The Christmas Killer

by Alex Pine

  ‘So they’d have you believe now that he’s dead. But a lot of folks thought he was flash and full of himself. In truth, he was nasty and, as I said, I had many problems with him, not least of which being the fact he said a lot of horrible things about my boy.’

  ‘Are you referring to your son’s predilection for young girls?’

  ‘You know I am, Inspector. I might be old but I’m not senile. As soon as you gave me your name at the door it clicked. Janet told me weeks ago that Annie Kellerman had moved back here with her policeman husband and that her name is now Annie Walker. I assumed she told you all about her relationship with Daniel, which, by the way, came as much of a shock to me as it did to her parents. Her dad and me fell out over it and we never did get back on speaking terms before he died. And that was a shame because I liked him. The whole thing fucked up Daniel’s life and he was forced to relocate, which was when he got himself into even more trouble.’

  ‘So why does he come back here to Kirkby Abbey when he knows he’s not wanted?’ James asked.

  ‘Because I’m his father, his only living relative, and I want to see him. I know most people will never forgive him for what he did, but I have. He’s not like that any more and I want to spend as much time with him as I can before it’s my turn to part from this world.’

  James could see that the old man was getting worked up and he didn’t want to be the one to bring on a heart attack. So he stood and thanked him for his time. But before leaving he got Ron to give him Daniel’s phone number and address in Keswick, which he did with a clear degree of reluctance.

  Back in the patrol car, James turned the conversation over in his mind. The bit that stood out was Ron saying, ‘Rats like him don’t deserve to live.’

  It reminded James of the sentence in the Twelve Days of Christmas card he’d received:

  And they all deserve what’s coming to them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The debrief got under way in the village hall at five-thirty. By then it was dark outside and the temperature had begun to plummet. But the blizzards that were forecast still hadn’t arrived and that was something that James and the team were thankful for.

  Inspector Boyd began by saying that his officers had drawn a blank on the house-to-house. Nobody they spoke to had spotted Charlie Jenkins walking his dog on Saturday night. The last time he was seen by anyone other than his wife had been in The White Hart just before closing time.

  The news from the crime scene was just as disappointing. An exhaustive search of the field where the body was found had yielded sod all.

  James then gave an account of his interviews with Sonia Jenkins, Janet Dyer and Ron Curtis.

  ‘All three of them had serious issues with the victim,’ he said. ‘And all three claim they were in bed when he was attacked. At the moment, the wife is saying all the right things and she sounds convincing, but it could be a front. It’s possible her husband’s infidelity caused her to snap and she followed him into that field. But if she did, would she really have left their dog out all night to freeze to death? I’m not so sure.’

  James moved on to Janet Dyer and referred to the salient points that arose during their conversation, including her claim that Charlie had told her she would regret it if she spoke to anyone else about their affair.

  ‘Despite his threat, she insists that she loved the guy,’ James said. ‘She’s clearly upset that he’s dead. But not so Ron Curtis. It was apparently news to the old man that there had been a murder and he said the killer ought to be given a medal. He also said that rats like Charlie don’t deserve to live, which echoes the sentiment of one of the lines from the Christmas card I received.’ James pulled up the picture of the message to remind the team.

  ‘Now, I don’t believe that Ron Curtis is physically able to have committed the murder,’ he said. ‘He’s in no fit state to do something like that – he struggles even to move around in his bungalow – but I do think it raises questions in respect of his son, Daniel, who was angry with Charlie because he had a go at his dad. Ron said Daniel spent yesterday and last night in Keswick, where he lives, and that he is due back here later this evening. He gave me his son’s number and I’ve tried to ring it but the phone is switched off. We need to talk to him and find out if he was in Keswick, or if it was a story that father and son concocted so that Daniel could go and top Charlie.’

  This prompted questions and a brief discussion that ended with agreement that it was a credible scenario and needed to be followed up.

  ‘I think it’s fair to say that the investigation hasn’t got off to a very promising start,’ James said. ‘We’ll have to wait until tomorrow to find out if the forensic technicians come up with anything on Charlie’s laptop and phone, plus the kitchen knives we took away. I’ll also talk again to Sonia and hopefully track down Daniel Curtis. There’s no point everyone staying in the village overnight, but I’d like at least one officer to hold the fort here in the hall in case anything happens.’

  Before ending the meeting, James called DCI Tanner and gave him a full update.

  ‘The story’s out there,’ Tanner said. ‘I just watched it on the news. We’ve issued a holding statement which will suffice for now. I suggest we all get together at HQ tomorrow at nine and decide how to proceed.’

  He then asked James if he was confident that Charlie’s murder was unconnected to the threat in the Christmas card.

  ‘I wish I could tell you what you want to hear, guv,’ he said. ‘But, based on what we know so far, I really can’t be sure.’

  ‘That’s what I was afraid you were going to say,’ Tanner said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  DS Stevens offered to drive his boss home in the pool car, but James decided to walk.

  He felt leaden and frustrated, and he hoped that the cold, fresh air would help to clear his head. It had started snowing again, fat white flakes drifting lazily down. James wiped them from his face and shook them out of his hair.

  At any other time he would have found this weather to be exhilarating, even exciting. But right now he was too preoccupied to embrace it.

  This was the most challenging case that had come his way since the move to Cumbria. Half the problem was not knowing if the murder was linked to the anonymous threats in the Christmas cards. And it didn’t help that it was all so very personal.

  The card and the dead partridge had been delivered to James. He had also spoken to Charlie Jenkins only hours before he was stabbed to death. And one of the suspects was a man who his own wife had once been infatuated with.

  As if that wasn’t enough to have playing on his mind, there was also the spectre of Andrew Sullivan waiting in the background. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he knew where the bastard was, but he had apparently buggered off on a Christmas break.

  James didn’t like to admit, even to himself, that he was feeling overwhelmed by what seemed like a sudden avalanche of problems and issues. It was a perfect storm and he was smack bang in the middle of it with no idea how rough it was going to get.

  He experienced a sudden yearning to be back in The Smoke where he had never felt out of his depth or out of his comfort zone. Here in Cumbria it was like living and working in a fishbowl, with his every move being scrutinised and judged.

  He knew that if he fucked up this case there would be consequences for both himself and for Annie.

  As soon as James arrived home, he knew that something was wrong. Annie opened the front door just as he was about to slip his key into the lock, her eyes puffy from crying and her complexion a sickly hue.

  ‘I was about to call to see what time you’d be back,’ she said. ‘I gather from the news that you still don’t know who did it.’

  James closed the door behind him, pulled off his coat, gloves and scarf, then kissed her on the forehead.

  ‘I’ll update you over a glass of wine,’ he said. ‘And you can tell me what’s up with you. I can’t believe you’ve been shedding tears over Charlie Jenkins
.’

  ‘This is not about him,’ she said, as she moved into the kitchen. ‘It’s Bill. I had to go and pick him up after he crashed his bloody car.’

  ‘Blimey, Annie. Is he okay?’

  ‘He wasn’t hurt, luckily, but he could have been. The car skidded on ice and went over an embankment. If it hadn’t struck a tree it would have landed in a river.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Back at The King’s Head, I suppose. But who knows? His behaviour is really puzzling me. One minute he’s nice and friendly and the next he’s distant and evasive. Something is going on with him and I don’t know what it could be.’

  ‘But he was always a bit of a strange character,’ James said, as he took a bottle of wine from the fridge. ‘And as I remember he had a pretty short temper as well.’

  ‘He wasn’t always like that,’ Annie said. ‘When I was young, he was such a jolly soul. And very protective of me. He started to change after his wife left him. He withdrew into himself and became more argumentative. I remember some of the rows he had with Mum. They were quite ugly and one time my dad pushed him out of the house.’

  James poured the wine and sat down next to Annie at the table.

  ‘You shouldn’t let him get to you like this,’ he said. ‘Don’t forget you invited him here for Christmas so that you could rekindle your relationship with him.’

  She clenched her eyes shut and tears trickled from under the lids.

  ‘It’s not just that,’ she said. ‘It’s everything else that’s happened as well. Charlie’s murder, that gruesome parcel, the fact that we don’t know if any more people are going to be killed. This is not how it was meant to be. We came here to get away from all the bad stuff.’

  ‘I know and I feel the same, hon. It’s hard to take it all in.’

  Annie opened her eyes and looked at him.

  ‘I don’t think your family should come here right now, James. You have to call them so that they’ve got plenty of time to make other arrangements.’

  He knew she was right and he was surprised that it hadn’t already occurred to him.

  ‘I’ll phone my brother later,’ he said. ‘He can let the others know and sort out what they’ll do instead.’

  James was disappointed, of course, but he was sure it was the right thing to do. Kirkby Abbey was not a safe place to be, it turned out, and it was unlikely that the villagers were going to be in the mood to celebrate Christmas as the big day approached.

  The TV was tuned to BBC News and the mention of Cumbria seized their attention. The murder of Charlie Jenkins was being treated as a major story. There was aerial footage of the village and the field where his body had been found, along with shots of uniformed police shown talking to residents.

  Gordon Carver, the reporter with the Cumbria Gazette, appeared on the screen, saying, ‘I understand that Mr Jenkins was stabbed several times. His body was discovered about ten o’clock this morning by a hiker. The body of his pet dog was found nearby. It’s believed the animal froze to death. The officer leading the investigation, Detective Inspector James Walker, is himself a resident in Kirkby Abbey. He told me that there are no suspects at the moment, but he’s confident that his team will find the killer.’

  There were shots of The White Hart, and a photo of Charlie with his wife, then several residents gave sound bites in which they expressed shock and revulsion.

  Among them was Father Silver, who was interviewed in front of his church. He described Charlie as a well-liked member of the community who would be greatly missed.

  ‘Our prayers are with his wife and the rest of his family who are obviously devastated,’ he said. ‘Nothing like this has ever happened in our village and tomorrow I intend to hold a special service here to honour Charlie’s memory.’

  It came as a huge relief to James that the priest didn’t mention the card he’d received with the message about the post-Christmas funerals.

  ‘Let’s open another bottle of wine,’ Annie said when the report ended. ‘I’m not ready to go upstairs yet and a few more glasses might help me to drop off.’

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ James replied. ‘But I’ll just have the one because I’m sure that tomorrow is going to be another hellish day and I’ll need to have a clear head.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  I’m in bed but I’m not asleep. I’m lying in the dark listening to the noises the house is making as it’s battered by the harsh wind.

  But it wasn’t the bumps and creaks and rattling of the windows that woke me up about half an hour ago. It was the dream. The one that takes me back to the night I killed someone. It happened a long time ago but the memory continues to blight my life.

  Only one person knows what I did and I’m sure that my secret is safe with him. When we see each other in the village he never alludes to it or looks at me in a way that reminds me what a terrible person I am.

  He probably thinks that the guilt that weighs me down is punishment enough for what I did. But, of course, it isn’t. I ended a young woman’s life and got away with it. Her family was denied justice. All because I was a coward and feared going to prison.

  I sometimes contemplate turning myself into the police in the hope that it will bring closure to the family and end my own suffering. But I don’t do it because I fear I won’t survive if I’m sent to jail.

  The sound of breaking glass makes me jump.

  It came from downstairs and my first thought is that an object whipped up by the wind has smashed through a window. That’s because it happened once before, not so long ago, and I went down to find a large tree branch on the living room floor and glass everywhere.

  But that doesn’t mean I’m not apprehensive as I climb out of bed and slip on my dressing gown. I can’t help wondering if it might not be an accident. What if someone has deliberately broken a window in order to scare me or gain access to my house? What if it’s the person who murdered Charlie Jenkins last night? Or someone who knows about the blood on my own hands and has come to seek revenge?

  I hesitate at the top of the stairs. I could lock myself in the bedroom and call the police but it would take them ages to get here, and I would most likely be wasting their time.

  Oh how I wish I didn’t live alone. Being single means there’s no one to help or advise me. No one to tell me I’m being over cautious. No one to give me strength.

  I decide after a few moments that I have no choice but to go down, so I turn on the landing light and take one careful step at a time.

  I reach the hall and see that the front door and the windows either side of it are intact. That means the damage is in either the living room or the kitchen.

  The living room is the nearest so I push open the door and switch on the light. But to my relief the windows aren’t broken.

  When I enter the kitchen a couple of seconds later it’s a different story. A glass panel in the door that leads out onto the patio has been smashed. But what alarms me even more is the fact that the door itself is open and the wind is whistling through it.

  As I step forward to close it two things happen.

  First, the light I just turned on is suddenly switched off and the room is plunged into darkness.

  Second, I hear a voice behind me saying, ‘Now it’s your turn to die.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Monday December 19th

  Monday morning arrived with rain showers over Cumbria, which caused much of the snow that had settled in and around Kirkby Abbey to turn to slush.

  James watched with dismay from their bedroom window. It was only half five and still dark, but he could see the mess it was making of the street in front of the house.

  It never ceased to amaze him how extreme and changeable the weather could be in this part of the country. It sometimes went from snow to rain to blazing sunshine over the course of a day. It was one of the reasons he hadn’t been keen to move here. It could be so disruptive, so annoying, so bloody unpredictable.

  ‘
Are you coming back to bed?’ Annie asked him.

  They had both been awake for ages, but he’d got fed up with lying there stressing over what needed to be done today.

  ‘No point, hon,’ he said. ‘I can’t sleep and I don’t think either of us is in the mood for morning sex. So I might as well crack on. Shall I make you a cup of tea?’

  ‘Yes please. I think I’ll get up as well.’

  ‘What have you got on today?’

  ‘I thought I’d go and spend some time with Bill and then attend the church service that Father Silver is holding for Charlie,’ she said. ‘After that I’m going to the school. It’s closed now for Christmas, but Lorna asked me to go in for a couple of hours to help with the end of term tidy up.’

  ‘Well, it’ll be good if you can keep busy. I’m going to the office this morning for a case conference, but I won’t be there for long.’

  ‘Do you think you’re getting close to finding out who did it?’

  James shrugged. ‘It’s impossible to say. We’ve got no evidence that directly implicates any of the people we’ve spoken to in Charlie’s murder. I’ve a feeling this investigation will be a slog.’

  ‘What are the chances that the killer is someone outside the village?’

  ‘Pretty slim, I reckon,’ James said. ‘I’m convinced that whoever did it was familiar with Charlie’s routine of walking his dog across that particular field at that time of night. He or she probably got there first and waited behind the tree for him to show up, then struck.’

  James thought Annie was going to ask another question, but instead she said, ‘You can bring me that cuppa in bed. I’ll stay here while you get showered and dressed.’

  Forty minutes later, James slipped his suit jacket on over a shirt and tie and stepped into the kitchen. He put the kettle on to make fresh coffee and then sat at the table to check his phone for messages. He only had one and it was from his dad, saying how gutted he and the rest of the family were that they wouldn’t be coming up for Christmas. But they understood why.