‘You don’t know that.’
‘Yes I do. This was never about Harland. It’s about them not wanting me on the force.’
‘Why the hell would you think that?’
‘I just do.’
The two of them went silent for a few moments as they both focused on eating in a bid to overcome the awkwardness.
‘Look, I’m sorry,’ Dani said after a couple of minutes, when she felt her anger subsiding. ‘I appreciate you trying to help me. But those notes. They must mean something.’
‘Maybe they do. But you must know it’s just as likely they’re from some stalker, as it is that they’re from someone who’s actually involved in these murders.’
‘Do you honestly believe that?’
Jason said nothing to that. Dani looked away, still thinking.
‘I went to see Professor Steven Grant today,’ she said.
‘Ethan Grant’s dad?’
‘The one and the same.’
‘You’re suspended and you’re off out speaking to the father of someone who is possibly a murder suspect?’
Dani gave Jason a hard look. ‘A minute ago you said he wasn’t a suspect. That he might even be a victim.’
‘Ok, but he is a person of interest, whichever way you look at it. McNair will hang you out to dry if she knows you’re interfering with the investigation.’
‘Yeah, but you’re not going to tell her. Are you?’
Jason humphed. ‘Of course I’m not. But that doesn’t mean it won’t come out. I’m not threatening you; I just don’t want you getting into even more trouble.’
‘Thanks. But anyway, I didn’t go to speak to Grant about his son. I went to speak to him about the note.’
‘Why did you… wait, oh, come on, Dani. Reeve and Harland were into drugs, they were in with a seriously bad crowd. We know Natalya knew Reeve too. Perhaps they both got caught up in some drug-related feud. It could even be that Harland killed her too, in a dispute with Reeve. Do you really think there’s a serial killer out there?’
‘I’ve been a homicide detective far longer than you have, so don’t you dare talk to me like I’m some fanciful idiot.’
Jason held his hands up. ‘Do you know how crazy this sounds, though? I know you went to see Ben the other day, but—’
‘This is absolutely nothing to do with Ben! If anyone else had received these notes it would be taken for what it is. You know this is exactly why I sat on the first one.’
And Dani truly did feel hurt by his blasé and somewhat churlish response.
‘Ok, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s just that… a serial killer? Is that really what you’re saying to me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why would a serial killer knock off Reeve like that?’
‘I’ve no fucking idea.’
Dani thought it best not to also mention about the ominous presence she’d both seen and sensed several times over the last few days. It was clear Jason already thought she was losing it, even without that added extra.
Was she losing it?
‘There’s something not right about these murders, Jason.’
‘I don’t get it, though,’ Jason said. ‘If the notes are from the killer, why the hell would they even bother sending them? What’s the point?’
Which was the exact question Dani had been through in detail with Grant earlier in the day. To him, a murder expert, the note made perfect sense, and he’d given several explanations, each of them backed up with analysis and facts and real life examples. Having said that, Dani had been a keen and willing listener and Grant had basically told her what she wanted to hear. Trying to now remember everything she’d been told by Grant and relay it to Jason – a clear sceptic – was far less simple.
‘And there’s more,’ she said. ‘There are still other missing persons cases that could be connected here.’
‘I’ve already been through all that with Fletcher. There’s nothing to link any of those other cases with Natalya or Reeve or Harland or Grant.’
‘What about Grace Agnew? She was Reeve’s girlfriend. What if she’s dead too? How does that fit your theory?’
Jason said nothing now.
‘And Jessica Bradford?’ Dani said.
‘Who?’
‘A new case. She went missing just days ago. She’s a uni student, and I’m pretty sure one of her lecturers is Steven Grant.’
‘So now you’re saying Steven Grant is—’
‘What I’m saying is, there’s something not right here. There are connections that need investigating properly.’
Jason chewed on that for a few moments but said nothing of it, nor did he ask how Dani knew about the Jessica Bradford case.
‘Maybe I am crazy,’ she said, ‘but can you do me a favour at least?’
She’d hoped Jason would give an immediate yes. The time it took him to do so suggested his agreement was some way from binding.
‘I’ve no doubt McNair will try to gloss over these notes,’ Dani said. ‘But do everything you can to get to the bottom of them. Check out the women on the missing persons list again. Jessica Bradford in particular. What’s happened to her? See if there’s anything to connect them to each other, to Reeve, to Ethan Grant. Natalya was being held somewhere. You have to find where. Above all, just keep me informed. I can still help.’
Jason let out a long sigh.
‘Ok. Leave it with me. But don’t get your hopes up that we’ll find anything. And if you want my advice—’
‘No, Jason. I really don’t. But thanks all the same. I honestly think there’s something else happening here. Something much bigger than two young people being stabbed to death because they’re mixed up in drugs. I’m certain our killer’s still out there. I’m certain the notes are from him. And I’m certain that if we don’t catch him, then he’s going to kill again.’
Chapter Forty-Six
To say his conversation with Dani Stephens was a turn-up for the books was something of an understatement. For years Steven Grant had felt he’d had something to offer to the police, but they’d shunned him as though he were simply a morbid nutter, much the same way the Chief Superintendent had on the golf course last week. What was his name again? Baker? Baxter?
Arsehole.
Dani Stephens, though, had recognised Grant’s worth, although she wasn’t exactly operating with her superiors’ knowledge. From what she’d told him, and she’d really been quite open and honest, she’d been put on leave from the force pending a disciplinary investigation. Apparently they felt she might be to blame for Dean Harland’s death – Harland being yet another of Ethan’s acquaintances. Apparently.
Dani’s suspension should have seen her down tools, but then she’d received that note.
That note.
Of course Grant had readily emphasised to Dani that the note was most likely the work of a wind-up merchant. She got that, so she said. But Grant could tell she didn’t really want to believe that explanation. Truth be told, neither did he.
He’d tried his best to get through the rest of that damn research paper and his other admin before leaving for home but had been unable to shake the intrigue of the conversation with Dani Stephens from his mind. It was gone eight p.m. when he arrived back home and darkness had long descended.
As Grant turned the car onto his drive he noticed that Francis’s Range Rover was back where it belonged, its dark polished metal gleaming in the electric haze from the overhead streetlights. Perhaps that was the end of the excitement there then.
For once there was no sign of the snoopy neighbour himself.
Grant parked up on his drive and headed inside. The downstairs of the house was quiet and he called out to Mary. She responded that she was reading, and Grant headed up the stairs and to their room where he found Mary lying on top of the bed in her dressing gown, her Kindle in her hand. Her face was caked in what could have been white paint, for all Grant knew, but was undoubtedly some ridiculously expensive moisturiser.
&nb
sp; ‘Long day?’ Mary said.
‘You could say that.’
‘There’s some dinner on the side for you.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Just some pasta.’
‘That’s more than fine.’
Grant moved over and sat down next to his wife on the bed.
‘Where’s Annie?’
‘Sleep over.’
‘On a Thursday night?’
‘Teacher training tomorrow.’
Grant rolled his eyes. ‘Sleeping over at a girl’s house, I hope.’
‘That’s what she told me, but you never know.’
Grant grimaced at the unwelcome thoughts forming in his mind, of his daughter doing things she shouldn’t be doing. Mary looked amused at his reaction. He quickly banished the images. He knew sooner or later his teenage daughter would succumb to the world of boys and sex, but he still hoped that would be at some point way in the future rather than now.
‘Anything from Ethan?’ he asked.
He noticed Mary slump slightly at his question. The mere mention of their son sucked the life out of both of them.
‘No,’ she said.
‘Me neither.’
‘This’ll be about the first day this week that I’ve not heard from the police either.’
Grant chuckled. ‘Yeah, about that…’
‘What?’ Mary said, sitting upright, expectantly.
‘I had a visitor today at work.’
‘The police?’
‘Detective Inspector Dani Stephens.’
‘What? The one who came to see me here the other day? What did she want? Ethan?’
‘No, not Ethan.’
‘You know it’s funny,’ Mary said. ‘I told her the two of you would have a lot to talk about. Do you remember her from the papers?’
‘Yeah. And you’re right, we did have a lot to talk about.’
‘Well go on then, tell me.’
‘Apparently she wants my help.’
Mary now looked quite impressed. And gratified, as though this was all her doing.
‘These weren’t exactly her words, but the impression I got was that Detective Stephens thinks there’s a serial killer on the loose in Birmingham.’
‘Does she now?’ Mary said, laughing mockingly.
Grant felt a little offended, though he wasn’t sure why. He explained about the note Dani had brought with her. He went over their conversation, and Mary seemed keenly interested. It was true Grant felt immensely lucky to have found a woman in Mary who had tolerated his oddities over the years. Mary always at least humoured him, even if she didn’t really enjoy discussing his subject of interest.
Dani Stephens had.
Maybe that was because the detective was forever trying to analyse why her brother – her twin brother at that – was a sociopath.
‘Well good for you, Steven. Now you’re an official asset to the police.’
‘Not exactly,’ Grant said.
‘How do you mean?’
‘It seems she’s acting on her own. She’s been suspended.’
Grant briefly explained what he knew about that. Mary didn’t say much in response.
‘Do the police think Ethan killed that man?’ Mary asked. ‘Paul Reeve?’
Grant shrugged. ‘She didn’t say that, exactly. But they know he’s connected somehow.’
Mary opened her mouth to say something else but Grant put his finger on her lips.
‘That’s enough about Ethan. I’ve managed to get through most of today without thinking about him.’
‘Yeah. Why don’t you go get your pasta, then come back up to bed.’
Grant smiled, then got up. He headed downstairs to the kitchen where his bowl of cold spaghetti was sitting next to the microwave. He slung it in to cook on high for two minutes, then went to find some parmesan in the fridge. As he closed the door he realised there was someone standing right there in the doorway off to his left.
He spun to face the figure. His heart lurched…
It was Mary.
‘Jesus!’
She put a finger to her lips.
‘There’s someone out the front,’ she whispered.
‘What?’
He put the block of cheese down then moved through the hall and into the dining room. Standing behind the curtains, he peered out and scanned the driveway, the street outside and the houses on the other side of the road.
‘I don’t see anything,’ he said.
He turned back to Mary who looked less than convinced.
‘I’m telling you, there was someone out there! In the front garden. Staring up at the house.’
‘Why were you even looking out the window?’
‘I heard a noise! Like a scraping or rustling.’
Grant looked at her questioningly.
‘Do you think I’m making this up?’
‘No, I—’
‘For fuck’s sake, there was someone out there, spying on us! I bet it was that bloody Ed Francis.’
Grant turned back to the window and stared over at the Francis house. The lights were on in the downstairs front room, the flicker of a TV evident behind the curtains, but he saw no signs of anyone either within the room or outside of the house.
‘You’re absolutely sure?’ Grant said.
‘Of course I’m bloody sure,’ Mary scolded. ‘Why else would I say it?’
Wait, was that a shadow moving across Francis’s drive? His security light hadn’t come on, though. Grant did his best to focus on the dark space, but the more he looked, the more the thin shadows and glow from the streetlights jumped and danced at random.
He really couldn’t be sure.
‘Steven, just go and check, will you?’
‘Fine,’ Grant said.
He headed out of the room and across the hall to the cupboard under the stairs. He opened the door and soon spotted what he was looking for among the clutter. A black wooden baseball bat. Grant had bought it for his son while at a convention in Chicago years ago. The bat had always been more an ornament than a plaything, and had long been consigned to the darkness. He’d spotted it the other day for the first time in an age. It was the first thing Grant could think of grabbing in that moment.
Mary saw him lugging the bat towards the front door. ‘Steven?’
‘Just in case,’ he said, not looking at her.
He stood into his shoes without doing them up, and before he could talk himself out of it, he opened the front door and headed into the darkness, laces flapping. He was only two steps from the house when his movement triggered the security light fixed up above the front door. It lit up most of the drive in bright white light, though Grant knew the corners of the front garden, which contained numerous shrubs and trees, were out of its reach.
Grant stomped across the soggy drive and over into one of the dark corners. He gripped the bat tightly. Was he really ready to clobber someone with it?
He never found out, because despite his careful search, he couldn’t find anyone out there at all, or even any signs someone had been there.
After a couple of minutes, by which point he was shivering, Grant traipsed back over to the house. As he stepped through the open front door, Mary was still in the hallway, waiting in expectation.
‘Whoever was out there, they’re long gone,’ Grant said, though he still wasn’t particularly convinced anyone had been there at all.
Mary said nothing to that. Grant turned to shut the door. As he did so his gaze inevitably sought out the Francis house across the road. As he pushed the door shut, he was certain he saw the curtains of the downstairs front room twitch.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Day 527
Since my seizure I’ve been such a mixed bag of emotions. One day I’m up, the next I’m down. The psychiatrist has upped my anti-depressant meds though I don’t always take them. It feels like cheating. And I feel like I’m losing my mind. My DVLA assessment was cancelled, because of the seizure. I’ll have to wait several m
ore months for that now. Which means I can hardly plan to be back on Force CID any time soon either. I’m devastated. I’m angry. And yet, inside, I know I’m getting better. I really can take care of myself now. My physical responses, my decision-making and all manner of cognitive abilities are flying high in the tests I still endure. My lack of emotion and empathy is still an area requiring more work, but despite everything I feel so much more like me again. Just an unhappier version of me.
If it wasn’t for that damn seizure. If I hadn’t pushed myself so far, so fast…
Life for me and Jason continues to be fraught. He’s been working long hours. On a murder investigation that’s really gotten under his skin. He’s not around much, and when he is around he doesn’t want to talk about it, and I think we both know that he’s not really needed in my home now like he was when I first came out of hospital.
I’ve tried telling him this. I don’t mean it nastily. It’s not that I don’t care for him. I do. And now that my emotions are more rounded I’m immensely grateful to him for sticking by me for so long. But time has moved on. My recovery continues but I want my independence back.
Jason had already come home from work tonight in a foul mood. I knew it wasn’t the best time to broach the subject again, but then when would be a good time? So I did it anyway.
‘So it’s over,’ he says, looking down at the floor. ‘That’s really what you want?’
He sounds calm though I know he’s seething. We’ve just been through two minutes of yelling and this is just a moment’s respite.
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I just need space.’
‘After everything I’ve done for you. This is what I get.’
‘I never asked you for anything!’ I shout, feeling the calm dissipating.
‘You always were selfish. Welcome back to earth, Dani Stephens.’
He gets to his feet. I’m immediately riled by his heartless comment, however much I might deserve it. I jump up too.
‘And you’re a mind-numbingly boring arsehole busybody. There’s nothing of worth going on in your life so you’ve infected mine! But I don’t need you here anymore. I don’t want you here! I’ve got my own life to lead, and I can do it without you, thank you very much.’
The Essence of Evil Page 27