by Michael Wood
At the entrance to the walkway, Danny composed himself. A steel and glass structure acted as protection from the elements for commuters going from the train station to the bus station. On one side was an abandoned building, on the other, a steep incline to the road. He took his phone out of his trouser pocket and turned on the torch. With shaking hands, he held it up and lit his way ahead. He took a deep breath. Pointing the phone left and right, he slowly walked deeper into the darkness. The sound of his heart pounded in his ears, along with the echoing footfall from his only pair of smart shoes. He was more than halfway through when a passing car turned into the next road, its headlights lighting up the whole tunnel. Danny squinted and turned his head to avoid the glare and came face to face with a hanging man. He gasped and fell backwards, dropping his phone. He was shaking, struggling to breathe. Sweat prickled on the back of his neck. He scrambled around in the dark for his phone without taking his eyes from the silhouette in front of him. He eventually found it and aimed its beam of light in front of him. There it was, the hanging body just like the killer had told him. There was one difference though: this time, there was no pillowcase covering the face. Danny saw, close up, in full technicolour, the effects of hanging on a human being.
‘Fuck,’ he uttered, his teeth chattering.
He unlocked his phone and quickly scrolled through the contact list until he came to Matilda’s name. He pressed call and hoped she would hear it. He hoped she was close by. He didn’t know how much longer he would be able to sit alone in the dark with a dead body.
‘Danny?’
Matilda pulled up in her silver Ford Focus, the squealing brakes cutting through the quiet cold air. Adele, in the front passenger seat, followed her.
‘Danny?’ she called again for the journalist.
‘I’m here,’ came the faint, nervous reply from the tunnel.
As Matilda and Adele entered the walkway, Danny came running towards them. He looked pale, frightened, his eyes wide with shock.
‘I’m sorry. I should have called you as soon as he rang, but I didn’t know if it was a hoax or not. I didn’t think you’d want me dragging you out of bed over nothing. I’m really sorry,’ he waffled.
‘It’s OK,’ Matilda said, holding him by the shoulders. ‘Just calm down, breathe slowly and tell me what happened.’
Danny took a deep breath, but it didn’t help. He was hysterical. ‘I’ve been sick, I’m sorry,’ he said, pointing behind him.
‘That’s all right, don’t worry. This is Adele, she’s a pathologist, she’ll take care of you. Adele.’
‘A pathologist?’ he asked faintly.
Adele smiled. ‘Come with me, Danny. We’ll go and sit in the car.’ She put her arm around him and led him away.
Matilda watched while they walked towards the vehicle. She had never been a fan of journalists, and while working on the Starling House case last year, she had found Danny to be arrogant and lack respect in his questions. Now, she felt sorry for him. It was never easy being among the dead, especially at a crime scene. It was something Danny was going to have to get used to, if he wanted a future in crime reporting.
Gordon Berry’s eyes were wide and staring, his tongue protruding. From what light she could get from her phone, she could see evidence of rope burn marks around his neck and blood beneath his cracked fingernails. Matilda looked up at him with sadness. After seeing the evidence of a struggle at his house, she genuinely thought the killer had made a mistake. It had just been a setback. He made sure he succeeded in his task.
Chapter Fifty-Three
As soon as Valerie Masterson heard the news of a fourth body she had requested a meeting with Matilda first thing. She wanted Christian Brady and James Dalziel there too, but Matilda said she’d like to speak to her alone for now. Reluctantly, Valerie acquiesced.
Valerie stood behind her desk, arms folded, a look of steely determination on her face. Unusually for her, her desk was a mess of newspapers, both local and national.
Matilda slumped in the leather visitor’s chair, visibly dejected. Now the national press had picked up the story it wasn’t just the weight of South Yorkshire she had on her shoulders, it was the whole country. Since the slim and attractive Katie Reaney had been killed, the tabloids had splashed her all over the front pages. Once her past had been revealed and the motivation of the killer examined, journalists had arrived in Sheffield by the coachload, eager to find a new angle on the rare occurrence of a serial killer at large in the country.
‘What the hell is going on, Matilda?’
‘I wish I knew, ma’am,’ Matilda sighed.
‘That’s not the answer I want to hear.’
‘It’s not the answer I want to give, but it’s the truth. The killer is a very smart individual. He’s left no forensics behind at the scenes and there have been no witnesses. All we’ve got is a tall, slim man with dark hair. Most of the blokes in the station answer to that description, let alone the half a million living in Sheffield.’
‘This cannot be allowed to run and run, Matilda. Have you seen the newspapers this morning? I’ve had Kate Stephenson on the phone three times already. They’ve had an online poll and of the two thousand who answered, seventy-three per cent have no confidence in South Yorkshire Police. Seventy-three per cent, Matilda.’
Matilda put her head in her hands.
‘And from where I’m standing, I’m one of them. You’re not exactly exuding confidence right now,’ she added. ‘I’m keeping Christian Brady as acting DCI for the rest of this case. You can’t do this on your own. Now do I need to bring someone else in?’
‘No,’ Matilda replied quietly.
‘And what about you?’ Valerie asked after studying Matilda’s pained expression. ‘Can’t you cope, is that it?’
‘Of course I can cope,’ Matilda snapped.
‘What about James Dalziel? He’s supposed to be helping you put together a profile of this killer. Why didn’t you want him here?’
Matilda pictured his spare room; the detailed information, the images he’d somehow managed to get hold of, the photograph of her. She knew his psychological insight was invaluable but was he really pointing them in the right direction, or was Matilda reading too much into this, like she did everything else.
‘We don’t need a psychologist—’
‘Oh don’t you?’ Valerie interrupted. ‘Would a psychic be more useful? James Dalziel is a highly respected criminal psychologist. He knows what he’s talking about. Listen to him.’
Matilda was silent. Her eyes darted left and right as she contemplated the minefield she was currently in the middle of.
‘What have you got against him?’ Valerie asked.
‘Nothing.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I am. I just …’
‘Is it Ben Hales that’s getting to you? Do you need more time off?’
‘No I don’t,’ she replied firmly.
‘Then what is it?’ she snapped again. Matilda didn’t reply. She looked past Valerie and out of the window at the bleak Sheffield skyline.
‘Matilda,’ Valerie leaned forward, ‘I’m not pissing about now. I want this killer off the streets and in a cell as soon as possible. I’ve got the chief constable breathing down my neck. If you’re no further forward by the end of the week, I’ll have to bring in someone else. If that happens, we’ll both be for the high jump. If we can’t solve our own crimes, then we’re fucked.’
Matilda looked up. It was rare for Valerie to swear.
‘I’ll have the killer caught by the end of the week,’ Matilda said. Neither of them believed her.
The atmosphere in the incident room was heavy. There was no jollity, no banter, even Rory Fleming had his head down and he was usually the clown of the group.
Matilda walked to the front and slammed her hand down on Faith’s desk. Everyone fell silent.
‘No pissing about, no snide comments, no jokes, nothing. I want answers. We’ve done door-to-door w
ith every victim, we’ve interviewed family, friends, colleagues, neighbours, postmen, milkmen and chimney sweeps, what are we missing?’
She looked out on a sea of blank faces. Nobody spoke. Nobody volunteered any information. Everything had already been said several times before.
‘The killer is intelligent,’ Matilda continued. ‘No forensics, no evidence; he makes sure nobody sees him. What kind of person does that?’
‘The invisible man,’ Rory sniggered.
‘One more wisecrack, Rory, and you’ll be back in uniform by the end of the day.’
He looked hurt. He knew she wasn’t joking.
‘He’s a man on a mission,’ Faith said.
‘OK. Let’s start there. What kind of mission are we talking about?’
‘He’s saying these people haven’t paid enough for their crimes, so he’s taking the law into his own hands.’
‘What kind of person thinks that way?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Come on, Faith, you’re doing well.’
‘Someone who’s disillusioned with the law maybe.’
‘So someone who has been a victim and not seen justice served?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK. I’ll go with that. So, we’re looking for a victim who believes the law isn’t tough enough on criminals.’
‘No offence,’ Sian said, ‘but that could be anyone. You only have to read the papers to see a story about a killer being given five years or prisoners living in luxury. People have had enough.’
‘We’re going around in circles here,’ Matilda said. She felt tired, physically and mentally. ‘Faith, you’re good with the Internet. Have a look at forums where people have been spouting off about the law being easy for criminals. Anyone local, let me know.’
‘I have been doing. There’s loads of people who are pissed off with the levels of crime in this country. They’re all saying the same thing: the courts don’t care about the victims, prisoners using the Human Rights Act to their advantage, not giving a toss that they violated their victims’ human rights,’ she said.
‘Is that you talking or the people in the forums?’ Rory asked.
Faith didn’t reply but gave him an evil look. ‘What about the victims of unsolved crimes? If they think the police haven’t worked hard enough to solve their case, maybe they’ve taken the law into their own hands.’
‘And once they’d solved their own crime they got a taste for being a vigilante,’ Scott continued Faith’s idea.
‘Does that really happen, though?’ Rory asked. ‘Once you’ve killed do you get a taste for it?’
‘I don’t know. Ask James Dalziel.’
‘Right.’ Matilda clapped her hands together. ‘Faith, Scott, Rory, I want you all to look into the crimes our four victims have committed. Contact the relatives of their victims and get an alibi for the time of the murders.’
‘We’ve already done that,’ Rory said.
‘Well do it again,’ Matilda shouted. ‘Kesinka, get a list of unsolved crimes, any complaints made to the police about their cases not being taken seriously, any complaints about individual officers. Christian, Sian, South Yorkshire Police has twenty-six unsolved murders on their books. Have a look at who might have a grievance towards the police for not solving the murders. Start with the most recent and go back. Where’s Aaron?’
‘He called this morning,’ Sian said. ‘Katrina gave birth by caesarean section earlier this morning. It’s still touch and go.’
‘Right, OK. Send him a text, tell him not to worry about coming to work any time soon. Ranjeet, get a team of uniforms together. Go back to every murder scene and knock on the doors of the neighbours. I know we’ve questioned them before, but I want them questioned again.’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘Rory, Scott, go to where Gordon Berry worked – where was it again?’
‘KKE Engineering,’ Faith answered.
‘Go there, interview all of his colleagues. We need to know everything about him, what he was doing, his personal life, everything.’
‘But you asked us to—’
‘I’m not arguing with you, Rory,’ Matilda almost exploded. ‘Just do it.’
‘Ma’am,’ he said, looking dejected.
‘Any questions? I didn’t think so,’ Matilda said quickly before anyone could ask anything. ‘I don’t want anyone in this incident room unless you have to be. I want a presence out on the street. Also, no talking to the press. They’re swarming all over the city. Keep your mouths shut and do your job. That goes for every single one of you.’
Matilda turned away from the rapidly emptying room and entered her office, slamming the door closed behind her.
She could feel the pressure of the task weighing her down. Her vision was blurring. A panic attack was looming.
She slumped into her chair and closed her eyes. She was immediately transported back into her hallway and staring at Ben Hales hanging from her bannister. In her vision, he was very much alive. The rope was tight around his neck but he was looking right at her, his eyes burning into her soul, and smiling that annoying grin he often sported when he thought he had one over on her.
Matilda opened her eyes when a knock came on her door. It was Christian.
‘Everything OK?’ he asked.
‘Not really. What can I do for you?’
Christian closed the door behind him and sat down. ‘Remember when you asked me if there was anything bothering the team?’
‘That seems like a lifetime ago,’ she scoffed.
‘I’ve overheard a few DCs talking. Brian Appleby was a paedophile, Katie Reaney was a child killer. The reason for the team seeming distracted out there is because of victim apathy.’
‘You mean they don’t care that a paedophile and a child killer have been murdered?’
‘I don’t know that for sure, just from what I’ve overheard.’
‘Right,’ Matilda said, standing up. She threw open the door to the main office and called everyone to attention. ‘A paedophile, a hit-and-run killer and a child killer,’ she said, pointing to the photographs on the murder board. ‘Usually we have some sort of sympathy for a victim, but with these three, and now with Gordon Berry, I’m guessing there’s little compassion around. Am I right?’
Matilda waited but nobody said anything. She looked at their blank faces. She knew Christian was right.
‘Joe Lacey has three kids – Jason, Esme and Victoria. Katie Reaney has two, Jenson and Bobbi. They’re all under ten. They’ve lost their parent. They’re going to grow up wondering what happened to their parent. Don’t do it for Brian, Joe, Katie, or Gordon, do it for their kids. Find the killer and bring them to justice.’
Matilda didn’t wait for a response. She turned on her heel and went back into her office and slammed the door so hard behind her the entire wall shook. Christian was still sitting, waiting.
‘Get photos of Lacey’s and Reaney’s kids, get them put up on the boards. I want everyone to see who they’re doing this for.’
‘Are you all right?’ Christian asked.
‘Do you want the truth, Christian? No, I’m not all right. There’s a killer out there who’s taunting me and I’m having to find him on my own because not one single detective here gives a fucking toss,’ she shouted. Everyone in the incident room looked at her. She took a deep breath. ‘Acting DCI Brady, you’re in charge,’ Matilda said. She picked up her jacket from the back of the chair and walked out of the office.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Matilda needed some time away from the station, not much, just half an hour or so to be on her own, to calm down from her emotional performance at the briefing.
She stormed out of the building, managing to avoid the barrage of press who had set up home by the front steps. Before she could work out a destination she found herself outside Costa in Orchard Square. The strong caffeine smell emanating from the building was calling to her. She ordered a large latte and asked for an extra shot of caffei
ne to be added. No, she didn’t want to try their new blend for an extra twenty pence. No, she did not want any cakes or cookies.
Sitting in the corner, thinking she was alone with her thoughts, she began to relax as the strong coffee flowed through her veins. This was sheer bliss – until she looked up and saw the worried expression on the smooth face of Danny Hanson gawping down at her.
‘Are you following me?’ Matilda said.
‘No, I’m not following you. I was already here. I saw you come in.’
‘Oh.’
‘Can I join you?’
‘To be honest, Danny, I just wanted a few minutes to myself.’
‘I can understand that. I’d really like to talk to you though.’
‘If you’re looking for a quote or something to put on the front pages, you’ve come to the wrong person.’ It didn’t take long for the effects of the caffeine to wear off. She could feel her hackles rising once more.
‘I don’t want to talk about that. This is more … personal.’
Matilda took a longer look at the young journalist. The worried expression ran deeper than his face. The way he held himself, the throbbing vein in his neck, the dark lines beneath his eyes. He was troubled. She nodded to the chair opposite.
‘Thank you.’ He gave a nervous smile, pulled the chair out and sat down. ‘I’ve called in sick today. I don’t think Kate was happy.’
‘It’s understandable.’
‘When I decided I wanted to be a journalist, I didn’t expect to be targeted personally, to have a sadistic killer calling me. This is frightening me,’ he said, lowering his voice and looking around.
Matilda no longer saw an annoying young upstart sitting opposite her. She saw a terrified individual whose rose-tinted view of his ideal job had been destroyed. ‘It’s frightening me, too, and I’ve been in this job for a long time. Seeing a dead body, especially a murder victim, is not something you get used to. I don’t think you should get used to it either. We need to have feelings in order to do our job properly. Now, you’re just starting out. This is a highly unusual situation you’ve found yourself in. You may never face a story like this again.’