by Sibel Hodge
‘If it was him, you’d expect to see a different pattern in that spot, the shape of his shoulder or chest.’
‘Could it have been the shooter?’
‘No, the gunshot wounds aren’t that close range.’
‘So either two offenders or a witness who hasn’t come forward yet.’
‘Yes. Someone about . . .’ She tilted her head and stared at the wall. ‘About five foot tall.’
THE VIGILANTE
Chapter 3
Pure evil. I’d it seen it too many times in my life, and there were three things I’d learned about it. The first was that it could be disguised as many things. Monsters weren’t just for fairy tales and horror stories. They weren’t just the Jeffrey Dahmers or the Myra Hindleys. We brushed shoulders with them every day as they walked amongst us, unseen for what they truly were. Your friend, your work colleague, your neighbour, your brother.
Secondly, if you knew about evil and did nothing, it made you complicit – maybe an unwilling pawn in a game played by others for a higher purpose, but just as dangerous nevertheless. Inaction was still an action.
I drew my gaze away from the paperback I was trying to read and watched Maya. She sat in a chair, doing leg-extension exercises with ankle weights that the physio had given her to help strengthen the muscles that had atrophied and weakened while she’d been wearing a cast. From the look in her eyes I knew she was thinking about the night she’d nearly died. She was still in pain from her injuries, but she was lucky she’d escaped without any brain damage. Lucky she was alive. The men who’d hurt her were evil personified. They’d tried to shut Maya up for good so they could keep their barbaric secrets hidden, and she’d been in a coma for six weeks. When she woke up she’d had intensive physiotherapy to help heal her battered body – a broken leg, arm, ribs, and several fingers and toes. The internal and external bruising had now gone, but the scars inside would last forever. I understood completely. The same scars ravaged me.
Maya bit the corner of her lower lip, her forehead scrunched slightly with the exertion, sweat beading on her upper lip. She glanced towards the sofa where I sat, and pulled a face. ‘Stop watching me, Mitchell. You’re putting me off.’
I held my hands up in mock surrender. ‘Sorry.’ I grinned to myself. If she was getting fussy, hopefully it meant she was getting better.
‘No, I’m sorry. I’m just finding it really hard to move on.’ Maya’s voice was small and laced with all the emotions I knew so well: heart-shattering grief, longing, rage; fear of what her life would be like now. She unstrapped the weights, threw them to the carpet, and swung around to face me, her eyes filled with unshed tears. ‘Jamie’s gone.’ Her voice cracked. ‘I have no home. I have no job any more. I have no future.’ She wiped at the tears spilling down her cheeks with her fingertips. ‘I don’t know what to do with my life.’
‘Hey, hey, hey.’ I put the paperback on to the sofa cushion beside me, then kneeled down in front of her. I took her hand and clutched it in mine. ‘You’ve got a home.’ I gestured around my living room with a hand. She’d sold her own house – Jamie’s house – to get away from the memories of her boyfriend’s murder and was living with me until she worked out the next stage of her life. But Maya was stuck now, in limbo, waiting for the pain of losing Jamie to get less raw and visceral. Waiting to find a new direction in life. To redirect the anger somewhere else. Waiting to find some meaning to existing. It was Maya who’d given me meaning again. I owed her a debt I couldn’t repay. She said she owed me for keeping her alive. Those men wouldn’t trouble her again – I took care of that. Through the hell of it all, she’d slowly become like a daughter to me, and I wanted to help her get through this but I didn’t know what else I could do.
‘I can’t keep taking your charity by staying here.’
‘It’s not charity.’ When I’d left the SAS I’d worked for a private military company and made more money than I knew what to do with. Until I woke up to all the lies and bullshit we were being force-fed. Until I realised that psychopaths and monsters actually ruled the world and were the ones dishing out orders with hidden agendas. The politicians, corporations and banksters who watched the wars and devastation and destruction they wreaked upon every single one of us unfold as planned. Who proved time and time again that ordinary, innocent people were dispensable.
‘I feel like I need to stand on my own two feet. I used to be independent. Before . . .’ Her voice hitched. ‘Before they took Jamie away from me. I can’t rely on you all the time. Or Ava. She’s got Jackson to look after.’
‘Ava loves you. You’re her sister, of course she wants to help you. And your future can be anything you want it to be.’ I knew how she felt, though. Knew putting one foot in front of the other every second of every day could be torture. I wrapped my arm around her. ‘You’re still young. And Jamie would want you to live your life again. You’re so strong, you can do anything.’ Even when she’d almost been killed trying to expose those men and what they’d done, she’d found a strength from somewhere to carry on and not give in.
‘But I don’t know what to do now.’ She rested her head on my shoulder.
‘So don’t think about it. Just see what happens and the answer will come. You’re still recuperating. Don’t be so hard on yourself.’
‘I can’t stay here forever. It’s not fair on you.’
I put my hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. ‘Like I said before, you can stay as long as you like. And you’re doing me a favour being here, believe me.’ I was about to say more but my mobile phone rang from the arm of the sofa. I glanced at it – it wasn’t a number I recognised. I looked back to Maya.
‘It’s OK. Take it.’ She wiped her eyes and rubbed at her right thigh, where her femur had been broken, wincing slightly at the pain and trying to hide it.
I hit the answer button and a desperate voice catapulted me back to the past.
You see the third thing about evil is, even if you eliminate one manifestation of it, there will always be more.
THE DETECTIVE
Chapter 4
I walked into the kitchen and found the Jamesons’ daughter, Paula Eagan, sitting at a pine table next to a female uniformed officer. Paula was maybe early forties and dressed in a crisp, white shirt and pale-blue skirt. She wore a lot of dark eye make-up which had run around her lids and down the side of her cheeks from her tears. She stared into space, lips pressed tightly together, a balled-up tissue clutched in one hand.
The officer gave me a relieved smile, stood up and introduced Paula to me.
‘Thanks,’ I said to her.
She nodded and slipped out of the room.
‘I’m DS Warren Carter.’ I sat down in the seat the officer had just vacated, the wooden chair retaining her heat.
Paula fixed her watery eyes on me. ‘I just can’t believe this.’ She shook her head and squeezed the tissue in her fist.
‘I’m very sorry for your loss.’
She mumbled, ‘Thanks. I can’t take this in. I just don’t understand. Who could’ve done something so . . . so awful?’
‘Well, that’s what I’m here to find out,’ I said gently. ‘Can you tell me what happened when you arrived and found your parents?’
She sucked in a deep breath and blew it out again. ‘I got here about six and . . . I knocked on the door. There was no reply, so I knocked a few more times and then I thought something was wrong. Their Land Rover was outside so I knew they were in. It’s miles to anywhere from here, you need a car, and they normally eat dinner at this time so I knew they wouldn’t be out walking. I looked through the lounge window and . . .’ She took a deep breath. Held it. Exhaled and closed her eyes. ‘I saw them lying there. I used my key to get in and . . .’ She pressed her lips together and blinked rapidly.
‘It’s OK. Take your time.’
‘I . . . um . . . I found them in the lounge like that. Were they shot?’ She looked at me wild-eyed. ‘I saw this . . .’ She pointed to her
forehead. ‘A hole. On Dad. It was a bullet hole, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry.’
‘Oh, God!’ She brought the shaking hand that was clutching the tissue to her lips and pressed it against her mouth so hard her lips distorted.
‘Did you touch them or move anything when you saw them?’
‘No, I just . . .’ She looked blank. ‘Um . . . I . . . kneeled down beside them and looked and I called their names, but I knew . . . I mean, I could tell they were dead and . . . they weren’t breathing. I screamed, I think. And then I went outside and called you and they told me to wait, so I did.’
‘You didn’t open the patio doors in the lounge?’
‘No, they were like that when I got here. I definitely didn’t touch anything.’
‘Did your parents normally leave the doors open like that? Or were they usually locked?’
She shrugged. ‘Well, it depends on the weather. They might’ve had it open. It’s been quite mild lately, and they liked to get a bit of fresh air in.’
‘Was it a prearranged visit? Did they know you were coming?’
‘No. It was . . .’ She hesitated a moment. ‘Kind of a surprise. They weren’t expecting me.’
‘When did you last speak to your parents?’
‘Um . . . a few days ago, on the phone. Monday night. Well, I spoke to Mum.’
‘So you didn’t visit them yesterday?’
‘No. I was . . . at work.’ She stumbled over the words slightly.
Statistically speaking, most murders were committed by people who knew the victims. And I was pretty sure she’d just told me a lie. ‘Where do you work?’
‘Um . . . Eagan’s Scaffolding. It’s my husband’s company. I do admin and the books there.’
‘Do you know if your husband spoke to or saw your parents recently?’
A flush crept up her neck. ‘No. He’s always busy working.’
I observed her for a moment, detecting a hint of defensiveness. ‘Can you think of anyone who’d want to hurt your parents?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Did your mum mention anything about any problems they were having when you spoke to her last? Anyone suspicious hanging around here? Or any worries they might’ve had?’
She shook her head.
‘Are your parents farmers? I noticed the rapeseed at the front of their property as I came in.’
‘Not any more. They retired five years ago. They rent out the fields now to a neighbour who still farms.’
‘And his name is?’
‘Bill Graves. His property is the next one along the lane – Turpinfield Farm.’ She jerked her thumb to the left, indicating the direction.
I wrote that down in my pocketbook. ‘Did your parents keep any valuables in the house?’
‘No. They don’t own anything really valuable. Mum had some gold jewellery that’s been in her family for years. A couple of rings, a brooch, and a gold watch. I doubt it was worth much, more sentimental value. They didn’t keep much money in the house.’
‘What can you tell me about your parents?’
‘Well . . . they’re just retired farmers.’ She shrugged.
‘Can you think of any reason why someone would want to hurt them?’
‘Of course not!’ She gasped. ‘They’re an old couple. They like gardening and reading and walking.’
‘Did they have any access to firearms?’ The control room had already told me there were no firearms licences listed at this address, but I had to ask. A lot of rural farmers had shotguns or rifles for protecting livestock, or protecting crops from game birds and other animals.
‘God, no.’
‘Do you have any idea what their movements would’ve been? Did your mum mention what they’d be doing when you spoke to her?’
‘She didn’t say. But Dad has had this flu bug that’s going round. For the last couple of weeks he’s been pretty poorly. He’s only just started getting over it so he was taking it easy and Mum was just looking after him. She didn’t mention they were going out or doing anything.’
‘What would their usual routines be?’
Paula shrugged. ‘They both get up early, about five a.m. Dad’s usually pottering around the house, fixing something, or doing gardening with Mum. Mum likes to read. They both like walking in the fields. They’re homebodies, really. Sometimes Mum meets up with her friends for a bit of shopping or a coffee, but other than that they don’t really go anywhere much.’
‘Can you think of any problems your parents were having? Did they mention any disputes with anyone?’
‘No.’
‘How about the neighbours? Did they get on with them?’
‘Yes. Well, like I mentioned, they rent out their fields now to Bill Graves. The neighbour on the other side was an old lady called Emily Simms, but she’s got dementia now and is in a home. Her son has power of attorney so he’s selling the house and stables. The house is empty at the moment. The girl who runs the stables used to rent them off Emily and she’s still there. For the time being, anyway, until it’s sold.’ She wiped her red nose on the tissue. ‘The only other neighbour is behind.’ She pointed out of the kitchen window towards the woods at the end of the long garden. ‘Parker Farm. Mum and Dad used to be friendly with them but they died and left the place to their son, Connor, and they don’t really see him any more.’
‘What about any other issues? Financial problems? Marital problems? Was there anything else going on in their lives?’
‘No, nothing I can think of. There were no problems.’
‘OK. Is there anyone I can call for you? Any brothers or sisters?’
‘It’s just me. There are no other relatives left now.’
I nodded solemnly. ‘Can you think of any other information that might be useful?’
‘No.’ She sat upright and wiped her eyes. ‘My parents didn’t have any enemies. They were good people. They grafted all their life. They were supposed to be enjoying their retirement.’
A brief thought flashed into my head that maybe I shouldn’t retire after all. This couple had obviously worked hard and now look what had happened. At the time when they should’ve been able to finally relax and take it easy, their lives had been cruelly snatched away from them in a vicious irony. ‘Right. Well, I think that’s it for the moment, thank you.’ I stood up. ‘Our forensic team will be here for quite a while so I’m afraid you’ll have to leave. Are you OK to drive? I take it that’s your Mini out there?’
She nodded.
‘Or would you like an officer to take you home?’
‘I’m OK. I can drive.’
‘Before you go, I’ll just get one of the SOCOs to take your prints and DNA so we can use them for elimination.’
‘Yes, of course.’ She nodded quickly and stood.
And I couldn’t help but notice that Paula was about five feet tall.
THE VIGILANTE
Chapter 5
I knew who it was as soon as she said, ‘Is that Mitchell?’
Her voice had always been distinctive – hoarse, deep and with a faint trace of a Scottish accent from her parents.
‘Corinne? Is that you?’ I frowned, staring out through the patio doors into my garden.
‘Yes. It’s me.’
My mind wandered briefly back to the last time I’d seen her at Tony’s funeral. And then she’d left Hereford. Left the support group of friends from the Regiment. Left everything and disappeared. It had been almost two decades since I’d last spoken to her.
‘Wow! How are you? Where’ve you been? What have you been doing for the last eighteen years?’
‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t handle all the memories after . . . after Tony died. I had to get away,’ she said. But she left the real words unspoken. I blamed you. It was your fault.
‘You don’t have to explain anything to me. But you know I was worried about you.’
Maya sloped out of the room, wanting to give me some privacy.
‘Look, I�
��m calling about my daughter. She—’
‘You have a daughter now? Congratulations.’ I thought about how she and Tony had been trying for a baby before he was killed. I still missed him, my good mate, but I couldn’t hold it against Corinne for finding happiness with another guy and starting a family. Happiness was something precious to hold on to in this world, and Tony would’ve wanted her to move on.
‘Oh, God!’ she wailed. ‘I called her Toni, after him. He didn’t leave me completely alone after all. But I didn’t call you to reminisce about the past, Mitchell. You said something to me when I saw you that last time. You said—’
‘If you ever need me, for anything, all you have to do is call and I’ll be there.’ I repeated the words I’d said the day they put Tony in the ground, even though Corinne had already turned and was walking away, not prepared to listen to me.
‘Did you mean it? Because I need your help. I really need your help.’ Fear and worry were obvious in her shuddering voice.
‘Of course I meant it. What’s happened?’
‘Toni’s gone missing. I reported it to the police but they believe she’s just run away so I don’t think they’re taking it seriously. But she wouldn’t do that. I know my daughter. She’s not an angel but I know she’d never just run off and not tell me. The police said she’s an adult now and has probably just gone off somewhere for a few days for a bit of space. They said thousands of youngsters run away from home every year. But I’m really scared. Something’s happened to her, I know it. And I need your help to find her. You can do things the police can’t.’
‘Jesus, I’m sorry to hear she’s disappeared. Of course I’ll help you.’
‘Thank you!’ She breathed out a relieved sigh.
I walked into the kitchen, grabbed a pen and a pad and sat at the table. ‘Where are you?’
‘Bournewood. It’s a small town in Buckinghamshire.’
‘Where did Toni go missing from?’
‘I . . . I don’t know. The last time I saw her was at the house.’
‘When did she disappear?’
‘Yesterday.’