by Jay Gill
Richard winked at me and smiled. “Cancer,” he said.
Flo jolted like she’d received a small electric shocked as he spat the word.
“I’ll just take some painkillers. It’ll ease off in a bit. They told me a week before Christmas I that I had cancer.” He laughed mirthlessly. “They told me it started in the prostate and had spread like wildfire. Nothing they can do. I’d left it too long before getting myself checked. Should have listened to Flo. She nagged and nagged, but did I listen? Of course not. Soon as you get back, go see your doctor. Get yourself checked, you hear me? It’s no joke. Get yourself checked.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I had no idea. I wouldn’t have come if I’d known.”
“Nonsense,” barked Richard. “Nobody knows. And why should they? I wanted you to come. What you said on the phone interests me. If it wasn’t for my beautiful Flo, and those damn pigs, taking my mind off what’s coming, I’d have gone crazy by now. Probably blown my brains out.”
Flo said, “For pity’s sake, Richard. Stop it.”
In an effort to get comfortable, Richard shifted in his seat. He continued, “My pigs belong to Frank, our neighbour. He’s got some land. He’s nutty as a fruitcake but the nicest guy I ever met. Frank and his pigs have taught me a lot about life. I’ll take you over there in the morning. We’ve assumed you’re going to stay for the night.”
“Well, I hadn’t intended to. I couldn’t impose.”
“Rubbish. You’re not imposing,” insisted Richard.
I looked at Flo, who nodded in agreement.
Said Richard, “Now take off that bloody jacket and tie, undo that top button and roll up your shirt sleeves and relax. The sun is out. We’re in Flo’s Garden of Eden, which is a work of wonder, and she’s no doubt prepared some great food.”
“It’s only chicken and vegetables,” said Flo modestly.
I did as Richard suggested. We talked about this and that while Flo prepared dinner.
During dinner, no talk surrounding the reason for my visit took place. Instead, we spent the evening listening to stories about Richard’s past as a detective, how he and Flo had first met, their children, and the adventures they’d had together over the years. They asked about my family, and I told them about Alice and Faith and Monica. They insisted I come back and bring them with me next time, which I promised I would. We talked until 10 p.m., when Richard got too cold and tired to continue. Full of apologies and resentment, he reluctantly retired to his room.
At breakfast, Richard looked like a new man and was ready to get to work.
“Eat your breakfast, James. The sausages and bacon are from Frank’s farm. Flo needs to pick up some bits in the village, and she is going to drive. We can talk on the way.”
Thirty minutes later we were driving past the farm where Lyle had grown up on our way to the nearest pharmacy and supermarket.
“Close your ears, Flo,” said Richard. “I need to talk police business with my friend James here.”
Flo raised her eyebrows in a manner suggesting she’d heard the line many times before.
Full of enthusiasm, Richard said to me, “No doubt you passed the Lyle farm on your way in?” I nodded. “Kelly Lyle’s father, Edwin, turned a modest dairy farm, inherited from his father, into one of the first large-scale industrial dairy farms in the UK, capable of producing large-volume and low-cost dairy produce.
“It came at a time when supermarkets were beginning to take hold and demand exceeded supply. Edwin Lyle was in the right place at the right time.
“With the profits from the farm, some property investments, some other ‘behind closed door’ deals and some clever accounting, Edwin Lyle became very wealthy. There is no doubt he was a smart businessman.
“The other thing there is no doubt about is that he was a mean bastard. A tyrant. An abusive bully who was prone to violent outbursts and furious rages. Rages that his wife and daughter bore the brunt of for many years.
“I have boxes of files on Kelly Lyle, and I’ve managed to gather medical records that show bone fractures and breaks on both Kelly and her mother. I’m assured by experts the injuries sustained are consistent with serious violent assaults. In other words, he beat his wife and, from a young age, his daughter too. God only knows what else went on in that house behind closed doors. I don’t need to spell it out; you’ve seen enough cases to know.”
Flo parked the car. Richard and I walked to a small tea shop where he could keep warm and we could talk.
I found us a table by the window and ordered two cream teas.
“You understand that I have no sympathy for Edwin Lyle,” continued Richard. “Once I discovered what the man was like I was glad he was dead. At the time, I was the lead detective, and I still had a job to do.”
I said, “I understand completely. We’re all in the same boat. We gather evidence. The court then decides justice.”
“Exactly, James. You know what I’m talking about, I don’t need to spell it out. Anyway, finally, Theresa’s had enough. She tries to get them both away from the old man. That fails, Theresa is forced to abandon young Kelly, and for close to a year the girl is alone with the father. The increasingly desperate mother eventually manages to grab Kelly while Edwin is away from the farm. For a short while, they’re safe.
“It doesn’t take long for Edwin, with all his connections, to track them down. The next thing you know, Theresa’s found to be an unfit mother and told if she ever wants to see her daughter again, she must seek treatment for her mental health problems. This leaves Kelly Lyle, who’s twelve at this point, nearly thirteen, to fend for herself against her bully of a father. Poor child.”
I waited for Richard to take his pills and sip his tea before encouraging him to continue.
I asked, “Do you think a twelve-year-old girl is capable of what you’re suggesting she did to her father?”
“Not immediately. Like everyone else, I assumed Edwin’s death was an accident. Deaths like his are commonplace on farms. It’s a dangerous occupation. What I’ve learned subsequently leaves me without the slightest doubt it was premeditated murder. Patricide, made to look like an accident by a young girl.”
Chapter Thirty-One
I couldn’t help wondering how Kelly Lyle’s life might look had she grown up in different circumstances. Was killing her father the catalyst for what was to come? Had her father’s brutality triggered something in her? Was she a product of her early environment or was she born to kill? Did she have her father’s wickedness flowing through veins – like father, like daughter?
Richard had no appetite and couldn’t eat. He pushed his plate away and only lightly sipped at his tea. He closed his eyes and rested. I watched his fingers tremble as he dozed, the backs of his hands bruised and blotchy.
I took the opportunity to send some text messages and read the news on my phone. When I looked up, Richard had woken and was watching me. He smiled apologetically.
Dabbing the corners of his mouth with a tissue, he said, “Looking back I remember arriving at the farm and seeing a child in complete control of her emotions. I assumed she was in shock and the grief of what had happened to her father hadn’t sunk in.
“She was confident, and quickly explained the events that led to her father’s death. She did it without a moment’s hesitation or deviation. Each time, her explanation was repeated word for word. I stood back and watched her explain to fellow detectives how the farm worked, the hazards of a working farm and the steps leading up to the accident.
“I realise now that she had orchestrated everything. She was manipulating us, and because she was a child, and we couldn’t imagine a child doing such a thing, we gave her the space to do so. I know it’s an odd thing to say of a child, but that’s what I now see.”
I said, “Back then, I guess it was almost unthinkable. Sadly, times have changed.”
“Damn right, they’ve changed. I don’t think I could be a detective today,” said Richard. I knew he didn’t mean
it. He’d give almost anything to be young, fit and healthy. Back on the beat, chasing down bad guys. I bet he was one hell of a detective back in the day.
“I know she’s smart,” I said. “What can you tell me about her education?”
“What do you want to know? She was off the charts. Teachers told me she would turn up for class and breeze through lessons. The general consensus was, teachers felt what they taught was of little interest to her – because she already knew it.
“One teacher explained to me that Kelly was self-taught. She read and studied on her own time, all the time. She’d sit in lessons and read her own stuff. Advanced stuff. It was clear to the teacher that Kelly had an insatiable appetite for knowledge and school just didn’t offer enough.
“Occasionally, Kelly would challenge a teacher on a topic or fact, mainly for the sport of it. Maybe she did so because she wanted to show off to classmates or because she was bored. Teachers soon learned Kelly was correct pretty much all the time or at least had a well-thought-out argument on most subjects.”
From our table in the tea shop, we looked across the street and could see Flo waving and pointing to another shop she wanted to visit. Richard waved back and nodded agreement.
I was eager for Richard to keep going with his insights.
“There were lots of ways Kelly Lyle could have killed her father. She deliberately chose a way that didn’t kill him outright.
“Young Kelly waited until her father’s attention was elsewhere then put the farm tractor into motion. When paramedics and police arrived, he was found pinned to the concrete wall of a barn by one of the tractor’s forks.
“Do you think she ignored his pleading for help? To this day, I still wonder whether she spoke to him while he writhed in agony before eventually dying from multiple organ failure and massive internal bleeding. What do you think the young Kelly might have said to her abusive father?”
Despite what I know of Kelly I was still finding it hard to make the leap from abused child to murderer.
“Do you have any proof she did it?” I asked politely.
Richard scratched the side of his head with his thumb. He scrunched his nose and said, “Good question. Everything I have is circumstantial. Kelly claimed she was helping her father and that what happened to him was an accident. Who would argue otherwise? It was only over time that my interest in her grew. As time passed, I got calls from other forces asking for background information on her. That’s when I started keeping records. I thought one day someone would come knocking on my door. And here you are.”
Lucky me, I thought.
“What happened to her next?” I asked.
“Kelly stayed with her aunt, her mother’s sister, in London. Theresa, her mother, left the hospital and joined them. The farm passed to Theresa and continued to be run by a management team. It was eventually swallowed up by an investment company owned by Kelly. She then expanded the farm business overseas. Her investment company is global and has many interests. Its portfolio ranges from pharmaceutical research to property development.”
“That answers the question of wealth. She seems to have no limitations when it comes to lifestyle.”
“She made sure she has no financial limitations. She’s a shrewd and tough businesswoman. Anyone working for her soon learns not to challenge her authority. I learned that, years ago, after a botched merger caused a downturn in profits the CFO and COO made a move to oust her from the board. Before the takeover gathered momentum, both the CFO and COO died in a helicopter crash.”
“Helicopter crashes aren’t uncommon,” I suggested. I knew very well what Kelly Lyle was and what she was capable of, but I didn’t want my head filled with rumour and hearsay; I wanted as accurate a picture of her as possible, so I had to challenge Richard a little.
To prove his point, Richard swiftly continued, “A project manager for her property development company, a guy called Alan Wilson, mysteriously disappeared after some financial irregularities were discovered.
“Only Wilson’s hand was ever found. The hand had been sawed off and was sent by UPS courier to the company’s accounting department. Word soon spread among management and staff that Wilson’s hand was a message to anyone else who might consider dipping their fingers in the Lyle cash register.
“Once again, however, Kelly Lyle could not be tied to the disappearance. As a smokescreen, she even put up a million-pound reward for information leading to his whereabouts or the arrest of the perpetrators. As I said, she’s a smart lady. As well as a dangerous one.”
Flo took us home, and Richard slept for a couple of hours. Flo showed me to the attic, and I pulled out some boxes of files and started looking through them.
Flo pulled a dust sheet off another pile of boxes. “It’s done him a lot of good talking to you,” she said. “I see glimmers of my old Richie. He spent years gathering all this. Little by little, piece by piece. He wants you to have them now. He hopes you can finish what he started.”
“I hope so too. He’s a good man. He doesn’t deserve what he’s going through. Neither of you do.”
The pressure I was feeling to stop Lyle had just got a whole lot greater.
I loaded the boxes of files into my car and returned to the house to find Richard up and taking another round of tablets.
“I’m surprised I don’t bloody rattle when I walk, the number of these I take,” he grumbled.
As Richard walked me to my car, he grabbed my arm. “There is a lot of information in those boxes,” he said quietly. “It could take weeks if not months to go through it all. My advice is to start with her time at university. She was young and full of ambition and somewhat vulnerable. It was the time before she got smart enough to properly cover her tracks. I never quite got time to fully look into that time of her life. You might just get lucky.”
Saying goodbye to Richard and Flo was emotional. I’d grown fond of them in the two days I’d spent with them. Although he was a tough old sod, I wasn’t sure how much fight Richard had left in him. I promised I’d stay in touch.
Chapter Thirty-Two
After leaving Flo and Richard’s home, I decided to stay at a hotel overnight. I couldn’t face the drive back to Dorset, and in truth, I was keen to delve into the case files piled up in the back of my car. I sent Cotton a text message to let her know I was okay and making some progress. At least I hoped I was.
I ordered room service, settled down with a notebook, and spread Richard’s reports out over the bed.
I started with the case files Richard had suggested I look at first. It didn’t take long before I understood my next move. I was about to call home when they called me first.
“Where are you, Daddy?” It was Faith, and she sounded excited. “I was hoping you’d be home by now. I wanted to tell you about my test at school.”
“I’m sorry, baby. I’m working, and I’ll be a few more days. You can tell me now if you want.”
“Okay. So, it was a spelling test. You know how I need to work on my spelling, don’t you? I practised and practised with Monica and Nana Hardy, and do you know what I got? It was out of twenty. Guess, Daddy. How many do you think?”
“I don’t know. You say you practised them a lot.”
“Uh-huh, over and over. Just guess.”
“Eight out of twenty?” I joked.
“No way. Really? Are you kidding? Eight? Daddy thinks I only got eight.”
I heard Monica in the background say, “He’s messing around. You surprise him. Tell him what you got, sweetheart.”
“I got twenty out of twenty,” Faith said with pride.
“Wowee! No way. Really? Well done. That is fantastic! Twenty, you say?”
“Yep. Not one wrong. The hardest word was ‘consequential.’” Faith diligently spelt it out for me over the phone.
I then spoke to Alice, who was in the middle of messaging a friend on her phone to arrange a sleepover and didn’t chat for long. She passed me to Monica.
“It went wel
l today,” I said. “I’ll be away another day, two days max. How are you? You sound different. Like you have something on your mind.”
“Really? Nothing in particular.” I could tell Monica was holding back, but I didn’t press her. She’d tell me when the time was right. “Your parents send their love. They popped in earlier.”
“Thank you. I love you and miss you. Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?”
“It’ll wait. I love you too. I’d better go. Let you get on. Look after yourself.”
“You too.”
The call ended, and I found myself rubbing the phone on my chin, thinking about Monica’s tone. I’d not heard her sound that way before. I put the thoughts to one side and carried on reading.
I sipped single malt from a teacup and read as fast I could. I had questions and wanted to phone Richard, but it was late. I knew he wouldn’t mind – he’d probably welcome the excitement – but I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. I’d call him in the morning, perhaps.
From what I could tell, Kelly had been the victim of a serious assault while at university. It had led to an arrest, and a young man had been charged. The phone rang again. This time it was Emma Cotton.
“Evening, James. I got your text.”
“Emma, before you ask, I’m going to be a few more days. Tomorrow I’m heading to Kelly Lyle’s old university to speak to them about an incident that took place during her time there. How are things your end?”
“Shit. But I won’t go over it now. I’m too tired. I’ll wait until you get back here. There’s no point burdening you with it. Stupid as it sounds, I just needed a little reassurance that you’re making headway. No matter how small.”
“I feel surer than ever that the only way to get out in front of her is to think like her. The only way we do that is if we understand her. We do that by digging into her past and speaking to people who knew her.” I hoped I sounded more confident than I felt.
I could hear Cotton stifling a yawn. She said, “Okay. I’m going to try to get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day. Again. Please stay in touch. Call me if you get anything.”