THE FACELESS MAN an absolutely gripping crime mystery with a massive twist (Detectives Lennox & Wilde Thrillers Book 2)
Page 1
THE
FACELESS
MAN
An absolutely gripping crime mystery with a massive twist
Detectives Lennox & Wilde Thrillers Book 2
HELEN H. DURRANT
First published in Great Britain 2021
Joffe Books, London
www.joffebooks.com
© Helen H. Durrant
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The spelling used is British English except where fidelity to the author’s rendering of accent or dialect supersedes this. The right of Helen H. Durrant to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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ISBN: 978-1-78931-715-2
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Epilogue
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Prologue
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The warning was clear enough. It was just a pity Dean had chosen to ignore it — he was young, intelligent, and had a promising future. But the interference had to stop. He was getting too close. Bottom line, Dean was a danger to his enterprise, and he had to go.
The arranged meeting place was the kids’ playground in the park. At night, apart from the lights by the entrance, the place was pitch black, deserted. Besides the drumming rain, the only other sound was the swings squeaking in the strengthening breeze, their dark shapes adding to the eerie atmosphere. The man shivered and turned up his collar. It was a miserable night. Shame about Dean. This wasn’t how he wanted it to be, but the lad had sealed his own fate by refusing to keep out of his business.
The man smiled to himself. Dean had wrongly imagined that approaching from behind gave him the advantage of surprise. He had failed to realise that the man couldn’t have survived in this business by being sloppy.
“Why here?” Dean asked. “There’s a pub across the road — drier and more comfortable.”
“Too busy. I don’t want to be seen with you, so this place is better.”
A candid reply, but the lad didn’t pick up on its significance. Neither did he remark on how the man was dressed, in motorbike leathers, tight-fitting gloves and with a rucksack on his back. “Let’s walk.”
“This isn’t going to be a job offer, is it? Only there’s no way I could work with you.”
The man laughed. Now where had the lad got that idea from? “Not what I have in mind at all.”
“Where are we going?”
“Nowhere in particular. A wander round, have a chat and get some exercise. I’ve not been to this place in a while. Is the boating lake still here?”
“Yeah. But I don’t like water,” Dean admitted. “Never learned to swim, see.”
The man knew that too.
They stood silently at the lake’s edge, looking out over the watery expanse, listening to the boats knocking against each other and the click of the masts.
After some time, the man broke the silence. “You’ve stuck your nose into my business once too often, Dean. It can’t continue. You do know that, don’t you?”
The lad stepped back from the water lapping at his trainers. “I know the truth — what you are, what you do. I should go to the police again, try and speak to them.”
“You know I can’t allow that.”
“Huh. You can’t stop me,” Dean scoffed.
The man laughed. Dean wasn’t seeing the bigger picture.
“Do you have any evidence of what I do? You don’t, do you?” Though he had no idea what real information the lad had on him, or how long he’d been keeping tabs on his activities.
“I might have,” Dean said. “Sort you out good and proper that would. Make the job easier for the police too.” He tapped his head. “In any case, I have no intention of telling you what I’ve got. But know this. I hold all the aces.”
The man weighed up the risks. If Dean did have anything, it was unlikely to be much. The man was meticulous in ensuring he left no evidence for others to find. But would the law continue to dismiss Dean’s tale as simply the ramblings of an over-imaginative teenager?
Dean laughed. “And I know the username you look for on that website. You’re not the only one who lives in the shadows, you know.”
The man was curious. “Okay, what else d’you know about me, Dean?”
The lad grinned. “I’m not saying anything else.”
“Have you told anyone?”
“No, and I won’t if you agree to my terms. Pay me,” the lad demanded. “You must earn a packet, so pay me to stay quiet.”
The man looked at Dean’s face. He meant it. The lad was serious. He nodded, as if he were weighing this up. “It might work. But I have a far better idea.”
“I’m all ears.”
Dean was still wearing that self-satisfied expression when the thin blade slid effortlessly between his ribs. The man had positioned it at a slight upward angle on the left side of his chest. It went straight into his heart.
With a low groan,
Dean Greenwood fell to the ground. Game over.
The man fished around in Dean’s pockets and removed his mobile, wallet, and house keys. No way was he making this easy for the police. It was time to tidy up. He hoisted the lad up and laid him in the nearest boat. Taking the petrol can from his rucksack, he emptied the liquid over the body. He lit a match, flicked it between his finger and thumb and gave the boat a hefty shove with his boot. It floated out into the centre of the lake where it exploded in a ball of flames. That would put paid to Dean’s meddling and any stray DNA.
Chapter One
Day One
“Where’ve you been?” DS Jess Wilde hissed. “The call came in over an hour ago. I’ve been standing here in the cold so long I’ve lost all feeling in my feet.”
DI Harry Lennox glanced down. No way, not in those winter-weight jobs. As well as a heavy coat, Jess was wearing leather boots with lace up fronts and a flurry of fur around the top. “Sorry. I was driving back. With all the traffic on the motorway, you’re lucky I made it at all.” He looked down at the body in the boat. “I was told this was an accident. Down to kids fooling about by the lake. This is way more than that.”
“Driving back from where?”
Here we go. Why did Jess have to question his every move? “Scotland,” he said. She looked surprised. “I paid a flying visit home, had to get a few things straightened out. And that’s all you’re getting. A guy has to have his secrets.”
“Well, you’ve certainly no shortage of those, Harry Lennox.”
Tricky subject, time to change tack. “Given this wasn’t an accident, have we got anything else apart from the body?”
“Not yet. The killer left no obvious clues.”
“Who found him?” Harry asked.
“A dog walker, out first thing. He saw the boat bobbing about unmoored and dragged it up to the edge of the lake,” Jess said. “When he rang it in, he suggested that the death could be due to a fight that got out of hand. Cheetham Park has its fair share of trouble, at night the place is often full of kids messing about.”
“What do you make of that?”
“Not a theory I’d go with. This looks deliberate. Whoever did it even tried to burn the body, probably to destroy evidence.” She nodded at the boat. “We need the PM results for confirmation but it looks like a stabbing. There’s been a lot of rain and there is still what looks like dried blood on the floor of that boat.”
Harry sighed. So much for the quiet life. “We need to find out who he was.”
“He’s a kid, it’s early, not yet eight in the morning. Chances are he’s been missing from home all night. With luck his parents will have been on by now. I’ll ring the station,” Jess said, “get Colin to check.”
Dr Melanie Clarke, the home office pathologist from the Reid Centre, was already examining the body. “Not pretty, is it? The fire was down to petrol being poured over the lad. Fortunately for identification purposes, it didn’t do too much damage to his head and face. An initial flare, intense heat, and then one of those torrential downpours we had last night caused a large puddle to form at one end of the boat and his head became submerged in it.”
Harry went forward for another look. “Poor sod. I hope it was quick.”
“Despite the rain, this won’t be an easy one. That cagoule he’s wearing melted onto the body. It’ll make our work all the more difficult,” Melanie said.
Harry looked around at the huge expanse of parkland, empty apart from a small group of spectators behind the police tape. Several pairs of keen eyes were watching their every move, all of them hoping for a glimpse of something gruesome to gossip about. Harry shivered. Why did people find death so fascinating? And didn’t they have better things to do?
Jess had followed his gaze. She nudged him. “Most of them are press. Word’s got out and they’re wondering if this heralds another spate of gang warfare.”
“And there was me hoping for some down time after the last case.”
“Murder never takes a break, Harry, you know that.”
Didn’t he just, but he wished it wasn’t so keen to follow him around. Harry had moved to Ryebridge for two reasons — to escape his demons and live a quieter life. No such luck. The last case they’d dealt with had involved both — an old enemy and a network of people traffickers that spanned the globe.
“I wonder what brought our victim here?” Harry said.
“Meeting his mates, a date with a girl, who knows?” Jess looked around.
During the day, Cheetham Park was a pleasant open space, well used by the Ryebridge population. It was the ideal place to meet friends and hang out. There was plenty of open parkland for walking, a kiddies’ play area, football pitches and the boating lake. There was a thriving sports club at one end — a lot of kids went there after school and on weekends. But nights were a different matter. Then it was no place to be alone. Last night it had been unusually wet. If the usual rough element had given it a swerve, who’d killed the lad?
“There’s a camera on that building over there. It’s where you buy tickets for the boats. We might get something,” Jess suggested.
But Harry was only half listening. The park wasn’t far from the town centre but the walk up to the park entrance was along a dark and unlit tree-lined lane. “How bad is this place at night?” he asked.
“Back that way it’s quiet, there are no buildings as you approach the main entrance. But there is a camera, I’ll get the footage organised. It covers the playground, might be useful. About a mile away is the small development I told you about. Remember, I’m in the process of buying one. But at the far end is the Baxendale, and you know what that means.”
Didn’t he just. It didn’t matter where you were in Ryebridge, there was no getting away from that bloody estate. As he’d thought, this place was pretty much a no-go area after dark.
“There is some dealing goes on and the kids gather together in groups, drinking, making a noise and fighting. There’ve been loads of complaints down the years. Uniform do blitz the place regularly, but it’s still happening,” Jess said.
“I don’t think it’s down to a lads’ fight that got nasty, this is different,” he said. “It looks premeditated to me.”
“You’re right, Harry,” Melanie said. “The lad was stabbed in the chest. The PM will tell us more.”
“Wonder who he upset — some crazy bastard that’s for sure. Knifed and set alight. Does that sound like kids to you?”
“So who did he upset?” wondered Jess.
“Is the lake deep?” Harry asked.
“No, these are rowing boats. Fall out and you can walk to the side,” Jess told him. “I’ve done it myself in the past. Me and my mates used to muck about here when we were kids.”
Melanie Clarke was supervising the removal of the body from the boat. “I’ll get him back to the mortuary. The fire did some damage, but since his face hasn’t been touched that’ll make identification easier.”
“Any obvious bruising?” Harry asked.
“You’re asking if he’s been in a fight? Difficult to judge until I get him back, but there’s nothing I can see and there’s no obvious grazes on his hands. We’ll do the usual checks. We might get lucky, find something useful under his fingernails.”
Harry took a photo of the lad’s face with his mobile. It might prove handy if they found someone who knew him. “So, there we have it, Jessie. Murder. No fight, no accident. Pity. I was hoping to get a few more days off.”
“How was Scotland? See your family?” she asked.
“Stop fishing, Jess,” he said. “Nothing on that front has changed, and until it does what family I have left is out of bounds.”
“And of course, if you did see your family, there’d be questions.” Jess gave him one of her unimpressed looks. “I’ve still got a few myself.”
Chapter Two
Dr Hettie Trent, one of the forensic scientists working at the Reid and Melanie’s usual working partner, came slowly towards them, he
r eyes on the ground.
“There are two sets of footprints,” she said, looking up. “It’s muddy just here. Water splashes on the bank from the lake, plus it rained heavily yesterday. One of the two wore boots, the other trainers, and both sets begin back there.” She pointed to the children’s playground. “I reckon two people walked to the lakeside but only one walked away — the one wearing the boots.” Hettie smiled at Harry, the professional mask slipping. “Hello, stranger, long time no see. What have you been up to, apart from hiding from me?”
“It’s been a bit tricky — personal stuff, you know,” Harry said, looking embarrassed.
Hettie gave his arm a playful slap. “You’re impossible, Harry Lennox, you really are. You’ve got a new girl. I’ve heard all about her. A paramedic who thinks you’re some sort of hero.”
“Oh, that. It was nothing.”
“Nothing! I heard you took on a gunman and saved a woman’s life.”
“All in a day’s work,” he said, grinning. “It was that incident at Marsh’s warehouse.”
“I also heard that new DC of yours, Colin Vance, has given you a room in his flat,” Hettie said. “Nice it is too, overlooks the canal. Has to be an improvement on that campervan.”
Harry smiled. “It certainly is, and the neighbours are okay, too. We’ve quite the little gang going. You should join us one night for a drink. Me, Col and Hugh from next door make it to the Barge Inn most Friday nights. Hugh’s single too, you’d like him.”
“Stop trying to matchmake,” Hettie said. “It won’t work on me. But I’m pleased you’re settling in, finding your feet at last. Good for you. You certainly look a lot happier.”
“This Hugh,” Jess nudged him. “Your new bestie, is he?”
“He’s a dentist of all things, and he’s okay.” He turned to Hettie. “Talk us through what you think happened here.”
They strolled back to the playground. “Here — see the patch where the grass is scuffed under that swing?” Hettie pointed to the ground. “Someone sat here. You can tell from the smears in the mud down there. We’ve swabbed the chain on the swing. It’s possible the killer sat there while he waited for his victim.”