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

by HELEN H. DURRANT

  “Get out there, he might still be hanging around.” Jess ran up the stairs to check on Thea and her dad. Both were fine, locked in their rooms.

  “It’s okay,” Jess said. “I don’t know what happened, but it’s sorted now.”

  Rob Connor wasn’t convinced. “Was that him — the bastard who wants to kill my girl?”

  “We can’t be sure. The cottage has been empty for a while. Perhaps it was someone who’s been using it to sleep in.”

  “You don’t believe that any more than I do,” he said sourly. “Get us somewhere else. This place is compromised. Somehow he’s found out where we are.”

  He was right. They’d have to move them straight away. This was turning into a nightmare.

  * * *

  Damn that bloody detective! He should have torched the place, made sure that no one walked out of there. Now they’d move her again and Thea Connor would be lost to him. He needed to think. For the first time in his killing career he’d lost control and now he was in danger of becoming a target himself. All because of two meddling teenagers. If the man he worked for got a whiff of this, it’d be curtains.

  Hang on. Why bother with Thea Connor? She wasn’t a paid target. He could walk away, get on with the job in hand and earn himself a packet. As for Thea, he’d just have to play it close and hope the police didn’t come after him. Why should they anyway? No one knew his true identity, not even her. In many respects he was as safe as he’d ever been.

  He arrived home in the early hours. He’d fallen heavily down that narrow staircase and twisted his ankle. He’d need to rest up, spend the next few days researching his new target. All he wanted now was to do the job, get paid and get the hell out of Ryebridge.

  He sat down at his laptop and accessed the selling site. Ah, good, his next target was local, no travelling. The hit list just gave him as ‘faceless man’, but after ten minutes on the ad Songbird had placed, he had a name. It sent a shiver down his spine. At first, he thought it had to be a mistake. But in his heart of hearts he knew it wasn’t. It was his reward for having failed with the Midani girl. He’d also created too much publicity when he’d murdered Dean and that PA at the hotel. But what else could he have done? They had both been a threat to his anonymity. He recalled his conversation with Thea — she’d predicted this very thing. Clever girl. Perhaps he should have paid her after all. He looked again at the name he’d been given. He’d have to leave, and there was no time to lose.

  Chapter Forty

  Day Eight

  The following morning Harry was at his desk before eight. Jess had rung him about the break-in in the early hours, and he was worried about her. They were lucky it had ended the way it had. If Jess hadn’t been awake and on the ball, things could have turned out very differently. A new safe house was swiftly sorted, and now even he didn’t know where they were.

  He had a batch of new emails, there were two from Sasha Steele. He opened the first. The blood on the grass he’d collected from the embankment near the bowling club was a match for Isherwood. The man had been telling the truth — he had got his bruises and scratched face from the tumble and not from a fight with Roebuck. It looked less and less likely that he was their man.

  Colin arrived next, and he didn’t look happy. “I’ve been thinking about Jess and the break-in at the cottage. I reckon it was my fault. I think we were followed. It’s the only way the killer could have known where they were. He was probably staking out the Connor house and saw us collect their stuff. The suitcases were a giveaway. He must have guessed what was going on and taken it from there.”

  He could be right. “See if you can spot anything on the CCTV along the road to Stockfield. That’s a good call, Col.” He smiled. “Enjoy your night out with Hugh?”

  He didn’t look any happier. “He called it off, had to work. They had a burst pipe at his surgery, and he spent the evening mopping up.”

  Somehow Harry didn’t see the suave Hugh Devereaux getting to grips with a mop and bucket.

  Harry’s desk phone rang, it was Rodders. “Would you come to my office? I’ve got DCI Weeks with me and he’d like a word.”

  This was it. How would Weeks take their theory about a leak on his team?

  The answer to Harry’s question was not well. Weeks hadn’t liked what Rodders had told him one bit, and by the time Harry got to the office his face was one huge thundercloud.

  “Before you start, Superintendent Croft has filled me in and what you say isn’t possible. My team is tight, all hand-picked, so you can forget this wild idea of yours, Lennox.”

  “You’ve seen the website in question, sir? So how d’you explain it? How come Calvert takes the username ‘Songbird’ when he places his adverts? You’re saying it’s a coincidence that he uses the same name as your so-called covert operation?” Harry was angry too. Why couldn’t Weeks see what was staring him in the face?

  “No, I’m saying he’s heard the word somewhere. Perhaps from one of yours.”

  Harry shook his head. “Out of the question. We’ve only been aware of Songbird for a few days. Before that it meant nothing apart from a brief mention in the odd email. Think again, sir. There has to be a leak and it has to come from your team.”

  “DI Lennox has a point,” Rodders said. “Knowing the name of your operation is one thing but we have to consider what other information he’s being fed. Right now we’re hoping to have enough evidence to put Calvert in the frame for hiring the killer and the last thing we want is for him to get wind of that.”

  Weeks sighed heavily. “You can say that again. I’ve been after the bastard for too long as it is.”

  “Then help us, sir,” Harry said. “Can I suggest that we keep all new information between ourselves? We have acquired a mobile phone that Calvert used to call the killer. It is being analysed by our forensic people. It will have fingerprints on it, possibly Calvert’s DNA.”

  “Where did it come from?” Weeks asked.

  “Calvert’s desk drawer. Dean Greenwood took it.”

  “Not good enough. If it was stolen, it may be inadmissible. We need evidence got via a search warrant to make it work.”

  Harry felt deflated. That mobile was important to the case. “I’ll speak to Sasha Steele, she’s in IT forensics, see what she can turn up.”

  “It’ll have to be good, and soon.”

  Harry was well aware of that. He’d no intention of reminding Weeks, but the killer had almost finished with all the names on Dean’s board. Lana was still outstanding, but what was the chance of the killer finding her? That just left the faceless man. What plans, Harry wondered, did the killer have once he’d finished?

  “Have you never suspected anyone in your team, sir? Anyone at all?”

  Weeks gave Harry a long, hard look, as if to say he’d overstepped the mark. “I lead the team, with Parkinson as my second in command. We all have the same objective, to find something on Ricky Calvert that puts him away for a long time. None of my team would let me down. I’ve known and worked with them all long enough to be absolutely sure of that.”

  Harry still wasn’t convinced but persuading Weeks would be a marathon. He’d have to let it drop for now. Meanwhile, as soon as he could swing it, he’d get a warrant to have Parkinson’s bank accounts checked. All he needed was a good enough reason.

  Chapter Forty-one

  What Weeks had said about the burner phone being dodgy evidence for convicting Calvert bothered Harry. But should it? He wanted sound evidence about the assassin, Calvert was Weeks’s problem. He sat at his desk and read through the reports they had so far. In all of it, page after page, there was still nothing that gave the smallest clue as to who he was. The man was as much a mystery today as when he and Jess had first looked at Dean’s wall.

  Harry went back to his emails and opened the second one from Sasha. She’d found something else in Calvert’s browsing history. He’d visited the Borders Holiday Park site. Dean had been there too. That couldn’t be a coincidence. Sasha
reckoned that Dean had been keeping an eye on Calvert’s internet usage, had seen an ad on the selling site and deduced that the park would be the next location for a kill. The two men killed in Galashiels were connected to Calvert and not to a Scottish villain at all. What a relief! Harry cheered up immediately. This case was a Salton-free zone, which suited him just fine.

  Harry decided he’d visit Maggie Greenwood and get more details about that holiday. While he was there, he’d speak to Isherwood, if he was home.

  “Col, hold the fort, will you? I won’t be long.”

  “Off anywhere interesting?”

  “Another word with Maggie and to tell Isherwood he’s off the hook. After that, I’ll call in at the Reid, see if they have anything.”

  “I’ll take a closer look at those photos shortly, you never know.”

  Maggie Greenwood seemed pleased to see him for once, and invited him in. “Making progress? Only you will tell me, won’t you, if you arrest someone for what happened to Dean?”

  “I will, and we are making some progress, but we still have gaps.”

  “Like who this bloody killer is,” Isherwood chipped in from the lounge. He was sitting on the sofa and scowled at Harry when he entered the room.

  “It all takes time,” Harry said. “And this one is at the top of his game. I’m glad you’re here, Mr Isherwood, I wanted a word.”

  “What d’you think I’ve done now?”

  “Nothing, you’re in the clear. Everything you’ve told me checks out, so I’m sorry if I had you rattled.”

  Isherwood grunted. “That’s something at least. Glad you’ve seen the light.”

  Harry sat down. “I want to know whose idea it was to visit the holiday park in Galashiels.”

  “Mine, I think,” Maggie said.

  “No. It was Dean. He found the place online, remember?” Isherwood said. “He printed out the details and showed us one night. He was so enthusiastic that none of us could say no.”

  Maggie nodded. “I remember now. Yes, you’re right. It was down to Dean.”

  Sasha was correct. Dean had been on the killer’s trail even back then. “Can I have another look at his bedroom?”

  “Why?” Maggie asked. “Your forensic people have been all over it twice already.”

  “Don’t argue with the man,” Isherwood said. “Up you go. Poke about wherever you want.”

  Harry climbed the stairs and went into the lad’s bedroom. It had changed since he was last here. The wall with the faces on it was empty — forensics had taken all the images down and he now had them on his incident board. The tech was gone too, Sasha had that. Maggie was right, there wasn’t much to see. The bed was made, the surfaces all clear and tidy. He opened the wardrobe and ran a hand over the clothes hanging there. Forensics would have gone through the pockets and the like. Harry was just about to leave when he spotted it.

  He wouldn’t have given it a second thought, except for two things Thea had said. At the beginning of the investigation she said Dean had something that gave him an edge, and later when she’d admitted the truth about trying to blackmail the killer, she had said Dean used spy cameras that looked like air fresheners.

  Harry reached up and took the object from the top of the wardrobe. Who’d ever give it a second glance? It was just some innocent-looking product to make the room smell nice. Except it wasn’t. Harry knew exactly what it was. He was holding one of Dean’s cameras. He checked the slot underneath the stand — the card was still there. This had to be the ‘edge’ Thea had spoken of. The something Dean had intended to use if things got tricky. Shame he never got the chance.

  “Everything okay?” Maggie asked when he went back downstairs.

  He held up the evidence bag. “May I take this?”

  “Yes, but I don’t know what use it’ll be. It’s been on top of that wardrobe for ages.”

  He smiled. “I’m hoping it’ll be just what I’m looking for, Maggie.”

  Back in his car, Harry rang Sasha. She was back in her lab and sounded almost relieved to hear from him.

  “Come to the Reid, we need to talk. This is urgent, Harry, so don’t be long.”

  She sounded anxious. He wondered what she’d found.

  Chapter Forty-two

  Harry’s mobile rang just as he pulled into the Reid car park. It was Isla Stewart.

  “I’m going home this morning,” she said. “It’s pointless hanging around if you won’t talk to me. But don’t think this is finished because I will be back. One way or another, I will prove you’re a fake and then I’ll tell the world who you really are.”

  Harry was sick of rowing over this. “Whatever you want, Isla, but just ask yourself, does it really matter?”

  “Yes, it does to me,” she retorted. “Paul Lennox and I were due to be married, we loved each other. I can’t pretend he’s dead if that’s not true.”

  “He is dead, Isla so you’re wasting your time, and mine too. I have to go. Take care. Go home, forget all about Paul and get on with your life.”

  Harry finished the call. It was sad, and if he could have made it different, he would. But where he came from, anyone called Lennox had a price on their head. If Salton decided that there’d been a mistake and the wrong twin had died in that fire, he’d come gunning for him. Cruel and upsetting as it was, Isla was better off without him.

  He drew up outside the Reid and went down to the basement where Sasha had her lab.

  “There’s to be another kill,” she told him. “In Ryebridge. This time it’s our mystery, the faceless man, but now I have a name, so you need to warn him, have him watched, do something to prevent it.”

  Harry took the notebook she handed him, where she had written down what she had calculated from the ad on the site and, underneath it, the name.

  “There’s no mistake. The number against his name is the same as that of the faceless man.”

  Harry looked again. No mistake she’d said. “I don’t understand. I know this man. He’s a nice guy. What’s he done to upset Calvert?”

  “You know where he lives?”

  Harry nodded. “Hugh Devereaux is my next-door neighbour.”

  “Well, that’s handy.” Sasha stood watching him thoughtfully. “This couldn’t have anything to do with you, could it? A warning for instance? Have you been rumbled as part of the Songbird operation? Stepped on toes, you know, upset someone?”

  “There’s a leak, so it’s possible. But why choose Hugh? It doesn’t make any sense that I can think of. I’d better go and find him, arrange some protection.”

  “Good call. But you could think of this as an opportunity, use Hugh as bait to catch the killer.” Sasha smiled.

  “Too risky. The killer is smart. Hugh’s life must come first. He’s another one that may have to go into a safe house.”

  “At this rate you’ll have half of Ryebridge hidden away. But think about it, Harry. When are you going to get another chance?”

  She was right. At least he should have a word with Hugh. It might shed some light. Find out who he knew and what he’d been up to recently for starters. He changed the subject. “Have you figured a way to get evidence on Calvert yet?”

  “He placed the ads online. Find the computer he used, we’ll match up the IP addresses and then we’ll have him.”

  She made it sound so simple. “Calvert did most of his work, legitimate and otherwise, from his office at the Commodore. Dean had access so that’ll be where he copied his browser history from.”

  “There you are then. According to the history, the Border Holiday Park was accessed from the same computer as the selling site. I found nothing interesting in his emails. All you need now is a bloody good reason to get a search warrant.”

  Isla’s call and this thing with Hugh had almost made Harry forget about his find. He handed her the spy camera. “I got this from Dean Greenwood’s bedroom. It’d been overlooked in the search. There’s a card, I’d like to know what’s on it.”

  “I’ll make it
a priority. Now, go and see your neighbour. Warn him and ask if he’s willing to help catch the killer. You never know, he might surprise you.”

  * * *

  Harry pulled up outside the apartment block. Hugh’s car was parked up. Good, he was still at home. He hurried up to their floor and banged on his door.

  “Hugh!” he called out. “It’s Harry. I need to speak to you.”

  Hugh Devereaux opened the door. “Hello, Harry. What’s up? Why all the panic?”

  Harry pushed inside past Hugh, closing the door behind him. The place was spick and span as usual, but there was a suitcase on the sofa. It looked like he was packing. “Going somewhere?”

  “Yes, and I doubt I’ll be coming back,” Hugh said. “A job offer I’d be stupid to refuse. I’ll take what I need and send for the rest once I’m settled.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Harry said. “I have reason to believe you’re in danger. Your name has come up in our current investigations as a target for a killer we’ve been chasing. This killer is good, Hugh. He’s after you and won’t give up until you’re dead.”

  Harry watched Hugh’s face and waited for a reaction. He remained expressionless. Harry couldn’t understand why he showed no emotion, no fear. Most people would be terrified, they’d immediately have any number of questions. “This is no joke, Hugh,” he said. “I’m deadly serious. This killer could strike at any time.”

  Hugh looked directly at him and sighed. “I know. I’ve seen the advert on the site too and I’m aware of what it means. I appreciate your concern, Harry, but there is nothing you or I can do.”

  Chapter Forty-three

  Harry stared at Hugh, open-mouthed. How could he know about the site? Then he realised. Hugh had to be part of this whole thing. “I don’t understand how you know about the website. How and why did you get involved with these people?”