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

by HELEN H. DURRANT

  “No, she had no visitors.”

  “You’re sure, Sharon?” Jess asked. “You might have been busy. He could have got past without you noticing.”

  “Not possible,” the manageress said. “To get through that door over there and into the rest of the hotel you need a key card.”

  “Did you issue a key to anyone who wasn’t a resident?” Harry asked.

  “Only the bloke who came to mend the lift,” Sharon said.

  Now they were getting somewhere. “Did he give a name?”

  “No. He said he was the engineer so I gave him a key.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you!” the manager shrieked. “You always get their details.”

  “Can you describe him?” Jess asked, ignoring the woman. “Think hard, Sharon, this is really important.”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t really see him. I was, er, dealing with a call at the time.”

  The manageress’s face was red with rage. “More like you were playing that damn game you’re so fond of on your phone. Get your coat. You know the rules. I’ll deal with you tomorrow. How many times do I have to tell you young people? Leave your bloody mobiles at home.”

  “He was wearing motorbike leathers with boots to match,” Sharon piped up. “I do remember that because they suited him. Dead fit he looked.”

  Fit or not, this man was a killer, and they had to get him before anyone else died. Harry and Jess went to have a look around, trying to work out which route he would have taken up to the top floor.

  “I doubt he’d use the lift — more chance of being picked up by the cameras. There’s the main staircase and the emergency one. Place like this, there’ll be CCTV on the main one, let’s hope the other’s covered too,” Harry said.

  They headed towards the lift. “How d’you reckon Dean knew? D’you think the killer could be a friend of the Greenwoods, or a relative?” Jess asked.

  “We need more information. Until we get something solid, it’s all just guesswork, Jessie.”

  “Should we still look for possible links between the victims?” she asked.

  Harry shook his head. “By all means give it a go, but I don’t think we’ll find any. There’s the geography for starters, and they are all very different people — their ages, their jobs, their sex, everything.”

  “So why does he choose them, Harry? Are they simply random kills? Lana Midani is high profile — take her on and it’ll attract publicity. He must know that.”

  “Perhaps that’s what he wants, Jess — the whole world to know what he’s capable of and how clever he is. He’s certainly got some nerve, I’ll give him that.”

  They set off up the emergency staircase, all eight floors of it.

  “There are cameras,” Jess noted. “One on each floor. With luck, we should get a reasonable image.”

  “I think he’s far too clever for that,” Harry said. “It’s possible he checked this place out prior to today — to know the whereabouts of this staircase, he’d have to. It’s tucked away down a corridor and not signposted from reception.”

  “It should be,” Jess said. “What if there’s a fire?”

  Chapter Ten

  Jess sounded increasingly frustrated. “Regardless of who else this maniac has killed, we’ve got two bodies and nothing to work with. How does he do it? I hope Hettie finds us something.”

  Harry understood Jess’s disappointment but was more optimistic. This man’s luck was bound to run out. “So far, he’s been extra careful, but remember, he’s human. He will slip up.”

  “But can we wait until he does? We have Dean’s ‘incident board’ with four dead faces local to us and two in Scotland. I’ve checked each and every one, and the cases are still open. He hasn’t slipped up yet.”

  “Col is looking at them, checking again to see if there are any links between the victims. He might find something we can use,” Harry said.

  “Our best bet is Dean himself,” Jess said. “He knew things about the killer, that’s why he died. Being the lad he was, Dean must have kept records. What we have to do is find them. My money is on those laptops.”

  “If there is anything to find, IT forensics are up to the job,” Harry said.

  “That solicitor, Connor. Want to speak to him before we go back?” Jess asked.

  Harry nodded. A word with him and then back to the station to see what they’d gleaned since this morning.

  * * *

  Rob Connor had an office on Ryebridge Road. The place was empty, apart from a young woman of about eighteen with short blonde spiky hair wearing a Ryebridge Academy blazer. She looked up from one of the computers when they entered.

  “If you want my dad, he’s out,” she told them, stifling a yawn. “I’ve no idea when he’ll be back but he’d better be quick, I’m knackered.”

  “We’re police,” Harry explained, hoping that might make her more helpful. “We’re here about Dean Greenwood’s murder. We believe he spent time with your dad.”

  The girl shook her head, smiling. “No, he didn’t. Dean came here to see me. I’m Thea Connor.”

  “You and Dean were friends?” Jess asked. “His mother didn’t mention you.”

  “That’s because she only saw us together a couple of times,” Thea said. “We hung out sometimes, that’s all. Dean wouldn’t have told his mum much, he didn’t want her sniffing around. He didn’t like anyone getting too interested in what he was doing.”

  “And what was he doing, Thea? Chasing a killer is a popular theory,” Harry said.

  The girl shrugged. “Dean could be a bit weird. He told me about that, but I didn’t take much notice. I just thought it was Dean being his usual paranoid self.”

  “And now? Since his murder?” Harry asked.

  “Seems a bit iffy, doesn’t it?” The girl was grinning. She didn’t seem at all upset that her friend was dead. “Looks like he really pissed off someone this time.”

  “If he didn’t want his mum to know, when did you meet up?” Jess asked.

  “We didn’t, not that often anyway, but usually in the library in town, or if his mum was working, at his.”

  “And what did the pair of you get up to?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Nothing much. He could be okay, a bit of a laugh, but then he’d get all intense. Like I said, Dean thought he was chasing a killer. Sometimes we’d meet in the library, have a coffee in the café.”

  “Didn’t you see any merit in his research?” Harry asked.

  “You’ve seen his room, his wall. You must have realised he got all that stuff from the papers. It doesn’t prove much, but Dean made this big conspiracy out of it, decided he was on the trail of some serial killer. He had someone in mind too, although he never told me who it was. The mistake Dean made was telling him — well, the man he thought was him. I reckon the guy was some lowlife who felt threatened by Dean’s ramblings, and that’s what got him murdered.”

  “Thea, d’you know anything at all about this man? Any details that might help us? His name, for example?” Jess asked.

  “No. Dean never said. He might not have known himself.” She looked at them and frowned. “Can’t be easy for you lot.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Harry said. “So you think Dean’s wall means nothing at all?”

  “His faces? Yeah, just cut-outs. He reckoned there were more, he just didn’t know who. Dean told me that he hadn’t pieced it all together but he had a good idea who the killer was. I did warn him. I told him that if by some stretch, he was right, one day this bloke would do him real harm.” She shrugged again. “I was right too.”

  “Do you know if Dean kept any records, notes of what he’d discovered about the victims and the killer?” Harry asked.

  “Yeah, course he did, Dean was meticulous, noted everything no matter how small. That’s what the three laptops are for. One he used only for gaming, said it kept him sane during the small hours. Night owl, you see. Another was strictly for research and the third for his notes.
”

  “Couldn’t he do all that on one?” Jess asked.

  “Course, but that was Dean. Neat, tidy, everything in its own place, even this project.”

  “You said three laptops,” Harry said. “We only found two in his room.”

  “Well he had three. I should know, I watched him use them often enough.”

  “You’ve seen his notes?”

  “Only some,” Thea said. “Gibberish mostly, at least to me. He wrote in code. Careful to a fault was Dean.”

  “Did Dean tell you anything about his plans for the night he was killed?” Harry asked.

  Thea Connor shook her head. “He didn’t want me tagging along so he never said much. Like I said, I did warn him. I told him that if by any chance he was right, then this man was dangerous. But Dean wasn’t having any. He said that him and this bloke had an understanding and that he’d be quite safe.”

  “That suggests Dean had arranged to meet this man, spoken to him. Do you know how he set that up?” Jess asked.

  “Who knows? Dean had been stalking him for a while. His plan was to blackmail the bloke, get money out of him for his silence. That’s when we fell out. Dean was taking things too far. I wanted him to stop, didn’t see the sense in it.”

  “Surely Dean must have realised the danger he was putting himself in that night?” Harry said.

  “Well, Dean’s dead, so I can’t ask him. He reckoned he had something that’d ensure his safety, something to trade. I dunno. Dean believed it gave him the edge and he wanted to use it to get money out of this man.”

  “Any idea what that edge was?”

  “No. The entire plan was a bad idea and I told him so. Whoever this man was, I doubt he was a killer like Dean thought. Doesn’t make sense, does it? If he was, you lot would be chasing him. But whoever he was, he’d had enough and must have decided to put an end to Dean’s interference once and for all.”

  “So Dean never used the killer’s real name,” Jess said.

  “Not with me. Perhaps he didn’t know it.”

  “On Dean’s wall there’s a blank face. D’you know who that is?” Harry asked.

  “No idea. The faceless man is what Dean said the killer called him.”

  “How did Dean know that?” Harry asked.

  Another shrug. “Can’t help with that one either. Dean made stuff up and he could do the secretive thing well.”

  Harry saw the smirk on Jess’s face. She was thinking the same about him. “D’you know if Dean ever met the killer, spoke to him about the deaths?”

  “He never said anything to me, but he could have done.”

  Harry stuck a hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out a card. “If you recall anything else, Ms Connor, give me a ring. We need all the help we can get on this one.”

  “I’ll ask his mum if she knows anything about the missing laptop, but what’s the betting she doesn’t,” Harry said as they made their way back to the car.

  “So, where is it? D’you think it’s been stolen?”

  “Highly probable, Jess. Dean could have had it with him that night, or someone took it from the house. I’ll get Hettie to do another sweep of that bedroom.”

  “Back to the station?” Jess asked.

  “Let’s hope Col’s got something, because from where I’m stood, things are just getting worse,” he said.

  “Don’t fret. Melanie is doing Dean’s PM tomorrow. That might give us something,” Jess said.

  But Harry wasn’t holding his breath. This case was turning out to be a right bugger, which was borne out by Colin Vance back at the station. The young DC had spent all afternoon checking the background of every victim but had found nothing to link them.

  “They are all very different,” he told Harry and Jess. “Different backgrounds, different jobs . . . this guy here lives in an exclusive apartment block near Wilmslow, but her,” he pointed to another, “she’s from a social housing estate in Hulme.”

  Col was right. There was nothing at all that connected them. It made no sense, and it was giving Harry a headache.

  “Sir,” the duty sergeant called from the office door. “You have a visitor downstairs.”

  “We’ll call it a day,” Harry decided. “Jess and I will attend the PM in the morning. Col, you chase up IT forensics — we’re desperate for the information on those laptops we found in Dean’s bedroom. And then we’ll carry on the good work here.”

  Harry went down to reception to see who wanted him. The sergeant pointed to a side room. Hopefully, this would be quick. All Harry wanted was a meal and some peace and quiet to think. But when he saw the woman waiting for him by the window, he knew that wasn’t going to happen.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Isla! What are you doing here?”

  Seeing her standing there gave Harry a massive shock. His heart was thumping so hard he thought she must surely hear it. She looked no different — the same jet-black hair and slim figure. Alone at night in the quiet hours, this was the woman he thought about — Isla, and what might have been.

  Now, she looked him up and down as if trying to work out what had happened for things between them to end this way. There was no disguising the hurt she still felt. Her accusing blue eyes stared into his very soul, seeking the explanation he couldn’t give her. In another life she had known him better than anyone. Did she see the truth now?

  “You didn’t visit,” she said, her tone sharp. “You were home but never came near. D’you know how much that hurt me?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t have long. A couple of days, that’s all. Work, you know how it is,” he mumbled. It was a weak excuse and not the reason at all. Seeing Isla would have been the icing on the cake, but it wasn’t without its dangers. He couldn’t put her at risk.

  “No, I don’t know how it is,” she said. “Why don’t you tell me, help me understand what’s going on? After everything we went through, the last thing I expected was for you to just . . . just walk away like that. You left me without a word. Nothing, not a call, not even a text. I had no idea how you were or where you’d gone, or even if you were still alive. Do you have any idea how that felt?”

  Harry couldn’t discuss it. The issue was too raw, cut too deep. “Isla, what are you doing here? I’m working, and I don’t have much free time.”

  “Working? What at? I don’t understand any of this. You should be at home, among people you know, people who love you.” She gave him a small, tremulous smile. “I miss you.”

  “You miss Paul,” Harry said. “It’s not the same. He was my twin but we aren’t the same person.”

  “You look like Paul to me.”

  “Well, I’m not, you’ve got the wrong twin, Isla.”

  She stroked his arm. “See the scar on your wrist, you got that scrambling over the rocks on Dunoon beach six summers ago.”

  Harry laughed. “Not good enough. I’ve had numerous scuffles, it goes with the job. I’ve also been caught in a house fire since then. I’m covered in scars.” He wiggled his fingers at her. “Take a good look at these if you don’t believe me.”

  “I’ve heard the rumours,” she said angrily. “And I know the truth. I’ve worked it out and I need to talk to you. I won’t be fobbed off.”

  He had to cut this short. The duty sergeant was listening in, practically with his tongue hanging out. “Not now, and not tonight. I’m too busy. Where are you staying?”

  “I’d hoped to be staying with you,” she said. “I haven’t arranged anything else.”

  “I’ll get you a B&B. How long are you here for?”

  Her eyes glistened with tears. He hadn’t handled this well, had he? Harry shook his head.

  “I’m up to my eyes in a tough case, otherwise—”

  “You don’t fool me. I know you too well. We were engaged, we still are.” She flashed her ring at him. “Or had you forgotten!”

  Without another word, Isla Stewart spun on her heel and left the room. Harry stood, looking around. The desk sergeant had been hanging on
every word. There was no stopping it. The juicy bit of gossip about Harry’s young woman would go round the station like wildfire. How would he explain this one in the morning? And what tale could he spin for Jess?

  * * *

  Until recently, Harry had been living in a campervan on a mate’s drive. During the last case he’d worked on, it had been deliberately set alight, rendering him homeless. Since then, Harry had been staying with Colin Vance. The young DC was so grateful to have made the team at last that he’d been only too pleased to offer Harry his spare room.

  Colin’s home was a brand-new apartment, and he had the habits to go with it. Col was tidy. He cooked all his own meals and shopped for a week’s worth of food at a time. He washed his shirts after one wear and ironed them as if he was branding them. Colin always looked the business. Not Harry’s style at all. That Colin was fast coming to resent his boss’s sloppy habits became more obvious as each day passed. But tonight, Colin was out. He was meeting up with some old college friends at a local pub. It gave Harry an opportunity to relax, order some fast food, down a couple of cans and chill in front of the telly. What Col didn’t see wouldn’t hurt him.

  The plan was a shower, trackies on and order that pizza while downing the first can. Harry needed to numb his mind from the hassle of the day. First there was the case, and now there was Isla. No way could Harry have her poking around in his new life. But how to stop her?

  Harry got out of the lift on the third floor to be faced with Hugh Devereaux, their neighbour. He was a tall, dark-haired fit-looking man. Harry put him in his mid-thirties, like him. Hugh was struggling with a pile of box files.

  He smiled at Harry. “Bringing work home is a right pain. And it’s got to be sorted before tomorrow.”

  Harry nodded. “Your job sounds as bad as mine. But in my case, tonight is for chilling. Too much thinking doesn’t do any good.”

  “Difficult case?” Hugh asked.

  “And then some. We’ve got a serial killer and a list of potential victims.”

  “Nasty. I don’t know how you deal with folk like that. All that death. It must leave scars.”

  Ignoring the remark, Harry said, “I’m sending out for pizza. Fancy one?”