bottom of the screen.’ Gina stared at all the faces before her. ‘Any questions?’

  Briggs stood tall, beside her, as she waited for the flood of comments to come forth. ‘DI Harte, can you confirm that the Cleevesford Killer attacked you on the night of Sunday the fifteenth of April?’

  The ‘Cleevesford Killer’, that’s what they had decided to call the killer. ‘As yet we can’t confirm that the same person was responsible for the deaths of Melissa Sanderson and the victim who’s yet to be identified. We are waiting for the forensic reports to come back.’ She held her trembling fingers out of view. They weren’t going to make her a victim all over again. If she verified that it was her who had been attacked, they’d press for details. Not only were they holding the finer details of the case back to protect the integrity of the investigation, some of those details were personal to her and she didn’t want the press sensationalising her story. Her neck began to prickle and burn up.

  ‘I asked about your attack.’ The journalist dragged her cameraman through the mob to the front of the room and several other journalists fought her to get into prime position. Gina felt her face redden. It didn’t take long for word to get out. They had been informed that there had been an attack within the police as there had been a witness appeal. They had seen her injuries and put two and two together, taking a gamble on the ‘Cleevesford Killer’ link.

  ‘We’re here to discuss the murders in the hope of receiving witness information. Please keep your questioning on track or I will end this interview now.’

  The journalist sighed. Another called out. ‘You made an arrest this week. The public deserve to know who you arrested. Is it James Phipps? Is he a suspect?’ It was Lyndsey Saunders of the Warwickshire Herald.

  ‘This is an ongoing investigation and no one is detained in relation to that investigation, at the moment. We can only keep suspects if we have enough evidence against them.’

  Several journalists called out at once.

  ‘People are scared. Could you have let the killer go?’

  ‘What leads are you following?’

  ‘Is the husband, Darrel Sanderson, a suspect?’

  ‘Is there a link to the Angel Arms?’

  ‘There’s a murderer out there, people need to know what you’re doing about it. How close are you to catching the killer?’

  ‘Is it true that your attack occurred outside the address of the first murder?’

  ‘Did you see the Cleevesford Killer?’

  Questions came from everywhere. Flashes blinded her. She’d given them the information she had set out to relay. She wasn’t about to share the details of her experience with them. They knew there had been an attack. They knew of the location, the time and the date. That was all they needed to publish a witness appeal.

  The door at the back of the room crashed open. Rebecca Greene staggered through, closely followed by PC Smith. She shook him off. Mascara ran down her tear-filled eyes as she slurred her words. ‘What are you really doing? I know my Ellie is gone. I know that bastard killed her.’ Rebecca almost toppled over. Every member of the press turned; all cameras were now on her. ‘I don’t need to wait for your dental records to prove anything. They found her necklace, they found her—’ The woman burst into tears and let out a piercing scream as she collapsed into a heap in the aisle. Instead of helping her, the press crowded around, shouting question upon question as the woman broke down.

  Gina barged through the crowd, flinching as she pushed through with her bruised shoulder. ‘Move away from her. She needs help. Stand back, I said.’

  ‘Ellie who?’ one of the journalists shouted. ‘Is she the second of the Cleevesford Killer’s victims? The public deserve to know. Or is she the third, DI Harte?’

  Gina stared into the camera.

  ‘Get away from her,’ Briggs called as he pushed his way through, breaking Gina’s stare. He helped drag the wailing woman to the front of the building and through the back door, closing it on the rabble. They had all they were going to get for the day.

  Rebecca fell into a chair. ‘It’s Ellie. I know it,’ she cried as she buried her head in her arm and PC Smith came to take over.

  Briggs pul
led Gina aside. ‘It’s all going to go berserk in the morning. Who knows what the press will make of this.’

  ‘Stuff the press! I’m going to chase up those dental records. We need a positive identification. I know the post-mortem is in progress and they were prioritising the victim’s dental records. Jacob is there at the moment. I’ll give him a call. Rebecca can’t go through this uncertainty any longer. Look at her.’ Gina rubbed her throbbing temples, knowing it was going to be a long evening. She felt Rebecca’s heartache as the grieving woman cried out. Her phone rang. ‘O’Connor. We’re heading back now.’ She paused as she listened to what he had to say. ‘Yes! Make sure everyone is in the incident room for when I arrive.’ She ended the call.

  ‘What is it?’ Briggs asked.

  ‘We have a lead.’

  Fifty-Six

  Gina wiped the sweat off her brow and flung her jacket over a chair. ‘Bad news. The cat is out of the bag on Ellie Redfern. Rebecca Greene turned up at the press release and gave the vultures a feast. The press have Ellie’s name and they are pursuing James Phipps. The post-mortem is still in progress but we know the cadaver’s dental records are being prioritised. I’m hoping to have that confirmation any time now.’

  ‘Sounds like I have my work cut out.’ Annie frowned and looked across at Briggs.

  ‘We had no way of knowing Rebecca would turn up like that and, yes, the press are going to be on to us non-stop now. They were also speculating that it was me who was attacked. They are indeed right. I don’t think I successfully convinced them otherwise. What else do we have? O’Connor? Tell me about the call, in more detail this time.’

  Briggs sat at the head of the table. Wyre turned in her seat and O’Connor stood in front of the incident board. Two officers removed their headsets and turned to face O’Connor.

  ‘We had a call from a Mr Sid Boucher. He delivers milk for Avon Dairy King, based in Studley. He was just driving his lorry through Cleevesford when he saw the only car on the road, pulling into the park. He said, as a night-shift lorry driver, he often sees the odd car in the night so nothing really stood out. The information he did manage to give was the driver had a passenger and was driving a black saloon car. He didn’t take notice of the make. He did however notice a slight dent to the driver’s side panel. I asked if he saw the driver or passenger, he said no.’

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘He said he’d just listened to ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’ on the local radio. He didn’t clock the time. I called the station and they said that the song started at three fifteen. Our killer and a passenger entered the car park between three fifteen and three twenty.’

  ‘Two people in the car.’

  ‘Yes. It sounds like he had our Ellie Redfern in the passenger seat.’ O’Connor grabbed a cookie. ‘Help yourself by the way. Ginger and raisin.’

  Gina’s stomach ached for a bite to eat. Despite the acrid film that still lingered in her nostrils, she needed something otherwise she’d almost certainly feel nauseous. ‘Or, he had his accomplice in the passenger seat. Going back to the scene at Melissa Sanderson’s house. Could there have been two people? The assault on the body, tying her up, strangulation with a cord. One person could’ve done that. That murder seemed so well planned. No traces of anything except forensic suit material and a small piece of denim, both from the same person, caught at the same time. Maybe there were two really well-prepared perps. Now, look at this morning. The perp wasn’t as prepared this time. We have tyre tracks, vomit at the scene, drag marks, a different MO, but the same cord was used on the victim. Was it the same two perps? Then there’s my attack. He was alone, and once again very well prepared. Face covered with a mask, full forensic suit. Something happened that he wasn’t expecting. He wasn’t expecting Ellie. She came back to confront her past. Was he her past? Did my attacker rape her?’ The room fell silent as everyone’s minds whirled.

  ‘Any more on the historic rape?’ Wyre tied her hair up as she asked.

  ‘Not as yet. What did the interviews drag up?’

  ‘Ben Woodward and Lee Munro, they both have alibis for the night Melissa Sanderson was murdered. They both separately stated that they were at Lee’s house on the night of the attack. Lee’s wife, Jennifer, confirmed that he was having friends over for a game of cards and she went to her friend’s that evening. When she arrived home at 1 a.m. Lee was in bed and his friends had gone home.’

  ‘Did she see his friends?’

  ‘No. They arrived after she left. She did make a point of saying that there were beer cans all over the coffee table and the place was a mess. She did mention Bruce. His details were provided by Lee and are on file. We need to follow up on him. I left a message for him to call me back.’

  Gina began rubbing her head. Sounded like the same Bruce that Avery had mentioned. Her wrist was throbbing and her shoulder had taken a bit of a bump while rescuing Rebecca from the press. She fell into one of the plastic seats around the table and began eating a biscuit. ‘And James Phipps?’

  O’Connor rubbed his hands together, dispersing biscuit crumbs all over the floor. ‘I paid a visit to the Eagle pub in Redditch. Two members of staff confirmed that, on the night of Friday the thirteenth, he was telling the truth about being there all evening and he got absolutely wasted. They refused to serve him after eleven. He wasn’t being abusive; they were more worried for his health. He’d been downing rum by the double. He staggered out of the pub at closing time and the landlord worriedly watched as Phipps unlocked his car, which was parked on the opposite side of the road, in front of a row of terraced houses. He said that Phipps opened the back door and curled up on the back seats. He locked up after that. CCTV confirmed that Phipps stayed there all night. The time he left ties in with us picking him up on Saturday the fourteenth at 6 a.m.’

  ‘Will someone check on him? It appears the press have his name. They’re probably camped outside his block of flats now. Right – thanks, O’Connor and thank Mrs O once again for the biscuits. I’m going to head home, I’m really not feeling so good. I am on duty though. If you hear anything, call me first.’

  Wyre picked up the ringing phone on her desk and relayed the message. ‘It’s Jacob. The post-mortem results will be in first thing. They can confirm without any doubt, that the body we recovered from Cleevesford Park this morning was that of Ellie Redfern. The dental records are a match.’

  ‘Would you please pop over to Rebecca Greene’s and give her the bad news? I called Smith just before I got back here. He was taking her home. She wasn’t in a good way at all and I don’t feel well enough to be there.’

  Wyre placed her pen on the desk. ‘I’ll get over there now, guv. Hope you’re feeling better in the morning.’

  ‘Thanks. Any volunteers to give an injured detective a lift home?’

  ‘Nothing but the best for my team. I’ll drop you home in five.’ Briggs stood and pulled his car keys from his pocket.

  Fifty-Seven

  Briggs helped her out of the car and into the house. ‘Right, I’m putting the kettle on before I go. Do you have any food?’

  She shrugged her shoulders and let out a yelp as a pain shot from her wrist to her shoulder. The bruising was really coming out and the term mild concussion sounded better than it felt. Her head ached, she was overtired and her muscles felt as though they were seizing up. ‘Can you grab me a couple of painkillers from the side?’

  Briggs passed her the bottle and a glass of water. ‘Where do you keep the food? I checked the fridge and the cupboard. There’s some old food in a plastic tub.’

  ‘It’s not old. It’s a perfectly good piece of quiche; it’s only two days past its use by date. I was just going to warm it up. I have some thoughts on the case, we can share the quiche and talk them through.’

  ‘Can I make a suggestion first?’ She nodded as she swallowed a couple of tablets and washed them down. ‘Can we order some food in? I’m starving too and I don’t think that leftover whatever-it-is will feed the tw
o of us, and your mouldy bread might kill us.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan.’

  After he ordered a pizza, he poured two glasses of cola. ‘Here, get this down you.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘What do you want to talk about?’

  Gina stared at the flickering lights behind the grate of the electric fire. ‘I was thinking of upgrading to a log burner. That old thing looks like it belongs in the last century. What do you think?’

  ‘You want to talk about log burners?’

  Her deflection had sounded ridiculous. She shook her head. ‘No, sorry. I wanted to talk about the case and us. I mean me. I know our relationship was getting complicated. I mean we’d hidden it well for months. I’m not good for a relationship and the holiday gave me some clarity of thought. I just didn’t want that to affect our working relationship and friendship—’

  ‘Stop. You don’t need to spell it out. There’s no denying I feel something for you but, mostly, you are one of my best detectives. You know what I’m trying to say. Of course we’re friends. That’s not the reason why you pushed me away, is it? Call it instinct but I am a detective and this didn’t really challenge my detective skills.’

  She shook her head and sipped the coffee. ‘You’re too good at this.’

  ‘It’s the nature of our job. You knew you weren’t convincing either, didn’t you?’

  She nodded. ‘Nature of the job. Bloody hell. It could be a long evening.’

  ‘As long as our phones are on, I have all evening. And we still need get some work done at some point.’

  ‘I don’t know where to start.’

  ‘The beginning? I’m also a damn good listener.’

  ‘I wasn’t straight with you about my past relationship, my main one – my marriage. If I were to be, I’d have to speak about things I’m not comfortable about.’ Her heat rate began to pick up. What was she doing? Terry – always there, always in wait to ruin another evening or relationship. No more. Every time she kept her secret, it gave Terry strength.