Day of the Dead: A gripping serial killer thriller (Eve Clay)
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DAY OF THE DEAD
Mark Roberts
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About this Book
About the Author
Table of Contents
www.headofzeus.com
About Day of the Dead
A serial killer.
A hero to some.
A wanted criminal to others.
The man who calls himself Vindici broke out of prison last year. Now he’s filmed himself torturing and killing paedophiles in Liverpool’s affluent suburbs.
Half the city are celebrating: the streets are now safer for their children. But for DCI Eve Clay and her team at the Merseyside Police, it’s a nightmare. Their job is to solve crimes and lock up the killer – hard enough without being despised by the public they are trying to protect.
And now, just when they think they’ve cracked the case, they receive a photo of Vindici at a Day of the Dead parade in Mexico. If Vindici is 5,000 miles away, who are they hunting in Liverpool? DCI Eve Clay must draw on all her cunning to unmask a killer who is always one step ahead.
For Linda and Eleanor
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
— SHAKESPEARE
Contents
Welcome Page
About Day of the Dead
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue: 29th September 1986
Part 1: Los Llorones – Weeping Children
Day 1: Wednesday, 23rd October 2019
Chapter 1: 6.30 pm
Chapter 2: 6.45 pm
Chapter 3: 7.58 pm
Chapter 4: 8.03 pm
Chapter 5: 8.05 pm
Chapter 6: 8.09 pm
Chapter 7: 8.13 pm
Chapter 8: 8.18 pm
Chapter 9: 8.18 pm
Chapter 10: 8.29 pm
Chapter 11: 8.35 pm
Chapter 12: 8.35 pm
Chapter 13: 8.41 pm
Chapter 14: 8.59 pm
Chapter 15: 8.59 pm
Chapter 16: 9.02 pm
Chapter 17: 9.04 pm
Chapter 18: 9.46 pm
Chapter 19: 9.46 pm
Chapter 20: 9.53 pm
Chapter 21: 9.55 pm
Chapter 22: 10.13 pm
Chapter 23: 11.01 pm
Chapter 24: 11.05 pm
Chapter 25: 11.13 pm
Chapter 26: 11.23 pm
Chapter 27: 11.33 pm
Chapter 28: 11.53 pm
Part 2: The Souls of Returning Children
Day 2: Thursday, 24th October 2019
Chapter 29: 3.15 am
Chapter 30: 4.30 am
Chapter 31: 6.30 am
Chapter 32: 6.45 am
Chapter 33: 6.45 am
Chapter 34: 6.54 am
Chapter 35: 7.00 am
Chapter 36: 7.30 am
Chapter 37: 7.40 am
Chapter 38: 8.00 am
Chapter 39: 8.30 am
Chapter 40: 8.38 am
Chapter 41: 8.50 am
Chapter 42: 9.01 am
Chapter 43: 9.06 am
Chapter 44: 9.18 am
Chapter 45: 9.33 am
Chapter 46: 10.15 am
Chapter 47: 10.15 am
Chapter 48: 10.15 am
Chapter 49: 10.30 am
Chapter 50: 10.35 am
Chapter 51: 10.48 am
Chapter 52: 11.01 am
Chapter 53: 11.48 am
Chapter 54: 12.00 noon
Chapter 55: 12.03 pm
Chapter 56: 12.07 pm
Chapter 57: 12.15 pm
Chapter 58: 12.23 pm
Chapter 59: 12.23 pm
Chapter 60: 12.23 pm
Chapter 61: 1.08 pm
Chapter 62: 2.15 pm
Chapter 63: 2.43 pm
Chapter 64: 3.01 pm
Chapter 65: 3.01 pm
Chapter 66: 3.40 pm
Chapter 67: 3.42 pm
Chapter 68: 3.43 pm
Chapter 69: 4.01 pm
Chapter 70: 4.05 pm
Chapter 71: 5.25 pm
Chapter 72: 5.33 pm
Chapter 73: 5.36 pm
Chapter 74: 5.43 pm
Chapter 75: 5.58 pm
Chapter 76: 6.15 pm
Chapter 77: 6.15 pm
Chapter 78: 6.15 pm
Chapter 79: 7.15 pm
Chapter 80: 7.53 pm
Chapter 81: 8.03 pm
Chapter 82: 8.18 pm
Chapter 83: 8.25 pm
Chapter 84: 8.30 pm
Chapter 85: 8.35 pm
Chapter 86: 8.50 pm
Chapter 87: 8.50 pm
Chapter 88: 9.01 pm
Chapter 89: 9.01 pm
Chapter 90: 9.11 pm
Chapter 91: 9.20 pm
Chapter 92: 9.21 pm
Chapter 93: 9.28 pm
Chapter 94: 9.30 pm
Chapter 95: 10.00 pm
Chapter 96: 10.10 pm
Chapter 97: 10.49 pm
Chapter 98: 11.31 pm
Part 3: Dance of Death
Day 3: Friday, 25th October 2019
Chapter 99: 00.01 am
Chapter 100: 00.10 am
Chapter 101: 00.25 am
Chapter 102: 00.25 am
Chapter 103: 00.36 am
Chapter 104: 00.40 am
Chapter 105: 00.41 am
Chapter 107: 00.57 am
Chapter 108: 00.57 am
Chapter 109: 01.06 am
Chapter 110: 1.06 am
Chapter 111: 1.07 am
Chapter 112: 2.05 am
Chapter 113: 2.20 am
Chapter 114: 2.35 am
Chapter 115: 6.04 am
Chapter 116: 6.45 am
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About Mark Roberts
About the Eve Clay Series
An Invitation from the Publisher
Copyright
Prologue
29th September 1986
‘Do not move a muscle, Eve! Stay exactly where you are!’ commanded Mrs Tripp, head of St Michael’s Catholic Care Home for Children. ‘And if anyone comes into my office and attempts to talk to you, do not speak a word!’
Eve Clay noticed a sheen of sweat and anxiety on the fat woman’s face as she hurried from her office, slamming the door shut after herself.
In silence, she counted to ten, listened hard and heard no one moving in the corridor outside.
Eve moved to the filing cabinet, recalling her first day in St Michael’s two years earlier, when she was six years old, and the fat card file on Mrs Tripp’s desk marked with her name: EVETTE CLAY.
She eyed the top door labelled ‘A–E’. She opened it, flicked through the slender card files. TOM ADAMS, JENNIFER BRADY, TONIA BREEN.
The bulging collection of papers marked EVETTE CLAY was at the tips of her fingers and she lifted it out with her heart beating fast and her mouth suddenly bone dry. She looked at the thickness of the file and didn’t know whether her memory was playing a trick on her but, fat as the file still was, it looked it as if it had thinned down.
‘Yes, something’s definitely missing,’ she said to herself. She opened the file and, with her free hand, flicked through the papers in search of one specific document.
If other pages have gone missing, she reasoned, why not my birth certificate?
‘Jesus Christ,’ she whispered, finding the red-and-cream-coloured sheet of paper a third of the way into the
file.
Approaching noise erupted in the corridor outside. Eve picked up Mrs Tripp’s voice coming closer to the door along with her footsteps and those of another adult who Hmm-hmmed in the beats between Mrs Tripp’s hurried speech.
Eve shoved her file back in place, shut the A–E drawer and felt sick to the core as she made her way to the exact spot where she had been when Mrs Tripp hurried from her office. Looking out of the window at the ambulance parked next to the police car with its back doors wide open, she folded her birth certificate and hid it in the pocket of her jeans.
As the office door opened behind her, Eve watched a pair of paramedics carrying a man in his twenties on a stretcher. He was covered from the neck down by a blue blanket, a mop of blond curls framing his bloodstained face.
‘Eve, what are you doing at the window?’ Mrs Tripp sounded confused and panic-stricken but disguised it by filling her voice with bogus compassion.
‘I’m doing exactly what you told me, Mrs Tripp. I haven’t moved a muscle. I’ve stayed exactly where I was.’ She remained there, looking out of the window as the paramedics loaded the unconscious man into the back of the ambulance. ‘Will they be taking Christopher Hawkins to hospital?’ asked Eve as the last of his body disappeared.
‘Eve, it’s rude to speak to grown-ups when your back is turned to them!’ Mrs Tripp advanced.
And it’s rude to speak to anybody’s back whatever age they are, thought Eve, turning.
A tall policewoman in a neat blue uniform stood in the doorway. Eve looked beyond Mrs Tripp and directly at the policewoman.
She smiled at Eve and closed the door. ‘I’ve come to have a little chat with you, Eve. My name’s Gwen Jones and I’m a woman police constable.’
‘Admiral Street?’ asked Eve.
‘That’s right. That’s where I’m based.’
‘There’s no need to be scared of the police officer,’ said Mrs Tripp.
As Eve walked towards WPC Jones, Eve wondered if Mrs Tripp was talking to herself.
‘I’m not scared of you.’ Eve tried to smile but she felt a sad expression in the muscles of her face.
The policewoman stooped to Eve’s eye level and, although she looked very tough, there was a kindness in her eyes that calmed the bottled-up storm inside the little girl. Her eyes danced across Eve’s features as if she was reading a book.
Then WPC Jones glanced behind her. ‘You can go now, Mrs Tripp.’
Relief poured through Eve’s whole being.
Silence.
The policewoman stood to her full height and pointed at the door. Mrs Tripp, her face now almost scarlet, closed the door on her way out with a meekness Eve had never seen in her before.
WPC Jones gave Eve a gentle push in the back, pointing at the seat across from the desk. As Eve sat down, she felt a pulse of pleasure when the policewoman sat on the edge of Mrs Tripp’s desk.
‘When I ask you to start at the beginning, Eve, I could well be talking about events that happened before you got up this morning. In your own words, Eve, and in your own time – and we’ve got as much as you want – tell me what happened.’
‘We’re not allowed pets. Some of the kids who live here haven’t been very nice to animals. You know what I mean?’
WPC Jones nodded, her whole attention focused on Eve.
‘But there’s this wild cat called Rufus who kind of lives in the garden at the back of the house. I – I’m not supposed to but I feed Rufus. He’s wild but he’s OK with me because I’m OK with him. Well...’ Eve felt a rush of tears. She dug down and, taking a deep breath, stemmed them. ‘Three weeks ago, Rufus disappeared – just stopped appearing in the garden. Some of the kids said he’d moved on because other cats were in the neighbourhood. Some said Rufus had been run over. I did the sensible thing. I accepted the loss and started to move on. When I was in Botanic Gardens, Chris...’
‘Christopher Hawkins?’
‘Yes. He works here. He’s always looking at me but he never talks to me, but this morning he did. He said he’d seen Rufus back at St Michael’s, in the garden.’
‘Who was in Botanic Gardens, Eve?’
‘Everyone. Every kid. Every adult. Mrs Tripp even.’
‘How come?’
‘It’s St Michael’s Day. Chris said, Why don’t you go back to the home and see if Rufus is there? If anyone asks where you are, I’ll tell them I’ve just seen you over there. So don’t you worry no more. So I ran off and when I got back here I had to climb over the back wall to get into the garden. I looked all over the garden but Rufus just wasn’t there. Then I heard Chris’s voice. Any luck, Eve? I nearly jumped out of my skin. It was like he’d appeared out of thin air. I said, How did you get here? He had this big smile on his face but a strange look in his eyes. He said, I think Rufus might be in the shed. And he hands me the shed key and he said, Go on, undo the padlock, Eve. So I did and I opened the door and it was dead dark inside. He said, I reckon he’s in there. Why don’t you go inside and see if you can find him. It’s not like Rufus doesn’t need you no more. Go on, Eve... He gave me a little push, right here, between the shoulders and I went inside the shed. He followed me in and I heard the door creak as he closed it and it went even darker. He said, You look like you could do with a cuddle. I said, No I don’t. Rufus isn’t in here at all. He said, Yeah, but we are. And I could hear him breathing, all heavy and it was horrible. Then... I can’t remember what was said or happened next because it went all quiet in my head, like. It. A blackout. Then. Then, all of a sudden, like, the shed door gets yanked open and I’m back and I heard, Get away from her yer effing perv! It was Jimmy, Jimmy Peace’s voice.’
‘Jimmy Peace lives here, right?’
Eve nodded proudly, a smile lighting up her eyes briefly. ‘Jimmy’s my best friend in the whole world. He says he’s always going to look after me.’
‘That’s great, Eve.’ The policewoman smiled too. ‘Tell me about Chris?’
Eve fell silent and felt as if she was falling into a hole inside herself. ‘Chris tried to turn and push past him and it was all dead quick but Jimmy had him in a headlock outside of the shed.
‘Jimmy looked dead angry but when he looked at me he smiled and said, dead gentle, Go back to Botanic Gardens. You’re not going to get in any trouble. I’m going to have a little chat with Chris. Christopher was saying, Honest to God, mate, on my mother’s life, I was only trying to help her find her bloody cat. I wasn’t going to hurt her no more.
‘And I don’t remember much more. I don’t remember getting back to Botanic Gardens and coming back here to the home...’
‘Eve!’ A voice came from outside the home.
Eve danced closer to the window and called, ‘Jimmy?’
Jimmy, the tallest, strongest fifteen-year-old boy in the world, was being dragged backwards by two fat police constables. He looked up and made eye contact with Eve as they dragged him to the back door of the police car. ‘I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Eve!’ he shouted as he disappeared into the police car.
‘Eve.’ WPC Jones spoke softly behind Eve, her hands settling on her shoulders. ‘I’m going to have to go. I need to let them know what you’ve told me. It’ll make a huge difference to the way Jimmy is treated. Do you understand?’
‘Yeah, I do. I had this really bad feeling Chris was going to do something horrible to me. He tracked me to the shed. Jimmy stopped him. Jimmy saved me.’
‘That’s right, love. That’s exactly right.’
As WPC Jones left the office, Eve watched Jimmy’s face as he turned at the back window of the police car and she was filled with sorrow. He spoke his final words to her and, although she couldn’t hear him, she saw tenderness in him.
‘I’m sorry I got you into this mess, Jimmy.’
The police car pulled away.
‘Thank you, Jimmy.’
For the first time since her guardian Sister Philomena had died, the woman who’d cared for her for the first six years of her life, she utter
ed the words to the big brother she never had. ‘I love you, Jimmy Peace.’
She tried to picture his face, to remember what he looked like but, as soon as he was gone, her memory of his looks deserted her.
And, as soon as the police car was out of sight, she was filled with a dark certainty.
Jimmy Peace would never return to St Michael’s.
Part 1
Los Llorones – Weeping Children
Day One
Wednesday,
23rd October 2019
1
6.30 pm
‘Actions have consequences. His sins found him out and he died because of the things that he did to me.’
Detective Chief Inspector Eve Clay gripped the receiver of her landline telephone and felt Samantha Wilson’s voice drift inside her head like a bitter wind.
She looked at the pictures of David Wilson’s dead body spread across the surface of her desk in the incident room at Trinity Road police station and felt a strong echo of the shiver she had experienced nine days earlier when she had walked into his bedroom and saw, for the first time, what had happened to him.
‘Are you there, Eve?’ asked Samantha Wilson.
‘Yes,’ replied Clay. ‘I was just thinking about what you said, about your father.’
‘He systematically raped me when I turned thirteen and it went on for two miserable years.’
At her core, Clay felt the onset of a nausea that knew no end.
She focused on a single photograph of David Wilson’s body, face down on his bed, a pool of blood on the mattress either side of his hips, his back blistered where seven incense cones had burned down into his flesh and the word ‘Vindici’ carved in elegant cursive on his left shoulder.
‘It’s the funeral tonight, Sammy,’ said Clay, focusing on the next picture of David Wilson, turned over on to his back, his penis and testicles hacked off, leaving a small bloody puddle between his legs.
‘Good!’
‘Are you still not attending?’
Clay picked up the statuette that had been left at the murder scene, a three-dimensional Weeping Child from the Mexican festival of the Day of the Dead.
‘No, I will not be going to his funeral.’