“Jack!” she exclaimed, not sure that she felt any safer knowing the identity of her visitor. Larry’s brother made her nervous, but this morning his face had lost its sardonic caste and he looked like a worn and worried man.
“I’m sorry for disturbing you so early, Ellie, but I think I’ll go crazy if I don’t talk to you.”
Ellie shivered. Great, maybe the crazy killer wants to confess his sins—before he crosses you off his “to kill” list. But Jack looked more like a post-traumatic stress victim than a psychopath and she let him inside, gesturing for him to sit on the sofa while she remained near the door.
Seeing her precautions, Jack snorted, a sound that might have been laughter. “Don’t worry, Ellie. It’s just—well, you know things I need to know.”
“Like what? You know I can’t discuss the investigation with you, if that’s what you’re after.”
“In a roundabout sort of way. Ellie, do you believe Hector Abbott killed those girls?”
The question came as a shock, echoing as it did the questions in her own mind.
“Why are you asking me that? What’s your interest, Jack? And don’t say you just want to know if justice is being done.” Her voice was as hard as her eyes.
Jack was silent for a moment. The man was obviously exhausted, but Ellie wasn’t ready yet to put the kettle on and make him a rejuvenating cup of apple and cinnamon tea. Instead, she waited for him to speak, arms folded, a grim expression on her face.
After what seemed an age, Jack took a deep breath and then let it out, as if he could blow away in that one breath all the demons that struggled within him. When he began to speak, the words came tumbling out. Ellie guessed it had been a long time since he had been able to talk freely.
“I recognized you the moment I saw you, but you don’t remember me, do you? Not surprising, really, with all that was going on. We only met in passing. I’m Susan Eckersly’s fiancé.” And there he was, in her memory bank: Jack, looking ten years younger, long-haired and pierced-nosed, a young rock star wannabe who’d been almost catatonic with grief when his fiancée had become the Sunshine Slasher’s fourth victim. But his name hadn’t been Darnley…
“Jack Goodfellow,” Jack said, in answer to her question.
“That’s how you knew I’d been on the police force before?”
Jack nodded. “We were working in Blackpool that summer—Larry had a job as manager of a small hotel, and he’d got Susie a job waitressing. The band was playing all summer at another hotel. Yeah, we were really going places in those days,” Jack said, self-mockery curling his lips into a parody of a smile. “Susie was always going on about getting married and—well, I guess I didn’t have a good experience with my parents. Dad was a drunk, used to knock us all about. When he died, the scars were already set. Even when Mum married Larry’s dad, who treated me pretty well, considering I was such a shit to him, I didn’t have much use for marriage. So I was always putting Susie off.
“Dear God, if I’d only known. Anyway, we had a stupid argument, and I stormed off. I should never have left her there, right in front of the funfair all alone. When I calmed down, I tried to go back and find her, but the band’s equipment was on the blink and by the time we got it fixed, we were due on stage.” Jack sighed. “I gave Larry a call, asked him to see if he could find Susie, see her right, but a coach full of tourists had just arrived at the hotel, and he couldn’t get away.
“The gig was a bust, and I went home in a foul mood. I should have called her but the way I was, we’d have just ended up fighting again. You always think there’ll be lots more time.” The skin around Jack’s mouth stretched taut, but the smile didn’t touch his eyes. “The next morning I got a call from Larry. Susie hadn’t turned up for work. I was frantic—I called everyone we knew, but no one had seen her. I called her parents and they were out of their minds with worry. So I called the police. They had an unidentified woman in the morgue—my God, Ellie, can you imagine seeing the woman you love in a place like that? Sometimes I close my eyes at night and it’s all there again.” Jack’s head dropped into his hands, and his shoulders heaved. Ellie waited a few moments, and then walked across with a box of Kleenex. She touched his shoulder lightly, but there was no comfort she could offer. A few moments later, Jack wiped reddened eyes with a tissue. “Sorry, I’m dumping on you. I went to the States to leave it all behind.” That humorless laugh again. “They say wherever you go, you take yourself with you. I couldn’t escape, no matter where I was. Then this book came out suggesting Abbott was the wrong one, that the madman who killed Susie was still out there, going on with his life. I nearly went mad. I had to come home. Because if Susie’s killer is still on the loose, I’m going to make sure he dies—slowly.”
The room was silent except for the sound of a moth banging against the light. Ellie got up, shooed it out, and closed the window. Then she sat on the arm of a chair opposite Jack, studying him as he sat with his eyes closed. The man was obviously traumatized—but would he resort to the murder of an innocent woman to trap his fiancée’s killer?
“It’s not your fault, Jack. You couldn’t have known.”
He lifted tortured eyes to her. “But I shouldn’t have left her. She was so beautiful, long blonde hair like an angel. Exactly what the Sunshine Slasher was looking for—and I gave her to him!” Jack’s fist crashed down on the flimsy table, making the salt and pepper shakers clink together. “Now I want to know if the right animal is paying!”
“In answer to your question, then,” Ellie took a deep breath, “At first, I wasn’t sure Abbott was the Slasher. He seemed mentally slow and serial killers, psychopaths, are generally pretty smart, cunning at covering their tracks. But I saw him again, in jail, yesterday. He’s dropped the act, Jack; the man’s clever and evil. He enjoyed letting me see who he really was. Hector Abbott is a very sick, dangerous man and I’m glad he’s locked up for life. So, if it puts your mind at rest, you can be sure that Susie’s killer will never walk free again. The police will see to that.”
Jack was silent for a long time. Then he took a deep, shuddering breath. “Thank you, Ellie, for talking to me. That’s one of the horrible things, you know, not being able to talk. And the officials, they’ll tell you nothing. I can understand that. But it’s so hard.”
Ellie nodded sympathetically. She could not even imagine the pain Jack Goodfellow would endure for the rest of his life. His sentence was far worse than Hector Abbott’s.
“But one last question. If Abbott is the Sunshine Slasher, who killed this Collins woman—and why did they make it look like the Slasher?”
She was tempted to ask, “Why don’t you tell me?” But her earlier suspicions that Jack might be the killer now seemed too cruel to voice. So she just shrugged, and was grateful when Jack got up to leave. She wanted to be alone to contemplate the fact that if Jack was eliminated from the list of suspects, then Brad moved right to the top.
She pushed thoughts of Brad aside as she closed the door behind Jack. She was too emotionally drained to venture into that territory. She made coffee and sat at her window, watching as the eastern sky turned rosy over the sea.
Jack’s words “You always think there’ll be lots more time,” kept playing in her head. It was time she dealt with a few issues herself, before time ran out.
When the full spring light filled her kitchen, Ellie roused herself, picked up the telephone and called her sister. The answering machine clicked on—Julie was probably in the shower or busy with the kids. Her message was a simple one, “Julie—I know you didn’t pass on messages from Liam, or tell him where I was. I know you thought you were doing the best thing, but you were wrong. Mum, too. Don’t ever do anything like that again. Oh, and I will go and see Dad with you—when this case is over.”
Then she pulled on socks, trainers and a warm hooded fleece jacket, and strolled along the cliff-top path toward Brad’s cottage. Before leaving, she taped a note on her door giving her whereabouts in case the uniformed officer wh
o was supposed to pick her up arrived early.
Brad’s expensive convertible stood sentry in the driveway, and she noted with envy that his flowerbeds were already starting to sprout promising fat buds, courtesy of a local landscaping company’s attentions. The joys of having plenty of money! Ellie knew Brad was wealthy, but she’d never questioned the source of his wealth. Now she knew he’d written a series of best-selling biographies on murderers. Obviously, there was a lot of money to be made from writing cheap sensationalism!
Brad was already up, sitting on his terrace, eating toast and reading the daily paper. He looked up when he saw her, but there was no welcoming smile. Ellie sighed as she sank into a chair facing him and helped herself to a slice of toast. Brad watched in silence as she slathered jam on the golden bread.
The silence stretched, and finally Brad shrugged. “I saw lights on early at your place—couldn’t you sleep, or did you have visitors?”
She looked up at the raw jealousy in his voice. “You think Reilly spent the night? Or do you think I have a whole panoply of lovers I call on when life gets boring?” Her voice dripped sarcasm, and Brad refused to meet her eyes.
“If you can tear yourself away from that fascinating editorial, Brad, I want to talk to you. You still haven’t answered me properly—why did you keep your work a secret? Reilly took great pleasure in informing me just who you were—and nearly kicked my butt off the investigation until I convinced him I’d had no idea …”
“I’m sorry.”
“Is that all you have to say for yourself? I’m sorry?” She mimicked viciously.
“What more do you want? I use B. S. Anderson as a pen name. I introduced myself as Brad Scott because that’s also who I am. By the time I knew you well enough to tell you more, I also knew you went pretty ballistic every time the Sunshine Slasher was mentioned. So it hardly seemed right to tell you I’d just written his biography.”
“And just when did you mean to tell me?” she demanded.
“Somehow, the right time never seemed to come up.” He still avoided her eyes.
“When I told you I was going back into all this, couldn’t you have told me then? Did you really think it would stay a secret?”
“I guess…I suppose I’m a coward. I was afraid of losing you.” Brad turned the full force of his gaze on her then, that bright, honest boyish look that had charmed her so many times. And which now left her cold. The silence hung like razor wire between them, and Ellie backed away from the fight that was brewing. But Brad wouldn’t let it go. “You look at me these days as if I was a criminal, a murderer,” he complained.
This time Ellie looked away. Folding her arms across her breast, she told him, “Give me a break here. In the past few days, I’ve been asked to review an old murder case. I found a body on the beach. My home has been broken into. It looks like a copycat Slasher is on the loose. Then I learn the man proposing marriage to me isn’t who I thought he was. It’s like my world has been turned upside down—nothing is as it seems anymore.” Ellie’s voice was flat with weariness.
Brad moved to take her in his arms, but she stood up and backed away.
“No,—don’t touch me. Not until all this is sorted out and I know who you are—and who is doing these things to me. The things that have been happening are aimed at me personally, Brad. I know it. “
“And I’m a suspect, am I?” Brad’s voice was laced with hurt. “I’m certainly not the only one—probably not even the best. Have you thought about Reilly, Ellie? Have you considered that he has first hand information about the Slasher killings? Who better to do a copycat? Hell, he may even have done the Slasher killings and framed that half-wit Abbott!
“Think about it—he was away doing God knows what in Chicago. You saw nothing of him for months, then all of a sudden he’s everywhere you look and there’s a woman killed Slasher-style on the beach outside your door. Maybe he left her there as a welcome back present!”
Ellie dragged in a ragged breath. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, hiding the cold shiver that scanned up and down her back. The very idea of Reilly involved in something like that was ridiculous. But then, she had thought the same about Brad.
“I’m glad you think it’s ridiculous, because it is.” The familiar voice was a balm on her raw nerves. Reilly stood at the edge of the terrace, his expression unreadable. Ellie wondered how much he’d heard. She glanced over at Brad, who looked back like a naughty child waiting for forgiveness, and looked away.
“Inspector Fitzpatrick, we have to go. Duty calls.” Reilly turned abruptly and walked back around the corner of the house. Brad stood.
“Is this how it’s going to be from now on, Ellie? Reilly snaps his fingers and you go running off like a lap dog? When are you ever going to have time for us? Remember the question I asked you when I came back from Paris? I’m still waiting for your answer.” Brad’s voice was fearful, and Ellie melted. Rounding the table, she put her arms around his familiar body, and rested her head for a moment on his hard chest.
“Just be patient, just let me get through this.” Then, raising her head, she kissed Brad gently on the cheek.
Which was a big mistake, because Reilly was back, car keys jingling impatiently in his hand. His dark brows rose as he took in the scene, and he flicked Ellie a contemptuous glance.
“Well, well, Fitzpatrick—isn’t it a little outside your job description to minister to suspects? Or is this a honey trap?” he drawled, his voice so loaded with insult that Ellie cringed.
She was pushed to one side as Brad strode past her to grab Reilly’s shirtfront. “What the hell are you trying to imply?” he demanded.
“Brad!” Ellie cried, fearful for him. Not only could he find himself locked up for assaulting a police officer—but despite his suave veneer, Reilly had grown up a street fighter and could more than handle himself under threat. And he wouldn’t hesitate to fight dirty.
But Reilly just stood his ground, favoring Brad with a look even more contemptuous than he had offered Ellie moments before. “Now, Anderson, why should you think I’m referring to you? Of course, if the shoe fits…”
Brad drew back his clenched fist, but before Ellie could intervene Reilly had knocked the other man’s arm away. “No sense in making a bad situation worse,” he said easily.
Ellie tried to get between the two men. “What do you think you’re doing? This is Brad’s home.”
“And you’re supposed to be a police officer, which makes it somewhat unseemly for you to be cavorting with suspects,” he replied harshly. Behind her Brad growled, but she ignored him. “I warned you about this, Fitzpatrick,” Reilly added.
“Just what are you accusing me of, Reilly?” Brad demanded. “Exactly what grounds do you have for trying to convince Ellie that I’m some kind of murdering maniac?”
“Well, I guess you’d have the goods on murdering maniacs, since you’ve interviewed a good few of them. Is that where you got the idea that you’d try it out for yourself?” Reilly said, and instantly looked as if he regretted playing his hand.
Brad looked triumphant, having forced the other man out into the open. “Oh, for God’s sake, Ellie—don’t tell me you’re listening to this bastard’s fairy tales. I might just the same accuse you, Reilly. You’ve seen your share of psychopathic killers—maybe you got inspired! Tell us what you were doing the night Roberta Collins was killed!” Brad’s accusations hammered the day into silence. Reilly gave the other man a bored look, but Ellie saw the white rim around his mouth and knew he was furious. He turned and walked away, and they heard the slam of a car door. With an apologetic look at Brad, Ellie moved to follow him.
“You don’t believe all that rubbish?” Brad asked, grabbing her arm.
“Brad, I don’t know what to believe any longer.” She shook his hand off and walked wearily away leaving Brad staring after her, white-faced with fury.
The chill in Reilly’s car was thick enough for midwinter, despite the whirring of the heater fan. She felt
Reilly’s gaze burning into her with such an icy anger that she wanted to move away. But there was nowhere to retreat in such an intimate space.
“In case you’re actually wondering about that nonsense, I was out on a domestic murder call north of here the night that poor woman was murdered. There’s a bunch of other officers and technicians who can give me an alibi, if you think it’s needed. We were there till dawn.”
“I hardly think that’s necessary.” Ellie’s voice was cold. “What’s happening—I was expecting a constable with a car—not someone in your exalted position.”
Reilly gave a ragged sigh. “I originally thought we could have breakfast together—but it seems you had a better offer.” He ignored Ellie’s angry intake of breath. “I was on my way over when I got a call from headquarters. It seems Jay Richards has gone missing.” Reilly’s voice was neutral, but she could hear the underlying tension humming through its quiet authority. “When Richards didn’t show up for his shift, the DC who was to partner him on some interviews, phoned his home a couple of times. Eventually, Simons—the detective constable - went around to the house prepared to roust him out of a hangover. Seems it’s happened before but the guys have covered for the lazy bastard. Anyway, Simons found Richards’ car parked askew on the driveway. The front door had been jimmied open and there were signs of a struggle. Richards wasn’t there.”
“Oh, God. Is this one of Richards’ drunken escapades? Maybe he locked himself out—I know his wife’s away.”
Reilly’s laugh lacked humor. “I wish that was the case. But there were signs of a struggle in the house—it could be that some of Richards’ murky past has caught up to him.”
Ellie felt sick. She and Richards had never got along, but the thought of a fellow officer dragged from his home…it was unspeakable. Glancing at Reilly, she knew his thoughts were similar. Officers who played as close to the wind as Richards was suspected of doing paid a heavy price if they got on the wrong side of the thugs they mixed with. If anything had happened to Jay Richards in the line of duty, she knew Reilly would consider the burden of responsibility his, as commanding officer—even if it wasn’t his fault. He was just made that way. It was one of the things she had loved about him, in that long ago time.
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