by Alex Pine
It was 7 a.m. and it took him a moment to realise that he was alone in the bed. He hadn’t heard Annie get up, which was unusual, and he put it down to the whiskey in his system.
He felt limp with fatigue as he climbed out of bed, but at least he didn’t have a hangover. He pulled on tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt, and opened the curtains.
Snow as white as a new page hugged the village like a blanket, and though it had stopped falling, James knew it was just a brief respite. An opaque, grey sky offered the promise that more was on the way.
Annie was sitting at the table in the kitchen. She looked exhausted, her eyes squinting with tiredness.
‘There’s coffee in the perc,’ she said. ‘And I’ve already put milk in your mug.’
‘Thank you, hon. How long have you been up?’
‘An hour or so. But I was awake for ages. My head’s a total mess with all that’s going on. And it doesn’t help that I don’t know what to do with myself. I no longer have to prepare for the family get-together, the school’s in virtual shut-down, and the thought of doing any renovating really didn’t appeal. To top it all, mistakes I made in the past have come back to haunt me.’ She blinked and puffed out her cheeks. ‘But enough about me. Did you manage to get much sleep?’
‘About five hours, I reckon.’
‘I didn’t hear you come to bed.’
‘That’s because it was after midnight and you were out cold.’
‘Why did you stay up so late?’
‘I found something of interest in Lorna Manning’s suitcase,’ he said. ‘I think it solves the mystery of why she seemed depressed much of the time. But whether it helps lead us to her killer is another matter.’
He placed his mug on the table and went into the living room, where he’d left the envelope with the words Open in the event of my death on the front, and grabbed it off the coffee table.
Back in the kitchen, he showed it to Annie and slid out the two newspaper cuttings and the sheet of A4 paper.
‘The stories appeared in The Sun and The Mail ten years ago, when Lorna was living in Hampshire,’ James said. ‘As you can see, they’re both reports of a hit-and-run on a country lane in the New Forest. An eighteen-year-old girl was knocked down and killed, and left by the side of the road. I did a Google search last night and it seems the police never found out who the driver was.’
‘So, what has this got to do with Lorna?’ Annie asked.
‘Well, it turns out that Lorna Manning was the driver. That typewritten note is a confession and it’s her signature on the bottom. She says she was returning home from an impromptu party in Christchurch when her car struck the girl, who was walking along the side of the road after her own vehicle broke down. Lorna says she got out to check and found the girl was dead. But she drove off in a panic because she’d been drinking and was way over the limit.’
Annie was now shaking her head in disbelief, her eyes out on stalks.
‘She admits she’s a coward and ashamed of herself because she couldn’t face going to prison,’ James continued. ‘She asks whoever opens the envelope to contact the girl’s parents so they can have closure. She tells them how sorry she is for accidentally killing their daughter and for not going to the police.’
As Annie read the notes and the reports, James thought about what Lorna had done and how it had blighted her life afterwards. She joined the long list of drunk drivers who had taken similar action after colliding with a pedestrian, only to regret it afterwards.
In the note, Lorna said that she hadn’t told anyone about what happened on that night in the forest. But James wondered if she was lying, or if someone had found out and decided to make her pay. It was stretching it to think that her victim’s parents had tracked her down to Kirkby Abbey. But if they had, then it would mean that someone else had murdered Charlie Jenkins, and James was convinced that wasn’t the case.
‘I’ll send copies of these to Hampshire police,’ he said. ‘They can show them to the girl’s parents. They’ll also have to check that they have an alibi for Sunday night.’
Annie looked up sharply from the cuttings. ‘You don’t honestly believe that the girl’s father or mother would have come here to kill her, do you?’
James shook his head. ‘No, I don’t, but they had motive so will have to be ruled out. I’m sure it won’t take long.’
James saw Annie’s jaw clench, her eyes tighten.
‘I’m really not sure how I feel about Lorna now,’ she said. ‘The person I knew was kind and caring, and great with the children. And I’m sure it’s true that what happened ten years ago was a terrible accident. But she should never have been driving whilst drunk, and leaving the poor girl there was reprehensible. What if she was unconscious and not dead? Maybe paramedics could have saved her if they’d got there quickly enough.’
An hour later, James was suited and booted, and ready to crack on with the investigation.
He was relieved that no one had called to tell him that another body had turned up. But that didn’t mean the killer hadn’t struck for a third time during the night, of course. It could simply be that the victim hadn’t yet been discovered.
He retreated to his study while Annie got herself ready for the day. She had asked him to find out if her uncle had left The King’s Head overnight, so that was the first thing he did when he was behind his desk.
The uniformed officer who was tasked with watching the pub admitted he hadn’t been able to provide continuous surveillance.
‘I needed toilet breaks, sir,’ he said. ‘And at one point I was instructed to check out a report of an intruder in someone’s garden. It turned out to be a fox, though. That was between one and two this morning.’
James was a little annoyed, but not surprised given how few officers had been on duty in the village.
‘Were there any other incidents?’ he asked. ‘Or suspicious activity of any kind?’
‘Nothing at all, sir. It was eerily quiet. A couple of people were stopped just before midnight, and they had a good excuse to be out. But after that the lads didn’t come across anyone. For most of the night the only movement we saw was the snow coming down.’
Next, James called the office and got put through to DS Stevens, who said he had been in since 6 a.m.
‘I can’t see the point in coming to Kendal this morning,’ James said. ‘I suggest you front a meeting to update everyone. If I can participate via video link I will. If not, you can tell them that as far as we know there hasn’t been another murder. But put the team on standby in case it turns out there has been and we just don’t know it yet.’
He told Stevens about Lorna Manning’s written confession and said he would arrange for one of the patrols to take it to Kendal.
‘Get someone to liaise with Hampshire police on this,’ he added. ‘They need to run a check on the parents of the girl she killed in the hit-and-run. They’re going to be very upset but I want to know if they can account for their movements on Sunday night. And let me know as soon as you’ve looked into Daniel Curtis’s story of where he was and what he did on Saturday night.’
‘Do you want me to come to Kirkby Abbey?’ Stevens asked.
‘Let’s talk about that in a couple of hours,’ James said. ‘If no more bodies appear then I think you’ll be more useful staying in the office. But I do want a fresh batch of uniforms here.’
‘That’s in hand, guv. DC Abbott left here a while ago with half a dozen uniforms.’
‘Good. I intend to talk to Janet Dyer and Annie’s Uncle Bill this morning. At best, they’re low-level suspects,’ he said. ‘What we desperately need are some new leads. That’s why I’m hoping forensics might offer up something concrete today.’
‘I wouldn’t count on it, guv. Our perp seems to have mastered the art of killing without leaving behind a single piece of evidence.’
James then rang Tanner and repeated what he’d told Stevens. The DCI said he had agreed to stage another press conference later in t
he day.
‘If you get even a sniff of something then let me know,’ Tanner said. ‘The pressure from both the powers-that-be and the media is fucking unbearable. If there’s been another killing then I hate to think what the reaction will be.’
After ending the call, James checked online for stories about the murders and found there were scores of them. It was splashed across the front pages of several national newspapers.
Second brutal murder in tiny Cumbrian village
The Christmas Killer claims another victim
Village in shock following two murders
Back in the kitchen, James poured himself another coffee and put some bread in the toaster. When Annie joined him, he said he’d be heading out as soon as he’d eaten. He also told her that it appeared Bill had remained in his room at The King’s Head all night.
‘I have to point out that the pub wasn’t under surveillance continuously and we’ve had no word of another body being found.’
‘Will you let me know when you’ve spoken to him?’ Annie said. ‘I want to meet up with him myself today.’
‘Of course, hon. That won’t be a problem.’
James ate his toast while watching the news. They were running footage of the snow storm lashing parts of Scotland. Disruption to transport services was severe, and in some rural areas visibility was reduced to just a few yards. A map was then put up showing another fast-moving storm bearing down on England from the East. There were fears that it would dump up to nine inches of snow and bring with it winds of 70 mph or more.
James felt a stab of panic when he saw that Kirkby Abbey was among the villages and towns lying directly in its path.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
A group of about twenty people were gathered outside the village hall when James got there. They were facing two uniformed officers and a woman who, at first, James didn’t recognise because she was bundled up in a heavy coat, scarf and woollen hat.
As he got closer, he saw that she was Detective Constable Jessica Abbott, who was part of the team in Kendal. She was doing her best to mollify the group, who were demanding to know what the police were doing to protect them.
James didn’t need to be told that they were worried villagers, and as he approached, he heard one of them say, ‘Why are there so few coppers here? There’s a killer roaming these streets and we’re all shit scared.’
DC Abbott responded, her voice loud and confident. ‘Our officers have been patrolling the village throughout the night and as we investigate these appalling crimes, we’re doing everything we can to ensure that you’re all safe.’
She spotted James and her expression changed, prompting most of the group to turn towards him. He was recognised instantly, and suddenly became the focus of their attention.
‘You’re the detective we came here to see,’ one of the women called out. ‘So, tell us what’s going on and how worried we should be.’
Before James could reply, another question was thrown at him by a young man wearing a Puffa jacket. ‘On the news they’re saying that the person who committed the murders almost certainly lives in the village. If that’s true then I don’t intend to hang around. I’ve got a wife and two kids to watch out for.’
More questions were fired at James, but he didn’t say anything until he was standing next to DC Abbott.
‘What my colleague has just told you is the truth,’ he said. ‘We are working around the clock to solve these murders and to keep you all safe. I’m afraid we don’t know for sure if the person responsible lives here in Kirkby Abbey, or why Mr Jenkins and Miss Manning were targeted. But, obviously, everyone in the village needs to be vigilant and cautious.’ He pointed at the man in the Puffa jacket. ‘And if moving away temporarily will make you and your family feel more secure then you should do it, sir.’
James stood his ground and answered more questions. He had to explain why the police weren’t raiding every house in the village in their search for the killer, and why the inside of the village hall was out of bounds to the public. He was also asked how close they were to finding the perpetrator.
For James, it was like facing a bunch of tough, clued-up reporters at a press conference. But he answered every question as clearly and honestly as possible.
The villagers were far from satisfied, though, and when he said he had to go there were mumblings about the need for a proper public meeting.
Inside the single-storey building, James thanked DC Abbott for the way she had handled the situation.
‘It wasn’t a problem, guv,’ she said. ‘They got here just before I did and so I walked right into it. But it’s not as if they were a rowdy bunch.’
Jessica Abbott was of Irish and East African descent and had been based in Kendal since being promoted to detective constable a year ago. She was an enthusiastic officer with angelic features that masked a fierce and determined personality. Colleagues and criminals alike too often underestimated her and came to regret it.
‘I’ve been instructed to tell you that two more detectives are on their way here,’ she said as they took off their coats. ‘They’re coming directly from their homes and should be arriving within the hour.’
‘Then we need to work out what tasks to assign them,’ James said.
He was pleased to see that things were happening in the hall. He counted seven uniformed officers, including Inspector Boyd, all busy speaking into phones, tapping at computer keyboards and making notes.
James crossed the room and stood in front of the makeshift evidence board before clapping his hands twice to get their attention.
‘Okay everyone, listen up,’ he said. ‘We’ve got another busy and unpredictable day ahead of us. While we pursue enquiries here, the rest of the team will get on with things back at base. The pressure on the force is gathering pace and it won’t ease off until we get a result. I’ve drawn up a list of tasks and I’ll go through them shortly. But first the good news is that no more bodies have turned up so far this morning. If, God forbid, the killing isn’t over then we will respond accordingly. There’s also plenty of bad news, though, I’m afraid. We’re not making sufficient progress, the villagers are starting to panic, and this area will soon be battered by a disruptive storm. Just how bad that will be remains to be seen.
‘Today I’d like us to speak to as many people as we can in the village to find out more about the two victims. We know quite a bit already, but I’m sure there’s a lot we’re missing.’
He held up Lorna Manning’s confession envelope and explained what was inside. He then handed it to Inspector Boyd and asked him to arrange for it to be taken to Kendal.
As the briefing continued, James purposely omitted mention of Andrew Sullivan and Annie’s Uncle Bill. He wanted to limit the number of people who knew why they were in the frame.
Finally, he shared that he planned another visit to Lorna Manning’s house in Willow Road and would talk again to Janet Dyer and Sonia Jenkins.
‘Sonia’s had time to get over the initial shock of losing her husband,’ he said. ‘I therefore want to see if she can recall things about him that she hasn’t already mentioned to us. For instance, I’d like to know if he was involved in any way with Lorna Manning.’
There followed a short discussion about who would do what, and James told DC Abbott that she would spend the morning with him. The other two detectives would be assigned jobs when they arrived.
He took out his phone to call DS Stevens, as he wanted to know when the team briefing in Kendal would get under way, but just then a uniformed officer with a worried look on his face approached him.
‘There’s a reporter outside from the Cumbria Gazette and he says it’s imperative that he talks to you, sir,’ he said. ‘His name is Gordon Carver and he reckons you know him.’
‘I do, but was he more specific?’ James asked.
The officer nodded. ‘He said he’s received some information that has a bearing on the case.’
‘Then go get him,’ James said
. ‘We’ll use the office along the corridor.’
Gordon Carver walked into the cramped office clutching a small leather briefcase under his arm.
James was sitting behind the desk that was usually occupied by the hall caretaker.
‘Hello again, Mr Carver,’ he said. ‘Take a pew and tell me what information you have that you’re so keen for me to see.’
Carver sat opposite James and placed his briefcase on the desk.
‘I believe I’ve had a communication from the killer,’ Carver said. ‘If so, then it raises some questions that I would like you to answer, Detective Walker.’
The reporter reached into the briefcase and brought out an envelope. As soon as James saw it, he felt a shiver of apprehension.
‘It’s a Christmas card,’ Carver said. ‘It was pushed through my letterbox during the night and I found it this morning just as I was leaving the house.’
He dropped it onto the desk and James saw that the reporter’s name was scrawled on it in black marker.
‘Has anyone touched this apart from you, Mr Carver?’ he asked.
‘Only whoever wrote it,’ Carver replied.
James quickly pulled on the gloves he was now carrying with him everywhere and used the tips of his fingers to pull the card out of the envelope.
His pulse spiked when he saw the now familiar Twelve Days of Christmas image. Then when he read the message inside, he felt a cold numbness envelop him.
Mr Reporter
I’ve decided to tell you what I’ve told the police.
Charlie Jenkins and Lorna Manning both deserved to die. The same applies to the other ten people whose lives I intend to end. They have all done bad things.
I suggest you ask Detective Walker about the Christmas card I left on Lorna’s body.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Once again, Annie struggled with being by herself at home. Soon after James left the house anxiety started gnawing at her gut.
She wasn’t used to having nothing to do and no one to talk to. She didn’t want to keep cleaning the house, and the renovations had been put on hold. She just couldn’t think about what colours to paint the walls, what floors to carpet and whether or not to convert the attic into a bedroom. In order to do the kind of job that would make her mum proud she needed a clear head.