by Emmy Ellis
The Noble Murder - Text copyright © Emmy Ellis 2021
Cover Art by Emmy Ellis @ studioenp.com © 2021
All Rights Reserved
The Noble Murder is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and events are from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
The author respectfully recognises the use of any and all trademarks.
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.
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Contents
A Word of Advice, Cass
Dear Diary
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
A Word of Advice, Cass
“If someone hurts you to the degree where your whole soul feels on fire, end them. I don’t want you upset, but there are things you don’t know about me and your mam, things, now I look back on it, I’m ashamed of. That’s a turn-up for the books, isn’t it, me being ashamed, but I do have a heart in there somewhere, and every thousand or so beats, there’s one loaded with regret. Anyroad, if you ever find out—like, if your mam decides she ought to tell you—know that we all do things when pressed, when we think we know best, and other times, we do shit because there’s no other way to keep us safe. Or because you were so caught up in love you did things you never should have. You get blinded. That’s from my perspective. Your mam? I’m not sure how she feels.
“I’ll admit to you now, deep down I was scared regarding this lad—we’ll call him MJ—but I hid those feelings from your mam, from myself, the ones pertaining to our discovery, where I worried we’d get caught. She’s…a rare breed, has a side to her I hope you never see, because, knowing you as I do, the person you’re growing into, who I’ve taught you to be, I wonder whether you’d kill her for the way she is, no matter that she gave birth to you, to stop her from causing any more damage. All I can say is, I hope I’m dead and buried long before that happens. Francis, despite her odd ways, is the love of my life, and to see my own daughter murder her would finish me off quicker than my dodgy heart. I love you, Cass, and I’ll say sorry now in case you come across our secrets. Or any your mam has that I don’t know about. You don’t deserve to carry the burden of them.”
– Lenny Grafton, ex-leader of the Barrington
Dear Diary
There’s a rage inside me unlike any other. I can’t breathe. I’m suffocated by the burdens Dad spoke about—and he had to have been talking about Micky Jennings, the kid they dumped down the well. He didn’t mention the other lad, Lee Scrubs. Maybe he didn’t feature as strongly in Dad’s mind, he wasn’t viewed as anyone to feel guilty over.
Poor kid. He’d done nowt wrong, so he should be right at the top of Lenny Grafton’s guilt list. But then Dad might not have known Mam lied about things…
To find out via Mam’s handwritten confession that she is—was—a maniac in the worst possible way really got to me. I love her and I hate her. I’m glad she’s dead but I want her alive: the former because Dad was right, I’d have wanted to end her myself for what she’d been a part of, but her getting shot solved that for me (what kind of person does that make me?); the latter because I want to understand her, ask why she felt compelled to kill innocents—but is that true? Would I really want to do that? Would I want to understand what went on in her mind? To know her demons are so much bigger than mine?
It doesn’t matter, I can’t do owt, the choice has been taken away from me, and now I’m left with the job of finding out who ‘B’ is, the man who ‘found’ Mam. She managed to tell me that just before she died. Sod’s law she didn’t stay alive for long enough to let me know his whole name.
Why didn’t the watchers spot anyone lurking around? All right, the funeral attendees were in the high numbers, and someone levelling a gun between two other people, low down, and shooting Mam might have gone unnoticed, but I employ men to watch, for fuck’s sake, to spot anyone who might be a stranger—or a danger.
I’m angry at being left with the job of sorting this out. I can’t leave it to the police else they might uncover shit I don’t want seeing the light of day. There’s only so much DI Branding can do without suspicion falling on him. I need him by my side, not convicted of being a bent copper.
And Mystic, she was right, I do want to walk off, to forget it all, to live a life elsewhere, but despite my parents being absolute monsters, I’m a part of them, I owe them for the life they gave me prior to me discovering it had all been a carefully constructed and maintained façade.
And I owe myself to avenge Mam’s death.
But what if she deserved it?
Chapter One
“Who the fuck didn’t spot the shooter?” Cassie raged in Mam’s kitchen—her kitchen now—bloody incensed at what had happened. Or hadn’t happened, seeing as Mam had been shot in front of hundreds of people, the person with the gun getting away scot-free. “Let me think. All of you. I turn my back for a few minutes, going off to have a chat, and the next thing I know, my mother’s fucking dead.”
None of those present would even dare to say she could have spotted a stranger herself—and hadn’t—while she’d stood at the foot of the open graves. But it was true. She hadn’t clocked anyone odd, so she was just as culpable as them.
The watchers she’d employed for the joint funeral gawped back at her, expressions blank, as Lenny had taught them. But in this instance, couldn’t they show her something? Remorse at least?
They can’t be expected to act another way without being told. They’re not mind readers. They don’t know what I want. Cut them some slack.
She calmed a little, acknowledging she expected them to climb into the sky and bring her the moon and every single star. She paced behind the big island, in front of the sink unit. Everyone sat or stood on the other side, and without them knowing it, DI Gary Branding was in the office down the hallway, although prior to his arrival, she’d removed owt in there he might take a gander at. Something he could use to pin shit on her if he felt he needed some insurance. Mind you, he needed the money she paid him to stay in her pocket, cash used to pay for a carer to look after his poorly wife, Trish.
If he finds something, he’d be a fool to do owt with it.
She took a deep breath. Normally, she wouldn’t ask anyone for help, she’d work it out by herself, but she needed a heads-up here. “Right, Mam said something before she died. If anyone knows owt about a ‘B’ coming back for her, say so now—or if you prefer not to look like a snitch, even though she’s down the morgue and will never know you betrayed a confidence, see me later—or WhatsApp.” The weight of the day b
ore down on her, and quick as owt, she wanted them gone, out of her face. “It’s clear you know sod all. This meeting’s over. Keep your eyes and ears open. If you hear owt, tell me immediately.”
Everyone filed out bar Jimmy Lews, her new sidekick. She’d planned to get him fully trained up first by Glen Maddock, her father’s old right hand, but Jimmy knew enough to get by, and besides, with this crud, she needed Jimmy by her side now. If not for his brawn—of which there wasn’t much yet—but his calming presence. Something about him meant she wanted to take a step back, didn’t feel the need to engage her knee-jerk reactions quite so readily. Except for when she’d nailed Jason Shepherd’s leg to the squat floor, that was. That time, she was too livid to rein herself in.
Jimmy was a lovely chap with squidgy edges, a heart of gold, and fond of onesies. Shame she’d be filing those edges with a rough rasp until they were sharp, hardening his heart so he could cope with more of the same shite she’d been dealing with lately. Murder, torture, bloodshed, pressure. She trusted him, and it was time now to let him in on a few things so he knew what they were up against. She couldn’t keep everything close to her chest and expect him to know why she was doing certain things.
She’d do that after she’d got rid of Branding.
“Stay there, Jimmy, I need a word or three,” she said on her way out of the kitchen. “Make us a coffee each, will you? Oh, and use my account at the Jade to order us a Chinese. Get something to take home to Shirl. Mine’s a chicken fried rice and curry sauce, and some of those ribs in barbecue. Pick whatever you want and tell Li Jun I’ll drop by and settle up another day.”
She must seem a right granite cow, strutting along to the office, not a tear in sight nor an aching chest from the loss of her mother earlier. That could come later, where she’d cry for the woman she’d thought she’d known, not the one Francis Grafton really was, haring around the Barrington with her husband, Lenny, doing whatever the fuck they wanted, to whomever they wanted.
Much like Cassie did, but she hoped she at least did things for a proper reason.
She’d never kill a kid, that much was certain.
She barged into the office, hoping to catch the rasher of bacon unawares, but Branding sat at the desk, the chair back to it, him facing her as she approached, one ankle propped on a bony knee covered in black suit trousers. He clearly hadn’t changed since the funeral; then again, he had said he’d gone straight into work mode, no time to stop and think.
He didn’t appear guilty of snooping, his expression neutral, and maybe he hadn’t done any such thing, knowing if Cassie found out, she’d have more than something to say about it. His features switched to show he was concerned, possibly wondering how he could help. Officially, he was here to take her statement on the shooting—she’d come straight home, leaving her mother dead on the ground, wanting to work through the clues in order to find out why someone had shot her. She was still none the wiser. But in reality, Branding had been instructed to listen to the gossip in the kitchen while she’d purposely remained upstairs, out of the way so the men would feel freer to talk.
“Did you get owt?” she asked.
Gary shook his head. “Nowt but them worrying about getting a bollocking, wishing they’d spotted someone, worrying they were losing their touch. But according to them, everyone appeared normal.”
“I can’t dispute that. I scanned that crowd repeatedly, and not one person seemed off. I didn’t know everyone there, granted, but you get a sense, don’t you, when someone isn’t on the level. I got none of that. Did you?”
“No, and I’m trained to watch—much like your men.”
“Who the hell was it?” The rhetorical question hung in the air, the answer stubborn and silent. She paced the small area in front of the copper. “If it was someone we all know, why did they wait until now to shoot her?” Then she recalled exactly what Mam had said. “No, it’s got to be a stranger, surely. She said whoever it was had found her. That means she’d successfully hidden from them—and that’s odd.”
“How so?”
“Who around here doesn’t know who she is? She wasn’t even hiding, she was out there on the streets with Dad years ago, plain as day, and around after I was born, albeit taking a back seat. It wouldn’t take long to find her. You only have to say the name Francis and people know who that is.”
“Maybe she meant they’d found her out, like they’d discovered something she’d done. Did she live anywhere before the Barrington? Anywhere other than Moorbury?”
Why didn’t Branding know that already? Hadn’t he poked into Mam before he’d agreed to become her snitch? No, it would have brought up the fact he’d done a search on her, and like he’d banged on about before, ad nauseam, if he didn’t have a lawful reason to do that, he’d either have to make one up or pretend he was looking into Mam.
Probably best he didn’t draw attention to himself or the Graftons.
She shook her head. “No, they were both born here, her and Dad.”
“Did they ever do ‘work’ outside of Moorbury?”
She thought back to all the crimes and misdemeanours listed in the coded ledgers. Thought of Grafton’s Meat Factory, which was used as a legitimate cover for earnings, but Mam and Dad had employed people to go farther afield to sell the meat around the country, hence why Steve Zander had blipped Lou Wilson’s radar because he’d worked for the previous owner as a salesman. Why he was now dead. Why Lou and Doreen were now dead.
“Not as far as I’m aware.” Unless Mam had yet another personal diary I don’t know about, listing shit they did elsewhere. “Everything they did was Barrington related.”
Branding shrugged. “Fuck knows then. What do you want me to do about the investigation into the shooting?”
Cassie stopped pacing. “The usual. Hide owt to do with the killer if you happen to work out who it is; tell me their name so I can deal with them instead. If you can get away with it like you did with Doreen, say Mam’s murder was a random killer. I don’t need pigs—no offence, like—digging into this mess. It could open up several cans of worms.”
He rubbed the side of his finger beneath his nose. “I haven’t given my version of events yet, just got the scene set up after I walked you to your car, made sure SOCO were called, then I questioned those still hanging around. I could say I saw what happened. All right, we were talking down the bottom of the incline, but I could make out I had a good view of the graves. Some bloke in a trench coat and sunglasses with a gun, shit like that.”
“But then they’d be searching for someone specific. Better to have the shooter elusive, someone you’ll never find, same as the phantom man who stabbed Dor. We’ll stick to the facts. Have you done my statement like I asked you to?”
He nodded and produced it, his handwriting blocky and precise. She bent her head to read it—short and to the point, like her.
I walked off to have a chat with DI Branding and heard a loud crack. We ran back to the graves, and my mother had been shot. I didn’t see anyone suspicious.
“Will that fly?” She grabbed a pen and signed the bottom. “With it not being very detailed, I mean.”
“It’ll do. I can corroborate your story, so no one will take much notice. I was with you—they’re not going to question that, are they. But I have to say that while they’ll know you didn’t kill her, they might think you got someone else to do it.”
She slung the pen on the shelves that usually held the ledgers. They were currently upstairs in her locked room. She’d bring them down when she was alone again. “Then it’s in your best interests to steer it elsewhere. You’re the SIO on the case, so there you go.” She had the urge to confess again, like she had in the graveyard, a great wave of wanting to share her burdens, but she wouldn’t say a word about those dead lads. “I promise you, I didn’t arrange for it to happen, but I might well have killed her at some point in the future. I don’t know, it would have depended on what I discover.”
What I already know is bad en
ough. My parents killed two kids. They deserve to be dead.
“At least you’re honest.” Branding stood. “If I had the urge to kill someone, I don’t think I’d admit it to a copper, even a newly bent one.” His cheeks flushed.
“Have you? Had the urge?”
“Only for humanitarian reasons.”
“Your wife.”
“Hmm. End her suffering.” He coughed. “But it’ll never happen, so there’s no point discussing it. Right, I’ll be getting back to the station. I’ve got umpteen witness statements to go through, make sure they’ve been logged. When did you want to view your mother’s body? Her post-mortem’s tomorrow, so I’d need to—”
“I don’t want to see her like that. I’ll remember her as she was before…before she had that blood on her face and a fucking hole in her chest. It’s bad enough I still have nightmares about Doreen—and I’m not necessarily asleep either.”
He touched her arm. She was surprised she allowed it.
“Will you be okay?” he asked.
She nodded curtly. “Jimmy’s still here. He’ll stay the night if I need him.” And there’s Brenda. She won’t mind nipping over.
“I’ll see myself out.” Branding left the office.
Cassie spun to watch him go to the front door, maybe to ensure he really was going. He disappeared, the lock snicking into place, and she took a scanner out of the drawer, switched it on, and wafted it around for bugs. Nowt. While she didn’t think Branding would double-cross her, she couldn’t be sure. Her office being tapped didn’t seem his style anyroad, but better to be safe than sorry.
She returned to Jimmy, who’d made the coffees. He sat at the island playing a game on his personal phone. The burner she’d given him was beside his cup. He stopped renovating some mansion or other on his screen and slid the mobile in his pocket.