Righteous Anger: A frantic hunt for a child killer (DCI Rob Miller Book 3)

by BL Pearce

  Jo glanced at Rob.

  He thumbed back through the crowded pages. “Ah, here it is. Wednesday. I was at the centre that morning and I had a home visit in the afternoon.”

  “Do you know what time that home visit was?” Jo enquired. Tension twisted in her belly.

  He glanced down again. “Three o’clock. In Bracknell.”

  Damn.

  “Do you mind giving us your client’s details? I’m sorry, but we have to check ourselves.”

  “Sure, but you’ve already met her. I was seeing Dessie’s daughter, Gail.”

  Jo blinked. “You were her daughter’s social worker? Is that allowed?”

  He chuckled like she was so silly. “We weren’t seeing each other then. Gail was having problems at school. Bullying, that sort of thing. She walked into the centre and asked for advice. I was there and we had a chat. That’s how I met Dessie.”

  “Do you always follow up walk-ins with a home visit?” Jo asked.

  He shrugged. “Sometimes, if the parents are open to it. In this case, Dessie was all for it. She was a single mother, overworked, and she was worried about her daughter. I went round there once or twice to see how Gail was getting on and to our mutual surprise, we hit it off. After Gail finished school, we started dating. It’s all completely above board.”

  His open, sincere face gave nothing away. This guy had an answer for everything. She couldn't make him slip up.

  “How old was Dessie’s daughter when you saw her?”

  “She was sixteen. She’s at a drama school in London now. Doing quite well for herself.”

  He smiled fondly.

  Jo closed her file. “Well, thank you for talking to us, Mr Daley.”

  He got up. “Let me show you out.”

  At the door, Rob turned to him. “Just one last thing, Mr Daley. Where did you go to school?”

  Jo watched his expression carefully. It didn’t change. “Gosh, that’s going back a while. Why do you ask?”

  “For our records,” Rob said vaguely.

  “St Thomas’s.” He smiled self-deprecatingly. “I’ve got them to thank for my ingrained Catholic guilt.”

  Rob nodded. “Thank you. We’ll leave you in peace now.”

  Daley saw them out, then watched from the doorway as they walked down the path to their vehicle.

  52

  “I know it’s him,” said Jo, the moment they got into the car.

  Rob pulled away. “Did you recognise him? Was it Michael?”

  “I didn’t think so at first, but the way he looked at me. I’m sure he recognised me.” She shivered. Those empty eyes. “And I don’t believe for a second he didn’t know those girls.”

  “We can get a warrant for the charity’s phone line,” said Rob.

  “Let’s do it. I’m sure he’s lying.”

  “Tony said he’d be a loner,” said Rob. “Daley had a girlfriend. And he didn’t look socially inept to me.”

  “Tony could be wrong.” She glanced at him. “Did you notice there was nothing personal in his living room. No photographs, no meaningful items, no paintings on the wall. Nothing.”

  “I don’t have any paintings on my wall either. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  She sighed, exasperated. “Your ex-wife took yours.”

  He broke into a lopsided grin.

  “The partner, the schoolteacher, could be a disguise, to throw us off.”

  “Could be.”

  She could tell he wasn’t convinced.

  “Did you see how angry he got when I mentioned Angie Nolan? He couldn’t stand that he hadn’t helped her.”

  Rob nodded. “I saw, but I was angry too. So were you.”

  “I know, but that’s not the point. He was really angry; I could see it in his eyes.” She shook her head.

  “We need to check out his alibi. Speak to Dessie,” said Rob.

  “Of course, she’s going to vouch for him,” muttered Jo. “She’s his lover.”

  Rob sighed. “He just didn’t strike me as a cold-blooded killer.”

  “Maybe he’s not,” said Jo. “Maybe he’s a hot blooded one. He kills them because he can’t protect them any other way. That’s what Tony said, right?”

  Rob was silent.

  “I know it Rob. Trust me on this one. He’s our killer.”

  “If you’re right,” said Rob, as he picked up speed on the motorway. “The evidence will lead us back to him.”

  It didn’t.

  Mallory and Jenny interviewed Daley’s partner, Dessie, who partially confirmed his alibi. “He was here for at least an hour, holed up with Gail in the study. I didn’t want to interrupt them.”

  Was she sure of the date?

  As sure as she could be. Paul kept meticulous notes, so if he said it was the fifteenth, then it was the fifteenth.

  When Jenny checked with The Homestead, however, they confirmed the appointment. Daley was in Woking that afternoon and nowhere near Bagshot, where Angie was taken.

  “What about the other disappearances?” asked Jo.

  “We’ll have to bring him in if we’re going to go through all of them.” Rob glanced at the list of names on the whiteboard. “Question him under caution.”

  “Let’s do it,” said Jo. She was out for blood. “If we rattle him enough, he might crack and confess.”

  “He’s not going to confess,” said Rob. “He knows we’ve got nothing that’ll stick.”

  Will made a whooping noise. “Yes! There’s a call from Elise Mitcham’s home phone to The Homestead helpline on the 2nd of March 2016.” He grinned like a madman. “Another link!”

  Jo raced around to his side of the desk. “Show me.”

  “Here it is. The call is highlighted in yellow.” He handed her the print-out.

  “Is there a record of this call?” she asked Will. “Do they record them?”

  “I’m sure they must do. I’ll find out.”

  He got on the phone.

  “Yes, they do monitor the calls, but they can’t share them without a warrant,” he confirmed once he’d hung up.

  “Get one,” snapped Rob.

  An hour later, Will was faxing the warrant through to the charity. An hour after that, the call log landed in Will’s inbox.

  The entire team listened to the conversation.

  Hello?

  Hello, you’ve reached The Homestead helpline. What is your name, please?”

  “Is that him?” asked Jenny. “Is that Daley’s voice?”

  “It’s him,” said Jo.

  Elise.

  She was too young to think about using a false name.

  Hello Elise. Is there something you’d like to discuss?

  Um… I don’t know.

  It’s okay to feel nervous. Take your time.

  A long pause.

  My daddy hurts me.

  Jenny’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, God.”

  The rest listened, tight lipped.

  How does he hurt you, Elise?

  Daley was good, Rob gave him that much. He was a seasoned councillor. His tone was warm and friendly, he reassured her, used her first name.

  He makes me do things that I don’t want to do.

  “I can’t listen to any more,” said Jenny.

  Will glanced at Rob, who nodded. He turned it off.

  “We’ve heard enough,” Rob said coarsely. “It’s him alright.”

  “Boss,” Evan piped up, breaking the heavy silence that had descended over the incident room. “Paul Daley drives a white Vauxhall Combo Cargo. It’s similar to the one we picked up on camera the evening Arina Parvin disappeared.”

  “Have you got a shot of it?” Rob glanced at Jo. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. They were closing in.

  “Not the real thing, but this is what it looks like.” He turned his screen around and zoomed in on the bottom panel. Beside it, he’d placed the image taken from the CCTV camera.

  “They’re identical.”

  Rob took a deep breat
h. “Okay, let’s bring him in. I want that vehicle searched as well as every room in his house. If there’s a shred of DNA in that place that belongs to any of the girls, we’ve got him.”

  53

  The Shepherd got home and hung his jacket on the coat hook by the door. God, he was tired. There was nothing nice about a police cell. It stank of sweat and disinfectant and fear.

  He shuddered when he thought about all the miscreants who’d slept there before him.

  He couldn’t get upstairs fast enough before he stripped off his clothes. Naked, he stood in the bath and let the hot water run over him, purifying him. Then, he lathered himself from head to foot and scrubbed his skin until it was raw.

  When he got out, he could still smell the stench of unwashed bodies on him.

  He threw his soiled clothes into the rubbish bin. There was no way he was wearing those again.

  Going downstairs, he made himself a cup of tea and put some toast in the toaster. The smell made his stomach rumble. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. They’d kept him there for hours, asking the same questions over and over again.

  Did he know the dead girls?

  Were they clients of his?

  Was that his voice on the phone call?

  He’d deflected them with ease. How was he supposed to remember every single call? He took thousands. Besides, it was years ago.

  He was disappointed not to see Jo again, though. Two other detectives had interviewed him. Maybe she’d been watching from afar, he thought he could feel her eyes on him.

  He admired her. She was feisty. But then she always had been.

  Or maybe he’d spooked her after this morning’s chat.

  It was then that the phone rang.

  “Hello?” Dessie was the only person who called him on his landline.

  “Oh, my gosh,” she gushed. “I’ve been so worried.”

  “It’s okay.” He watched the steam from his cup of tea curl up towards the ceiling making his mouth water. “I’m fine, they released me. It was all a big misunderstanding.”

  “Are you sure, Paul, because they questioned me too. I was terrified, I’ve never been questioned by the police before.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “About the afternoon you came round to talk to Gail.” He relaxed. They’d said they’d check out his alibi.

  “So, what’s the problem? I was with you guys all afternoon. You did the right thing by telling them that.”

  He heard her sniffling and softened his tone. It was an automatic response. He used it on the kids he counselled every day. “Calm down, Dessie. There’s nothing to worry about. I’m fine. It’s over now.”

  “Paul, I’m scared for you.”

  “You’ve got nothing to be scared of. Everything is going to be alright.”

  “No, it’s not.” she was crying now.

  He sighed and leaned over to reach for his tea.

  “You see, I remembered something that doesn’t make sense.”

  He bristled, tea poised halfway to his lips. “What’s that?”

  “You weren’t here on the fifteenth, when you said you were. You came on the fourteenth. I remembered because the fourteenth is the annual flower show at Garson’s Farm, and I went that morning to stock up on geraniums for my hanging baskets. They have those lovely ones that flop over the side of the pot.”

  He clenched his jaw. “I think you’re mistaken, dear. I never get my days muddled. It was the fifteenth I was there.”

  She sniffed. “It wasn’t, Paul. I’m absolutely certain of it. Why did you tell the police you were here on the fifteenth, the day that girl went missing, if you weren’t?”

  Cold fury clutched at his heart. Stupid woman. She was going to ruin everything.

  He put the tea back down on the table.

  Think!

  “You didn’t have anything to do with her disappearance, did you?” Her voice trembled.

  “Of course not, don’t be daft. I’ll have another look at my dairy. It’s possible I made a mistake.”

  He turned the pages of his Filofax loudly.

  It had been almost a year ago. He’d spoken to Angie Nolan on the phone. One last follow-up call after her mother’s divorce. He’d told her he was going to make everything better, that she just had to meet him that night in the alleyway behind her house. He’d take care of everything.

  She’d been so desperate, she agreed.

  He promised her he’d take away the pain and the fear. That if she went with him, she’d be safe. No one would ever hurt her again.

  “Oh, bugger. I’m so sorry, it’s my mistake. I’ve got your appointment written in on both days. I must have changed it and forgotten to take the other one out. That's why I got confused.”

  “So, it’s a mistake?”

  “Yes, a stupid mistake. I’ll call the police and rectify it. I was at the centre that day, I’m sure of it. There’ll be a record somewhere.”

  She let out a shaky breath. “Oh, thank goodness, Paul. I was really worried there for a moment. You know, with everything they were saying…”

  “What did they say?”

  She hesitated. “Oh, you know what, it’s not important. The main thing is we got to the bottom of it. Listen, I have to go, my bath is getting cold. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Okay, night Dessie.”

  “Night, Paul.”

  After she hung up, he stood staring at the phone until his tea went cold.

  The lights were off, so he knew she’d gone to bed. It was midnight, but she didn’t stay up late, she was always too exhausted. Her job took it out of her.

  He went around the back and stopped in front of the faulty window. She’d once told him it was her backup plan if she ever got locked out. He even knew how to wiggle it so that it gave just a little and the inside hook jumped off the knob.

  It barely creaked as he eased it open.

  It was a quiet night, only a sliver of moon. A tiny crescent frowning down at him. Was that the Lord’s way of telling him he was committing a sin?

  He pulled the window wide open and climbed inside, using the pot plant below as a ledge. Bloody geraniums.

  He’d killed before, but never like this. This was different, it felt different. Adrenalin pumped through his veins. Tonight, he wasn’t killing to save an abused child, he was killing to save himself.

  Didn’t he count too? Weren’t they all God’s children at the end of the day?

  He padded through the room; his trainers silent on the thick carpeting. He knew the layout of her house by heart, could have done it blindfolded.

  He placed his hand on the railing and made his way silently up the stairs to the master bedroom. Dessie had converted Gail’s room into a makeshift office while she was away in London. At the moment it was filled with test papers she had to mark, and flip charts she had to finish.

  The landing was in darkness, as was the crack beneath the bedroom door. Dessie couldn’t sleep if there was a glimmer of light.

  He placed his hand on the door handle and turned it slowly, hoping it wouldn’t creak. It emitted a soft groan but not loud enough to wake her. She was a deep sleeper.

  He clenched the coil of rope in his gloved hand. It would be over quickly. He didn’t want her to suffer. She was a good woman, just a little dim-witted. Especially for a teacher.

  He could tell by her voice she was spooked, that she didn’t believe him. He couldn’t risk her telling the police what she knew.

  Once he’d done the deed, he’d trash the place. It would look like a break-in gone wrong. He might even take a trinket, something to remember her by. Nothing too garish, though. She didn’t have very good taste.

  He pushed the door open and slunk towards the bed. He could see her sleeping shape. She was on her side facing away from him. Closer he crept, until he stood right beside her. Still she didn’t move.

  He raised the rope and twisted it around his hands, then he bent down to wrap it arou
nd her neck.

  Suddenly the light flicked on.

  A thunderous voice yelled, “This is the police. Stop and put your hands in the air!”

  He froze. What the–?

  As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw DCI Miller and his sidekick from the Common both pointing guns at him, along with four other armed officers.

  He dropped the rope and stuck his hands in the air.

  It was a trap!

  The woman in the bed sat up.

  He gasped. “You!”

  “Paul Daley,” Jo said, getting out from under the covers. “You’re under arrest for the attempted murder of Dessie Barton.”

  54

  “Hello, Paul,” said Jo, as she entered the interrogation room. “Or should I call you Michael?”

  The dark eyes followed her as she walked.

  “Which do you prefer?”

  “Paul.”

  She sat down. “So, Paul. Why didn’t you tell us you were also Michael Robertson, the boy who lived up the street from me and my sister in Manchester?”

  “You didn’t ask.”

  “So, you don’t deny that was you?”

  He scoffed. “Why would I deny it? It’s not a crime to change your name.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  She studied him from across the cold interview table. Gone was the congenial open-faced smile. Now he regarded her with suspicion.

  “I remember you, though.”

  “Oh, yes?”

  “Yes. You were a scrawny little thing, always following Rachel around like a lap dog.” it was true, she’d worshiped her big sister.

  “What happened to her, Paul? What did you do to her?”

  “I didn’t do anything to her. I was as upset as anyone else when she went missing.”

  “You were the last person to see her alive,” Jo pointed out.

  “We sat in the park and talked, then we went to the shop and she went home. I said goodbye to her and watched her walk up the street.”

  “You didn’t see her again after that?” she asked.

  “No.”

  Jo paused for a moment. Then she opened the file she’d brought with her and took out a drawing. She placed it on the table in front of Paul.”