I sit back in my chair. Deep breaths calm me.
‘We didn’t plan to keep him out of our lives forever. But without his presence, you settled down. We became a close family. Mum felt remorseful and contacted a charity where they act as intermediaries, so you can communicate without revealing your address, send pictures and letters, but then…’
‘He killed someone.’
‘Yes.’
‘And you cut him off for good.’
‘No, not quite. I didn’t want anything to do with him, but Mum visited him in the psychiatric hospital. Eventually he got settled on medication and was back to his usual self, which meant we had a dilemma. Should we tell you the truth? We planned to come clean after he was released, but your behaviour changed at school.’
‘In what way?’
‘You’d been a great student, popular with teachers and the other kids. We had high hopes that you’d go far. I guess puberty brought an unwelcome change.’
‘Rubbish. I was never popular. I was more of an outcast.’
Lucy rises from her seat and kneels next to mine. ‘That’s just not true. Mum was forever driving you to friends’ houses and parties.’
‘That can’t be right. I’d have remembered. And if it was, what the hell went wrong?’
She returns to the kettle, boils it while she gathers her thoughts, and makes us another drink.
‘I don’t know. Your antics were like a teenager’s. Temper tantrums, messy room, your grades fell, you even dropped your best friend, Sally. She was devastated, but we couldn’t persuade you to try to make amends. You’d barely communicate with us. You’d stay out late, sometimes all night. You could be so horrible, and we had no idea what to do.’
‘Why didn’t you take me to the doctor’s?’
‘And tell them what? Our teenager is behaving like a teenager? We made appointments, but you never went. Besides, it’s not unusual to smoke and drink at sixteen. Your behaviour changed, but your exam results still got you into sixth form.’
‘But I was friends with Sally in her twenties. She and I were going to go travelling together. We were mates then.’
‘That was later, after all the…’ she searches for the right word ‘… incidents.’
There’s too much information. It feels as if my head might burst like a watermelon dropped from a height. ‘What incidents?’
‘The girl who died at school.’
It’s one of the things Scarlett and I don’t talk about. We were hiding in the common room when we should have been at assembly and heard the head girl’s voice approaching. We dropped the incriminating cigarette out of the window, moved back into the room, and tried to look natural. She shouted that she should have us thrown out of school. It was the first time I had the strange flash of light. When I came around, I remained in the same seat, Scarlett was still near the door, and we were alone. It was quiet until the screaming started from outside.
‘She fell.’
She holds my gaze for a second and looks away. I can’t sit still any more and pace the room. My voice is getting louder, but I struggle to control it.
‘Why couldn’t you see I had problems? Especially knowing my dad had issues.’
‘I’d left by then. Don’t you remember?’
I didn’t, and try to think back. There are blurred images that won’t focus, but she’s not finished.
‘I craved security and normality and met an older, wealthy man who gave me all of that. We fell in love and I got pregnant. I wanted a new life, so we moved away. We didn’t want you near my children. I’m sorry I have to say that, but that was how it was. Mum never told me you disappeared after your A-level exams. I only found out when—’
‘Enough! Enough! I know the rest. I had a breakdown, just like my dad. You didn’t give a shit and Mum left me rotting in a rubber room. Let me guess, you were embarrassed about me, as you were with Dad.’
I’m shouting now, screaming. My sister picks her car keys from the table and edges towards the door. I throw the little porcelain salt pot at her and miss. It bounces rather than breaks.
‘Ellen. Take your medicine. I’ve seen this before. Please, before you do something you regret.’
‘Get out!’
‘I’ll say one last thing. It wasn’t shame that made me behave as I did. It was fear. My husband knows a GP. The chances of developing an illness like schizophrenia is massively increased if one of your parents has it.’
‘Why are you discussing my problems without me? And what are you saying, that I was destined to go mad?’
‘Not you, me! I was afraid that I was the same. I slammed doors and broke plates too. You wouldn’t talk about any of it. I couldn’t cope watching it happen to you, and I moved away in a search for peace. I regret that now, so much, and I won’t give up on you again. Please, take your tablets, see a doctor. I’ll come back and tell you the rest of the story. We’ll make you better again.’
The door softly closes, leaving me alone.
51
Acting DCI Barton
At 8 p.m., Barton finished a call from Dave Williams, who ran The Wonky Donkey pub. Dave was a drinking buddy of Barton’s and Zander’s from when they first became detectives. He retired two years ago and had rung to ask Barton to pop into his new place for a beer to catch up. Dave bemoaned how much he missed being a policeman and cautioned Barton to enjoy it, because nothing lasts forever.
Barton watched the last of his team trudging in from the traffic incident earlier and suspected Dave had forgotten the hours and hours of paperwork ahead of them after an incident like this, and it had already been a long day. Barton remembered an inspector at the start of his career doing a day’s wrap-up in the beer garden of The Botolph Arms, but those days were distant memories, and a few jars in the pub with the team would have to wait until this was all over.
Barton had received multiple updates from the RTC but little seemed clear-cut. CCTV hadn’t helped. He called everyone into the incident room.
‘Right, let’s sum up today’s findings. Strange, you first.’
‘It’s an odd one. I suspected it would be a disagreement ending in a shove, or someone off their face falling into the traffic. Instead, it was a man and a woman arguing. We have two brilliant witnesses who were leaving a newsagent’s further up the street. It looked to them as though the man grabbed the woman first and they struggled. He clearly pushed her towards the road with intent. The witnesses didn’t get a chance to consider intervening, because she shrieked like a jaguar – their words – twisted, and physically threw him right in front of a bus.’
‘Shrieked like a jaguar?’ asked Leicester.
‘Yes, he said she sounded like a wild cat.’
‘Dead immediately?’
‘I’ll say. His head was this thick.’ Strange put her fingers together. ‘He worked in a carpet shop nearby so there was no trouble identifying him. This is where it gets complicated. His name was Sam Hofstadt.’ Strange nodded at the blank faces. ‘No, I didn’t remember him either. He’s a sex offender. Went down for the sexual assault of a child.’
Barton groaned. ‘Brilliant. That means half of the city could be responsible.’
Strange tutted. ‘That’s the thing though, isn’t it? Responsible for what? Protecting herself?’
‘You’re right. And I can’t see the CPS attempting to convict anyone based on those witnesses’ testimonies,’ said Barton.
‘We need to find her first. You mentioned she was caught on CCTV?’ said Zander.
Ewing and Zelensky started talking at the same time. Zelensky gave Ewing a filthy look, and he quickly sat down to let her continue.
‘Yes. Multiple witnesses saw her fleeing the scene. Nobody thought to chase her though as they were so shocked at the accident, and she seemed to be the innocent party. One said it was odd because the victim was old, and she was young and pretty. She headed over Rhubarb bridge and into Millfield.’
Barton imagined her running over the pedestrian
bridge that passed over the parkway. She must have run towards the streets near where the five deaths occurred. Was it more than coincidence?
‘We managed to pick her up again on Eastfield Road next to the park,’ he said. ‘It’s a dark night, and the footage is grainy, but she is tall, fair, thin, wearing black clothes. It’s definitely her.’
It was a shame she had blonde hair. Barton had suspected it was the same person from the other incidents, but her hair had been black. What the hell would the connection be, though? He decided to wait and see if anyone else made the same leap.
‘Malik, did you have any joy today with the information I gave you about those two daughters?’
Everyone turned to look at Malik.
‘I was struggling, but then the old boss, DCI Naeem, rang in. She’d been through some old cuttings. The girlfriend who was at the trial, Pamela Toole, had two kids with Deacon. They were named after characters from Dallas. The older daughter who always went with her was called Lucy. She said there was a much younger child, her name was Sue Ellen. She only came to the sentencing, but waited outside with a family friend because she was crying. Intel have found a Lucy Toole and a Sue Ellen Toole at register of births. There’s no father named. A search of DVLA records located Lucy. She is now Lucy Breslinski who lives in Harrow, London.’
‘They haven’t found the other one?’
‘No, it’s possible she changed her name before she started driving.’
‘I liked Dallas. It was so bad it was funny,’ said Zander.
‘You’re not the only one,’ said Malik with a raised eyebrow. ‘I thought it was a seventies porn film, but the lady from Intel used to watch it, which would have been a shock if I was right. She loved it. I’ve had nothing but professionalism from her over the years, but she sang the entire theme tune down the phone line. It was freaky.’
‘Durr, duh, durr, duh, durr, du-du-durr-durr,’ sang Zander.
Barton smiled at the bewildered faces of the youngsters. ‘Okay, that’s our best lead for those murders. I know how you all like overtime. Strange, take Leicester and visit the address in Harrow tomorrow. Don’t forget to tell your old friends in the Met we’re coming. I was hoping we’d get a local address, so I’m not hopeful, but if she knows nothing, she might at least point us in the direction of her sister. Then we’ll be able to eliminate both. Malik, see if you can find any likely matches on the other daughter’s date of birth. She might have got married, too. Anyone with any other thoughts?’
Ewing put his hand up. ‘Chances are the woman from the bus incident ran home. If she was picked up by CCTV in Eastfield Road and nowhere else, odds are she lives around there. We can blow up an image, ask in shops, maybe knock on doors.’
‘There are thousands of houses in that area. That’s needle-in-a-haystack time,’ said Zelensky, with more venom than necessary.
‘Perhaps,’ said Barton. ‘But think about it. We have a tall, thin, young woman with blonde hair who wears a black hoodie. There can’t be too many women like that in Eastfield. We might get lucky and find somebody knows her.’
‘It’s another unusual event in the same neck of the woods,’ said Strange. ‘Could it all be linked to the same woman? Those other incidents weren’t far away. If so, that’s a lot of bad luck she’s having.’
‘Yes, Kelly!’ said Barton. ‘I was thinking that. Maybe someone’s going around killing their ex-boyfriends.’
Zander laughed. ‘She has some varying tastes if one of them was the almost retired assistant manager of a carpet shop and the others were notorious junkies or wannabe rock stars.’
‘This woman also had blonde hair. The girl from The Hartley pub that night had dark hair,’ said Barton.
‘It’s not unusual to dye your hair, or even wear a wig,’ said Strange.
‘True,’ said Barton. ‘Let’s get everything inputted and see what HOLMES comes up with. It’s going to be busy for the foreseeable.’
DC Leicester cleared his throat and blushed. ‘Actually, I spoke to the bus driver at the hospital as Zander requested. He calmed down when he got away from the scene and stated that he spotted the commotion on the side of the road as he approached. The man was definitely the instigator and shook the woman like a rag doll. The last thing the driver remembered before he drove over the guy was the woman standing next to the kerb with her mouth open. Her hair had fallen down over her eyes.’
‘Did he recognise her?’ interrupted Barton.
‘No, but he was pretty sure she was wearing a wig.’
52
The Ice Killer
I’ve spent the day in bed. The only thing I’ve managed to do today is ring work and tell them I have the flu. I have a banging headache, muscle soreness and my sweating forehead warns of an approaching fever. When I close my eyes, tyres skid and brakes screech, then there’s the heavy silent pause after something terrible has occurred. I was in full flight, splashing through the puddles, when I heard the first scream.
I flinch as someone taps at my door. I open up to Trent’s earnest grin.
‘You good? I noticed you hadn’t gone to work.’
‘I rang in sick. I hate Saturdays, anyway.’
‘Cool, do you want—?’
Shutting the door in his face makes me feel marginally better. The phone rings.
‘Ellen speaking.’
‘Hi, Stanground pharmacy here. I’m ringing because you didn’t pick up this month’s prescription and you will have run out. Are you coming in soon?’
‘Sorry, I’ve been away. I’ll come this afternoon.’
‘It’s early closing today, but our driver is in your area next week. He’ll deliver them for you if you’d like.’
After I end the call, I splash cold water over my face in the bathroom. The mirror hides the cabinet where I keep my medication. When did I last look in there? It clicks open, and it’s immediately obvious that the foil packets are full. I take them through to the kitchen and place them on the table. Are they the cure or the problem? The first time they put me on tablets was after that girl fell from the window. I can’t remember if they helped or not then, either.
Scarlett might know. She’ll be drunk by now, but maybe that’s the moment to demand an honest chat with her about that day. Back then, it was Scarlett who blurted out the head girl fell. It’s been a taboo subject since, with both of us avoiding the topic. I’m not sure why it keeps returning to my mind now, when I haven’t thought about it in years.
I pull a woolly hat on to cover my stubble and bald patches, and leave the flat. Leaning against the bannister, I stumble down the steps. It’s another bleak day with no wind, which matches my sense of emptiness. I get in my car and drive cautiously with my head only high enough to look over the wheel. The electronic gates open at Scarlett’s, and I knock on the door. It would take a lot to jolt me out of my inertia, but she manages it.
‘I was hoping not to see anyone.’
She has a nose patch and two deep black eyes. I follow her into the house.
‘Drink?’ she asks.
‘Coffee, please.’
I watch her as she fills the kettle and gets the cups out. She’ll speak when she’s ready. With two cups in her hands, she beckons me to the lounge. I’ve only sat in there once before and the high ceilings made the acoustics odd. It’s no different today.
‘I was thinking about you,’ she says.
I wet my lips. ‘How come?’
‘They named the guy who fell under the bus. I thought, now that’s weird, I knew him. There have been some other deaths lately, too. I realised I’d met all of them at one point or another. That’s six familiar people who’ve come to an untimely demise under odd circumstances.’
My face burns, but I say nothing.
‘I don’t know them as well as you, though, do I?’
I remain silent.
‘You’re a dangerous person, Ellen. The police released a video of that bus accident, as they called it. I recognised you running away.’ She
feigns shock and horror. ‘Oh, no, the woman was blonde and you don’t have that colour hair. Unless you were wearing my wig.’
‘He attacked me.’ I hand her the bag I’m carrying. In it are her wig and shoes.
‘And the other deaths?’
‘Accidents.’
She laughs, but it’s a quick bark with no warmth. ‘Do you remember that girl who fell out of the window at school?’
I nod. Ironic that it’s her who brings it up.
‘It seems that death surrounds you.’
‘That was an accident, too. You said so yourself. Or do you know different?’
‘Imagine if the police found out who you were. They may go all the way back to that incident and wonder if it really was so innocent.’
‘We’re friends. Don’t tell them.’
‘Of course not, but I need a favour. Nothing major.’
‘What is it?’
She shuffles along the sofa and sits right next to me. ‘I want to get rid of Tim.’
I break away from her serious stare, but can’t say I’m surprised. Nevertheless, I want no part of it. I’m in enough trouble as it is.
‘Someone will recognise me from that footage. It’s only a matter of time before the police are involved.’
She puts her face next to my ear. ‘See what he’s done to me,’ she whispers, even though Tim’s Audi isn’t parked outside.
‘Go to the police, tell them he beats you. They must have asked what happened at the hospital.’
She stands and walks towards the low glass table. Instead of placing the cup on it, she drops it. The pane smashes into smithereens. I jump, but she spins around with a smile.
‘He drove me to A & E and took me inside. Told them in a hushed voice while I was behind a curtain that I’d been drinking and fell down the stairs. He was convincing, I’ll give him that. They looked at him with pity and me with revulsion.’
‘Leave him, then. You don’t need to kill him.’
She swirls her finger around in the air. ‘I want all this. I deserve everything after what I’ve put up with. He has control of the money, the houses are in his name, the businesses are in trust. He needs to go, and you’re going to help.’
The Ice Killer (The DI Barton Series) Page 20