DCI James Hardy Series Boxset

by Jay Gill

  She forked a large portion of chicken chow mein into her mouth before running her finger along the seal of an envelope and pulling out a letter. She read it through then stopped chewing and reread it.

  Dearest Emma,

  It appears you’re going around in circles, round and round like a child’s brightly coloured windmill.

  If you really want to play my game, you need to first look at what happened to Hardy’s wife. I need you to see the big picture. James deserves to know the truth. Only then can we take this game to a whole new level.

  All my love, Kelly L.

  P.S. Do you dream at night of being held by Hardy? Who could blame you? He’s a handsome man. If only he were single…

  Emma turned the letter over and read the back. She jotted the numbers and letters down on a legal pad: GU851PH52.

  The loud ring of the desk phone startled her.

  “Yes?” barked Emma.

  “Bad time?” It was Hardy.

  “I’m okay.” Emma put the letter down on the desk and covered it. “Tired, I suppose. I feel like I’m going around in circles.” She blinked. That’s what Kelly Lyle thinks too.

  “That’s what these cases are like – you know that. We find a thread that takes us nowhere, so we pick another thread and follow it. If that thread also leads nowhere, we simply pick up another. We keep going one thread at a time.”

  Emma tucked the phone under her chin and tied up her hair. She asked, “Where are you?”

  “Hotel room. In the morning I’m boarding a flight to Palma, Majorca. I need to speak to a father about his dead son. It’s a long story. I’m following the thread.”

  Emma was a little surprised Hardy had chosen not to discuss his next move with her but she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she said, “Don’t get used to the climate. I don’t want you staying out there.”

  She looked out the window at the cold, dark night and the spots of rain on the glass.

  “I won’t. I had better go. I’ve got another call that I must take – someone is calling me back. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes. Go. Go take your call. I’m fine.”

  The line went dead.

  Emma picked up the letter again and considered what was being said. Lyle sure had a way of getting under your skin.

  …I need you to see the big picture. James deserves to know the truth…

  She started rooting around in her desk but couldn’t find what she was looking for. She went to her filing cabinet and began pulling out the drawers one at a time. “It’s got to be here somewhere.”

  She slammed the last drawer shut.

  Hands on hips, she stood in the middle of her office.

  “I know…”

  Emma pulled her chair up in front of her PC and, after a few minutes’ digging around on the internet, found what she wanted. She leaned back in her chair and reached back across her desk for her phone. She punched in the number and left a message. “This is Detective Inspector Emma Cotton. I’d like to leave a message for a Detective Rayner. I need him to call me back urgently.”

  She left a direct number and her mobile number and once again emphasised how important it was that Rayner call her back as soon as possible.

  She then did another search online for articles associated with the death of Hardy’s wife. She knew a lot about his career and his success tracking down serial killers but realised she knew very little about what had happened to Helena.

  The news articles she was able to find online gave a sensationalised perspective of her murder. The press at the time was focused on the number of street crimes and a sharp rise in violent crime overall.

  It was apparent the media’s focus was on the fact that if the wife of a detective chief inspector wasn’t safe, only a relatively short distance from her home, then crime on the streets of London must be out of control. And the British police force must have lost their grip.

  Later articles focused on the man who was eventually found guilty of her murder. He was a drug addict who the press named as Tony Horn. He had been sentenced to life and was to serve a minimum of fifteen years.

  Emma leaned back in her chair and absently forked another huge portion of chow mein into her mouth. It was stone cold and greasy. She chewed and she thought.

  She picked up the phone again, punched in a number and chewed hard to get rid of what she had in her mouth. The phone was answered more quickly than she’d expected, and she had to swallow hard so she could talk.

  “Hello, this is Detective Inspector Emma Cotton. I need to see a prisoner.” After a bit of back-and-forth, she put the phone down.

  Satisfied, she finished the cold chow mein and washed it down with an even colder cup of tea. She needed to look into Helena’s death quietly. She wasn’t sure how Hardy would react if he knew she was digging into his past. Yet, it was he who, only a few minutes ago, had told her to pick up a thread and follow it.

  What troubled her was that the thread was being handed to her by the killer herself.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I felt out of place among the holiday-makers at Palma de Mallorca Airport. With my passport checked and no suitcase to collect, I moved quickly through arrivals.

  Seeing excited children and exhausted parents brought back memories of a two-week family holiday in Majorca when Alice and Faith were just toddlers. Where had the time gone? I made a mental note to look into bringing the girls back there as soon as possible.

  I was to be met by a driver at the airport. Outside arrivals I soon spotted Felipe holding up a piece of paper with my name on it. He was tall, casually dressed, welcoming and full of smiles.

  In a few minutes, my bag was in the boot of the car, and we were in his air-conditioned taxi heading towards the home of Charles Gregory. Outside it was hot and sunny. I put on my sunglasses, sat back and gathered my thoughts.

  “Do you know Mr Gregory well?” I asked Felipe.

  “Si. Yes. I know Mr Gregory well. Mr and Mrs Gregory have met all my family. He make my children laugh and dance. My wife cook for them; she like to cook. He ask for me to drive him. I drive him. He sometime call at my home to talk and drink.”

  “It sounds like you’re good friends.”

  “I think we are friends, yes. He sometime come fishing with me on my small boat. He’s not so keen on fishing. Eating fish, yes. Fishing, not so much.” Felipe laughed and appeared to be about to launch into a story when his mobile phone rang. He started speaking Spanish to a woman who I guessed to be his wife. By the time he had finished his animated conversation, the taxi was heading up a narrow and winding road to the Gregorys’ villa.

  A Spanish woman who introduced herself as the housekeeper showed me to my room on arrival. I showered and changed my shirt.

  Having freshened up, I made my way through the house to the sun terrace. The house, with its long windows and large open rooms, sat on a hillside overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. The bright blue water below looked inviting as I stood admiring the view.

  “Please come in out of the afternoon heat, inspector. I have assumed you would be thirsty and hungry, so Maria, who met you at the door, has prepared a cold lunch for us both.”

  Charles Gregory passed me a glass of iced tea and shook my hand firmly. He was friendly but didn’t smile. He was expensively dressed and well groomed. His bright blue eyes fixed on mine as he gestured towards a pair of antique leather armchairs.

  In the middle of the room sat a magnificent wooden dining table, its centrepiece an ornate flowerpot holding several large flowering orchids. We sat beside wooden doors in a cool and shaded part of the dining area.

  Wishing to get our conversation moving, I said, “You have a beautiful home, Mr Gregory.”

  Gregory looked around and nodded. “Call me Charles. Thank you. I chose the location, designed and developed the property, but my wife is the one who made it a home. She has good taste. If I were to be perfectly honest, I wouldn’t know where to start when it comes to interior design.�
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  Charles’s hesitant and fleeting smile suggested he was keen to know the reason behind my visit.

  “We get very few visitors,” he said, “and we like it that way. Naturally, I’m intrigued when a former Scotland Yard detective chief inspector leaves his family and endures a nearly two-hour flight to speak to me. I assume the reason must be extremely important.”

  “I don’t recall mentioning I was a detective chief inspector.”

  “I still have a few contacts back in the UK. We also have internet. I Googled you. You’ve worked on a lot of high-profile cases. I am, therefore, even more intrigued that, having retired, you’ve come all this way to speak to me. Have we met before? Is that it? Or do I owe you money?”

  We both laughed at his joke. I said, “You don’t owe me money. It does seem, though, that the investigating detective has been investigated.”

  I looked around the room.

  “We’re alone,” said Charles. “My wife is shopping and will not be back for some time. Maria, the housekeeper, has finished for the day. I gave her the rest of the afternoon off. You can speak freely.”

  “I am assisting a colleague with her investigation,” I said.

  “Surely, Inspector Hardy, you could have picked up the phone?”

  “Perhaps. My questions are of a delicate nature. I wanted to speak to you face to face.”

  Charles sipped his water and said nothing.

  “I’m here about your son, Jacob.”

  Silence.

  I continued. “I am sorry to bring it up. I know it must be difficult.”

  “Of course you’re here about my son,” said Charles. “I know what happened will never go away. My son knew that too. Which is why he took his life. Although it could be argued he had his life taken from him because of what happened. And in turn, ours were taken from us the day he killed himself.

  “This might look like paradise to everyone else, but for my wife and me, it feels like a prison and every day is a living hell. Ask your questions. I’ll help if I can.”

  “I’ve read the case files, but I’d like to hear your version of events. More accurately, I’d like to hear your son’s version.”

  “Are you opening up the case again? I don’t think we want that.”

  “No. It’s a separate investigation, but I think what happened to your son could help.”

  “Jacob was our only child. He was our miracle baby. Doctors told us we couldn’t have children and yet one day, out of the blue, Patti told me she was pregnant. Happiest day of my life.

  “Jacob was a shy boy, perhaps because he was an only child. He was very bright but socially awkward. A little too caring for his own good, you could say. He often found himself being taken advantage of.

  “Growing up, he was bullied quite a bit. He had a tough time at school. He got through it and got his place at his chosen university. He loved it and was doing exceptionally well. He started to flourish and come out of himself.

  “In his second year, he met a girl. He was very inexperienced, you understand, and he was soon telling us how he’d fallen in love. He would talk to his mother on the phone about how smart this girl was and how beautiful and kind and thoughtful. We were delighted but, as a lot of parents would, we urged caution. Though, in truth, we were over the moon. For us, the relationship was the icing on the cake. Somebody saw the beautiful boy we saw, and they were making him happy.

  “One weekend at the beginning of his third year he came home for a few days, and we could see a change in him. Patti and I tried to speak with him, to find out what was going on, but he was distant and didn’t want to talk about it.

  “We hoped it would pass and gave him the space he wanted. Then, a few weeks later he phoned to say he’d broken off the relationship. We were surprised but supportive. At first, he didn’t say why it had ended. It was a while before he told us what had been really going on between them.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Charles leaned forward and poured us both a glass of iced water. He took a sip then looked at me, his eyes hard and unforgiving. “The young woman had become obsessed with him. She’d become manipulative and violent towards him. The day he called us she’d threatened to kill him.”

  “How did Jacob sound when you spoke?”

  “How do you think he sounded? Scared, confused, upset, emotional… He was scared for himself and, Jacob being Jacob, he was worried for her too.”

  “Were the police involved?”

  “Not at this point. Jacob didn’t want that. He told us he’d spoken to the university’s chaplain and things had been resolved diplomatically. Had we known what was to come we’d have done things differently. Hindsight and all that.” I could see the sadness in Charles’s face.

  “Go on,” I urged him gently.

  “Things were quiet for a while. It seemed the young woman was keeping her distance and that Jacob and the university had managed to resolve the situation. We all moved on with our lives.

  “At the end-of-term party, the two of them got talking. She apologised for her prior behaviour. She told Jacob she’d had family problems and that had caused her to act out of character. They agreed to be friends and spent the evening talking.

  “Foolishly, after a few drinks, they returned to his room and spent the night together. The young fool had sex with her. Anyway, the next morning, he woke up alone. He was disappointed but thought nothing more of it.

  “Later that day police officers arrived at his door. At first, Jacob thought it was a prank. He very quickly realised it was no joke. He was cautioned and very publicly taken in for questioning. He was quizzed for hours about the young woman and their relationship and the events of the previous night. He was shown pictures of her injuries; the bruises and cuts and blood-stained clothes. Of course, they also had DNA evidence. He was told he would be charged with rape.”

  “What happened next?”

  Charles looked drawn and pale. Recounting the story was taking its toll, but he fought on.

  “I know what you’re thinking: too many drinks. Maybe some drugs. Young man who didn’t want to hear ‘no.’ Jacob forced himself on her.”

  “What do you think happened?”

  “We know what happened,” he said sharply. “The only witness, another student in an adjoining room, was too scared to speak out. She knows what happened. She saw the girl inflict her own injuries. The witness feared for her life. She would only speak to us privately and would not make a formal statement no matter how hard we, or the police, insisted.”

  Charles had tears in his eyes. He got to his feet and paced around the room like a caged tiger, frustration and fury charging through his body as if all this had happened only yesterday.

  Finally, he stood behind his armchair and said, “Do you have children, inspector?”

  “Two daughters. The eldest is about to become a teenager.”

  “If you know your daughters as well as I know – knew – my son, then I don’t need to explain how I knew he was innocent.”

  I’d heard similar words, a hundred times before, from parents who would sooner die than believe their child capable of committing a serious crime.

  “Before we go any further,” I said, “I must ask you about the money. You donated a considerable sum to the university.”

  “It was foolish. Arrogant. Regrettable. A rash decision that, in retrospect, was plainly misguided. It’s true what they say: hindsight is twenty-twenty. I had this notion at the time the girl was after money. Money isn’t something I’ve ever been short of, and I simply wanted to help my son.

  “The university was to act as an intermediary. I was desperate to see the whole thing go away, and I am ashamed to say I instructed them to make her an offer. Jacob knew nothing of this, of course. Neither did Patti. Patti would have been dead against it.”

  I knew how it would look and play out in court if it was discovered Charles had offered hush money to the victim.

  I could also see how Charles, in such a
desperate situation, might have acted irrationally.

  I asked, “Did the offer of money have the result you were hoping for?”

  “For a short time. I’d hoped the money had worked and that an understanding had been reached. That she’d drop the false allegations. However, it soon became clear she was out for blood, and I’d merely made things worse. There was a trial, of course. The scandal was horrendous. The shame, unbearable. The helplessness, heartbreaking. Friends and family turned their backs on us.

  “We supported and believed in Jacob, and he knew that. We told ourselves that by staying strong as a family, we would get through it all, somehow. We assumed that despite it all the truth would come out and Jacob would be found innocent and the whole sham exposed.

  “Instead, it was one of those terrible situations that you read about in the newspapers, where the accused is found guilty before ever stepping inside a courtroom. Jacob’s spirit was broken. He stopped talking. The strain got too much. We tried to reach him, talk to him, tell him we believed in him and that, ultimately, he’d be found innocent.

  “Every day we told him how much we loved him, but it wasn’t enough. The evening of the fifteenth of May, while in police custody awaiting sentencing, he took his own life. Our miracle baby, our gentle boy, was found hanging in his cell.”

  Charles wiped a tear from his cheek with the back of his hand and cleared his throat. He gripped the armchair and said, “As far as I am concerned, the bitch murdered him. She might not have put a gun to his head and pulled a trigger. Nevertheless, she murdered my son.”

  “I’m sorry. Truly sorry.”

  Gregory got up and walked to the window. He stared out to sea. “I’m sure you are, inspector. Unfortunately, those words sound hollow to me these days.”

  “Did you ever hear from the woman after Jacob’s death?”

  “Why?” Gregory turned on me with hurt in his eyes. “Where is all this leading? Why does all this matter now?”

  “I’m simply trying to understand what went on,” I said softly. “I’m trying to build a picture.”