The front of the house was tidy and unassuming on a road just a half mile from her own home between Netherton and Dudley.
The door was opened by a slim, attractive man in his late thirties wearing jeans and a plain tee shirt. His hair was light brown with just a hint of grey at the temples.
‘Mr Dunn, Jeffrey Dunn?’ she asked, holding up her ID.
He frowned and nodded.
‘I’m here about Jessie,’ she explained. ‘Your daughter,’ she added before realising that bit had been unnecessary. He knew who she was.
His face creased in concern.
‘May I come in?’ she asked. ‘I have a few questions.’
‘Of course,’ he said, standing aside as though he’d completely forgotten his manners.
Stacey walked towards the kitchen looking for clues as she went. There was only one jacket hanging over the bannister. She sniffed the air, but there was no smell of perfume. The kitchen was tidy except for sandwich-making ingredients on the work surface nearest to the sink. There were no glasses, cups or plates lying around to give her a clue.
‘So, what’s wrong with Jessie?’ he asked, disturbing her secret reconnaissance of his home.
He didn’t invite her to sit, so she didn’t.
‘I’m afraid your daughter is missing, Mr Dunn.’
Although his back was towards her she saw the tension seep into his shoulders before he shook his head.
‘I’m sure you know I’ve not seen her since she was four years old.’
‘Not once?’ she asked, moving around the kitchen to the end of the work surface so she could see his face, which was focussed hard on the sliced ham he was adding to a smattering of grated cheese.
He shook his head in response. ‘Her mother wouldn’t allow it once I left.’
Stacey couldn’t help wondering how hard he’d tried. There were courts and procedures and people to help him with seeing his own child.
‘Yes, I tried,’ he said, as though reading her thoughts. ‘Maybe not as hard as I should but that’s not something I’m going to share with you,’ he said, turning to her. ‘No offence.’
Stacey was surprised to see the pain in his eyes and wondered if she had judged him harshly.
‘Mr Dunn, may I ask why you left?’ she asked before she could stop herself.
‘I’m sure you’ve already had one version of that story so I won’t—’
‘Your ex-wife says you left when Jessie got ill,’ she said, but something about his demeanour caused her to wonder.
His smile was filled with irony. ‘Of course she did.’
Stacey detected little anger in his tone. More resigned acceptance.
‘But you’re not here for a lesson in our family history. You want to know if Jessie is here, and I can assure you she’s not.’
Stacey could hear the abject sadness in his tone and felt that her very presence was bringing back painful memories for him.
‘Mr Dunn, I’m sorry…’
‘Take a look around,’ he said, cutting the sandwich in half. ‘I have nothing to hide.’
Stacey knew she would get no better invitation and, despite her regret at being the source of his pain, she quietly thanked him before leaving the room.
His openness told her that Jessie wasn’t here but she had an obligation to check. Nevertheless, she trod gently as she mounted the stairs, feeling her intrusion into his memories and his home.
All doors from the landing were open. She stood in the doorway of the first, which clearly belonged to Jeffrey Dunn. A double bed, one bedside lamp, an Ian Rankin novel and an alarm clock. The other bedside cabinet was empty.
The next room held a single bed without sheets or pillows. She stepped in and opened the wardrobe; it was empty. There was no other furniture in the room.
She entered the bathroom and looked around. There were no female toiletries in the cabinet or on the side of the bath. She checked the plugholes for evidence of longer hair, but there was nothing. She checked the waste bin for anything that hinted at a female presence, but it was empty.
If Jeffrey Dunn had ever remarried there was no evidence of it now. There was no doubt that this man lived alone.
She headed down the stairs after assessing the back garden. Enclosed by fencing on both sides the rectangle was free of lawn and was half slab and half gravel. There was no garden shed or storage boxes to check.
As she reached the bottom of the stairs she saw Mr Dunn sitting in the lounge with a coffee mug in hand.
Stacey paused. ‘Thank you for being so cooperative and—’
‘I didn’t leave because my daughter became ill,’ he said, turning to face her. ‘Jessie was ill from birth. I was right there with my wife, talking to doctors, specialists. Poor kid has had every test to find out what’s wrong with her: blood tests, scans, MRIs, the works.’
‘So why did you?…’
‘When Jessie first became ill my wife and I were a team, we handled it together, kept each other strong through the fear and the worry. Little by little Kerry began to pull away from me, started handling things alone. It was like she closed her arms around Jessie and there was just no room for anyone else.’ He smiled, ruefully. ‘I get how self-centred that sounds but it wasn’t like that. I didn’t want my wife’s attention. I wanted to help them both, and I couldn’t get close to either of them. It crucified me and eventually I gave in.’
He paused and looked at her, the pain of his loss still evident in his eyes.
‘So you see I didn’t really leave – because my wife had already left.’
Twenty-Three
Saul Cordell blended onto the M5 motorway from the M6 around West Bromwich at ten minutes past ten.
And still he didn’t quite know how he felt about the death of his father.
It had been almost twenty-four hours since the call from his mother informing him of his father’s brutal murder. He had felt the immediate horror at the manner of his death. He had felt the anger that some sick bastard had done this to his father, but he was still waiting for something more. For the knowledge to reach a deeper place inside him. A place that would produce tears, regret, grief.
He wondered if some part of him had gone numb. He hoped so because he’d been able to summon more genuine emotion for his patients than he could for his father.
‘Don’t rush,’ his mother had instructed, insisting there was nothing they could do for him now.
And he hadn’t.
After the phone call, he had sat in the darkness for hours waiting for some kind of reaction.
And when it hadn’t arrived he had watched the sun come up and headed off to work.
He’d called his mother, who had just sent away the family liaison officer. He had smiled ruefully. Of course she had. His mother could barely tolerate family in the kitchen she’d built from scratch never mind a stranger.
He had arrived at theatre at the Queen Elizabeth University Hospital in Glasgow calm, focussed and ready to work.
The morning surgery had been a laparoscopic nephrectomy on a forty-four-year-old woman. The keyhole procedure had suffered complications when bleeding required him to revert to open surgery to remove the kidney. In the afternoon he had assisted his mentor, Doctor Flint, on the kidney transplant of a nine-year-old girl.
Neither surgery would he have missed for anything and his mother understood that. She always understood. Sometimes too much.
He knew how many times she had forgiven his father’s affairs over the years to keep the family together. He didn’t have the heart to tell her it had been for nothing. He had not one tangible memory from his childhood that centred on his father. He was there, of course, in the background of the slideshow but it was his mother always at the forefront.
He knew his mother hadn’t necessarily stayed with his father through love. Not after the first few dalliances, he reasoned. But she had known she couldn’t afford the same opportunities for her sons without him. A thought that saddened him and yet made him lov
e her even more.
He was wondering if his brother had already reached home as bright lights shone into his rear-view mirror from behind.
‘Bloody hell, mate,’ he said to himself trying to block out the blinding light and concentrate on the road. He’d been driving nonstop since five o’clock and was not in the mood. The M61 had blended to the M62 onto the M6 and now the final stretch of mundane, boring concrete before he could exit at junction 3 at Halesowen.
He blinked a few times to try and remove the shards of light that seemed to have burned on to his retina.
The vehicle was almost kissing his rear bumper. Only two days ago he’d had to replace his personalised number plate after it had been stolen for the fourth time. He’d been tempted to replace it, but the registered number had been a present from his mother when he finished medical school.
He indicated and moved into the middle lane. Maybe the idiot behind was in some kind of rush.
The lights blinded him again as the car followed him into the middle lane.
Saul drove another quarter mile before switching back to the slow lane.
Immediately the car behind switched back too.
He was momentarily blinded and lost sight of the road. He gripped the wheel tightly and drove straight hoping he was following the line of the road, waiting for his vision to return.
What the hell was this guy’s problem? And why had his heartbeat increased so that the blood pounded through his ears?
Although not speeding he began to ease off the pedal bringing his speed down to sixty.
Suddenly the blinding light in his rear-view mirror disappeared, disorienting him.
He briefly hoped the guy had dropped right back. He let out a breath, unaware of the tension he’d been holding inside.
Two seconds later the flash was back, the vehicle’s headlights back on high beam.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ he said, slowing to fifty miles an hour.
On, off, on, off, on, off.
His eyes couldn’t adjust to the light.
He knew stopping could be dangerous. He’d read enough horror stories about that. He tried to think what to do.
On, off, on, off, on, off.
He couldn’t keep his eyes on the road. His vision was seriously limited.
He couldn’t dare reach towards his phone in the handset.
He felt trapped as the panic began to rise inside him.
He slowed even more as he continued to drive through the whiteout in his eyes.
The light began to fade away. He looked into the mirror to see where it had gone as it disappeared up the off-ramp of junction 2. Thank God, he thought, as the relief swept over him.
He turned his attention back to the road and the smile died on his lips.
Twenty-Four
Kim could feel Ted’s eyes boring into her from behind as she filled the kettle.
‘You turn up late at night and offer to make the coffee. Hmm. It must be bad,’ he said, rubbing Barney’s head.
Kim reached up into the top cupboard where Ted kept the Colombian Gold pack and the cafetière, especially for her.
‘It’s difficult,’ she admitted.
‘Not your current case then?’ he asked.
Her most recent request of help from Ted during the Heathcrest investigation had been her need to know about children who kill.
Once again she felt regret that she only visited Ted when she wanted help on one of her cases.
‘I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t mind,’ he said. ‘I’m flattered that you come to me at all.’
How the hell did he do that? she wondered.
‘So, how’s your leg?’ he asked.
‘Getting there,’ she said, carrying the tray through to the living room.
He said nothing but sat in his favourite armchair. She took the chair opposite. Barney sat at her feet.
The first time they’d visited, Barney had claimed his spot on the sofa beside her. Despite Ted’s protestations she’d made him get down immediately. What was acceptable in her own home was not necessarily acceptable elsewhere.
‘He loves you,’ Ted said, smiling at Barney.
‘I feed him, that’s what he loves,’ she said, stroking his head.
‘What he loves is your affection. He feels it and returns it unconditionally, which in turn allows you to trust and—’
‘Ted, I’m not here for owner and dog therapy,’ she advised.
Ted tipped his head. ‘Apparently dog walking is a very sociable activity. Helps you make new friends?’ he said, posing it as a question.
‘He’s a dog not a bloody miracle worker,’ she scoffed.
Ted smiled and looked at her hand rubbing Barney’s head. ‘Hmm… I think on that I’d probably disagree.’
She said nothing as Ted leaned forward and pushed down the plunger, forcing the flavour from the coffee.
‘So, if it’s not a current case what can I help you with?’
‘In a nutshell I need you to lie,’ she said, raising her chin.
‘No, you don’t and you’d never even ask it of me.’
He was right. She wouldn’t and he wouldn’t.
‘Let’s just say there is concern for my psychological stability—’
‘It’s taken them this long?’ Ted asked with a glint in his eye.
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Since my colleague was killed,’ she clarified.
‘You mean Dawson? Kevin Dawson?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ she said, shortly.
He raised one eyebrow. ‘Strange how every other time you’ve been here and mentioned him it’s been either Dawson or Kev. And yet now you call him your colleague. Interesting.’
‘Ted…’ she warned, remembering just how dangerous this man was. Every word, every inference, every tone, every gesture was analysed.
‘Basically, they want to know if I’m fit for work.’
‘Hmm…’ he said, stroking his chin. ‘I thought counselling was mandatory after such a traumatic event.’
‘I was off sick, and Woody just needs to tick the box…’
‘Oh, so simple…’
‘By the end of the week,’ she added.
He looked horrified. ‘So, I’m supposed to unravel a lifetime of abuse, guilt, cruelty, neglect and declare you fit for work by Friday?’
‘Other than the taking me apart bit, pretty much,’ she answered. ‘Because we both know that’s never gonna happen.’
He nodded his understanding.
‘Well, I can give you my answer and my recommendations right now and they will not change by Friday, and taking you apart would do nothing to alter it.’
‘So, you already know the answer so there’s no need to talk at all?’ she said. ‘I could just tell Woody…’
‘Oh, Kim, sometimes it’s like you pretend not to know me at all. Of course, we’re going to talk but I’m not going to analyse your past. What matters right now is your present. And you know that as well as I do.’
‘I’m actually fine,’ she said. ‘Totally normal and able to function.’
‘Yes, you have become quite the expert at that. But, why didn’t you take Woody’s offer of a police psychologist, Kim? You and I both know you could run rings around any one of them. You spent the entirety of your formative years and beyond learning how to manipulate and avoid actually showing your true emotions to mental health professionals. They’d have had you signed off as fit for service in two sessions. You know that.’
‘So, what are you saying?’ she asked, bristling.
‘I’m saying you insisted on seeing me not to satisfy Woody you’re fit for duty…’
Kim said nothing.
‘You came to see me because you want to satisfy yourself that you’re fit for duty.’
Twenty-Five
Yes, yes, yes. Two down and many more to go.
It really is so simple as long as you plan ahead.
I knew where you worked, Saul Cordell. I knew the pathetic, pretent
ious registration number of your car. I knew where you’d join the M5 and all I had to do was wait.
I was laughing so hard as I flashed on and off, on and off blinding you. I could imagine your panic, feel your fear. I timed my exit to perfection. Exit at junction 2, leaving you so disoriented you would never see the traffic cones, or the yellow vehicle with the flashing lights and the directional blue arrow warning you to change lane.
Splat.
Right into the back of the lorry; the sound of the impact filled the air like an explosion.
I can picture the chaos, the mayhem; everything bathed in the blue flashing lights of the emergency services. Fire, Police and Ambulance. Huddles of people rushing, planning, assessing risk, calling their superiors. All too late. Always too late.
As fun as it was it didn’t come close to the satisfaction I felt at slitting your father’s throat. The very action of pulling the knife across his flesh released something from inside me and for the first time in weeks I smiled.
Oh, the stupidity of the idiot Doctor Gordon Cordell when offered the choice.
Because there’d really been no choice at all.
Twenty-Six
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Kim raged. She didn’t need Ted to tell her she could do her job. She knew she could.
Ted sat back and sipped his coffee.
‘Why the hell would I do something so stupid, Ted? I came to you because I knew you’d help me or that I could manipulate you.’
‘But why would you think that?’ he asked, dumbfounded.
‘Because I’ve always managed to do it in the past.’
‘Name one time,’ he challenged.
‘Only one?’ she said. She’d got dozens.
‘We’ll see,’ he said, sipping his drink.
‘Okay, there was that time when I told you that I was going to kick shit out of Tanya Smith if I had to spend one more minute with her in Fairview. I got back and she’d been moved for her own safety. I know it was you who sorted it,’ she said smartly.
‘You were ten-years-old and Tanya Smith was fifteen and had been at Fairview since she was a toddler. You had just been returned from foster home number two. I knew you weren’t capable of violence for no reason and suspected she was taunting you and making your life a misery. That’s why I called Fairview and told them you would benefit from a short spell on your own.’
Fatal Promise: A totally gripping and heart-stopping serial-killer thriller Page 8