DARK MURDER a gripping detective thriller full of suspense

by Helen H. Durrant

  “Can you feel that, Rose?” As if he cared.

  No response — stupid bitch!

  The knife was sharp, small and easy to handle. He gave his victim a last look of contempt as he made that first incision. He went in deep — pausing momentarily, savouring the moment. He watched transfixed as the fresh blood pooled on the bench as it ran off her body. His hands were shaking. He loved the cutting, but he didn’t love the blood so much. He slid the scalpel the length of her abdomen, making one long, straight sweep all the way down to her pubic bone.

  He stood back, high on excitement. It was almost orgasmic. The wound was bleeding profusely and gaped open. It formed an ugly, livid gash down her torso.

  He used the retractors to hold back the edges of the wound. He’d cut right through the mesentery, more by accident than design. He could see her intestines glistening pink and healthy inside her belly. He tentatively put his gloved index finger underneath a loop of small bowel and gently eased it out.

  Had the painkiller worked or could she feel it? He looked into her eyes. He eased out a little more. “I’ve done it, Rose. Your innards are in my hands.”

  In a mute frenzy of pain and fear, she lost consciousness.

  * * *

  When Greco had moved to Oldston he’d bought an apartment in a small block on a newly built estate in what was allegedly the upmarket area. It was modern, easy to keep clean and there was no gardening to do. All that was taken care of by the service charge he paid. The place was spotless and not a thing was out of place. He’d furnished it simply, items with clean lines and not much in the way of ornaments or personal things.

  A stranger looking at the place might be forgiven for thinking this was the show flat, for it gave away nothing about the owner. But then that was how he liked things and he hadn’t decided whether he was staying yet. Life here was hard and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

  In one corner of the sitting room he had a desk with his laptop on it. He put down the three files in a neat pile. A little light reading for after he’d eaten — hardly that, he reminded himself. His current caseload consisted of a tobacco scam, a murder and a missing woman. He decided to check his email before he got stuck in. He lifted the laptop lid and clicked on the icon. Advertising rubbish, a ramble from his cousin in Canada and one from a man called Arturo Greco. This was the one he’d been waiting for. He clicked and read through the text, the sum of which was that the man couldn’t offer much help. Greco cursed. Another brick wall!

  Greco’s passion, apart from his job, was family history. It was born out of his unusual surname and the desire to know where it had come from. He had hoped that Arturo could help. He lived in Milan and they shared a common ancestry. From the nineteenth century it was true, but you never knew what documents families kept from the past. Greco’s own great, great grandfather, Lorenzo Greco, had left Italy because of some scandal or other and had settled in Buckinghamshire. He could find precious little about the man’s birth or his parents, but it was a quest that served to fill the little time he had left from working or being with his daughter.

  An appetising smell wafted through from the kitchen. Greco had put the slow cooker on that morning with a beef stew in it. It was probably ready by now. He didn’t eat much when he was working. He’d pack a couple of sandwiches and a piece of fruit before he left and that was usually enough for the day. But now it was late and he was hungry.

  He was about to dish up when the doorbell rang. He wasn’t expecting visitors. He didn’t know anyone in Oldston, and no one at the station knew where he lived, except for the DCI. If it was someone selling stuff, then he’d send them away with a flea in their ear. But it wasn’t. At the door stood his ex-wife Suzy and their daughter, Matilda.

  “This place is at the back end of nowhere,” Suzy Greco said as she barged past him into the hallway. “Trust you to want to live out here.”

  Greco had no idea why she’d come, but she looked flustered. Suzy was blonde and pretty. She always made the most of herself, always wore makeup and had her hair done, but not tonight. Tonight she looked a mess.

  “Whatever you’ve got cooking smells nice.” She smiled faintly. “I hope you’ve enough left for Matilda.” She set down a holdall and a small suitcase on the sofa.

  “Go put the holdall in your room, Matilda,” she said.

  “It’s not my turn until the weekend,” he said, puzzled.

  “You’re her father, Stephen. You have to be prepared to shoulder some of the responsibility even when it’s not your turn. There are times when I can’t do this on my own.”

  Something was wrong; ordinarily Suzy would never say such a thing. She looked tired, stressed.

  “You’re not on your own, that’s why I moved up here. I want to help, you know that.”

  “Well, now’s your chance.”

  He noticed her tear-stained face.

  “Whatever’s wrong, Suzy? Are you okay?”

  “No, I’m not. It’s been a pig of a day at work, and to top it all, my father’s had a heart attack,” she said, dissolving into tears.

  “Oh, I see.” He was struggling. What did she expect from him? Should he comfort her, sit her down and talk it through? But he didn’t, he couldn’t. He simply stood watching her, not daring to reach out in case she got the wrong idea and bit his head off. Besides which, despite the bad news the only thing he could think about was his job, selfish as that was. This was going to change things. Suzy’s parents lived miles away in Norfolk. She was an only child, her parents’ sole support. She’d need to be with them, take care of her mother, and her father, Ron, once he was getting better. “So what are you going to do?”

  “What do you think, Stephen? I’m going to Cromer. I’m leaving now. I’ve got compassionate leave from work and I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

  “And Matilda?”

  “I can hardly take her, can I?” she said, exasperated that he’d had to ask. “You know how she idolises him. She can’t see her grandad so ill; it’ll upset her too much. He might not make it,” she added softly, hanging her head. “So you don’t have a choice; you must look after her,” she told him firmly.

  “For how long?” He was floundering on all sorts of fronts now. No other human beings had the ability to affect him like these two. Matilda he loved unreservedly — and Suzy? The truth was he wasn’t sure. The divorce had upset him and he hadn’t seen it coming — other people had. In fact most folk were surprised they’d lasted as long as they had.

  He had work, and he was busy. He glanced at the files on his desk. He couldn’t take Matilda to the station so what would he do with her? He looked at Suzy. She meant this; she had that look on her face.

  “Like I said, Stephen, you are her father. Step up to the bloody plate and stop pissing about,” she said wiping her eyes. “Look I’m sorry — I shouldn’t speak to you like that. I know you don’t like it but I’m at the end of my tether.”

  “What about my work?”

  “What the hell do you think I do every day?”

  She was staring at him with her hands on her hips. Greco didn’t like the anger in her eyes.

  “Matilda goes to school, then the club they run afterwards and I pick her up at five. I’ve written it all down for you.” She handed him a sheet of paper. “Her school uniform is in the case.”

  “Five,” he said weakly. “Sometimes I can’t leave that early.” The truth was he never left that early, but she didn’t look in the mood to listen to this.

  “Well, for the foreseeable you will do — have you got that, Stephen? Matilda needs stability. She’s had enough upset with the divorce and the move.”

  “And whose fault was that?” The words were out before he could stop them.

  “Go on, Stephen. Tell me how stupid I’ve been dragging us all up here to a town we don’t know. Tell me I’ve been a selfish cow and how my actions have ruined your career.”

  He was in no mood for a row; anyway, this wasn’t a battle he could win.
He might think all those things but he’d never said them, and he’d been tempted to. “Okay — we’ll be fine,” he finally conceded. What was the use? “You go, give your mother my love, and I hope your dad pulls through.”

  She nodded and her expression lightened, that was obviously what she wanted to hear. Ranting at him had probably helped too; it always had in the past.

  “Are you going tonight?”

  She nodded again.

  “You’re in a state, are you sure that’s wise? It’s a long drive.”

  “Wise or not, Stephen, I’m going. I’ll text you when I get there and I’ll ring Matilda tomorrow.”

  He watched her disappear into Matilda’s bedroom — to say her goodbyes no doubt.

  “She’s fine; she won’t give you any trouble.”

  At that his ex-wife left.

  Chapter 9

  Tuesday

  Greco was rifling through his wardrobe. The weather up here was colder than in Norfolk. Granted there had often been a chilly east wind but not the cold, damp air that seemed to be the norm up here. He took out his dark grey suit, a shirt and a woollen overcoat. That should keep him warm enough.

  “Am I going to school?” Matilda asked her dad.

  “Yes, Tillyflop, and I’m going to take you. Do you want a packed lunch?” Despite not liking nicknames, he had always used this term of endearment for his daughter.

  “No, I have dinners. Can I have my hair in plaits?”

  She was standing in his kitchen in her nightie with her long blonde hair wafting around her face. He’d have to do something with it, but plaits!

  “You’ve had your shower; why don’t you get dressed and I’ll do your egg. Toastie soldiers?”

  She nodded and marched off back to her bedroom.

  It was slow-going. Matilda was easily distracted. She wanted the telly on, then she’d start to play with the stuff she’d brought. At this rate he’d be horribly late.

  “We have to go soon,” was all he seemed to say to her. “Get ready, there’s a good girl.”

  Finally they were in the car. It was early, not quite eight so he couldn’t drop her at school yet. He had no choice; he’d have to take her to the station for a short while. He’d managed to read through the three files the previous night, once he’d got Matilda to bed. Rose Donnelly was a missing-person case and she might yet turn up given she had money to spend. The tobacco scam had been on-going for so long that he couldn’t see a little longer making much difference, regardless of what the DCI said.

  But the Brenda Hirst file had been interesting. He needed to speak to Julian Batho about the forensics. He had some interesting theories about what was used to remove her eyes and who Brenda had spoken to before she met her end.

  The team were all at their desks when he arrived. He was so intent on getting Matilda settled with something to amuse her that he didn’t notice the looks they exchanged.

  “This is Matilda, my daughter,” Greco announced to them. “I’ll take her to school shortly so she won’t be here long.”

  “The DCI has been looking for you, sir,” George told him.

  “Sit here and be a good girl,” he told his daughter, giving her a pack of crayons he’d brought from home and a sheet of paper. “I won’t be long.”

  * * *

  When he’d gone Grace Harper left her desk and went to talk to the girl. “That’s a nice uniform.” She smiled. “It’s the Duke Academy, isn’t it?”

  Grace knew this was a private school in Leesworth. She also knew that it must be costing the DI a bomb to send his daughter there.

  Matilda didn’t answer. Instead she said, “My mummy has had to go away and my daddy can’t do plaits.”

  “He’s had a go though, hasn’t he?” Grace said, smiling. “But daddies aren’t very good at things like that. Would you like me to fix them for you?”

  Matilda nodded. “He couldn’t find my ribbons either.”

  “I might have some nice bobbles. I’ll get my brush and we’ll have you sorted in no time.”

  By the time Grace had finished Matilda had a splendid pair of plaits finished off with a pair of colourful bobbles from the DC’s drawer.

  “You look lovely now. You’ll have all the boys after you.”

  Matilda laughed at that.

  “Are you staying with your daddy for long?” George asked, joining the conversation.

  “I think so. My grandad’s ill so Mummy has to look after him and granny for a while. I’m sleeping in my princess bed at Daddy’s place.”

  “I have a little girl,” Grace told her, “she’s called Holly and she’s about your age — five is it?”

  Matilda nodded. “But I’m nearly six.”

  “Why don’t you draw daddy a picture to stick on the wall there,” Grace suggested, pointing to the empty space above his desk.

  “He’s not going to find this easy going, is he?” George said.

  “No, but by the time he’s finished he might have a little more sympathy for my plight,” Grace responded. “But it can’t harm, can it, the DI having to roll up his sleeves and get on with the childcare on a full-time basis for a while.”

  * * *

  “There’s been a tip-off of sorts, Stephen.” DCI Green greeted him with the words as he entered his office. The man was looking tired again. “I’ve had DI Walkden from the serious crime squad on. “Apparently there’s a terrorist cell in Oldston.” He threw his hands in the air. “I don’t know how they came up with that one, but it’s all we need. All the stuff we’ve got going on already plus a load of bomb-happy hooligans on the loose.”

  “Do they know that for sure, sir? Is the information genuine?”

  “Call me Colin,” he reminded him. “The counterterrorism unit reckon they’ve intercepted some messages sent via the dark web to known people in Syria. Those messages started life here in Oldston.”

  “Do they know what’s planned? Was the threat specific?”

  “No, but of course we have to be vigilant. Keep our eyes and ears open on the street. Someone might let something slip but I doubt it. This lot are tight. I’m surprised we know as much as we do.”

  “How involved are we expected to get — given that the unit is on the case?”

  “We wait and see. If they want anything, then they’ll say, but it’ll be at a moment’s notice so we have to be ready. But no heroics, we’re just small cogs in a much bigger machine.”

  “The team are up to their eyes, sir — Colin. The murder, the tobacco scam and the possibility of a missing woman . . . I don’t have any spare hands.”

  “I know that. For now brief your team on the merits of staying vigilant, but we don’t want rumours spreading. They must not let this leave the station. You get my drift?”

  Greco nodded. “Is that all?”

  “For now. If anything else occurs then I’ll keep you posted.”

  Terrorists — how likely was that? Greco wondered as he walked the corridor back to the main office. Fair enough, Oldston had a large Asian population but that meant nothing. Plus, there hadn’t been any past incidents involving Oldston.

  “Daddy look, Grace did my hair!” Matilda spun around. She was pleased as punch.

  “You look lovely,” he said, picking her up and kissing her forehead. “But it’s time for school now.” He looked at Grace. “Thanks. I’m hopeless at that sort of thing.”

  She smiled and winked at Matilda.

  “I’ll take her to school now. It should take me about half an hour to go there and get to the Duggan Centre. Sergeant, meet me there — half an hour, no later. We’ll have a word with Professor Batho —see what he’s got for us. Grace, would you work with Craig on the mobile phone numbers?”

  “The phone has gone to the Duggan, sir.”

  “Yes, but we still have a file of the numbers called and rung, don’t we? If Brenda did speak to someone minutes before her death, then we need to know who that was. You could try ringing a few, see if we can get anything that helps.�
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  * * *

  Once the DI had left, Quickenden flopped forward on his desk, his head in his hands. He hadn’t slept all night. He’d been too wound up. He’d been a first class idiot. He’d gambled away all that money but what was worse he’d lost to Geegee and he hadn’t a cat in hell’s chance of paying off his debt.

  “Why the fuck didn’t you stop me?” he fired at Craig Merrick. “You just sat there and let me carry on. Now I’m in one helluva mess.”

  Craig was poring over a computer screen with Grace. “I tried but you were having none of it. You’ve only got yourself to blame.”

  “That’s no bloody help. I’ve gone and got myself in hock to Geegee — you do know what that means? He’ll rack up the interest and I’ll never be free of him. If I pay late, even once, he’ll knock my flaming head off.”

  “You’re a cop, he wouldn’t dare,” Merrick assured him.

  “That’s not how Geegee sees me though, is it? He sees the old me, the reprobate that used to hang around the estate and cause bother, the one he’s had to cuff around the ear on several occasions for giving him cheek.”

  “He did it on purpose,” Merrick told him, turning round to face him, “and I did try to warn you but you weren’t having any. He baited you by letting you win. Just enough to whet your appetite and then he took you for all he could. And those cards were marked.”

  With that he turned back to look at the computer screen with Grace.

  “The bastard — I’ll bloody swing for him!” Quickenden protested as the penny dropped. “Wait till I find him, I’ll make him wish he’d never been born!”

  “Calm down, Speedy,” Grace advised. “Realistically, what can you do? You’ll lose more than a few bob if you go around making threats like that.”

  Good advice, but Quickenden was in no mood to listen. “Job or no job, when I’ve finished he’ll think twice before messing with my head again.”

  He was furious. He got up from his desk and started to pace across the office floor. “How d’you know anyway? I didn’t see any marks.” He was confused. Here was Merrick telling him he’d been conned and he hadn’t seen it, not even suspected.