by Michael Wood
There was a noise of scraping chairs as everyone turned to look at him. He felt his collar tighten as all eyes in the room burned into him.
‘What? You’re saying we’re never going to catch this killer?’ Christian put his hands on his hips. ‘That he’s just going to continue killing and killing until he gets bored or dies of old age?’
‘No, I’m not saying that at all,’ James quickly jumped in. ‘I’m not having a go at your policing skills here. I’m saying the killer is very meticulous. He hasn’t left a single fingerprint, and I doubt the footprint in the Lacey’s garden will have anything to do with him either. When you identify him, it will be in one of three ways. One: he’ll make a silly, schoolboy error. Two: he’ll hand himself in. Three: he’ll make himself known to either Matilda Darke or Danny Hanson.’
‘OK, let’s focus on that,’ Christian said, loosening his tie. ‘I can understand a killer targeting Matilda: she’s leading the investigation, she’s known in the media etc., but why Danny Hanson? He’s just a junior reporter on a local paper.’
‘I’ve been wondering that myself,’ James said. ‘I wish I could tell you.’
‘What if Danny has interviewed the killer in any of his previous stories?’ Rory asked.
‘The DCI asked me to look into his past,’ Sian said, pausing from throwing three Maltesers in her mouth. ‘Before this started, most of his stories were court reporting and the odd feature about crime figures and troubled neighbourhoods. He hasn’t written anything controversial.’
‘He was hanging around Starling House last year,’ Scott said. ‘I saw him several times.’
‘But he didn’t get anything front page, nothing to stand out. He was basically used as a filler for background information on Starling House,’ Sian said.
‘So why Danny Hanson?’ Christian almost shouted in frustration.
‘I can think of two options,’ James Dalziel said. ‘The killer, for whatever reason, has latched onto Danny and decided to use him, or, Danny Hanson is your killer.’
Christian blew out his cheeks. ‘Shit.’
When the briefing was over, James Dalziel asked if he could have a word with Christian in private. They disappeared into Christian’s office and closed the door behind them. Judging by the expression on both of their faces, the conversation was a heavy one.
Rory went over to Sian’s desk. ‘Sian, I’ve finally got the information from Katie Reaney’s missing mobile phone from EE.’
‘About time. They don’t rush, do they? Go on.’
‘We can see who called and texted her in the run up to being killed. If she was contacted through WhatsApp, though, we’ve hit a wall as none of that is recorded.’
‘Can we see the text messages?’
‘No. We can see the number texting, but not the actual message. Now the phone was turned off at 22.07. The last text was from her husband’s number in Ripon. He texted at 22.03. I’ve spoken to Andy and he said he sent her a message saying he loved her. He wasn’t worried when he didn’t get a reply, as she had told him she was going to have an early night. He’s sent me a screenshot of the message. There are thirteen texts before that one, all from the same number; her housebound friend, Debbie, who lives a few doors away. She’s shown me her phone and they’re all perfectly innocent texts. Katie didn’t say anything about being scared in the house on her own or being watched or receiving any dodgy phone calls.’
‘When was the last call to her phone?’ Sian asked. She took a sip of coffee and winced at the cold liquid. Time for a fresh brew.
‘Two o’clock that afternoon. It was from her mother-in-law double-checking the arrangements for that night. It lasted less than five minutes.’ Rory went back to his desk, picked up his empty mug and handed it to Sian with his trademark sweet smile.
‘Cheeky sod. By the way, you haven’t put anything in the snack drawer for almost a fortnight. Is the phone switched on now?’
‘No. All these texts came from a mast close to where Katie lived. It’s not picked up again anywhere else. It looks like it was turned off in her house and has remained off since. The killer’s probably dumped it somewhere.’
‘Why would he steal her phone, if he hadn’t contacted her on it?’ Sian asked. She had moved over to the drinks station where she went about making her and Rory a coffee.
Rory, bent down, rummaging through the snack drawer for something chocolatey said, ‘I can only guess that he messaged or called her through an app like WhatsApp and he took the phone, so we couldn’t find out.’
‘It would appear James is right then: this killer really does know his stuff.’
‘I was going to mention this to Matilda the other day, but the whole business with Ben Hales happened and everything sort of got pushed to one side.’ James Dalziel sat down at Christian’s desk.
Christian had taken his jacket off and rolled his shirt sleeves up. The enjoyment of the temporary promotion was very short-lived. He began to understand why Matilda looked so harassed when she had the weight of the whole team on her shoulders.
‘The thing is, Matilda has been wondering from the beginning how the killer managed to track down Brian Appleby. Then, when Katie Reaney was killed, nobody knew about her past either. She’d even changed her name to hide her true identity. There was only one person who could link Katie Reaney and Naomi Parish and that was her parole officer. So, who knows about parole officers?’
‘Everyone.’ Christian shrugged.
‘But who knows how to get in touch with them? Who knows which officer is assigned to who?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘A police officer. Perhaps?’
‘What? You think the killer is a police officer?’
‘With every victim you find, yes I do,’ James said.
‘But you said you thought Danny Hanson was a possible?’
‘And he could still be. If it’s not him, then you’re looking at someone on the force, possibly someone on your team.’
Christian stared past James’s head and out into the incident room. His team were going about their work, following up witness statements, making calls – plotting their next murder, perhaps. His eyes widened. He knew them all. If one of them was a killer, what did that say about his judgement as a detective?
‘There is also another possibility.’
‘Go on,’ Christian prompted, steeling himself for more bad news.
‘Danny Hanson and the killer are working together.’
Danny Hanson sat cross-legged on his bed, pen in hand, a thoughtful expression on his face as he wondered what to write next. He’d read a few of the letters members of the public had sent in to the newspaper, and they’d all been full of fear that a serial killer was stalking the streets of Sheffield. The more he read, the more he picked up on the sense of horror people were feeling. He couldn’t help but smile.
He should have been working. He should have been writing his next article. Perhaps something about the hard-working residents of Sheffield worrying about having a killer living in their midst, but he had other projects in mind. He went over to one of the boxes around his bedroom. He opened it and was faced with a pile of books, all of them well-thumbed, all of them with Post-It tabs sticking out of various pages. Mindhunter, Journey into Darkness, and The Anatomy of Motive, by John Douglas and Mark Olshaker. The Serial Killers, by Colin Wilson and Donald Seaman. My Life Among the Serial Killers, by Helen Morrison and Harold Goldberg. All of these were true-crime books written by experts in the field of criminal psychology who had worked for the FBI and helped to catch some of the most dangerous killers in history.
These were what interested Danny more than the panic and fear the people of Sheffield were feeling. Within these pages, lie the structure and the making of what made a killer. This is who the Hangman was.
Chapter Forty-Three
Matilda was expected. She pulled up outside the cottage and the front door opened. Frank Doyle stepped out, his expression mixed. He welcomed his daughter, but he was worried f
or her too. He went around to the driver’s side and opened her door.
‘Hello, sweetheart. Are you all right?’
‘Yes, fine thanks, Dad,’ she replied. She couldn’t help but smile at her father’s concern. Although Adele cared for her, and so did Sian, there was something comforting about having her dad still wanting to protect his child.
‘Come on in. Your mum’s made you a big lunch.’
‘I’m not that hungry, Dad,’ she said, climbing out of the car.
‘Don’t tell her that. Besides, you’ve lost weight. I can tell.’
‘I’m in training for the half-marathon, I’m supposed to have lost weight.’
‘You look gaunt.’
‘You’re starting to sound like Mum.’
‘Come on, let’s get in,’ Frank said, noticing his wife staring at them through the kitchen window.
Penny Doyle (she hated being called Penelope) stood in the entrance to her kitchen, her arms wide open, ready to greet her daughter. Matilda had no choice. She stepped forward and was pulled into a tight embrace, her head firmly pressed against her mother’s ample bosom. Matilda could smell her comforting perfume, one she had been using for decades. It brought back memories of being hugged as a child when she’d fallen and hurt herself.
Penny was a formidable woman. At only five-foot tall, she was dwarfed by almost everyone around her, yet she had the biggest personality in the room. She was warm, caring, and welcomed every visitor as if they were family. However, get on the wrong side of her, and she never forgot.
‘I like your hair,’ Matilda said as she pulled away.
‘Thank you. Renee did it for me in the village,’ she replied with a smile. ‘Come and sit down. I’ve made us a light lunch, just a quiche and salad. I did some Scotch eggs last night too. I know how you like them.’
‘I’m not really that hungry,’ she said, stealing a glance at her father as he took her coat off her.
‘Don’t be silly. You’re wasting away.’
‘She’s training for the marathon,’ Frank said.
‘Half-marathon,’ Matilda corrected him.
Penny studied her daughter. ‘I don’t like it. You’ll lose your boobs. Look at those Olympic gymnasts. They’ve nothing up top.’
Matilda couldn’t help but smile.
***
‘I can’t believe he would do something so selfish, so hurtful,’ Penny said as they were sitting around the table in the kitchen.
Matilda was sitting in the middle, her parents flanked either side. With her back firmly against the kitchen wall, there was no escape.
‘We’ll come and clean your house from top to bottom, won’t we, Frank?’
‘Of course. I’ll redecorate it for you as well, if you like? I’ll get Jeremy’s lad to help out. He’s a professional decorator.’
With a mouthful of homemade quiche, Penny said, ‘Good thinking. I’ll give Renee a call. Her sister made those curtains we’ve got in the spare bedroom. She’ll come and measure up for you. You’ll not recognize the place when we’ve finished.’
‘But I want to recognize it,’ Matilda said loudly. ‘It’s James’s home. It’s our home.’
‘Just the hallway, love, nothing else,’ Frank said, placing a hand on Matilda’s. ‘You don’t want to be reminded of that every time you come home, do you?’
‘No,’ she conceded.
‘There we are then,’ Penny said. ‘Oh, I had your sister on the phone for an hour last night. She’s going to ring you at the weekend. She says you can go and stay with her any time you like.’
Matilda almost shivered. The thought of staying in her sister’s house with her annoying husband and two boisterous children was the stuff of nightmares.
‘That’s kind of her but I need to be close to work.’
‘I thought you’d been signed off?’ Penny asked.
‘I have been signed off, but I don’t intend on staying off. There’s a killer out there that needs to be caught.’
‘Matilda, you know I don’t like you talking about murder and death at the meal table.’
‘We’ve just been talking about Ben Hales hanging himself in my house.’
‘That’s different. That’s circumstances.’
Matilda frowned and looked to her father, who shrugged.
‘I don’t know why you don’t leave the police. You’ve not been happy since James died.’
‘That’s got nothing to do with the job,’ Matilda scoffed. ‘I wouldn’t be happy wherever I worked.’
Frank placed his hand on top of Matilda’s again. ‘I don’t like the thought of you being unhappy.’
‘I’m not unhappy, I’m just … well, you know … I’m getting there,’ she lied. ‘Running is helping too.’
‘You want to be careful,’ Penny began. ‘Look what happened to Felicity’s daughter when she lost her husband – she cut her wrists in the bath.’
‘Penny!’ Frank admonished.
‘Mum, I don’t plan on killing myself.’
‘All I’m saying is if you keep things to yourself, if you don’t move on, you’ll end up like she did. I think we’ve had enough suicide in this family, haven’t we Frank?’
Frank turned away. His brother’s suicide more than twenty years ago was still raw at times.
‘Mum, can we change the subject to something brighter, please?’
‘Of course we can, sweetheart,’ she replied through a sickly smile. Penny ate quickly, her eyes darting from side to side as she struggled to think of something to say. She hated being quiet. ‘Oh, Frank, did I tell you?’ Penny suddenly said. ‘Renee’s husband’s been given Viagra for his heart. She says it’s given him a whole new lease of life.’
Matilda burst out laughing and spat her quiche all over the kitchen table.
Chapter Forty-Four
Day Thirty-Two
Sunday, 9 April 2017
‘Oh my God. I never thought I’d be this nervous,’ Adele said.
‘Me neither. Is it too late to pull out, do you think?’ Matilda asked.
‘Yes it is. Come on,’ Chris said with a beaming smile.
‘I shouldn’t be here,’ Matilda said. ‘We’ve got a serial killer on the loose and I’m taking time off to run a half-marathon. The press will love that.’
‘You don’t run South Yorkshire Police single-handed,’ Adele said. ‘You’ve got Christian and Aaron there today. And Ranjeet and Kesinka. The city won’t burn to the ground just because you’ve taken a few hours off.’
Matilda, Adele and Chris stepped out of the taxi in Sheffield city centre and looked around them. Thousands of people had descended on the steel city to run the famous half-marathon.
They made their way to the Winter Gardens where they were to meet Scott. He spotted them first and called out, giving them a huge wave. He was relishing this.
‘Is Scott some kind of masochist?’ Adele asked Matilda quietly. ‘Look at him, I’ve never seen him look so happy.’
‘Good morning, Matilda, Adele. Are you ready for this?’ Scott said, jumping up and down.
‘No,’ Matilda said through a painful smile.
‘Don’t worry about it. You’ll be fine. Both of you. Look, just stay together, don’t push off too soon, go at a pace that suits you. OK?’
They both nodded.
‘Will you be staying with us?’ Adele asked.
Scott and Chris exchanged glances.
‘Actually, Mum,’ Chris said, looking at his feet. ‘We were thinking of running on ahead.’
‘You’re going to leave us?’
‘We want a good time.’
‘No offence,’ Scott said, ‘but I’ve been running this race for a few years, now, and I want to try and beat last year’s time.’
‘Oh, right. Well, no offence taken,’ Adele said.
‘Oh, look, there’s Sian and Rory,’ Scott said, thankful for a distraction.
‘Hello, you two, I didn’t know you were going to cheer us on,’ Matilda said.
The runners took off their jackets and changed into their running shoes. In her concealed pocket, Matilda had some jelly beans and Jelly Babies to give her an energy boost. Adele tied her hair back and put a sweatband around her forehead. They were all ready to take their place in the middle of the second wave of runners due to start the 2017 Sheffield half-marathon.
‘Nice of them to give up their Sunday to cheer us on,’ Adele said.
‘Is that Faith?’ Matilda asked, pointing towards the front of the pack.
‘I think it is, yes,’ Scott answered.
‘Is she looking for us?’
‘I’m not sure. Faith! FAITH!’ Scott shouted.
The young DC eventually heard him and trotted over. She was dressed in jeans and a padded coat to keep her warm. She looked different in casual clothes.
‘Hello, Faith,’ Matilda said. ‘Nice of you to come down and see us.’
Faith smiled awkwardly. ‘Well, Steve’s running.’
‘Is he?’ Scott asked. ‘Where is he?’
‘At the front. You should see the medals he’s got for running. He’s run the London marathon twice,’ she beamed proudly.
‘He never said.’
‘He doesn’t like to brag,’ she smiled. ‘Well, good luck to you all.’ She grinned before heading back to the front to be with Steve.
‘She’s certainly smitten with him, isn’t she?’ Matilda asked.
‘Not surprising. Have you seen his legs?’ Adele said, looking around and spotting him.
‘I wonder why he didn’t say anything,’ Scott said, almost to himself.
The wait to get started seemed to drag on. Matilda bounced from foot to foot, partly to keep warm, but partly to control her nerves.
At just after 9.30, they were off. They hadn’t even got to the end of the road before Scott and Chris had ploughed on ahead leaving Matilda and Adele behind.
‘How are you doing?’ Adele asked.
‘We’ve only just started.’