by Helen Phifer
Mal shook his head vehemently from side to side.
‘Don’t even go there. He loved his sister and he looked after her because he wanted to. He’d never hurt her. The afternoon she disappeared he was grounded. He never left the house until my wife got worried about Jenny and sent him out to look for her.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t want to upset you. But I had to ask. I still need to talk to him, if you have an address.’
‘Wouldn’t we both. I haven’t spoken to him since the day he went into the woods and hung himself. I just don’t like to think that anyone thinks my son would be capable of such a terrible thing.’
Lucy was shocked. She hadn’t realised his son had committed suicide – how much had this man been through? It was horrendous and so heart-breaking. ‘I’m truly sorry to hear that, Mal. I don’t know what to say.’
‘There’s nothing you can say; it was fifteen years ago. He didn’t take her disappearance very well; he blamed himself. The police didn’t seem overly bothered about finding Jenny. They kept insisting she’d run away because there was no evidence of any foul play. Jake withdrew into himself after it happened. It was me who grounded him that day. Christ, I can’t even remember why – over something or nothing, probably. If anyone should have blamed themself it’s me, and trust me, I did – I still do. It should have been me swinging from the end of that rope, only I’m a coward. I’d never have the guts to do it, despite the days and nights I’ve wanted to. I’d think, what if by some miracle she came back and no one was here? I had to keep going just in case she did. You hear of these awful cases where girls are kidnapped and kept captive for years, then are set free or escape. So I waited and I waited for her to come home, always hoping and praying that she would.’
Lucy’s hand reached across the table and took hold of his trembling one. She squeezed it gently. Jenny Burns was finally coming home after all these years; he’d got his wish. She wondered if the man would finally give up his reason for living now he knew what had happened to his daughter. She gave him a moment before continuing.
‘What about his friend who spoke to her in the shop; what was he like? Did he resent Jenny hanging around with him and Jake?’
Mal laughed. ‘No, I think he was secretly pleased she had to hang around with them. She was a pretty girl and beginning to develop, if you know what I mean. I’d see him watching her and a couple of times I was about to clip his ear, when he’d catch himself and realise I’d clocked him.’
‘Can you remember his name? All it says in the report is “brother’s friend from a few doors down spoken to”.’
‘We only ever called him by his nickname, Paddy. I think he was called Patrick. Patrick Baker. My memory isn’t what it used to be… it’s a long time ago.’
Lucy sat up as straight as a poker, the blinding rage inside her so white-hot she thought she might actually explode. There couldn’t be that many Patrick Bakers; the useless bastard. What the hell was he playing at? If he knew there was a chance it was his childhood friend whose body had been found then why wasn’t he on the rampage? Why wasn’t he working extra hard to get her identified and find her killer? This was too much – she was going to have to speak to him. Superior rank or not, there was no way she was letting him get away with this. She couldn’t speak to him at work without causing a huge fuss; she would go to his house and have it out with him. Then she would bring him in for questioning if he didn’t give her some plausible answers.
‘Can you excuse me for a moment? I just need to make a quick phone call.’ She stood up and walked out of the house to the front garden, where she rang the control room and asked for a family liaison officer to come and sit with Malcolm and for the new DCI’s home address. Then she went back inside.
‘It’s okay, I’ll go back through the original house-to-house enquiries. Thank you for your help. I’m going to have to go now, but a family liaison officer will be here soon to take over. He’ll be able to answer any questions you might have and arrange for you to speak to the pathologist, Dr Maxwell.’
‘Thank you. As much as my heart is broken, it’s good to know that you’ve found her. I can bury her with her mum and brother; it was my wife’s dying wish that if we ever found Jenny she was to be buried in the same grave. It makes me feel better knowing those three are finally going to be reunited.’
Lucy smiled at him. If her heart wasn’t already damaged enough, she felt another tiny piece of it tear for Jenny Burns and her broken-hearted mum and brother. She took a business card from her pocket and scribbled her mobile number onto the back of it. Handing it to him, she said, ‘If you think of anything else, Mal, please don’t hesitate to ring me – that’s my mobile number on the back. Don’t bother trying to ring the 101 number; it takes forever to get through. If I don’t answer, leave me a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. You take care and I’ll be in touch as soon as I have some news for you.’
He nodded and Lucy left him to go back to her car. She was determined to get that poor man some peace of mind. She would find the killer and give Jenny Burns the justice she deserved.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Lucy got into her car, so angry that her hands were trembling. She needed answers from Patrick and she was going to get them from him. He’d been withholding evidence and vital information that could have sped up identifying Jenny Burns, and it was unacceptable. But there was always the tiniest chance it wasn’t him who had been the family friend. There could be several Patrick Bakers in the area; for all she knew, he could have a distant cousin with the same name. So she would be calm and professional at first, just in case it wasn’t him. She could lose her shit with him afterwards.
She kept thinking about the Carnival Queen Killer. What was the connection between two bodies being left in the same place, just metres away from each other? Her phone rang. She put it on loudspeaker to hear Col’s muffled voice.
‘Boss, are you driving? Should I ring back?’
‘Yes and no – you’re on speakerphone. What have you got for me?’
‘The Carnival Queen Killer was called John Carter – the first woman he murdered was the carnival queen for Brooklyn Bay. He met her at the carnival dance. She had a nine-year-old son that no one knew about; she was only fourteen when she got pregnant. He killed a couple of carnival queens from neighbouring towns as well before they realised it was the same killer and they had a problem on their hands. He left the first victim, Linda Smith, in the woods. She was naked. Her body was just off the footpath for all to see. Not too far from where Jenny Burns was discovered.’
Lucy was frantically trying to absorb the information. ‘Thanks, Col. Do you know what happened to the boy?’
‘He had already been taken in by his aunt when he was born. She brought him up as her own; apparently Linda had a bit of a reputation and liked to live her life to the full. The aunt was a writer and actually wrote a book about the murders. I think she also wrote a couple of other true crime books. I’ll try and get hold of them for you. That’s all I have for now. I’ll get on with the other stuff you gave me.’
‘Thank you so much.’
He ended the call and she tried to process all the information her brain had absorbed in the last hour. It was as if a tornado had gone off in there. All these snippets were swirling around and she felt like a kid who had let go of her balloon. She was trying her best to keep jumping up and grabbing the string to pull it back down. Lucy knew that somewhere in the jumbled fog was the information she was looking for and that it would come to her.
Mattie spotted the small silver car heading towards them. ‘Oh shit, he’s coming.’
Both of them tried to slide down into their seats, making themselves as small as possible, and Browning laughed.
‘Look at us two, trying to blend in when we stand out more than a nun in a whorehouse.’
Mattie laughed and straightened up as he looked at the car, which was indicating to turn into the drive opposite them. He wasn’t expectin
g to see the elderly woman in the passenger seat and he nudged Browning with his elbow.
‘Shit, he’s brought the next one home with him. What do we do now?’
‘Well, we can’t let him take her inside, can we? I don’t want her murder on my conscience. Come on, we need to grab him as he gets out of the car.’
Mattie shook his head. ‘Lucy is going to bloody kill us.’
They jumped out and ran across the road and up the drive just as Toby opened his door and swung out his legs. Mattie grabbed him, pulling him from the car before he even knew what was happening. Within a matter of seconds he had him cuffed and a tight grip on his hands.
‘What are you doing? I haven’t done anything wrong! I just wanted to help Lucy out, that’s all.’
Mattie looked across at Browning, who was helping the old woman out. ‘It’s okay, you’re safe now.’ She took one look at him, saw Mattie with the handcuffed Toby, and lifted her handbag to smack Browning over the head.
‘Get off my grandson, you wankers! What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
Browning, who was reeling from the force of the blow to the side of his head, gawped across at Mattie.
Toby looked at his nan. ‘It’s okay; you go into the house, I’ll sort this out and be in soon. It’s all a mistake.’
The old woman was actually snarling at Browning and he took a step backwards out of her line of fire. He was rubbing his head – he didn’t know what she had in that bag, but it was heavy.
‘We need to talk to you, Toby, about last night, the information you have and your visit to the DI’s house.’
Toby’s nan turned to glare at Mattie. ‘Then you’ll talk to him inside the house, not out on the street like he’s some common criminal.’
Mattie looked at Browning – both of them were shocked. This wasn’t what they’d expected at all. She unlocked the front door, opening it wide for Mattie, who had a tight grip on Toby’s elbow as he walked him inside. She barked instructions at Browning. ‘You get my shopping out of the car – I don’t want my fresh groceries to go off whilst you’re messing around playing at being cops.’
Mattie chuckled; this was surely the most bizarre situation he’d ever been in.
Toby glanced warily at Mattie. ‘Don’t piss her off; she’s little but she can be crazy at times. The second door along is the dining room.’
Browning got the shopping out of the car and followed them inside. He walked behind the woman, who led him to the kitchen and pointed to the table. He put the bags on there and then they both went into the dining room, where Toby was now sitting on a chair with Mattie standing over him. His nan stood in front of them all with her arms crossed.
‘Now, someone tell me what this is all about before I lose my temper.’
Browning shook his head, letting Mattie answer. ‘We need to speak with Toby about a few things – it won’t take long.’
‘A few things like what? Don’t be clever with me.’
‘I’m sorry, but this is nothing to do with you. Toby is an adult, so we don’t have to tell you anything or discuss it with you.’
Browning stared at Mattie, wondering if the old woman was going to crack him one as well.
‘I’m fully aware of that. However, you’re in my house and I take it you don’t have a warrant or you’d have shown it to me. I also never heard you read Toby his rights so we can either sort it out now or I’ll call my solicitor, who will be suing you both for wrongful arrest and trespass.’
Mattie realised she was right: they’d both just fucked up big style. He felt his stomach tie itself up in knots. Lucy would murder them – if Toby were the killer, any lawyer, regardless of how good they were, could get him off on this technicality.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Lucy approached the address the control room operator had given to her; it was a lovely detached house with a secluded drive. Everyone seemed to have nice big houses except her, and she felt more than a little envious. Her home with George had been similar to this, maybe even bigger. Patrick lived alone, as far as she knew; she’d have thought one of the new beachfront apartments would have been more his style.
She got out of the car and began the walk up his drive, not even sure if he would be home. As she rounded the bend she saw the plain silver divisional car: so he was here. Skiving, no doubt; the man didn’t have a full day’s work inside him. She went up the steps to the house and peered into the bay window. The only piece of furniture in the big room was a sofa. There were no coffee tables, sideboards, pictures or ornaments. There were several large packing boxes stacked against one wall. He was either moving in or moving out. She lifted her hand and knocked on the front door; the sound echoed throughout the house. She waited a couple of minutes, then decided to go and have a look around the back.
The garage door was three quarters of the way open so she stopped and peered inside. It was pretty dark in there. Ducking under the door, she stepped inside to see if he was in there faffing around – these big houses usually had a door which led into the main building. She looked at the white Ford Transit van parked in front of her, with the words ‘Drain Busters’ printed on the side. That was odd; maybe he shared the house with someone else because as far as she knew Patrick had only ever been a copper. She couldn’t imagine he had the energy or the inclination to be running a business on the side. It would explain a lot, though, if he was knackered because he was working two jobs. That could be the reason why he was just floating along at work without actually doing anything. The only thing was, drain cleaning wasn’t his style.
Her foot connected with something on the floor and she kicked it across the room. Following after to retrieve whatever it was, she noticed a huge metal drum against the back wall. Her phone began to vibrate in her pocket. She tugged it out and whispered, ‘Hello?’
‘It’s Col again. I’ve had a look at those print-outs you gave me and I don’t know if this is stupid or not.’
‘Try me.’
‘Well, Peter Sutcliffe was the most infamous killer of the seventies, Bible John for the sixties, Peter Manuel for the fifties. I think he picks the most famous killer from each decade and copies them.’
Lucy ran the information through her mind. ‘Oh my God, yes. You’re right, that’s so obvious. Why did I not think about that?’
‘Sometimes it takes a fresh pair of eyes to see what’s in front of you. Anyway, I think if he is working his way backwards he’s going to be emulating the most famous killer from the forties next. I mean, this stuff is complete genius in a terrible kind of way. You’ve got to give it to him: it’s different, shocking and not blatantly obvious what he’s doing. I mean, it’s taken us long enough to figure it out.’
Lucy looked down to the floor to see what it was that she’d hoofed across the garage. She saw an empty plastic container with the words ‘Sulphuric Acid’ blazoned across it. Next to that was a discarded, crumpled, black-and-white cupcake case. Just like the ones on the cooling rack in the kitchen at the Martins’ house. She felt her blood run cold.
Col continued. ‘Well, I’ve done some research and I reckon the killer he’s going to copy next is John George Haigh.’
Both of them spoke at the same time. ‘The acid bath murderer.’
She began to back out of the garage, her heart thundering so loud in her chest that she couldn’t think straight. She whispered to Col, ‘I think I’ve found him.’
Before she could say anything else, she felt a strong arm wrap around her neck from behind as it got her into a chokehold. She dropped her phone as she lifted her hands to try to release the pressure on her neck. Her attacker stamped on it, ending the call and shattering the screen. Within seconds the pressure on her neck had become too much and her vision began to blur. The garage went black and she collapsed to her knees, unconscious.
Scooping Lucy into his arms, he carried her into the house. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her. He liked her too much, although he had been shocked to see her walking up his d
rive after their run-in that morning. Now he’d changed his mind. She’d had the audacity to come to his house and confront him, alone. Who did she think she was? He wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to kill again. Besides, he had no other option; she’d figured him out. He couldn’t let her live – it would be game over. After he’d taken care of Lewis, he would deal with her.
Mattie unlocked the cuffs, wondering if Lucy would ever speak to him again after this. ‘Toby, this is important and you have to admit it’s a bit odd that you turned up out of the blue at the boss’s house with vital information.’
Toby, who was rubbing his wrists, looked up at Mattie. ‘Lucy thought it was good information? She didn’t laugh about it or call me a weirdo when she told you?’
Browning spoke up. ‘Nope, she said you were on to something and she was very grateful for your input.’
‘Then why did you want to arrest me?’
‘Because we thought that only the killer would have that kind of inside knowledge.’
Toby’s nan was shaking her head and tutting.
‘Are you two for real? Anyone with a vested interest in serial killers would have made the connection. I’m afraid this is partly my fault; I’ve always had this morbid fascination with them. Toby’s mum used to bring all these true crime books home from the library where she worked for me to read, and I guess Toby picked up on them. I’m afraid you are positively barking up the wrong tree. If you give me a list of the relevant dates I can almost guarantee that Toby would have been at home with me, if he wasn’t away on training or at work. He doesn’t go out much, do you?’
Toby’s cheeks burned red as he shook his head. Mattie’s phone began to ring and he answered to a frantic Col.
‘I’ve lost touch with Lucy. She gave me that stuff to look at about serial killers from back in the day. I phoned her up to tell her that I thought the killer was going to copy another murderer soon and she whispered that she thought she’d found him. Then her phone went dead and now it’s going straight to voicemail.’