Cut The Threads: A Serial Killer Thriller That Will Keep You Hooked (DS Marnie Hammond Book 2)

by Robin Roughley

  Whoever had killed Tam had been looking for information and it seemed safe to assume that he had grassed before the end.

  ‘Wanker,’ he spat with no hint of sadness or remorse.

  The problem was that Tam had known all the scams that Rae had going, nothing had been out of bounds, nothing withheld. Suddenly, Jimmy Rae sat up in bed as he realised that the killer could know everything, all the deals, all the dealers, and every single one of them would be willing to turn on him if the price was right.

  Abruptly, the fury that had been subsiding was back, ripping through his mind as the faces ballooned towards him, each one a known associate and possible turncoat. Over the years, Rae had been prone to bouts of paranoia – usually brought on by alcohol or smoking too much Acapulco Gold – but he had always reasoned that in his line of work a healthy dose of paranoia was a good thing. In fact, he had been proved to be right on more than one occasion when he had turned his fevered gaze onto someone he didn’t trust. But now he felt the paranoia flood his system, every face that floated before his whisky-fuelled eyes was a possible back-stabbing bastard.

  When he looked back at the black book a name leapt out at him and he snarled. Arnie Phelps was a solicitor but more than that he was Rae’s solicitor, the man who had kept him out of the clink, the man who cost him the best part of ten grand a month to make sure that he was left alone by the filth.

  The internal voice of reason tried to rationalise that Phelps would have no reason to turn on the hand that fed him, after all, ten grand a month was a small fortune. Yet despite this, Rae felt his mind warp, perhaps Phelps had got a better offer or maybe someone had put the frighteners on him and the bent solicitor had pointed the finger, leading the killer to Tam Whitlow and then to him.

  He tried to think what to do to stop the rot and then the whisky took hold and he started to sway slightly. The truth was he needed to rest and look at things in the morning with fresh eyes and a clear head. Behind closed lids, his eyes roamed, searching for the weak link in the chain. The image of Phelps floated through the whisky-infused mist, his fat face topped with a mess of thinning ginger hair, he looked like your typical whipping boy, flabby tits and short stumpy legs. Then Rae thought of the times he had sat in the solicitor’s office, Phelps might look like a pushover until you looked into his eyes – eyes sunken back in a dough-like face. There was nothing soft about his eyes, they stared out at the world with a slyness in their depths, a cunning that spoke volumes.

  Jimmy Rae felt the distrust bloom and then he was snoring whisky-fuelled snorts into the air.

  Outside the rain continued to fall.

  43

  Marnie took a sip from the chipped china cup as Bill Armitage offered her a plate full of assorted biscuits.

  Lifting a hand, she shook her head. ‘I’m OK thanks, I’ve already eaten.’

  For a couple of seconds, he looked disappointed then he shrugged before taking a chunk out of a Bourbon cream.

  ‘You were telling me about the Conways?’ she reminded him.

  The lounge was small and tidy, the black Labrador curled on the rug in front of the gas fire, the orange flames slowly turning blue.

  ‘George and Martha were good people. In fact, I used to go fishing with George and young Tom.’

  ‘What happened to the family?’

  Bill brushed some crumbs from his trousers and the dog looked up for a moment before lowering its head back on its paws.

  ‘George worked as a wagon driver for a local company and he was due to retire when he was involved in a pile-up on the motorway.’

  ‘What happened, was he killed?’ Marnie asked.

  Bill sighed heavily. ‘Yeah, it was instant apparently but Martha was in a right state. I mean, my wife was alive back then and she used to go and sit with her but six months later, poor Martha died of a heart attack.’

  ‘That must have been hard on the son?’

  ‘Oh, Tom was never one for showing his emotions but he was upset sure enough.’

  ‘What did Tom do for a living?’ Marnie asked, although she suspected she already knew the answer.

  ‘He joined the army at sixteen, career soldier and a bloody good one to boot.’

  ‘Do you know if he’s still serving?’

  Bill shook his head. ‘Not sure to be honest, after his parents died he would occasionally come home just to check the place.’

  ‘But he never put the house up for sale?’

  Bill shook his head. ‘Funnily enough I asked him about that and he said he didn’t need the cash and he liked knowing it was there when he came home on leave.’

  ‘Was he close to his parents?’ Marnie asked before taking another sip from the cup.

  ‘God aye, they were a close family. Tom had a sister a few year older than him but she died of cancer, oh must be well over ten year ago now.’

  ‘It sounds as if they’ve had more than their share of hard times.’

  Bill sighed, reached down and patted the dog’s head. ‘I suppose you’re right but then again bad things often happen to good people.’

  Marnie could feel his words unlock the memories from the past, her missing sister and all the dead children killed by the monster, Boland.

  Placing the cup on the table, she leaned forward slightly. ‘Does the name John Hall mean anything to you?’

  Bill patted the dog’s head one last time before sitting up and pulling out a pouch of tobacco. ‘Mind if I smoke, lass?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  Seconds later, he struck a match and lit the hand-rolled cigarette. ‘John Hall joined the army with Tom, they were closer than brothers,’ he paused for a moment. ‘And while we’re on the subject – has there been any news on John and Rowan?’

  Marnie blinked in surprise as Bill looked at her keenly.

  ‘You know about that?’

  ‘It was in the local paper a few weeks ago, I used to see John in town now and again and I’m telling you there’s no way he would have buggered off without telling anyone.’

  Marnie suddenly felt out of her depth, the truth was she knew very little about Hall and his daughter. ‘Is there a Mrs Hall?’ she asked lamely.

  Bill narrowed his eyes as he looked at her. ‘Are you sure you’re a copper?’ he asked.

  Marnie nodded and went to pull out her warrant card again but Bill smiled and flapped a hand at her.

  ‘John’s wife died about three years ago, I went to the funeral.’

  ‘Did Tom Conway attend?’

  ‘Of course he did, they were inseparable, he’s the godfather to Rowan. He was there for them just like John was when Tom’s father and mother died.’

  The more Bill Armitage revealed about Tom Conway and his relationship with Hall the more convinced she became that she had to find Conway and question him about the murder of David Hamer.

  ‘So, do you have you any idea what’s happened to them?’ Bill asked as the dog started to snore.

  ‘I’m afraid not, although we’re still looking into the case, we …’

  ‘Well, you need to start looking more closely.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Because I tell you now, if Tom knows that his best mate and goddaughter have dropped off the radar then he’ll want to know why.’

  Marnie looked at the elderly man closely and he nodded at her.

  ‘Tom’s a good bloke, salt of the earth but he can have a short fuse and I wouldn’t want the lad getting into trouble because the police failed to do their job.’

  Marnie looked at Bill as if seeing him for the first time, at the front of the house he had appeared like your typical elderly man, flat cap and strong northern accent. Almost jovial with his biscuits on a plate and chipped China cup, only now she saw the hard edge in his eyes and she knew that he was asking her to take his warning seriously.

  Marnie nodded. ‘I understand, Mr Armitage, and believe me we’ll do all we can to get to the bottom of this.’

  Bill slapped his hands on his knees as he rose
slowly from the chair. ‘I hope so, lass, I really do.’

  Marnie stood up and smiled. ‘Thanks for your help and if you do see Tom Conway could you ask him to give the station a call?’

  Bill shook his head. ‘If I see him, I’ll tell the lad you’re looking for him, it’s up to him what he does then.’

  Marnie felt the first flush of colour in her cheeks. ‘All being well, we’ll find out what happened but I’d still like to know if Conway shows up.’

  Bill shrugged as he walked across the room and opened the front door.

  Marnie slid the zip up on her jacket and she stepped out into the wind and rain, she turned to say her goodbyes just as the door closed in her face.

  Back in the car she started the engine and flicked on the lights before placing the torch back in the glove compartment. As she turned around and drove past the house she saw Bill standing by the window, when she raised a hand he swished the curtains closed.

  ‘Charming,’ she said as she drove slowly away.

  44

  Tom Conway stroked the dog’s head in his lap, the gas fire flickered, the room was stiflingly hot, making it hard to concentrate.

  From the cover of the trees opposite he had watched the woman drive away, he had been heading back to the house when she had walked out into the rain and he had slipped into the shadow of the trees as she drove away. Crossing the road, he had just slipped the key into the front door when Bill had appeared on his doorstep.

  ‘I need a word, Tom.’

  Now, he sat in front of the fire listening as Bill told him about the copper.

  ‘So, what else did she have to say?’

  ‘Not much to be honest,’ the old man replied. ‘But I don’t think the police have a bloody clue about what’s happened to John or Rowan.’

  Tom nodded in agreement. ‘She was more interested in me no doubt.’

  Bill looked at the man on the sofa, he had known Tom Conway all his life – watched him grow from a scrawny kid into a man, a man with hard, unflinching eyes and a veneer of calm that, to the casual observer, would have passed for nonchalance. Bill knew better, he could see the anger buried deep, just waiting to explode when the time came.

  ‘She never actually said why she was looking for you,’ he explained and took a sip from the cup of tea.

  Tom stared into the hypnotic flames of the gas fire, lost in a recent memory, then he blinked and looked at Bill. ‘I killed a man,’ he said, turning his gaze back to the fire.

  Bill selected a Rich Tea and snapped it in half. ‘I take it he deserved it?’ he asked, dipping the biscuit into the drink.

  ‘In my book, he did,’ Tom replied.

  ‘Fair enough.’

  Tom glanced at the elderly man and sighed. ‘You don’t sound surprised.’

  ‘Come on, lad, you’re a soldier, it’s what you were trained to do.’

  Tom started to talk, he told Bill all about the girl named Emma and how Hamer had come to the hostel to get her back and John Hall had thrown him out. By the time he had finished, Bill had a look of disgust on his weather-beaten face.

  ‘You were right, the bugger did deserve it.’

  ‘Before he died he showed me where a man named Tam Whitlow lived and—’

  ‘That man’s a prick,’ Bill interrupted.

  Tom looked at him in surprise. ‘You’ve heard of him?’

  ‘He’s one of Jimmy Rae’s yobbos.’

  This time Tom smiled at the archaic word. ‘Come on, Bill, you like your darts and dominoes, so how come you know of Whitlow and Rae?’

  ‘I hears things.’ Bill replied cryptically.

  Tom sighed. ‘What things?’

  ‘I heard that he sells drugs all over town, I was in the Labour club a few months back and Whitlow came in – bold as brass – and snatched one of the lads from his chair and dragged him outside.’

  ‘I take it he owed money?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Twenty quid apparently, and for that he had his front teeth knocked out and ended up with a ruptured bollock.’

  Tom continued to stroke the dog’s head. ‘Whitlow’s dead.’

  Bill sniffed. ‘Good. Did you kill him?’

  ‘No, someone got there before I could have a word but I managed to catch up with his sister, who furnished me with a few helpful details.’

  Bill waited for Conway to explain but he remained tight-lipped, his eyes still watching the gas flame flicker.

  ‘Do you think John and Rowan are still alive?’ Bill eventually asked.

  Tom looked at him and Bill could see the hurt and fury catch in his eyes. ‘It isn’t looking good,’ he admitted.

  ‘And you think Rae has something to do with it?’

  ‘To be honest I’m not sure, as far as I can gather someone could be targeting Rae, either that or Tam Whitlow crossed him and paid the price.’

  Bill thought for a moment. ‘Seems unlikely to me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because Rae and Whitlow grew up together, they were joined at the hip and I can’t see Rae topping his right-hand man.’

  Tom stifled a yawn and stretched his arms towards the ceiling.

  ‘So, what are you going to do next?’ Bill asked.

  ‘Follow the leads,’ he replied as he eased the dog to one side and stood up.

  ‘There’s a spare bed upstairs, you’re welcome to use it.’

  Tom smiled and shook his head. ‘Better for you if I don’t,’ he explained.

  ‘Hey, if you think I’m bothered about the coppers then—’

  ‘It’s not just the coppers, Bill, I would imagine when Whitlow’s sister wakes up she’ll be straight onto the phone to Rae and then they’ll come looking for me.’

  ‘I don’t give a toss about that thug, he’s nothing but a—’

  ‘He’s dangerous, and if anyone knocks on your door asking about me then the less you know the better.’

  Bill sighed before nodding in thanks. ‘I’m here if you need me though, lad,’ he said.

  Tom walked across the room to the front door, paused and turned. ‘Ta, Bill,’ he replied, then stepped out into the rain, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Easing back in the chair, Bill stretched his legs out towards the fire and closed his eyes, a minute later, he was snoring.

  45

  Joseph Bold sat propped against the fridge door, his head bowed as his misfiring mind tried to reconnect. He looked at the clock on the wall in confusion, darkness now pressed against the kitchen window and yet he was sure it had been daylight when … Suddenly an image of his wife spitting fury at him lurched into his mind, her teeth flashing from behind wine-stained lips, her eyes manic with hatred. Lifting a hand to his head, he winced when he felt his hair sticky with … He looked at his red-tinged fingers and groaned. He must have made a dash for the kitchen, desperate to escape her rage though it now seemed obvious that she had caught up with him in the kitchen and attacked him. Blinking, he looked at the remains of the shattered cup on the tiled floor before wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of a shaking hand. This couldn’t carry on, he had to get away from this place or eventually it wouldn’t be a thrown cup or a hurled wine bottle that did the damage, it would be a knife or a shard of glass that she plunged into his back as he tried to escape.

  Planting his hands on the floor, he swallowed the feeling of nausea, slowly gaining his feet, his right hand grasping the work top as the room spun around him. Drawing in a shuddering breath, he steadied himself before turning around his brow creasing in confusion.

  Chelsea was slumped on the floor, the front of her shirt crimson, blood dripped off forming a pool of red, her tangled hair hung across her pallid face, the ends pink-tinged where they lay across her chest.

  Joseph Bold screamed in fear, his anguish bouncing off the tiled walls as he whipped his throbbing head left and right, his eyes flitting around the room, his feet scrabbling at the tiled floor. His chest rose, his heart thudded hard and fast. His eyes automatically went back to
his wife and then it hit him like a hammer blow. A dark-haired man had been here, they had sat at the table drinking coffee and then Chelsea had come into the room.

  Suddenly, Joseph Bold was staggering across the kitchen; ignoring his wife he continued down the hallway and out into the dark, rain-swept night.

  ‘Help!’ he screamed as he broke into an awkward run. ‘Please help me!’ his voice rose, the fear snapping at his heels, he ran off into the darkness in search of help.

  46

  Marnie scrabbled from beneath the duvet as her phone continued to ring. Reaching out a hand she grabbed it then struggled to sit up in bed, her mind still clogged with sleep.

  ‘You awake, boss?’

  Marnie yawned and rubbed at her eyes. ‘That you, Bev?’ she mumbled, before giving up and flopping back onto the bed.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you but I’m at the house of a Mr and Mrs Bold and—’

  ‘What time is it?’ Marnie interrupted.

  ‘Half-twelve, and I know you’re not on shift till the morning, boss, I’ve tried to contact DI Oaks but she’s over in Bellam trying to sort out a hit and run.’

  Marnie stifled another yawn. ‘So, what can I help you with?’

  ‘An hour ago, we were called out to a possible domestic, a man was running down the street shouting and bawling so a neighbour gave us a call. When we arrived, we found the husband with lacerations to the side of his head, his wife was in the kitchen and cut up pretty bad.’

  ‘Did the husband do it?’

  ‘He claims not, I mean, I wouldn’t have bothered you with any of this but it turns out the injured woman is the sister of Tam Whitlow and her husband is adamant that someone else attacked both him and his wife.’

  Marnie sat up, instantly awake. ‘Chelsea?’

  ‘The ambulance has just taken her away but I still have her husband here, the paramedic is taking a look at him but I thought you might want to get down here and check it out.’