Dark Game_A gripping crime thriller that will have you hooked!

by Rachel Lynch

  Tania was instantly impressed. ‘So are you a professor or something? I thought they were old and boring.’ She giggled.

  ‘I am indeed a professor. Does that put you off?’ He smiled and held her gaze. Tonight was probably going to be the night, and as long as he didn’t expect Shakespeare from the girl and kept his expectations low, he was confident he’d be able to perform.

  ‘No, I’m not used to it, that’s all. You speak all fancy. Can you say something in French, ’cause that’s dead romantic, isn’t it?’ She giggled again.

  ‘Let me see, what would you like me to say?’

  ‘Something nice.’ Her leg moved towards his and he knew that she’d already made the decision to ask him to her room tonight.

  ‘Vous avez beau seins mais malheureusment pas de cerveau,’ he said, with a perfect accent. His mother was half French and he’d attained an A grade at A level at the age of sixteen. They holidayed in France every year.

  ‘What does that mean?’ she asked.

  ‘It means I’d like to get to know you better.’

  ‘Wow, it’s lovely. Will you say something else?’

  ‘Maybe later. It’s a pity, I’m sure I could help that girl.’ Carl looked away.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, if they don’t even know where she’s from, how can they contact her family? They’ll be worried sick. I bet I could work it out, if only I could hear her voice, but I’m sure no one will think of that.’ He sipped his pint.

  ‘Wait a minute!’ she said excitedly. ‘Listen, I could record her on my phone, she’s always babbling about something.’ Tania was thrilled that she’d come up with a clever idea to impress this intriguing stranger who threw his money around like he had a lot more.

  ‘I don’t know, Tania. I wouldn’t want you to get into any trouble. It’d be easy enough to do, but what if you got caught?’

  She rose to the challenge. ‘Of course I won’t get caught, no one will ever know, and then if you do recognise the language I can say that I heard something similar on a film.’ She beamed.

  ‘That would work, wouldn’t it? And it can’t hurt anyone, only help her. I’m writing a special paper on the common foreign languages present in the UK, and it’d be an excellent contribution,’ he said, as much like a professor as he could manage.

  ‘Would I get a special mention?’ Her leg moved closer still until it was touching his, very lightly.

  ‘I’m sure I could manage that. Now, can I get you another drink, or would you like me to walk you home?’

  Tania looked at her watch and pretended to be coy, for a second.

  ‘That’s so cute of you. I don’t live far. Maybe you could pop in for a drink?’ she said.

  Later, as Carl pretended to sleep, Tania padded to the bathroom. He hoped that his efforts would soon pay off. She wasn’t shabby in bed, but she was pedestrian and very noisy. It didn’t take much to feign sincerity, but he didn’t want to be doing this every night. He needed a story and quickly, before someone else got it.

  She slid back in behind him and her hand drifted over his side and down to his floppy penis, which she started to stroke. He was in two minds: continue to fake deep sleep or have another go. He decided that it wouldn’t hurt to give the girl what she wanted, and he lazily rolled over to face her. He encouraged her to sit on top and she was hesitant at first, but she soon got the hang of it and it was a lot better than the first time.

  The research for this piece might not be so bad after all.

  Chapter 7

  ‘So, you saw Mr Day yesterday afternoon?’ Constable Martin asked. He was interviewing the cleaner who’d come across the unfortunate sight of Colin Day’s lifeless body.

  The girl nodded.

  ‘At what time was that?’

  ‘It was around four o’clock. I took his post to him.’ She was like a frightened little bird.

  ‘Post? He lived here?’ he asked.

  The girl knew she’d made a mistake but didn’t know how to respond. Martin witnessed her shift in demeanour.

  ‘He… he stayed here a lot and some of his post came here.’

  Martin scribbled notes.

  ‘Did anyone else come to the hotel yesterday?’ he asked.

  The girl looked at him and decided to lie.

  ‘I didn’t see anyone.’

  ‘So, what are your hours here?’ He was digging because he knew she was lying. He knew instinctively that the case would make its way to a detective at some point, and he wanted to get as much out of this girl as he could, given that it was becoming clear that she was perhaps the last person to see Colin Day alive. The guy might have simply keeled over and died, but there again, perhaps he hadn’t.

  The girl relaxed a little at such a trivial question, and one she could answer honestly.

  ‘I clean in the morning from seven until ten and I’m available to work extra if I’m asked.’

  ‘Who requests extra hours?’

  ‘Mr Cottrell.’

  ‘And what might those extra hours involve?’

  The girl swallowed. ‘More cleaning.’ She thought of the ledgers in the office that she’d seen, and the envelopes of cash. She’d never asked any questions. She knew she wasn’t in the employment of a clean establishment, but that wasn’t her concern. Her priority was holding down a job long enough for her mother to believe that she hadn’t brought a useless waste of space into this world.

  ‘And part of that is taking Mr Day his post?’

  Anna nodded.

  ‘Why doesn’t the manager take care of it?’

  ‘Erm, I don’t know, he asked me to do it,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you, Miss…’ Martin checked his notes, ‘Cork. I’ll just take your phone number and address, please, in case you’re needed in the future.’

  He let her go and went upstairs to the room in which Colin Day had died.

  Coombs was standing in the doorway and raised his eyebrows. ‘Forensics found a camera up there on the wardrobe, pointing towards the bed. It’s been bagged and tagged but they had a look first,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Anything on it?’ Martin asked.

  ‘Just the whole thing. He didn’t die alone. Looks like he had a heart attack brought on by a great shag. She panicked and cleaned up.’

  ‘Fucking hell!’ Martin sniggered. ‘Lucky bastard, what a way to go. Was she fit?’

  ‘I didn’t see it, but from their faces I’m guessing it wasn’t his wife.’ Coombs winked.

  ‘Big story coming for the Westmorland Gazette then.’

  ‘Yup.’

  The forensics officers were busy bagging the body. A vehicle was on its way to take it for a post-mortem, to find out exactly what had killed Colin Day. Martin thought the room looked like some kind of secret lab for infectious diseases, with labelled plastic bags and technical equipment everywhere.

  ‘We need the entrance secured, and let’s get the other rooms checked. My guess is the place is a front for something else,’ said Coombs.

  * * *

  Anushka stood on the opposite side of the street from the hotel, smoking a cigarette. She wore dark glasses and had her hood pulled up, concealing her mass of red hair. She saw the two police officers in the doorway and looked away. A crowd had gathered and two men who looked like reporters were asking the cops questions. She had to get away. She didn’t want to go to Darren, but she had little choice. She didn’t trust him but she also knew that if she disappeared, he would come looking. She was puzzled. Darren had said he was cleaning up last night, so she didn’t understand what had attracted the attention of the police. If he had got rid of Mr Day’s body, there would be no reason for anyone to suspect something was amiss. She toyed with the idea that there was an entirely separate explanation for the police being there, but her gut told her otherwise.

  She walked quickly back to the Troutbeck. She’d already packed her bag. Panic set in and she took the stairs two at a time. Gabriela was waiting for her.

 
; ‘Anushka, are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine. I’ve quit.’

  ‘Did you tell Mrs Joliffe?’

  ‘No, I didn’t tell Mrs Joliffe, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll tell her you haven’t seen me since breakfast.’

  Gabriela stopped breathing. Anushka was a slight girl, but her eyes were mean and Gabriela had no idea what she was capable of. Whatever she was caught up in – whatever her reasons for leaving – was none of her business. She stood aside and watched as her roommate collected the large holdall from her bed.

  ‘Have you seen Roza?’ Anushka asked aggressively.

  ‘No,’ Gabriela said. The question came as a shock to her; she’d assumed the two girls were together.

  ‘Just say one word to Joliffe, and…’ Anushka threatened. She took a step towards Gabriela, seeming to tower over her.

  Gabriela nodded, her heart pounding in her chest.

  ‘Tell Roza this if she comes back,’ Anushka ordered. Gabriela waited. ‘Darren.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘And remember, Miss Perfect. I know you’re illegal too.’

  Anushka left the room and Gabriela sat heavily on her bed. She could make no sense out of anything her roommate had said, and nor did she want to. She remembered what had happened at breakfast. Maybe Anushka was pregnant. People threw up when they were pregnant, she thought. Of course, that was it. But if that was the case, why did she jump when she heard the police siren?

  She needed some air, so she left the hotel and headed along the street in the direction the siren had been going. She was officially in between shifts, so she had time. A small crowd had gathered outside the Thwaite Hotel and a body bag was being loaded into a white van outside. Gabriela stared at the van, then turned and hurried back. Mrs Joliffe would want to know what had happened at breakfast, and that one of her waiting staff had disappeared. Gabriela didn’t know who she was more scared of: Mrs Joliffe or Anushka. Last night, despite being offered a new role by her employer, Gabriela still felt fearful when in her presence; the woman reminded her of the armed guard at home. On the other hand, Anushka had threatened her directly. She decided to avoid her boss until she had time to clear her head. Her pace quickened as she reached the Troutbeck. She slipped in the staff entrance to the rear, and skipped up the stairs to her room.

  Chapter 8

  Ambleside was quiet at this time of year, with only a few tourists still strolling around its shops and walkers updating their gear. The houses in the row were identical, apart from the way the gardens were tended. Jenny Davis clearly liked to garden. Perhaps it was therapy. A blue VW Polo sat in the driveway. The area wasn’t affluent, but it was clean and tidy. Birds chirped as Kelly approached the door and she kept expecting an ambulance or fire engine to burst into life at any moment. She was unaccustomed to the peace.

  She was ready. She’d done it many times before. Being a woman, she was often asked to attend family notifications and tricky interviews. She had a reputation for being able to gauge the correct amount of empathy and balance it with digging. Questions whirled around her head, but they weren’t questions for Mrs Davis. She’d begun the process of unravelling this case and it was leading her off on countless tangents, every one of which would need pursuing.

  Lottie had been dumped when her body gave out. She’d been someone’s plaything. That was why, when Kelly was reviewing the case files, she had begun to think that the girl might have been abducted to order, like the con had claimed. It was well planned. Getting a ten-year-old away from her loving family was a potentially impossible task, and very risky. A child of that age was old enough to know it was wrong, and strong enough to put up a decent scrap.

  Kelly expected Mrs Davis to want to talk for a long period of time. Murder, like cancer, was a taboo, and sex crime even worse. She doubted the woman would ever be able to really let go, though she hoped she was wrong. She would let her talk for as long as she wanted and would write a report later in the car while it was fresh. She’d take some notes in front of Mrs Davis, but primarily she wanted to make her feel relaxed, encourage her to open up. Some of the most valuable information she’d ever had from witnesses had been garnered without them really thinking about their responses, because she’d disarmed them. But it was difficult to do properly. She’d have to tread carefully.

  She rang the doorbell. The woman who opened the door had a soft smile. ‘I’m guessing you’re Kelly?’ Her tone was gentle and calm.

  ‘And you must be Mrs Davis,’ Kelly said.

  ‘Call me Jenny, please. Come in. Can I get you a cup of tea? I’ve made a cake, Penrith is a long way to drive; you must be peckish.’

  Northern hospitality, thought Kelly. Tea and cake. Penrith wasn’t actually far, but to someone unaccustomed to sitting on the M25 for hours, it might well seem a long way. Jenny Davis’s warmth made Kelly sad. She should be the one being looked after, not the other way around.

  She entered the house and found herself in a small, well-kept lounge. A large portrait of Lottie hung over the gas fire. It was probably two feet wide and almost three high. It dominated the room, and Kelly was drawn strongly to it. The photograph was posed, and the girl sat slightly sideways on, smiling for the photographer, who’d probably said something silly to make her laugh. She wore what looked like a school uniform: a smart grey pinafore, under a red cardigan. Her eyes were wide. She had a few teeth missing and that, along with the plumpness of her cheeks, made her innocence inescapable. Kelly felt a knot in her tummy as she remembered the autopsy report.

  ‘That’s beautiful, Jenny,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you. She was.’ Jenny disappeared and Kelly stood waiting for her, mesmerised by the image. There was no doubt what this woman thought about every day as she pottered around the house, nor what anyone coming here was faced with.

  She came back into the room with a tray and insisted Kelly sit down. She placed a piece of cake on a plate and put it down next to Kelly on a small table. Kelly waited for her to start.

  ‘I’m glad the case is being looked into again. I always knew it wasn’t Ian. It drained the life from him before he killed himself. We could never understand why the policeman in charge kept hounding him.’ Jenny’s mouth moved but her eyes didn’t; she was barely living inside the cage she’d been put into by monsters desperate for sex with a minor and willing to risk everything for it. Her face became unmoving and wax-like when she spoke of her daughter.

  Kelly took a bite of her cake, it was delicious. She swallowed.

  ‘I can see from the files that the initial investigation concentrated on your husband, but there are many other leads to follow and I’d really like to go back to the beginning. I want to start again.’

  Jenny’s eyes softened a little.

  ‘Can you remember who knew you were going eagle-spotting at Haweswater that day?’

  The question caught the woman a little off guard, and she paused to think about it. If Kelly wanted fresh information, she had to choose lines of enquiry that would be new to Mrs Davis, and this clearly was. But it shouldn’t have been.

  ‘My mother knew, I’d told her the night before on the phone. Lottie and Charlie might have told their friends.’ Kelly scribbled notes.

  ‘And who might your mother have mentioned it to? Also, can you remember who Lottie and Charlie’s close friends were at the time?’

  ‘Well, my brother, Dennis, lived with Mum then, so he’d have known because she likes to chatter. In fact, he did know because he wanted to come with us, but he couldn’t because he was working. Lottie’s best friend was Kiera, and Charlie is still best friends with Josh.’

  ‘Perfect, thank you. Could you give me their addresses, please, including your mum’s and your brother’s?’

  Jenny dictated from memory. Her mother lived three streets away, but her brother lived in Barrow-in-Furness. Kelly’s heart sank. She’d be treading on South Lakes turf; it was a courtesy to tell them, but she didn’t know anyone there. She’d have to
spend more time digging for a contact.

  ‘How is Charlie?’ she asked. The boy would be eighteen years old now.

  Jenny looked at the portrait of her dead daughter and struggled with the question. ‘He’s… better. He’s quiet. He… We both had a lot of help but Charlie couldn’t… You see, he was old enough to understand but not old enough to cope…’ Her voice tapered off.

  ‘But you say he’s better now?’ Kelly asked.

  ‘Yes, my mother helps a lot and he spends quite a lot of his time there, although he’s just started at York university, studying English.’ Jenny beamed: a ray of sunshine to cut through the piles of shit.

  ‘That’s a fantastic achievement. York is an excellent university, he’ll have a great time. He must have a lot of courage,’ Kelly said.

  ‘Yes, he has got courage, he’s a strong boy.’ Jenny looked at the portrait again. ‘Lottie was strong, too. I’ll never understand why she let herself be taken away from us. She would have kicked and screamed, I know she would… I’m sorry.’ Tears emerged at the corners of Jenny’s eyes and began to fall down her face gently.

  ‘Please don’t be sorry, Jenny. I can’t begin to imagine the pain you have been through. Take your time. I get the impression from you that she wasn’t the type to wander off or talk to strangers?’ Kelly spoke softly and made another note. She waited as Jenny composed herself and wiped her eyes with a tissue from her pocket.

  ‘No, never. She was a wise ten-year-old. That’s why I always knew she’d been taken by force, yet we heard absolutely nothing.’ She sniffed.

  ‘You didn’t hear a car?’

  Jenny thought carefully.

  ‘The RAF jets were practising – Ian named every one of them. Then Charlie started calling Lottie’s name. We all laughed and thought she was hiding. They played hide-and-seek all the time.’

  ‘Jenny, from the moment the jets went over to the point where you became worried and started looking for Lottie – can you tell me how long you think that period was? Take as long as you need.’ Kelly took a sip of tea and another bite of cake. She wanted to come across as normal as possible.