by Michael Wood
‘You wouldn’t have put them two together, would you?’ Scott asked, taking a Snickers from Sian’s snack drawer.
‘Why not?’ Sian asked.
‘I don’t mean it in a negative way. I just always thought Faith would go for a DI or something.’
Sian sat back in her chair. A small smile appeared on her lips. ‘When I was a PC, well, we were called WPCs in those days, I went out with a DS for a while. It was the talk of the station. DS Clive Maybury. He was a handsome bloke, gorgeous eyes.’ Suddenly remembering where she was she looked at Rory and Scott, who seemed to be hanging on her every word. She cleared her throat and went back to her work.
‘You can’t just leave it like that. What happened? Did you get married?’ Rory asked.
‘Yes, Rory, we got married. Only don’t tell my husband and four kids,’ she replied with heavy sarcasm. ‘Of course we didn’t get married, Rory. It was just a fling, eventually, it, you know, flung.’
‘What happened to this DS Maybury?’ Scott asked.
Sian’s face dropped. ‘He was gunned down in an armed robbery, just off the Wicker. Sawn-off shotgun. He got both barrels in the chest and was dead before he hit the ground.’
‘Oh, Sian, I’m so sorry,’ Scott said.
‘We’d broken up long before then, but, well, it took a while to get over.’
A silence descended on the two DCs while they took in the tragic turn of Sian’s story. She looked at them both; their faces were aimed at the floor. ‘Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with PC Harrison. He’s a good copper. He’s always the first to volunteer when it comes to going into schools to talk to young kids about the dangers of drugs and staying safe online. Better-looking than you two, as well.’ Sian smiled.
‘Fancy him yourself, do you?’ Rory teased.
‘I’m old enough to be his mother. Get on with your work.’
They went back to their desks as Faith came into the office. She had just passed Rory’s desk when he stopped her.
‘What?’ she asked.
He stared intently at her face, as if studying her. ‘There’s something different about you.’
‘Is there?’ She frowned. ‘In what way?’
‘I don’t know.’ He squinted and leaned close to her. Suddenly, he sat back and smiled. ‘No, nothing, it’s OK. I thought you had a PC on your lips.’
Rory and Scott started laughing. Even Sian lowered her head to hide her smirk. Faith blushed.
‘Who told you?’ Faith asked.
‘Nobody,’ Rory replied with a huge grin on his face.
‘It was Kesinka, wasn’t it? She promised. Well, if you’re looking for gossip, Rory, here’s something for you – Kesinka has been dating Ranjeet since Christmas.’
‘What?’ Scott gasped.
‘You’re joking!’ Sian called out.
As if her name had summoned her, Kesinka entered the room. She stopped when she saw all eyes turned to her. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked, a look of worry on her face.
‘You never mentioned you were going out with Ranjeet,’ Scott said.
‘You told!’ she admonished, glaring directly at Faith. ‘You said you wouldn’t.’
‘You told Rory about me and Steve.’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Rory saw you in the corridor, Faith,’ Sian said. ‘Just now. He and Scott were behaving like schoolgirls.’
‘Oh. I’m so sorry, Kes.’
‘So we’ve got two romances going on,’ Rory said, rubbing his hands together.
‘Yes. All we need is for you and Scott to admit you’re dating and everyone’s hooked up and happy,’ Faith said.
Kesinka laughed. ‘I think we should get a hashtag trending on Twitter. What do you think Faith, #Scory or #Rorott?’
‘Definitely #Scory. I’m on it,’ she said, walking to her desk with a spring in her step.
Rory and Scott both blushed and turned away. Sian smiled. She loved working with this team so much.
Danny Hanson’s mobile phone was ringing. As his hand’s free still wasn’t working, he pulled over before answering. The last thing he wanted was to be arrested for using his phone while driving. He guessed the police would like nothing better than to get him off the streets for a few hours, especially if Kate Stephenson ran the story she was planning about Matilda Darke.
The caller had withheld their number. Danny guessed it was the Hangman. He made sure the doors were locked and took a deep breath before answering.
‘Hello,’ he’d tried to sound confident and brash, but his shaking voice betrayed him.
‘Another bit of news for you; a man has been found hanging in Matilda Darke’s house. As much as I would love to claim this one, I’m afraid I can’t. Shame.’
The call ended.
Danny sat in silence as he absorbed this latest piece of information. Was it correct? Why wasn’t the killer taking the credit? Did that mean there was a copycat? A second killer on the loose? Blood seemed to be flowing on the streets of Sheffield. Danny kept wondering why the killer hadn’t called one of the national newspapers and got instant fame. He shook his worries from his mind and dialled Kate’s mobile. By the time she answered he had forgotten his doubts and was back in journalist mode again.
‘Boss, it’s happened again. I’ve got some front-page news for you.’
Chapter Forty-One
Sian had called in on Adele at the post-mortem suite as she was getting ready to leave at the end of the day. She told her about the letters Aaron and Faith had found in Ben’s house.
‘What do I do with Matilda’s? Is she in a fit state to read it?’ Sian asked.
‘I don’t know, Sian. She’s hardly said two words to me since I picked her up from hospital this morning. I cannot believe Ben would have done that. I know he was a shit, but to … it beggars belief.’
‘Why don’t you take the letter, and give it to her when you think she’s OK to read it?’ Sian asked. She placed the envelope on Adele’s desk. She was just happy to have it out of her possession.
Adele picked it up and looked at Ben’s untidy scrawl. ‘Matilda’ had been scratched in thick biro. Real anger had gone into that seven-letter word. It wasn’t written, it was etched. She placed it in her coat pocket. The responsibility was weighing her down already.
Adele arrived home to find Matilda exactly where she had left her – on the sofa, staring into space. Adele looked at her through the glass in the door. She needed to sound positive and happy around Matilda; hopefully it would rub off on her and she would be back to her normal self – whatever that was. Was she normal before she found Ben hanging from her bannister, or before James died?
‘Hi honey, I’m home,’ she said, breezing into the living room. ‘Good news, I clinched the Carter account,’ she quipped in a poor attempt at an American accent.
‘What?’ Matilda looked up from the sofa. She was hugging her knees and had recently been crying.
‘Nothing, it doesn’t matter. Cup of tea?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘Have you eaten?’
‘Erm … I’m not sure. I don’t think so.’ Matilda frowned. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had anything to eat. A large nurse had brought her something on a plate this morning, but she couldn’t remember what had happened to it.
‘How about I make us a quick snack now, and then we can order a pizza later?’
‘Yes, sure.’
Adele headed into the kitchen leaving Matilda on the sofa, hugging a pillow.
‘I thought you were going into work?’ Matilda called out.
‘I did.’
Matilda looked at the clock on the wall. It was just after seven o’clock. It was dark outside. How long had she been sitting staring out of the window?
‘Did you do the autopsy on …?’ She allowed the question to fade away. She didn’t want to say the man’s name.
‘I did, yes.’
‘And?’
Adele came to the entrance of the living r
oom and looked Matilda in the eye. ‘He wasn’t murdered, Mat.’
‘Suicide?’
Adele nodded.
There it was – confirmation of the man who hated her and his final act to destroy her.
Adele disappeared into the hallway then came straight back in carrying the letter. ‘Matilda, Sian came to the mortuary as I was leaving. They found this in Ben’s house, addressed to you.’
‘Oh God!’
‘What do you want me to do with it?’
‘I don’t know. Should I read it?’ She couldn’t take her eyes off the envelope.
‘That’s up to you.’
‘What would you do?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘It’s going to be full of blame, anger, his final dig at me, isn’t it?’
‘Shall I throw it away then?’
‘No, I’ll read it.’ Matilda prepared herself for more character assassination and held her hand out.
‘Do you want me to be here with you while … or shall I just?… I’ll go and make …’ Adele floundered, then walked into the kitchen.
Matilda gripped the envelope firmly in both hands, looking at her name written in block capitals. Did she really want to read the final ramblings of a man who hated her so much he wanted to destroy her mentally?
‘Screw it,’ she said, running her thumb through the flap and pulling out the handwritten letter.
Dear Matilda,
I’d like to thank you for coming to see me the other day. I’ve been mulling things over recently, wondering where my life is heading, what I want to do with my future, and I couldn’t think of any way out of the slump I was in. Sara didn’t want to know me. Neither do my kids. That’s not technically true; Rosie messages me when she wants some money. Natalie asks how I am from time to time but I think that’s just out of duty. When I reply that I’m fine, I never get anything more from her.
So, you coming to see me was the catalyst. I was in a quagmire with no way out. I think the rest of my life was going to be spent in the armchair watching my bank balance slowly dwindle down to zero as I lost bet after bet and transferred money to my ungrateful daughters.
Once you’d left I decided to end my life, but I wasn’t going to go quietly. That would have been too easy. I blame you for everything. You fucked up the Carl Meagan case, you should have been sacked and shamed. I don’t know how you can continue knowing what you’ve done to the Meagan family. How many more lives are you going to ruin before you realize you’re poison?
You’re probably thinking I’m bitter and jealous. I’m bitter, yes, but not jealous, because I know what is going to happen to you. You’ve fucked up my life and you’re going to fuck up your own. I’m just sorry I’m not going to be around to see it. However, I can rest easy knowing I’m going to be a large factor in you going completely mental.
I know how precious your house is to you. I also know you’re going to see me in it every time you walk into the hallway. So, you’re going to have a big decision to make – move and let the memories of James fade, or see me every second you’re in that house.
One more thing, don’t think my death will be the last time you hear from me. You may have caught me at a low point when you visited, but I’ve not spent the last few months eating takeaways and watching daytime television. I’m a detective. I’m a bloody good detective. Remember that.
DI Ben Hales.
Adele waited outside the living room until she heard movement and decided it was safe to go back in. She entered with a tray carrying two mugs of tea and a packet of dark chocolate digestives.
‘Is everything OK?’ she asked, noticing Matilda’s tear-stained face.
Matilda couldn’t speak. The tears came as soon as she saw her friend come into the room. She shook her head.
Adele placed the tray down on the coffee table and saw the handwritten note. ‘Can I?’ she asked, pointing to it.
Matilda nodded and put her head in the pillow again. Adele sat in the armchair and read the letter.
‘Bloody hell,’ was all she could say when she’d finished.
‘If there is a serial killer out there going after people who haven’t been punished fully for their crimes, then I’m definitely high up on his list of potential victims. First Carl Meagan and now Ben Hales. I’m a sitting duck.’
Chapter Forty-Two
‘Did you see the newspaper last night?’ Rory asked as he entered the incident room.
‘No. My eldest is doing his GCSE mocks. He’s panicking, so I spent the evening going through his maths. What was in it?’ Sian asked.
‘They got the story of Hales hanging himself in the boss’s house. It was front page.’
‘Bloody hell. How did they get that?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘But Adele said it was suicide,’ Scott added. ‘The killer couldn’t have contacted the paper, so who did?’
The three sat in silence, pained expressions on their faces as they all tried to work out what was happening.
‘Right then,’ acting DCI Christian Brady said as he came out of his office. He clapped his hands together. ‘Let’s start from the beginning …’
Last night, on the sofa with his wife, he had been beaming at the prospect of being acting DCI while Matilda was on leave. It may only be for a few weeks at the most, but it didn’t matter. This was his chance to shine, to prove to Valerie and the others in charge that he was made of pure Sheffield steel. His wife gave him all the encouragement he needed. This morning, his alarm woke him an hour earlier than usual, and he’d sat at the breakfast table in his T-shirt and boxer shorts making a list of what he wanted to bring up in the morning briefing. A hearty breakfast, a hot shower, and a clean suit, and he went out of the front door with a spring in his step.
‘We have no forensics from Brian Appleby,’ Sian said, reading from her notebook. ‘There are no foreign prints anywhere in his house. From what we can gather, nothing was stolen, despite there being one or two expensive items on display. None of his neighbours had ever been in his house and the extent of the conversations they had with him were of the “good morning, how are you?” variety. Nobody knew him, or his past.’
‘Any visitors to his house?’
‘No. Nothing.’
‘Lucky our killer decided to carry on,’ Rory said. ‘With just the one victim we’d have been screwed.’
‘What about his son, George?’
‘I don’t think he’s a viable suspect,’ Sian said. ‘There’s something about him niggling away at me but I can’t for the life of me think what. We’re keeping an eye on him though.’
‘OK. Victim number two: Joe Lacey. Aaron?’ Christian instructed.
‘The Lacey house is a complete contrast to Brian Appleby’s. For a start, it’s a family home. It’s lived-in. The place was full of prints. We’ve checked them against the mother and three children and there are a few we can’t identify. Unfortunately, they’re not full prints so, even if we did get a suspect, it wouldn’t be easy to match anything up. Outside in the back garden, there’s a stray footprint from a size ten shoe. Nobody in the house is a size ten. We’ve asked the neighbours and only one bloke is that size and he doesn’t have any shoes matching the print. He also has an alibi for the time Joe Lacey was killed,’ Aaron said.
Scott picked up the baton. ‘Interestingly, a neighbour of the Lacey’s, Mrs Hilde Fargars… sorry, I can’t pronounce her name, I think she’s Swedish or Danish or something. Anyway, she doesn’t sleep much and spends the early hours of the morning sitting at her living room window watching the world go by, as she called it. She said over the past few weeks she’s noticed a man slowly walking up and down the street at about four o’clock in the morning. She saw him three days in a row one week.’
‘God bless the nosey neighbour.’ Rory smiled.
‘Description?’ Christian asked.
‘Tall and slim.’
‘Is that it?’
‘I’m afraid so. It was dark and sh
e can’t see much out of her window as she’s in a low seat and her windowsill is covered with crap ornaments.’
‘Not a reliable witness then, if she made it to the stand?’ Rory asked.
‘I doubt it.’ Scott smiled.
‘The man in the footage from the car park where Elizabeth Ward’s car was broken into was tall and slim. If we got a photo of him, do you think this woman would recognize him?’ Sian asked.
‘I doubt it, but I can give it a go.’
Christian rolled his eyes. ‘Anything else?’
‘No. Sorry.’
‘Victim number three: Katie Reaney.’
Sian began. ‘Again, it’s the same as the Lacey house. It’s full of prints from the family and kids. No sign of a break-in, no foreign forensic evidence.’
‘Faith, didn’t you go to interview a neighbour?’ Christian asked.
‘Mrs Pickering? Yes, I did. A sweet old lady, bless her. She called to say she heard someone in the garden on the night Katie was killed. She was in bed at the time and didn’t get up to take a look.’
‘What time?’
‘She didn’t say, but it was after ten, because that’s when she goes to bed. Unfortunately, the longer I spoke to her, the more she started to doubt her own statement. At first, she said it was from the back garden, then she said it could have been the front. By the time I left, she was beginning to wonder if she’d dreamed the whole thing.’
‘Completely useless then,’ Rory said.
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘What about the parents of Katie’s victim, Alistair Macintosh?’
‘I had a call from uniformed officers in Hastings. They went round and the house is locked up. According to a neighbour, they’re on holiday in Florida for a few weeks,’ Sian said. ‘They’ve had a couple of more kids since Katie was in their life. A happy ending for them, sort of.’
‘Another dead end,’ Christian said, wiping his brow.
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘So, how do we find the killer?’ Christian asked, slightly flustered.
‘I don’t think you do,’ James Dalziel said for the first time from the back of the room.