by Michael Wood
‘Thank you.’
Sian walked to the living room which was almost as big as her house. The first thing her eyes fell on wasn’t the oversized expensive sofa, the thick Chinese rug, the large marble fireplace or the tastefully simple chandeliers, but the photograph of Carl Meagan on the mantelpiece. It wasn’t big, but it was in a beautiful solid-silver frame. The smiling child, the spitting image of his mother, on a Christmas morning, surrounded by presents, a large tree in the background.
‘Please, sit down,’ Sally instructed.
The silence was awkward while both women made themselves comfortable. Woody gave an audible sigh and curled up on the floor beside Sally.
‘Can I get you a drink or something?’ The offer was made for the sake of being polite. It wasn’t genuine. The icy stare and the arms firmly folded told Sian that.
‘No, I’m fine, thank you. Is your husband home?’
‘No. He’s at one of our restaurants in Barnsley. If it’s not Carl, what is this about?’
‘Mrs Meagan—’
‘Sally.’
‘Sally. I’m really sorry to have to ask you this, but, have you had any contact with Matilda Darke recently?’
Sally’s face twitched at the mention of the DCI’s name. ‘Contact? What do you mean?’
‘DCI Darke is currently receiving some negative attention and we’re contacting people who may have a grudge against her …’
‘You think I’m stalking her?’ Sally said, slapping a hand on her chest. She raised her voice in what could have been shock or anger. Woody lifted his head.
‘No, I don’t. I’ve been asked to cover all bases. I wouldn’t be doing my job properly if I didn’t ask,’ Sian tried to be placatory.
‘If you’re doing your job properly, then you’re the only one in South Yorkshire Police who does. Why don’t you try to find my son? You think I’ve got time to piss about stalking Matilda Darke? Come with me.’
Sally jumped up, grabbed Sian’s arm and pulled her to her feet. Sally headed for the door, her right hand firmly gripping Sian’s wrist.
They went down the corridor, past the dining room, through the kitchen and down a few steps. Woody trotted closely behind them. There were two closed doors. Taking a key from her pocket, Sally unlocked one and pushed it open. She practically threw Sian inside.
Standing in the middle of the makeshift office Sian looked around. The walls were covered in photographs of Carl, maps of South Yorkshire and the UK with pins scattered at various locations. The desk had a bank of three computer monitors and a large printer on it. A stack of posters, with Carl’s face and the word MISSING at the top, were ready to be distributed. In the corner was a large pile of the hardback book Sally had written. This was a nerve centre in trying to find a child who had been missing for two years.
‘This is what I spend my days doing. I’m scouring the Internet for any mention of Carl. I’m updating the website. Emailing missing persons charities offering my services to help find other children. Talking to other parents who have lost their children. Posting on message boards and forums asking for people to keep searching for my Carl. I’m updating Facebook and Twitter. I spend about sixteen hours a day in this room. Do you think I’ve got time to go hassling Matilda Darke?’
Sian looked at Sally. It was obvious she wasn’t living, merely existing, until she knew the fate of her child. This was not a woman capable of killing two people and stalking a DCI.
‘This is what I do every day.’ Sally went over to the desk and picked up a mailing list. ‘Here’s all the people around the country who are also searching for missing relatives. We help each other out. I send them posters of Carl to add to their own collection.’ She moved over to the tower of hardback books and picked one up. ‘The paperback comes out in the autumn. I’ve been asked to write a couple of extra chapters, updates on the investigation. I’ve nothing to say. It’s like he’s just disappeared off the face of the earth, as if he never existed in the first place. This is my life now,’ she said, looking around the small room.
‘I’m sorry,’ Sian said for want of something better to say. It sounded pathetic as soon as she opened her mouth.
‘I blame Matilda. I hate the fact she was allowed back to work, that she can just get on with her life as if nothing happened. I hate her.’
‘Sally, there isn’t a day goes by without Matilda beating herself up for not being able to bring your son home. She thinks about him all the time. She isn’t getting on with her life as if nothing happened; she’s a changed woman. She will never forget him, and she will always be looking for him.’
‘I don’t want to hear this.’
‘Sally …’
‘Please, go,’ she said quietly. ‘There are only two things that keep me going – trying to find Carl and hating Matilda. If you can’t give me Carl back, then please don’t take away my hatred.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Sian said. She stepped around her and left the room. ‘I’ll see myself out.’
Sian was halfway down the corridor before Sally called to her. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I hate Matilda. But I have more important things to do than make her life a misery.’
Sian offered a sympathetic smile then turned to leave. Once she was outside, she leaned back against the closed door and took a deep breath of cold air. It was stifling in the house, not due to heat, but the atmosphere, the depressive shroud that weighed heavy in every room.
Sian walked quickly down the drive. She couldn’t leave fast enough. She wanted to go straight home and hug her children.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
CITY IN FEAR AS THE HANGMAN NAMES THIRD VICTIM
By Danny Hanson
The people of Sheffield are living in fear. The Hangman has already claimed two lives and plans to murder more victims.
The Hangman has contacted The Star and, in a cryptic message, stated that he will be targeting a child killer next. In a meeting between our editor and the Assistant Chief Constable of South Yorkshire Police, it is clear the police are out of their depth and DCI Matilda Darke and her team are clueless as to who is holding the city to ransom.
Cont. Pages 4 & 5.
Danny Hanson couldn’t park in his usual spot. It was always a race to get the best spaces and, as he was late home from work, he’d missed his opportunity. He parked around the corner and walked back to the house.
Since his attack, he’d withdrawn into himself. He was no longer interested in seeing his byline on the front page. He didn’t care about getting a scoop. He just wanted to survive.
Danny hadn’t told anyone about the attack in Weston Park. He didn’t care if it was the killer and he was the first person to get a good look at him, he didn’t want anyone to know. He wore a high-neck jumper to hide the marks left by his scarf and he blamed his gruff voice on a cold.
It was dark, and a stiff wind was blowing. To his left was Endcliffe Park. Was his attacker watching him, ready to pounce? There were plenty of trees he could hide behind. He heard a noise coming from the park. He stopped in his tracks and turned around. It was a man walking his dog, coughing as he sucked on a cigarette. Danny sighed and continued to the house that seemed like a million miles away. It wasn’t the most secure property in the world, but right now, it seemed like the perfect haven to hide in.
As he approached the turning onto his road, there was a huddled figure sitting by the road sign. A thick blanket around their shoulders, a gloved hand stretched out. Danny passed this person most days, a beggar asking for spare change. Or was it?
‘Jesus!’ he muttered to himself. He was turning into a nervous wreck.
He picked up his pace until he was up the gennel and opening the back door. He slammed it closed and rested against it.
‘That was good timing,’ Gina, one of the nurses said. ‘I’ve made enough pasta to feed an army, you’re welcome to help yourself, if you’re hungry.’
‘I’m not,’ he said, heading for the stairs and taking them
two at a time.
Once he was in his attic room, he closed the door and placed a couple of boxes of books in front of it, so nobody could enter while he was asleep, if he went to sleep.
Matilda hardly slept. Her mind refused to switch off. It was the second night she had spent away from her home since James had died.
Before she’d gone to bed last night she received many texts from Sian, Rory, Scott and Aaron asking how she was. Valerie had called and left a voicemail, even James Dalziel had emailed. She didn’t reply to a single one of them. She wanted to be on her own with her thoughts. Unfortunately, Matilda’s thoughts were not rational. When she lay back in bed and tried to think of who could be targeting her, she just thought of Carl Meagan, his parents who were going to have to face another grilling by police; hadn’t they suffered enough? Then James Dalziel popped into her mind. Did she really have feelings for him, or was she just surprised by the similarities between him and her husband?
Eventually, Matilda fell asleep just after three o’clock.
She was awake by five thirty and was in the kitchen drinking a black coffee and eating a Bounty when Adele walked in.
‘I thought I heard someone moving around down here. I assumed it was Chris going for a run until I heard the kettle going.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Hang on, Chris goes out for runs at this time of the morning?’
‘Yes. He said we were slowing him down. He meets Scott in the park and they do about five miles.’
‘Bloody hell, they’re putting us to shame.’ She looked at the Bounty she was about to put in her mouth then slammed it down on the table.
‘Can’t you sleep?’ Adele asked, flicking the kettle on and spooning a large amount of coffee into a mug.
‘No. My mind just kept spinning. I’ve never faced anything like this before, Adele. I don’t know how to cope with it.’
‘I think the best thing for you to do is to surround yourself with people who are there to help you – me and Chris, Valerie, Sian and the rest of your team. We all care for you and will do everything we can to make sure this killer is caught.’
‘What if he’s never caught? He’s been very clever so far.’
‘He’ll slip up somewhere. He’ll get too cocky.’
‘But how many more people are going to have to die before he makes a mistake?’
‘Mat, don’t do this to yourself,’ Adele said, moving to the other side of the table and putting an arm around her. ‘You’ve taught your team well. They’ll find him.’
With Adele and Chris both at work, Matilda had the house to herself. She stood at the living room window looking at the busy street, wondering if there was anyone out there watching her. Had someone followed her from work yesterday, and tracked her every movement until she ended up back at Adele’s? Were they now watching from a distance, spying on her, waiting for that perfect moment to strike?
Matilda shivered and went to sit back on the sofa. She picked up her mobile and made a call.
‘Good morning, Sian. How are things going?’
‘Not too bad. Me and Scott paid another visit to George Appleby this morning to see if he can vouch for his whereabouts for the time that mannequin was placed in your garden.’
‘And can he?’
‘This time he can. He was at home with his housemates. Two of them were there when we questioned him. They all agree they were home watching TV.’
‘Do you believe them?’ Matilda asked.
Sian hesitated. ‘I really have no idea.’
‘Oh. That’s not what I wanted to hear.’
‘It’s not what I wanted to say. His housemates were treating this like a game. One of them was flirting with Scott and the other kept giggling.’
‘And this is the next generation of surgeons and politicians, is it?’
‘No wonder the country’s in a mess,’ Sian sniggered.
‘How is the team getting on with trying to find any local child killers?’
‘Oh that’s all been sorted. There aren’t any in Sheffield.’
‘Really?’
‘Everyone out on licence within South Yorkshire is accounted for. Not one of them killed a child.’
‘If the killer goes into a different area then we really are screwed. Keep an eye on the news. If there’s a similar murder in a different county, I want to know about it.’
‘Other forces don’t always like sharing intelligence,’ Sian said.
‘Let’s hope he sticks to South Yorkshire then. Has anyone been to see Carl Meagan’s parents yet?’
Sian sighed. ‘Yes. I did, unfortunately.’
‘Oh.’ Matilda didn’t like the sound of that. ‘And?’
‘Trust me, Matilda, you really don’t want to know.’
Matilda thought for a while. Sian was probably right. If she heard Sally was happy and getting on with life, Matilda would wonder why she wasn’t. If she heard Sally was a complete mess, popping antidepressants and swigging vodka morning, noon, and night, she’d blame herself. Sometimes, ignorance was bliss.
‘Anything else going on?’
‘Not so far. How are things with you?’
‘They’re OK,’ she lied.
‘I was thinking,’ Sian began. ‘Shall I have a word with that psychologist bloke, see if he can come up with anything?’
‘Oh yes? I’m guessing it’ll have to be a quiet chat in a cosy corner of the pub,’ Matilda said, teasing Sian.
‘I’m shocked. What do you take me for? I’m a happily married woman.’
Matilda went quiet.
‘Is everything all right?’ Sian asked.
‘Yes. Fine,’ she sighed. ‘Anything else happened I should know about?’
‘Not really. We’ve had three stabbings overnight. Two in the city centre and one in Worrall. No life-threatening injuries and three suspects already in custody.’
Worrall.
Matilda quickly said goodbye to Sian and hung up. It was time to pay another visit to Worrall. This time, she would definitely be knocking on the door. Who was the one person who hated Matilda so much they would move heaven and earth to see her destroyed? Ben Hales.
Ben Hales was a former detective inspector at South Yorkshire Police. In 2010 when the Murder Investigation Team was planned, both Ben and Matilda were in the running to head the unit. Unfortunately for Ben, Matilda was given the job and promotion to detective chief inspector. To say Ben took the news badly was an understatement.
Following the death of James Darke and the collapse of the Carl Meagan case, Matilda was given an enforced period of leave, and Ben Hales was made acting-detective chief inspector and interim head of the Murder Investigation Team. He had hoped Matilda would never return and he would be given the role permanently. Nine short months later and Matilda was back at South Yorkshire Police.
To be eased into work gently, Matilda was assigned to a cold case before being allowed on front-line duty – the twenty-year-old Harkness double-murder case. Hales hoped Matilda would be unable to solve it and her reputation would be irreparable. In order to seal her fate, Ben decided to solve the cold case himself, and he went to any lengths to do so.
Ben was consumed with the desire to discredit Matilda and was eventually fired for assaulting a witness and deliberately misleading an investigation. His fall from grace was very painful and very public.
His wife left him, and his two daughters wanted nothing more to do with him. He allowed his loathing for Matilda to eat away at him, and when the pressure became too much he broke into her house in order to confront her. By then he was a shadow of his former self and he could have snapped at any moment. When he had Matilda pinned against a wall in her own home, he pulled himself back from the brink just in time. He had come within minutes of raping her.
Fleeing her home, he drove at speed into heavy traffic and deliberately crashed his car. However, he couldn’t even take his own life. While recovering from his injuries, he resigned himself to the fact he was to spend the
rest of his days a ruined man, slowly fading away while Matilda continued to rise.
This was madness.
While Matilda drove through the streets of Sheffield she doubted her reasons for making the journey. Was she really contemplating the notion that former DI Ben Hales was a serial killer? Yes, he may hate her. Yes, he probably blamed her for his career failing, but would he go to such extreme lengths to prove his point?
‘Ben Hales is a serial killer,’ Matilda said the words out loud, then snorted. It was preposterous.
She pulled over without indicating and heard an overtaking driver call her a stupid bitch. She turned off the engine and rested her head on the steering wheel.
What am I doing?
Matilda rang the doorbell on Ben’s door and stood back, waiting for it to be answered. She was about to turn away when it eventually opened. What she saw took her by surprise.
‘What do you want?’
Matilda couldn’t reply.
When she had last seen Ben Hales it was when he’d broken into her house last year. Then he was thin and gaunt. Now, he had piled on the weight. His hair was overgrown and matted. He had a full beard he did not look after and brown teeth. There was a smell coming from inside the house, or was it from his clothing? It was a mixture of discarded food, stale alcohol and sweat.
‘I’d like a word,’ Matilda eventually said.
‘I’ve nothing to say to you.’ He started to close the door.
‘Please,’ she pleaded.
He left the door ajar and walked away leaving the decision up to her whether to enter or bugger off back to where she came from. The fetid smell from inside told her to run but, as much as she knew Ben Hales wasn’t a killer, she needed to have it confirmed by the man himself. Reluctantly, she stepped inside.
The once clean, bright house, beautifully decorated and lovingly cared for, was now an abandoned wreck. The carpet was sticky underfoot from spilt food and drink. Broken bulbs hadn’t been replaced giving the house a dark and depressing atmosphere. The surfaces were cluttered with empty pizza boxes and curry containers; squashed cans of cheap lager lay strewn where they had landed. Dark, black cobwebs hung from the ceiling and dust covered the tops of doors and cabinets. This could have been the home of a latter-day Miss Havisham.