The DCI Yorke Series Boxset

by Wes Markin

  ‘And how did you get DS Pettman’s number?’

  ‘Jake gave me a lift to the station, yesterday. I saw his card advertising his personal trainer services. I took it and he didn’t seem to object at the time.’

  ‘DS Pettman claims he knows you saw the card, but didn’t know you actually took it.’

  ‘I must have misunderstood him; I thought he wanted me to take it.’

  ‘He claims that he has already told you to stop contacting him, so why would you? Especially at a moment when you should have been phoning us in the conventional manner.’

  ‘I don’t know. As I said, the situation shocked me. Maybe I wasn’t thinking straight?’

  ‘Well, Ms Ray, you need to think carefully about this. If you approach DS Pettman or his wife again, either by phone or in person, you will be back in here. Only this time, you will be under arrest.’

  ‘I understand,’ she said. ‘And I wouldn’t want that. I’m already feeling rather blue as it is.’

  After another officer had interviewed her, and she’d signed a second statement, Lacey walked home, quickly.

  She’d been a fool responding to Jake’s criticisms and rejection. Now, this obnoxious detective Yorke was all over her like a rash, raking through her private life and dragging up her past.

  She was confident that the ingenious tampering of Mummy and Daddy’s car, which had been undetectable following their deaths in a fireball, would remain undiscovered; but her role as an escort was something she really didn’t want probed, especially following Brian Lawrence’s demise two days previous. She’d be in Nice with a new identity two days from now, but after that grilling back at the station, that was starting to feel like a long time away.

  But even now, knowing that her anger over Jake’s arrogance had caused her problems already, she could feel her frustration toward him grow further.

  She pulled her phone out and stared at it.

  He was content to pass his snide little judgements over me; yet, when I responded, he runs crying to this detective.

  Her finger lingered over the call button.

  You deserve the Blue Room, Jake, you really do. What have I got to lose now anyway? It is only a matter of time before they find out anyway and in a day and a half, I will be long gone. Could I squeeze you in at the last minute, just before I run?

  Stupid, she knew, but she couldn’t deny the tingle of excitement that ran down her spine ...

  She scrolled through her contacts and hit call.

  Phil Holmes answered the phone. ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s Lacey Ray.’

  ‘Hello, Lacey, I―’

  ‘What are you doing now?’

  ‘Nothing, why?’

  ‘I’ve had a strange afternoon. Could you come round and fuck me please?’

  10

  ‘THE DEAD VAN driver has been identified as John Lockley. It was actually the coroner, local to Salisbury, who identified him.’ Gardner spoke quickly, punctuating her sentences by crunching tic-tacs. ‘Lockley was a homeless man, sleeping and begging on Salisbury’s streets. He used to live with the STFH ─ Salisbury Trust For Homeless – until two months ago when his heavy drinking got too much for them. I’ve already had someone talk to the STFH, but they have no idea who he has been associating with in the interim. Most people, who know of him, say he only talks to the people he begs from.’

  ‘Yet the kidnapper knows him, or at least got to know him,’ Yorke said. ‘Emma, if you could keep some officers on the back of STFH, someone there must know of Lockley’s favourite begging locales, maybe we can pick him up on CCTV somewhere talking with the kidnapper.’

  Ambushed by the fumes of cheap polish in the incident room at Devizes HQ, Yorke breathed through his mouth rather than his nose. It was one assault too many on the senses after a day which had left him completely jaded.

  ‘Any money on him?’ Topham said, continually clasping and unclasping the strap of his expensive watch.

  ‘Fifty pounds, in ten pound notes, screwed into a tight, little ball.’ Gardner finished the sentence with another crunch.

  ‘Not good pay for a mission which cost him his life,’ Yorke said.

  Topham abandoned his watch strap to look down at his notes. ‘SOCO did not come up with any more dirt at the Ray house.’

  ‘Could we trace the farm from the dead pig in the sack?’ Yorke said.

  DS Iain Brookes spoke for the first time, ‘Thought of that, but parts of the skin had been sliced off to hide the branding.’ The colour drained from his face as he was forced to relive the experience that had seen him side-lined for the last few hours.

  ‘What do any of you know about Lacey Ray?’ Yorke said.

  ‘Promiscuous,’ Gardner said. ‘She was a couple of years below me at school. A very clever girl, always in the highest classes, but she was very popular too and was often behind the bike sheds, she seemed to enjoy having boys fighting over her.’

  ‘Lacey is giving DS Jake Pettman a hard time because they used to be an item ten years ago. She’s been phoning him and his wife. She even phoned him from the crime scene rather than contacting us directly. I just interviewed her.’

  ‘And?’ Gardner said.

  ‘Well, when she was younger, a child psychologist diagnosed her as a malignant narcissist.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Topham said.

  ‘In a nutshell, she thrives on power, cruelty and a sense of superiority.’

  ‘I knew they had a word for what Mark suffers from,’ Gardner said.

  ‘Ha, ha, very funny.’ Topham screwed his face up at Gardner.

  ‘I just interviewed her and at first, she seemed very skilled at keeping her personality disorder under wraps, but there were moments in the conversation when a colder and more calculating side emerged. Information from Southampton suggests she is working as an expensive escort. She’s definitely trouble, and the way she’s lingering around this drama like a dog in heat makes me worry. I’m sending Jake out collecting mud samples tomorrow to keep him out of her way until I know more. The investigating officer should be in touch with me tomorrow regarding this prostitution racket. Then, we can get some more information up on the wall about her.’ He pointed at the whiteboard, which covered the entire length of the right side of the room. On it, Operation Haystack was growing at an incredible rate. Apart from the pictures, information was tattooed on the board in permanent ink; it prevented anything from being accidentally wiped off, and could easily be removed with a solvent once the case was finished.

  At the top of the collage was a school photo of Paul Ray. To one side of him were his parents, looking uncharacteristically happy in a press release photo taken years ago at the opening of Joe’s shop; beneath it, Yorke had scribbled the word ‘Joe Ray: missing’ and today’s date. Beside the photo of the parents was a picture of Thomas Ray being led out of the courtroom on the day of the trial; someone else had written an estimated date of death, which had been confirmed by the coroner as over a week ago.

  Other familiar faces joined the cast list of Operation Haystack. Simon Rushton and Jessica Hart were up there as well as other teachers and staff at the school that had piqued the interest of the multitude of interviewing officers. It was a testament to just how many hours of police time had already gone into the case. Underneath each picture were many captions including: ‘claimed Paul Ray could be arrogant when challenged’, ‘sent him out of the classroom for arguing’, ‘parents were unsupportive’. Normal events in the lives of a teacher, but in the lives of a kidnapper or murderer, they were possible motives.

  At Yorke’s request, further along the board, was a section completely dedicated to the Ray family tree. It dated back over a hundred years. It began with a faded black and white picture from an old newspaper of child-killer Reggie and his wife. Beneath them was a picture of their three children; the youngest child, Thomas Ray’s father, Andrew, was looking up at the sky - was he looking for the aliens he would one day educate his son about? Then, there was
a picture of a young Thomas Ray and his cousins Richie and Louise. Beneath this, was a photo of Richie’s young child, butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth Lacey, and beside that, a wedding photo of Joe and Sarah. Underneath them, was a second copy of the school photo of prepubescent Paul.

  It was shocking to think that there were only two people alive in that whole family tree that he knew the whereabouts of.

  ‘We have Sarah safe,’ Yorke said. ‘We need to put Lacey under surveillance too.’

  ‘In case, she’s connected or she’s targeted?’ Gardner said.

  ‘Both I guess,’ Yorke said.

  ‘I’ll arrange it,’ Topham said.

  ‘Does anyone have an update on that list of Joe’s lovers?’ Yorke said.

  ‘He listed five,’ Brookes said. ‘They were all interviewed. Four were married. All of these claimed that their husbands never found out, and we confirmed this by surprising these men with their wives’ dirty little secret.’

  ‘There’s that compassionate side getting the better of you again Iain,’ Gardner said, rolling her eyes.

  ‘So out of the four husbands, not one knew?’ Yorke said.

  Brookes shrugged. ‘Yep.’

  ‘I think it’s worth a second look,’ Gardner said.

  ‘I really don’t,’ Brookes said.

  Yorke thought for a moment. ‘There’s no harm in checking again. Let’s re-interview the wives and husbands. Surely, at least one of them could be itching for revenge?’

  Brookes sighed. ‘Okay, we also still have officers looking into Joe Ray’s run-ins over the past ten years, but nothing there yet either.’

  ‘Speaking of motive,’ Topham said. ‘Has there been any further news on Harry, following the discovery of the letter?’

  Gardner said, ‘Taxi passengers are providing an alibi for the time that the Paul Ray kidnapping took place, and we were keeping tabs on him today during Joe’s abduction.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean he isn’t working with anyone, and it also doesn’t mean he didn’t kill Thomas Ray.’

  Yorke said, ‘Of course, Mark, I agree. But my instinct still says no. After all, Ray was dying anyway – so why take the risk? And as for taking Paul Ray - why? Paul and Thomas weren’t close, not even in contact as far as I’m aware.’

  ‘He could think the family owes him something?’ Topham said.

  ‘He used to be one of us,’ Gardner said. ‘He knows about poor kidnapping success rates; again, why would he take the risk?’

  ‘That could have been the reason he asked for a small amount because it would be easier to acquire in a short space of time―’ Topham continued.

  ‘But he still knows the money would have been marked. And then why go to the trouble of having an accomplice grab Joe too? It doesn’t add up,’ Yorke said. ‘But we’ll bring him in for another interview just to be sure.’

  There was a knock at the door. Topham stood up, adjusted his suit and went outside. A moment later, he came back in, sat down and sighed. ‘No match so far on the fingerprint on the patio door. Looks like whoever left it is clean.’

  There was a second, much more forceful, knock at the door. Topham shot up again, but there was no need, Dr Patricia Wileman burst in of her own accord.

  ‘I wish you’d stop doing that,’ Topham said and smiled.

  ‘I wish I was on holiday in the Caribbean drinking piña colada – you help me out with that one, I’ll see what I can do for you.’

  Yorke swivelled in his chair. She wore scrubs, but she’d opted for a small size, so her impressive figure drew lines in the material. ‘Hello Dr Wileman.’

  ‘DCI Yorke,’ she said in a softer tone to the one she’d greeted Topham with. She then flashed him a grin.

  Topham coughed. ‘Dr Wileman?’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ She broke eye-contact with Yorke. ‘The blood in the fingerprint is pig blood. However, the guy has changed his MO. Considerably.’

  Everyone sat up in their chairs. Jeremy Dawson from HOLMES typed hard and fast.

  ‘The blood in the kitchen was human this time. Type O.’

  ‘Joe Ray was Type O,’ Brookes said.

  ‘It’s also the most common blood type in the UK,’ Yorke said.

  Patricia met Yorke’s eyes again. She let her stare linger. ‘And both Thomas Ray and Paul Ray have type O blood. But it’s in for DNA testing, so hopefully, we should know whose it is shortly. Now, I’ll head off to dream about those piña coladas, while I wait for my taxi – my car’s in for repair.’

  ‘Thanks, Dr Wileman,’ Topham said.

  She glanced at Yorke, smiled and then left the room. Yorke could feel his heart beating in his chest.

  ‘We had no luck tracing the source of the e-mail ...’

  Yorke jumped up out of his seat. He ran out the door and chased Patricia down the corridor. ‘Dr Wileman?’

  ‘Pat, please,’ she said, turning and coming back his way. The purpose in her stride suggested that she wasn’t surprised. She swept her hair back and smiled.

  ‘I’ll give you a lift back,’ he said as his adrenaline almost reached the same level as it had done earlier during the car chase.

  ‘Are you sure? You must be busy in there―’

  ‘Fifteen minutes. I’ll meet you out front.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Yorke watched her walking away, noticing that his heart was beating faster. There was a moment of guilt as there always was when he flirted with someone, but Charlotte was long gone. Twenty years gone to be precise. It was time to put an end to it.

  He jogged back into the room and looked from one inquisitive face to the other.

  ‘And?’ Topham said.

  ‘Just had a hunch about something. I’d like to see if it comes to anything before I let you all know about it.’

  On the bedside table, the lava in the lamp stirred.

  Lacey had taken her mind to the Blue Room. Here she played ‘Who am I?’ It used to be her favourite game, and as she played it, she realised that it had lost none of its appeal.

  Who am I? Intelligent, good-looking, yet arrogant enough to think I can pass judgement on others?

  Unfortunately, her safety demanded she keep some of her senses partially tuned to reality, so she watched Phil’s face grow sweatier as he thrust. From the Blue Room, she commanded her eyes to meet his, to deceive him into feeling as if she was there, in bed with him, wholeheartedly.

  Who am I? She continued to ask herself in that cold and blue place. In a loveless, sexless marriage, but still pompous enough to reject Lacey Ray?

  Her partially tuned senses made her aware of Phil’s short, sharp breathing and his rolling eyes. She ordered her hand to stroke his back, coax an orgasm from him, and trick him into believing that she cared.

  Who am I? She asked herself as she turned naked, and free, in a place with no disorder. Cruel enough to turn the police against Lacey Ray when all she offered was comfort?

  The tremor and then the quiver of Phil’s release came like a burst of electricity, conducting its way through her body and finally her mind, shocking her back to reality and back to her bed . . .

  ‘Jake Pettman!’

  She watched Phil’s expression morph from pleasure to confusion and then to anger. She let her head slump to one side, so she could watch clumps of lava break away and ascend like rising devils.

  ‘What did you call me?’ he said.

  ‘I didn’t call you anything―’

  ‘You just called me Jake Pettman.’ He climbed off her and onto his feet.

  Behind him, the curtains were open; the light from several flats around the block illuminated the overly-furnished room. He paced the room, naked.

  ‘Ah, you’re angry,’ Lacey said.

  ‘That would be the normal reaction when you call someone by another man’s name.’

  She looked at his massive, hairy body; he was feral and repulsive.

  A bloated red bubble burst free in the lava lamp. She could hear the horns of the motorists from the m
ain road near the flat.

  ‘Have you met him?’ Lacey said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘He’s a DS investigating my nephew’s disappearance. He was on my mind.’

  ‘While we were having sex?’

  ‘Seems that way.’

  He still paced, back and forth.

  ‘Maybe, you should close the curtains?’

  He obliged, exposing his nakedness to the neighbourhood momentarily as he snapped the curtains closed. ‘A different name slipped out. So what? You don’t owe me anything.’

  Funny, you never struck me as the forgiving type.

  ‘You’re right, and in a way you should be grateful.’ She turned to watch lava being spat like bullets from the bottom of the lamp. She swung her legs off the side of the bed and sat up.

  ‘Grateful?’ he said, taking a step towards her.

  ‘Because I was with you in body, if not in mind.’

  ‘Why would I be grateful for that?’ He took another step and stood directly in front of her.

  ‘Because you’re getting all the pleasure he should be getting, but does not want.’ She reached out to stroke his manhood. ‘And, you know, you’re not all that bad. A little dim-witted perhaps, but that just makes you easier to control.’

  ‘What? Nobody controls me―’

  ‘Really? The point of the weak-willed, the point of you, is to be controlled.’

  She smiled at him and he struck her across the face. She slumped back and heard the lava lamp crash to the floor as he leaned over her ...

  It would have been easy to retreat back to that cold, blue, organised room, but she preferred instead to stay and be mindful of the pain ― it would make her more competent later.

  ‘I have a confession to make,’ Patricia said.

  ‘Go on,’ Yorke said, watching the spire of the great cathedral growing as they thundered towards Salisbury in the Lexus.

  ‘I knew your sister.’

  Not the confession I was hoping for ... or expecting, he thought.

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Very well in fact. We met up quite regularly during that period you weren’t talking.’