THE FACELESS MAN an absolutely gripping crime mystery with a massive twist (Detectives Lennox & Wilde Thrillers Book 2)

by HELEN H. DURRANT

  “You think the lad met up with his killer and they then walked towards the lake together?” Jess asked.

  Hettie nodded.

  “If you’re right, that suggests they’d arranged to meet, which means that the victim might have known his killer,” Harry said. “A mate, perhaps?”

  Harry’s mobile began to ring, interrupting his train of thought. It was Colin Vance back at the station.

  “We’ve had a hit on missing persons. A young man called Dean Greenwood didn’t go home last night. He’s eighteen and lives with his mother about half a mile from the park.”

  “And she’s sure he wasn’t with friends?” asked Harry.

  “Seems he’s not one for socialising, so his mother reckons that’s unlikely. But she’s rung round some lads from college and other family members just in case.”

  “Text me the address.”

  Call ended, he turned to Jess. “We need to go. Got a lead.” Harry checked his phone and found the message giving the address. “We’ve got a possible name for the victim. It’s not far away, back through the park main entrance and round to the right. I took a couple of photos with my mobile, including one of the lad’s face. If this is his mum, she’ll recognise him.”

  * * *

  Dean Greenwood lived, or had lived, with his mother, Maggie, in a large red-brick semi in the upmarket Mayfold area of Ryebridge.

  Harry pulled up outside. “I hate this part. It’s grim and there’s always tears.” Telling someone that a family member was dead, especially if they’d been murdered, was one of the worst parts of the job.

  Jess checked the scant information they’d been texted. “Grim or not, it’s our job,” she said, her eyes on the screen. “Mother and son only. I wonder what happened to the father — he’s not listed as living here.”

  “Divorced?” Harry offered.

  Jess didn’t comment. “Come on, let’s get this done. We need to give our victim a name.”

  He rang the front doorbell. A pale, harassed-looking woman answered. She had dark circles around her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept.

  “DI Lennox and DS Jess Wilde. Mrs Greenwood? We’d like a word. Can we come in?”

  The woman’s face lit up. “I’m her neighbour. Have you found him? Maggie’s been in bits, this is so unlike Dean. She’s through here.” She led the way inside. “Dean hasn’t even rung, which is odd because he’s usually so considerate.”

  “And you are?”

  “June Hardy. Me and Brian, my partner, live next door.”

  They followed June into the sitting room. A tearful woman was staring out of the back window. A tall dark-haired man stood by her side.

  The red-eyed woman turned and looked at them. “You’ve found him? Please tell me you’ve found my son.”

  “Mrs Greenwood?” Harry asked. “I’m afraid we’ve found a body — this morning in the park — but we’re not sure if it’s Dean or not. It would help if we could see a photo of him.”

  Maggie Greenwood pointed to a large family portrait hanging on the wall opposite. “That’s Dean on the right.”

  Harry checked the image on his phone and nodded at Jess. They’d found their victim.

  Chapter Three

  “There’s no easy way to say this,” Harry began. “I’m very sorry, Mrs Greenwood . . . Maggie.” He paused, giving her a moment to prepare herself. “We believe the body we’ve found is your son, Dean. My colleague and I are very sorry for your loss.”

  She looked from one detective to the other as the news slowly sank in. “How? I don’t understand. What happened to him?”

  The usual confusion and disbelief. In Harry’s opinion, parents rarely knew enough about their kids’ lives. Not that he was any sort of expert, he couldn’t even hold down a relationship, never mind be a father. “He was found this morning lying in a boat on the lake in Cheetham Park.”

  Now Maggie Greenwood looked more puzzled than ever. “Are you sure it’s him? Dean wouldn’t go near open water, he was scared of it — never learned to swim, you see. And that park isn’t safe. He wouldn’t go there after dark. It’s a hangout for local gangs, Dean knew that — he got enough grief from them during the day.”

  She stopped talking. In floods of tears, she got up and began pacing the floor while the four of them looked on helplessly. She was cut to pieces, overcome with grief. Harry understood that, but he needed her to focus, to remember what she could about the previous evening. “Do you want to sit down?” he asked tentatively.

  “No! I want to know what happened to my son,” she shouted. “You come here, tell me Dean’s dead, but that’s not good enough. What aren’t you telling me? There’s something else, isn’t there? CID don’t come knocking at the door if it’s an accident.” She stopped, took a breath, and then in a firm voice said, “I need to know how my son died.”

  June and Brian looked at each other, seemingly unsure of what to do. “Maggie, the inspector is right. It’s been a shock,” Brian said eventually. “You should sit down. I’ll get you a brandy or something.”

  “And you are?” Jess asked.

  “Brian Isherwood, June’s partner. We live next door. We’ve all been friends for a while.”

  Maggie Greenwood finally sat down on the sofa, Brian’s arm around her shoulders. “It was a bad night . . . all that rain,” she sobbed. “I didn’t want him to go out but he insisted, said he’d made arrangements. But why did he get into a boat? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Did he say what sort of arrangements? Was he meeting someone?”

  “Dean never told me much. He came and went and said very little about what he was up to or who he met. Mostly, when he wasn’t at uni or working, he was in his room.”

  “I’m afraid Dean was murdered.” Harry gave the woman some time for the words to sink in.

  Maggie Greenwood shook her head slowly. She looked shell-shocked. “That can’t be right, I know some of the local lads didn’t like him much, but not enough to kill him. They were jealous — my Dean was clever, did well at uni and didn’t run with the crowd. I don’t understand it, any of this. Dean never got into bother.”

  “Yes, he was a good lad, no trouble at all,” Brian added.

  Harry sat down facing Maggie. “I know this is a bad time but I need to ask you a few questions. Can you think very carefully before answering, Maggie? It’s important we catch whoever did this to your son as soon as possible.”

  She nodded.

  “How’s Dean been lately?” he asked. “Did he seem worried about anything? Did he ever mention being afraid of anyone? Someone local perhaps?”

  Maggie stared at Harry. “What are you saying? That Dean upset someone and was murdered as a punishment? Dean didn’t mix with people like that. He was a bit obsessive over his hobbies, particularly his project for college.” She looked down at her hands. “You’ll see what I mean shortly. I presume you’ll want to look at his room.”

  Harry nodded.

  “Dean didn’t have many friends, but those he did have were like him — well-mannered, pleasant teenagers. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. He got on with everyone.”

  “Not quite everyone, Mrs Greenwood,” Jess reminded her.

  “Dean had been a bit off lately,” June Hardy said. “I asked him about it when he helped me with the garden last week. He told me it was nothing, just him being paranoid.”

  “What did you take that to mean?” Harry asked.

  “Okay. I suppose I’ll have to tell you.” June addressed Maggie. “Dean didn’t want to worry you, but he was a bit jumpy about a man he reckoned was following him. He said this man might do him harm.”

  “Did he know this man?” Harry asked.

  June continued to speak directly to Maggie. “I asked Dean to explain, but he wouldn’t say any more than that. Told me I was better off not knowing, that the man was dangerous. He said he’d seen him before, we all had, a while ago when we were on that holiday up in the Borders.” She smiled at Harry. “That’s a Scottish accen
t you’ve got. Perhaps you know how beautiful it is around Galashiels. Anyway, all four of us — Maggie, Dean, Brian and I — took a lodge by the Tweed for a few days. It was a pleasant break, we even did a bit of fishing. Dean seemed to enjoy his time with us all, until those men were murdered close by. They were killed on the other side of the park from where we were staying but still, it spoiled the holiday, and it upset Dean. I tried to tell him it had nothing to do with us, and that we were quite safe, but I don’t think Dean was convinced. Why would the killer follow him? Nonsense of course — I mean, Dean didn’t witness anything. In the end he dropped it, but he did get angry when I said I couldn’t recall the man. I did wonder if it was all in his head — not the murders, they were real enough, and we were all interviewed. Dean could be a bit fanciful at times, you see. He was always making up stories. He’d go places and come home full of it. The Galashiels trip was no different. This man he saw will have been just another fisherman staying at the park. The local police will have spoken to him like they did the rest of us.”

  “He did describe the man to me,” Brian said. “He wanted to know if I remembered him. Dean said he’d been staying in the park, in one of the other lodges, but the description he gave was very general. Tall, dark hair, very fit and in his late thirties — could be any number of blokes. I asked Dean what had made him so memorable, and he said it was his eyes. He said they were ice blue, the coldest eyes he’d ever seen.”

  “See what I mean? Fanciful,” Maggie said.

  “Would that be the ‘Borders Holiday Park?’” Jess asked, her eyes on her mobile.

  “Yes, and there’s something else,” Brian said. “Dean told me that this man had given him an earful one day for spying on him. But nothing came of it.”

  “Do you have any photos of that holiday?” Harry asked them all. “If Dean was right, they might help.”

  Maggie looked puzzled. “You think Dean did see something and he was genuinely in danger? That this man murdered him?”

  “We shall have to make more enquiries, then we’ll have a better idea,” Jess said. “But we’ll certainly investigate.”

  “I have a lot of photos. Leave your details and I’ll email them to you,” June offered.

  “You said Dean worked,” Jess said. “What did he do?”

  “He does a few hours a week after lectures at the Commodore Hotel in Manchester,” Maggie said, using the present tense. “It’s not far from the uni. The job’s nothing special, just a little reception work and inputting data into the booking system.”

  “Did Dean have a mobile?” Jess asked.

  “Yes, I bought it for him last Christmas. He’ll have had it on him.”

  “It wasn’t found,” Jess said.

  “It was on contract so the provider will give you the information you need,” Maggie said. “I’ll email you the details.”

  “Have you tried ringing it?” Harry asked.

  “Of course. First thing I did when I woke up and realised he wasn’t home, but it’s not accepting calls.” She burst into tears again.

  “I will need you to identify your son formally, Maggie. Are you able to do that?” Harry asked.

  Maggie Greenwood looked at her neighbours. “You’ll both come with me?” she sobbed.

  Harry got to his feet. “I’ll send a car. I can arrange for a family liaison officer to look after you. They’ll keep you up to date with events.”

  “Can I think about it?” Maggie said.

  “Sure. Here’s my card,” Harry said. “If you remember anything that might help, give me a call.” He paused. “Could we have that quick look at Dean’s room before we go?”

  “Okay, I’ll show you up.”

  Chapter Four

  Dean Greenwood’s room was not standard fare for a teenage lad. It was exceptionally tidy for a start, but that wasn’t what caught Harry and Jess’s attention. Two large boards hanging on the wall facing the window opposite were covered in a tapestry of press cuttings and notes, some handwritten, some printed, presumably by Dean.

  Harry and Jess stared at them, intrigued, trying to make sense of what they were looking at. The notes were pinned alongside newspaper cuttings showing different faces. One column was labelled ‘dead’ in capital letters across the top, and the other bore a question mark. On the ‘dead’ board the lad had collected virtually everything he could find on a number of murders that had taken place in the Greater Manchester area. Some had obviously been of special interest to him, and these were ringed in red felt-tip pen. Below them were photos of two men, labelled in scrawly writing.

  “He’s linked some — look at the red lines joining up the faces,” Jess noted.

  “Do you know why your son collected all these?” Harry asked Maggie.

  “Yes, that’s the project I mentioned. He was studying computer science at college. He spent every spare moment up here researching, making his notes. Bit odd perhaps, but that was my Dean.”

  “Didn’t you ask about these people? You’ll have seen the news, know that some of them were murdered. Didn’t it strike you as strange that Dean was so fascinated by them?”

  “Yes, of course it did. I thought it was morbid and I told him so. I was worried that he was becoming obsessive, but he just said I wouldn’t understand.”

  Some of the faces on the ‘dead’ board were familiar. At least one — that of a young woman — had been the subject of a high-profile case in Hulme, in Manchester. But it was the other board that Harry was most interested in. On it were photos of three faces — one a young woman, a second a middle-aged man. But it was the third that drew Harry’s attention. It was a silhouette of a man’s head. No features, no colour, just a white shape cut out of cardboard. Harry felt a shiver slip down his back. Who was he and why hide his identity?

  “A victim with no face,” Jess said. “Very mysterious. I wonder why Dean was so coy about him.”

  Harry shook himself. “You can see he’s named the ones who are already dead. The three on the question-mark board are all unnamed. They could be potential victims.”

  “You think the three of them — the blank, the young woman and the man — are all still on some hit list?” Jess asked.

  “Possibly.”

  “I don’t recognise the others either,” Jess said. “From the cuttings it looks like they’re already dead. One in Hulme, and the others around the Manchester area. These two,” she tapped the board and squinted to read the words, “he’s labelled ‘Galashiels in Scotland.’”

  “I recognise the Hulme case, that’s Nadir Nasir. It was high profile and handled by Manchester Central. Dean certainly knew what he was up to.” Harry pointed. The word ‘Killer’ printed out in huge letters was pinned across the top of both boards.

  “What have we stumbled on, Harry? Like his mum says, evidence of an overactive imagination, a genuine college project or something more sinister?”

  “I think this is Dean’s very own incident board. He’s spent time and energy compiling this little lot, and I want to know why. Each one of these killings, if that’s what they are, need looking at with fresh eyes,” Harry said.

  They had forgotten Maggie, standing in the doorway, watching them.

  Harry turned to look at a large desk in front of the window. “Liked his tech, your boy,” he said. Dean seemed to have owned two laptops, a tablet and a printer. “Expensive kit, too. What did he do with it all?”

  Maggie shrugged. “He spent hours up here — college work, he said. I never asked him much about it, all that technical stuff went over my head.”

  “We’ll need to examine these back at the lab,” Harry told her. “I’ll send someone to pick them up.” He waved a hand at the wall covered in notes. “Is there anyone else Dean would have spoken to about this . . . this project? A friend? Someone from college, or his work perhaps?”

  “No. Like I told you, this was Dean’s thing. I asked him about it often but always got the same answer, that it was to do with course work he was doing as part o
f the end of year assessment. I just left him to it.”

  Harry doubted it was that. The more he looked at the dozen or so names and faces on the wall, the more troubled he became. Where the Nadia Nasir case was concerned, he knew the Greater Manchester force were still investigating.

  He studied the face of the young woman on the other board. Harry had seen her recently, he thought he recognised those huge, dark eyes, but where? Had Dean Greenwood been close to exposing a murderer? If he was right, if Dean had discovered the identity of this killer, had he threatened to tell the police? Was that what got him killed?

  Both boards were important evidence. Everything on them would have to be checked out. Harry stood back and took several photos of the montage with his mobile.

  “I know her,” Jess said, pointing to the photo of the same pretty, dark-haired girl who’d drawn Harry’s attention. “And Dean was right, she’s not dead, so your theory about potential or next victims could be correct. These three are important. We need to find them. But this one’ll be a problem. Why is he the only one with no features? What was Dean hiding?”

  Harry had no answer to that. They needed to know a lot more about Dean Greenwood before any of this would make sense. “Mrs Greenwood, can I ask you to leave that wall exactly as it is. One of our CSI people will take the pictures down and bring them in.”

  She shrugged. “Okay, but it’s just his college project. What possible use can it be?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but it might be more significant than we think.”

  Maggie Greenwood went back downstairs, leaving them to it. “You think that wall is what got him killed, don’t you?” Jess asked. “It’s an odd one. What teenage lad d’you know does that sort of thing?”

  “Well, the ones I usually meet are druggies or apprentice dealers. This is a new one on me.”

  “But we should check out all aspects before we jump to conclusions,” Jess said. “For a start, we should make sure Dean hadn’t upset one of the Baxendale’s more unsavoury characters.”