Rogue Killer

by Leigh Russell

  At last she arrived at her sister’s house in Kent and was instantly cheered by the warm welcome she received. The baby was asleep, but Celia assured her that he would wake soon enough for a feed.

  ‘And then he’ll start crying, and then you’ll complain about having to change his nappy, and then you’ll want him to go to sleep again,’ Geraldine’s niece, Chloe, said. ‘All mum wants him to do is sleep, sleep, sleep, and then when he does, she wants him to wake up for a feed.’

  Geraldine used to be touched by Chloe’s wildly excited reaction to her visits. As she approached her teens, Chloe was often out when Geraldine went round, so she was pleased to find her at home. Before she could question Chloe about school and life in general, the baby woke up. Celia was occupied attending to him, while Geraldine looked on and made appropriate comments about how well her nephew looked, and how contented he seemed.

  ‘You should hear him crying,’ Chloe told her cheerfully. ‘He cries all night.’

  Celia laughed. ‘He does not cry all night.’

  ‘But he does cry a lot, doesn’t he?’

  ‘He hardly cries at all.’

  Chloe pouted. ‘But he does cry.’

  Geraldine smiled. ‘Do you think you didn’t cry when you were a few months old?’

  ‘I was a good baby, wasn’t I, Mummy?’

  ‘Yes, you were, and so is your brother.’

  ‘That’s because they have such a caring mother,’ Geraldine said.

  Her brother-in-law, Sebastian, made lunch and they all sat down at the table together. With the baby sleeping again, and Chloe in a good mood, the atmosphere was cheerful, and Geraldine was really glad she had made the effort to drive there. It was just the respite she needed, spending time with family like this.

  ‘So, how’s school?’ she asked when Sebastian joined them from the kitchen.

  ‘It’s OK.’

  ‘What’s your favourite subject these days?’

  ‘Art,’ Chloe responded promptly. ‘It’s amazeballs.’

  ‘All she talks about is her art lessons,’ Sebastian said stiffly.

  ‘She likes her art teacher,’ Celia explained. ‘That’ll soon change when she has a different teacher.’

  ‘Miss Beech is so cool!’ Chloe enthused. ‘She’s really really pretty, and she wears the coolest clothes, and she changes her hair every week.’ She scowled. ‘Mummy won’t let me dye my hair. Mummy, can I, please?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ Sebastian chimed in.

  Geraldine smiled. ‘So what colour is Miss Beech’s hair?’

  ‘Last week was blue, wasn’t it, Chloe?’ Celia said.

  Chloe nodded. ‘It’s only the front bit. That’s all I want to do too. Just this little bit here. It’s so cool! Why can’t I, Mummy?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s very good for your hair,’ Geraldine said.

  ‘Miss Beech does it.’

  ‘Yes, but she’s a grown up, and it’s up to her. A child’s hair is different to an adult’s,’ Celia said firmly.

  ‘When she changes her hair, she changes the colour of her eyes as well!’ Chloe said, opening her own eyes wide in admiration. ‘It’s so cool!’

  ‘She wears coloured contact lenses,’ Celia explained, laughing. Geraldine frowned. ‘That’s interesting. That’s very interesting.’

  But she wasn’t thinking about the art teacher’s eyes.

  ‘Aunty, are you listening to me?’ Chloe asked. ‘Aunty?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course I’m listening.’

  Geraldine turned to look at Chloe but her thoughts were, literally, miles away.

  ‘I have to make a call,’ she said suddenly, and stood up.

  ‘Can’t it wait? We’re in the middle of lunch,’ Celia protested.

  ‘No one’s allowed to get down when we’re all eating,’ Chloe said. ‘It’s bad manners.’

  With a muttered apology, Geraldine hurried from the room.

  ‘What do you mean, the killer might not have fair hair?’ Eileen barked down the phone.

  She reacted as though the suggestion was a direct attack on her approach to the case. Which, in a way, it was. At Eileen’s instigation, a massive hunt had been initiated for a blue-eyed man with fair hair living in the York area. He might have changed his name from Jamie Drury, but he couldn’t alter his DNA. Samples had been solicited, obtained, and processed, from thousands of men, without a match being found. The project continued, with Eileen insisting they wouldn’t stop testing DNA of appropriate local residents until they found their man.

  ‘That’s the only thing we do know about the killer. His DNA clearly shows fair hair and blue eyes. The DNA samples can’t be wrong.’

  ‘I know,’ Geraldine conceded. ‘I’m not suggesting he’s not naturally fair. What I’m saying is he might have dyed his hair to hide the fact that he’s blond. We haven’t been testing dark-haired men, have we?’

  ‘And his eyes? Don’t you think a man with dark hair and blue eyes might attract notice? We’ve been testing all men with blue eyes, regardless of their hair colour, and including men with no hair at all.’

  ‘But what if he’s not only dyed his hair black, or shaved his head, but has been wearing dark contact lenses to change the colour of his eyes. If he’s done that, we wouldn’t even approach him to request a DNA sample.’

  Eileen was silent for a moment.

  ‘What are the chances?’ she asked at last.

  Geraldine shrugged. ‘Granted it’s unlikely, I’m just saying it’s possible, isn’t it?’

  Eileen sighed. ‘We’ll extend the programme,’ she agreed heavily. ‘It’s possible he’s changed more than his name.’

  Although she had won the point, Geraldine rang off feeling as dejected as Eileen sounded.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Celia asked as Geraldine took her seat at the table again.

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ Geraldine lied. ‘I’m sorry –’

  Before she could say any more, the baby began to cry and the focus of everyone’s attention shifted.

  ‘Who would like seconds?’ Sebastian asked.

  Geraldine’s bad manners were forgotten in the flurry of activity around the baby and lunch.

  50

  On her way home, Geraldine thought about Celia’s happy family, and how different her sister’s household was to that of old Mr Drury whose family had all died or deserted him. The contrast made his isolation seem even starker because, unlike Geraldine, he had never expected to live out his old age without the support of a partner or children. Whatever happened, she hoped tragedy would never tear Celia’s family apart. Edward Drury’s wife had killed herself out of guilt and grief, claiming she had raised a monster. As she drove, it struck Geraldine that perhaps Mrs Drury had not been referring to Peter the drug addict, who had ended up dying in prison. She might have been referring to Jamie, her other son. Had she stumbled on a dark truth about him that she had taken with her to her grave? With a sudden thrill, Geraldine called Ian and ran her idea past him.

  ‘What if Jamie was the monster his mother was referring to? Remember the sister who died? What if Jamie was responsible for that and their mother found out? I mean,’ she added, ‘why would a mother call her son a monster, just because he was a drug addict?’

  ‘Peter Drury wasn’t just an addict,’ Ian reminded her. ‘He was sentenced for robbery with violence. He was a vicious criminal. Surely that’s why she called him a monster?’

  Neither of them broached the unspoken subtext in which Geraldine was defending drug users and Ian was distancing himself from the claim that addicts were necessarily malicious. He had to concede that Geraldine’s theory was plausible, but they both knew they needed more information. Ending the call with Ian, Geraldine phoned old Mr Drury to question him about Jamie’s possible role in his sister’s dea
th.

  ‘I’m very sorry to trouble you, but I need to ask you a question.’

  ‘Go ahead. Ask your question.’

  ‘Who was looking after your daughter when she died?’

  There was a slight pause before he answered. ‘No one.’

  ‘I mean, who was with her?’

  There was another brief pause, barely a hesitation. ‘My sons.’

  ‘So Jamie and Peter would both have known what really happened that day when your daughter fell into the water?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re getting at,’ Edward replied.

  His voice had altered slightly. Geraldine wasn’t sure if she only imagined that he was sounding defensive. She regretted having phoned him. She could have told a lot more from a face-to-face encounter, but it was too late now. She listened closely to what Edward was saying.

  ‘I’ve already told you what happened. Do we really have to go over it all over again? She fell from the bridge into the weir. Even a strong swimmer wouldn’t have been able to withstand the force of the water, and she was only a child. She didn’t stand a chance.’

  ‘And both your sons were with her at the time?’

  ‘Yes. I told you that.’

  There was no way of checking the details with Peter, but Geraldine determined to scan through all his records and find out whether he had ever talked about the tragic incident. In the meantime, there was nothing more to be learned from Edward. If Jamie had been responsible for his sister’s death, Edward might want to defend him. It was also possible that the truth had been concealed from Edward. Thanking him, she hung up and drove on, replaying the conversation in her mind.

  Her suspicion of the dead Jamie remained unsubstantiated. It made no difference now, since Jamie and both his siblings were dead, but she wanted to discover the truth. The only two people who might have known what had happened that day by the weir were both dead. But it was possible Peter might have talked to someone while he was in prison. The following day, she looked up Peter’s records. Gazing at his mug shot, she thought there was something familiar about his face, but she couldn’t place what it was. Puzzled, she contacted the prison where he had been incarcerated and the governor gave her the name and address of a man who had shared a cell with Peter.

  ‘I think they became friends,’ the governor said. ‘If Peter confided in anyone, it would have been Brendan.’

  That afternoon Geraldine went to see Peter’s former cell mate. Elderly, and broken, he was living in a care home in Oxfordshire. Brendan was in his seventies, but he looked very frail and could have been mistaken for a man twenty years older.

  ‘Yes, I remember Peter,’ he wheezed, breaking off to cough. ‘We shared a cell. Poor Peter. It was the drugs got to him, you know.’

  Geraldine nodded. ‘Yes, I heard. But it wasn’t actually Peter I wanted to ask you about.’ She hesitated. ‘It’s his family I’m interested in.’

  ‘I never met them,’ Brendan said.

  ‘Did he ever talk about them?’

  The old man sighed. ‘There was a sister, if I remember rightly.’

  ‘Yes, she drowned.’

  The old man’s eyes lit up in recognition. ‘That’s right. She died as a child, and then Peter started on the drugs. Ruined his life.’

  It wasn’t clear whether he was referring to the death of his sister, or the drugs, but Geraldine didn’t interrupt him to find out.

  ‘Poor Peter,’ he repeated and coughed again.

  ‘And he had a brother?’ Geraldine prompted him when the coughing fit subsided.

  ‘Oh yes,’ the old man gave a lopsided grin.

  ‘Were they close?’

  ‘Close?’ The old man cackled. ‘Hardly. Peter told me he never wanted to see his brother again.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  Brendan shrugged his narrow shoulders. ‘I don’t know. I suppose it was the drugs talking.’

  As Geraldine drove home, another possibility occurred to her. It was unlikely that Jamie had not died abroad after all, but it was possible. They had not yet tracked down a death certificate for him which meant there was a chance he was still alive and, if so, he might have returned to England. And if his sister had also not actually died, but had been fished out of the weir half dead, Jamie might have traced his sister who could now be calling herself Lindsey Curtis. That would explain why Lindsey had failed to come forward to give any information to the police; she knew her brother was a killer and was protecting him. It was such a long shot that Geraldine resolved to keep the possibility to herself and do a little ferreting around in her own time before sharing her idea with anyone else. But she experienced a visceral sense of excitement that she might have uncovered information that would lead them to the killer.

  On Monday, Geraldine went into work early and hurried through her morning tasks, eager to spend some time on her own research, but that only confirmed that the Drurys’ daughter had indeed died when she was just ten years old. The death had been recorded, certified by a local GP. Edward Drury had told her the truth when he had said his daughter had drowned. So, the unformulated suspicion Geraldine had barely dared admit even to herself turned out to be a false start. There was no way Jamie Drury’s sister could have survived and now be calling herself Lindsey Curtis. It had been a far-fetched idea really but, unlike in fiction, truth could be unbelievable, and Geraldine was not one to leave any possibility unexplored. And all the time, the suspicion that she had missed something about Lindsey kept niggling at her.

  Putting her disappointment behind her, Geraldine wondered whether Lindsey Curtis had somehow been involved in the recent murders all the same. The CCTV film indicated she had been walking along High Ousegate at the time of Grant’s murder, and she could have been the figure that followed Felicity down the steps to the river just before the second murder. Despite Eileen’s dismissal of the idea, Geraldine still wondered whether Lindsey might be involved in some way. She had definitely been very quick to shut the door on Geraldine.

  She ran her idea past Ian.

  ‘It would explain why she refused to talk to me. Is there any way we can get a warrant to search the house?’

  Ian frowned. ‘This all sounds extremely fanciful and it would be tricky to initiate a search without any grounds other than your suspicion. I don’t think we can force our way in with nothing to back up what is nothing more than a vague hunch.’

  ‘I realise that if I’m wrong, we’d be in hot water.’

  ‘You’d be in hot water, going out on a limb like that,’ Ian replied.

  ‘But what if I’m right?’

  ‘Then it’s equally risky because we could end up merely alerting the suspect before we’re ready. If she is involved in some way – which seems highly unlikely – the last thing we want is for her to do a runner. It is just a suspicion, isn’t it? You could be wrong.’

  Geraldine nodded. ‘Yes, it’s just a suspicion.’

  Seeing her anxious expression, Ian frowned. ‘There is another way of looking into this. I’m only suggesting this because your instincts have been right so often before. I honestly don’t believe you’re right about this, but if you insist on looking into it, here’s what you might do.’

  As he outlined his plan, Geraldine nodded. ‘That’s just what I was thinking,’ she said, and smiled.

  51

  The street was deserted early the next morning and Geraldine hoped to complete her mission and be gone before anyone else was stirring. The sun had not yet risen and there was a fresh damp feeling in the air, adding to her sense of optimism. Having sworn Geraldine to secrecy about his complicity in her enquiry, Ian had persuaded a young forensic scientist he knew to help her.

  ‘I can’t thank you enough,’ she greeted the young man who met her outside the police station.

  He climbed into the car beside her.

  ‘I owe
Ian a favour,’ he said. ‘He explained you might be on to something but your boss isn’t convinced and won’t release the funds for this. Anyway, here’s hoping you’re right. And if I can help you put this killer behind bars, that’s all the thanks I’ll need. ’

  Geraldine nodded. She hoped his trust wouldn’t turn out to be misplaced.

  ‘That’s the house,’ she murmured, although no one could hear them from outside the car. ‘See what you can get for us, and be as quick as you can. We want to be away before we’re spotted.’

  Her companion nodded. ‘I’ll do my best,’ he replied earnestly, ‘but you know that trying to collect DNA samples from an external surface is going to be a hit and miss affair at the best of times.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll get something.’

  ‘The problem is it will have been exposed to variations in temperature and God only knows what bacteria and mould in the atmosphere besides. It would be much easier if we could get inside the house.’

  Geraldine hesitated. ‘Like I said, it’s only an idea. But without any evidence that’s all it is. I’m hoping you can find something, and then we’ll be in there like a shot. So come on, let’s get on with it before anyone comes.’

  Closing the car doors as quietly as they could, they stole through the gate and up the path to the front door. Fortunately there were no security lights to trigger and they reached the entrance without hindrance. Geraldine stopped and held up one hand, but there was no sound from inside the house. She nodded at the forensic scientist who pulled out a small torch. Under its powerful narrow beam of light he studied the door and frame carefully while Geraldine watched with growing impatience.

  At last the officer appeared satisfied. Handing the torch to Geraldine, he indicated where to direct the light before he pulled on gloves and a head covering. Moistening a swab with distilled water, he dabbed it gently on the wood and placed it straight in a swab box which he dropped into a paper bag. He changed his gloves before repeating the process, until he had used multiple pairs of gloves and dropped swab after swab into separate boxes which he placed in different paper bags. He seemed to be fiddling around with different swabs and boxes and bags for hours. At last he straightened up and took a step back before removing his mask and head covering.