Dark Angel - a gripping serial-killer thriller with a nail-biting ending

by Chris Simms

  The man who was hanging back listened as the next step in the plan was given; if the person didn’t answer the phone and comply with the instructions to leave the property with their arms above their head, the crash team went in. He was about to wave the officer with the Enforcer into place, when the one still listening at the door lifted a hand.

  ‘Toilet just flushed and a door opened,’ he whispered. ‘Get them to phone again.’

  The man who was hanging back relayed the request to command.

  A second later, the phone started up once more.

  This time, it reached its fourth ring before being picked up. A male voice said hello. Silence as the person inside listened to the serious voice at the other end of the line. A slight squeaking noise got closer. The lock clicked and the door began to slowly open.

  The team began shouting in unison: a tactic designed to overwhelm and intimidate.

  ‘Police, get out!

  Out now!’

  ‘Do as we say!’

  ‘Out, out, out!’

  One of them shoved the door fully open. The man, who had started to peer out, found his elbows grabbed. He was dragged from his apartment and thrown face-first onto the carpet of the corridor. A knee went into his back while hands grabbed his arms. Cuffs locked onto his wrists. He heard a crash as his wheelchair was shoved aside. Footsteps as they rushed into his flat.

  The one who was still kneeling over him called out to his colleagues. ‘Any sign?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Bedrooms checked?’

  ‘Clear!’ someone shouted back.

  A second later, another voice: ‘Clear!’

  The man tried to turn his head, but a hand pressed down against his skull. An instant later, he heard hot breath in his ear as a voice demanded, ‘Where’s the little girl?’

  ‘Little girl? I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  Chapter 39

  Wiper’s claws clicked against the tarmac as the two of them ran towards Peel Moat Sports Centre. The building was marooned in an expanse of asphalt that bordered Heaton Moor Golf Club. Once on the grass, Jon looked to his far left; in the distance was Mauldeth Hall and, behind that, the narrow strip of woodland.

  As he jogged across the damp surface, he thought back to the Sunday afternoon they’d spent collecting large branches and propping them against the tree with the thickest trunk. Once satisfied the framework was secure, he’d led Holly to a nearby clearing that had been taken over by bracken. They spent an hour cutting off the largest fronds, carrying them back to their frame and weaving them through the network of branches to form a protective layer. Then they’d both crawled inside. The air was weighed down by the aroma of the dead wood and freshly cut bracken stalks. He’d cooked some noodles, which they ate straight from the pan. Holly had loved it.

  The line of ancient-looking street lamps that bordered the road leading to the hall had now come on. To his side, the windows of the golf course’s clubhouse also glowed. He could see several figures. Middle-aged men in sensible jumpers. The rain was coming down more steadily now, a fine Manchester drizzle that penetrated clothing in no time.

  Rounding the hedge that bordered the hall, he could just discern the copse of trees. Please let her – and only her – be in there. While making the camp, he’d spotted signs that underage drinkers had also been using the area. Empty bottles of cider and crushed cans. He’d been half-expecting the wood to be discovered by a homeless person; the fact it was outside the city centre and mostly behind a perimeter fence was probably the only reason it hadn’t been.

  Wiper lowered his nose and started following a scent trail. ‘Is it Holly?’ Jon asked. Wiper glanced up. ‘Holly. Find Holly! Where is she?’

  They entered the outermost trees. Jon found a narrow path and stuck to it. Followed it. No glimmer of light showed ahead. He found the small clearing, bracken now dead and collapsed. At the other side, he paused to get his bearings. She wouldn’t have come here, a voice said. Being alone in these woods at her age. Surely, it would be too terrifying.

  He remembered the tree was somewhere off to the right. A darker, more solid patch of shadow caught his eye. He wasn’t sure whether to call out. What if there was no reply? He felt like his heart was about to burst. He started to worry she might be able to hear his footsteps getting closer. The heavy tread of an adult. Not wanting to frighten her, he cleared his throat. ‘Holly? It’s only Dad.’

  The only sound was drips falling from the branches into the mulch of leaves surrounding him.

  He could make out the camp better now. The passing of months hadn’t been kind. One side looked like it had started to collapse and the bracken, thick and green when they’d woven it into place, was now withered and brown. He had to not think about what he might see in there.

  ‘Holly? It’s Dad.’

  Wiper bounded forward, tail wagging furiously. The animal shot through the opening and he heard a small squeal of surprise. His daughter’s voice. He almost fell to his knees and cried with relief. The dog was whining with excitement as he bent down and looked through the low doorway into the gloomy interior. ‘Holly? Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘OK.’

  He crawled in, hands and knees instantly soaked. ‘The roof’s not working so well.’

  ‘No. Are you angry?’

  ‘No. I’ve bought a torch. Shall I see what’s happening with the roof?’

  ‘It’s gone all patchy.’

  He played the beam of light up. Flecks of rain were getting through what remained of the canopy. ‘Needs a new layer.’

  ‘I tried, but all the bracken was damp and it snapped too easily.’

  As he lowered the torch, he let the light pass across where she was sitting. At least she’d thought to lay the picnic blanket out. Could do with a layer of cardboard, he found himself thinking. Keeps the cold off. She was sitting with her knees up to her chest, arms round Wiper. Her face was totally in shadow. ‘Are you cold?’

  ‘A bit.’

  The little stove was standing in the middle of the floor, one of the packs of noodles beside it.

  ‘I didn’t bring any water,’ she said.

  ‘Oh. And what were you going to light the gas with?’

  ‘I thought they might go soft eventually. If I had water.’

  ‘So the stove was just to stand the pan on?’

  ‘I suppose so. I took the matches from the drawer in the hall.’

  Jon didn’t know there were any in there. Kids. ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Me too. I came straight here.’

  ‘Where’ve you been, Daddy?’

  Daddy again, he thought. It’s been a while since she called me that. ‘Stuck with work.’

  ‘That’s what you always say.’

  Is it? A stab of guilt. How much am I to blame for this? ‘Why didn’t you tell anyone where you were going? Me and your mum, we’ve been so worried.’

  ‘Is Mummy cross?’

  ‘She’s scared. But she’ll be happy when I tell her you’re OK.’

  ‘You’d better ring her.’

  ‘Yup.’ He brought Alice’s number up. ‘Hi. She’s here. Everything’s OK.’

  ‘Oh my God. She’s alright?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But what’s she been doing?’

  ‘Not sure at the moment. I’ll see you in a little bit?’

  ‘Just bring her back, Jon.’

  ‘Will do.’ He cut the call.

  ‘I wanted to see if I would be all right on my own. Like, if you and Mummy weren’t around.’

  He thought about that picture of Pompeii again. The end of life as people knew it. ‘That’s a funny thing to do. You won’t ever be on your own.’

  ‘How do you know? Anything could happen.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Things don’t always stay the same. There’s Covid. And climate change. The floods and the heatwa
ves. Things we can’t control.’

  ‘I saw a picture you’d drawn in one of your schoolbooks. You’ve been learning about Pompeii and the volcano there.’

  ‘Yes. They were all killed by it.’

  ‘But that was a disaster. Now, we know if things like volcanoes are about to erupt.’

  ‘We’ve been doing it in school.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Climate change. How it’s getting hotter and hotter.’

  He supposed the volcano was a bit like the sun. An enormous presence that suddenly turned vindictive. ‘I noticed you’d drawn some things in the picture that are from now. A car, for instance.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘You don’t remember?’

  ‘No.’

  That was more worrying to him. It suggested those thoughts were in her head all the time. They’d become normal. ‘So you were practising, were you? In case something like Pompeii happens again?’

  ‘It is happening again, Daddy. Just a lot more slowly.’

  He tried to make out her face, but it was too dark. ‘Holly, you live somewhere very lucky. Here, in this country, we have lots of things to keep us safe.’ He tapped his chest. ‘The police, for a start. And hospitals. And medicine and lots of food. Things they just didn’t have in Pompeii.’

  In the darkness, he could just make out her hand moving back and forth across Wiper’s back.

  ‘They might have had dogs, though,’ he added. ‘Or maybe cats.’

  ‘The ancient Egyptians had cats.’

  ‘Did they?’

  ‘I want to go home now.’

  ‘Good idea. Tell you what, shall we get some chips on the way?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And shall I send a text to Mummy? Ask her to run you a nice warm bath?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Once they’d packed her bag, they crawled back out into the night. The lights of the golf clubhouse seemed to shimmer between the shifting branches. He turned to her and said, ‘Shall I carry you?’

  ‘Carry me? I’m ten.’

  ‘So?’ he replied. ‘I don’t think that’s too old.’

  ‘OK, then.’

  She stepped in front of him with her arms raised, just like when she was little. He lifted her up so her face was level with his, hoping it would encourage her to rest her cheek on his shoulder. She did and he let her hair squash up against his face and nose and he tried not to cry.

  They were home with two portions of chips twenty minutes later. Alice was waiting in the hallway with towels and Holly’s fluffy dressing gown. He left her smothering their daughter with kisses. As he was dividing the food onto three plates, his phone went. Iona. He’d ring her back. Next, he put out ketchup, mayonnaise and salt then turned to the open kitchen door. ‘Food’s ready!’

  Alice appeared with an arm still round her daughter. Holly’s hair had been tied back and her dressing gown was wrapped tightly about her. For a moment, Jon wondered if Alice was going to insist Holly eat her food while sitting on her lap. But she allowed Holly her own chair, settling down in the one opposite to watch.

  Holly put a dollop of mayonnaise on the side of her plate and then glanced up nervously. ‘Am I allowed some ketchup, too?’

  Ketchup and mayonnaise, Jon thought. It had to be a special occasion for that. He scooped up the squeezy bottle, reached over and criss-crossed red sauce across her chips.

  ‘Daddy!’ she gasped delightedly.

  Putting the bottle back in the middle of the table, he caught Alice’s smirk. As he wolfed his portion down, the urge to check on Holly kept pinging into his head. Every time he did, he saw that Alice’s gaze was also locked on her. After a while, Holly sensed she was being watched. ‘Mum, stop staring.’

  She flinched. ‘Sorry. I’m just so glad that we’ve got you here.’

  Holly put her fork down, half her chips untouched. ‘I can’t eat any more.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Jon replied. ‘The portions are massive from that place.’

  ‘They were really nice.’

  ‘Your bath’s ready,’ Alice stated, starting to get up. ‘I’ll get you a nice fresh towel.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum, but I know where the towels are.’

  ‘Of course. Do you want anything else?’

  ‘No, I’ll be fine, thank you.’

  Once she was upstairs, Alice turned to Jon. Her eyes were worried. ‘She seems OK. Does she seem OK to you?’

  Jon had already started on Holly’s leftovers. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Did ... what did she say? When you found her. Did she say why she’d done it?’

  ‘Kind of. There’s a picture of hers you need to see, upstairs. They’ve been doing climate change at school and then that volcano in Pompeii and I think it all got mixed up in her mind. She wanted to see if she could survive without us.’

  ‘Without us? I don’t understand.’

  He pushed Holly’s empty plate aside and then pointed with his fork. ‘You eating those?’

  She passed her plate across without a word.

  ‘Like if something happened to us both,’ Jon said, stabbing at an especially large chip. ‘She’d taken the little gas stove from the shed and some instant noodles. Basically, she was giving it a dry run.’

  There were tears in Alice’s eyes. ‘I don’t understand why she wanted to ... that’s not right. She’s only ten, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Look at it this way: she’s trying to develop a strategy. A plan. At least she’s not just watching crap on the Internet. Obsessing over social media. I’ll take her on a bushcraft weekend. You go out into the hills and learn how to make fires, skin rabbits, stuff like that.’

  ‘Which hills?’

  ‘There’s one that takes place in the Peak District.’

  ‘Really? You think that’s a good—’

  ‘I do. And I’d quite enjoy doing it myself.’

  Alice reached across and stole a couple of chips.

  ‘I knew you’d do that.’

  ‘My chips.’

  ‘Actually, you gave them up. You no longer can claim—’

  ‘Oh, be quiet. I don’t know about skinning rabbits. She wanted one as a pet not that long ago.’

  ‘She’ll be all right. Tougher than you think, that girl.’

  Alice was silent for a few moments. ‘What’s going on with this case you’ve been working on?’

  ‘I’m not sure of the latest. Iona left me a message just before. The person we’ve been trying to find has now taken someone else’s baby. But we know his identity and where he lives. It’ll be OK.’

  ‘A baby? Whose baby?’

  ‘That’s ... complicated. Anyway, it’s out of our hands. We did all the groundwork, but MIT have taken over. We get to offer support, at most.’

  Alice placed her hands on the table. ‘Hang on a second. A baby has been taken and it’s still out there somewhere?’

  ‘I don’t know. As I said, it’s MIT’s job now.’

  ‘But you’re there to offer support?’

  ‘In theory.’

  She pointed to the door. ‘Jon, go! You should be helping.’

  ‘Ali, our daughter went missing. I think they’ll understand why I rushed off.’

  ‘Yes. And now we have her back. You found her; you should be helping to find the missing baby.’

  ‘Why don’t I see what Iona has to say?’

  ‘You can do that in the car. Go!’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘If you can help, then help, for Christ’s sake.’

  Gavin knocked three times, then a couple more. He’d spent too long getting ready. The police must almost be here by now. Maybe they were gathering round the corner, getting ready to storm the building and smash down his front door.

  He put the holdall down and was about to knock again, more loudly. Instead, he lowered his curled fingers and listened. He could hear her on the other side of the door, trying not to not breathe. What the bloody hell was the stupid cow up to? ‘Miriam,
it’s me, Gavin.’

  Nothing.

  ‘Miriam? I know you’re there. I can hear you.’

  ‘The ... the baby’s asleep. You should come back later.’

  ‘Open the door, can you? I can’t talk to you like this.’

  ‘I don’t want to disturb her.’

  ‘You won’t. We can talk more quietly if the door’s open.’

  A key turned and she peeped out. ‘What is it? I don’t want her to wake up.’

  ‘I need to take her. For her mum. She wants her back.’

  ‘You said her mum was ill. You said Sky needed to be looked after for a while.’

  He looked off to the stairwell. Time was ticking on. What was the best way to play this? ‘Her mum only wants to see her for a little bit. She says thanks, by the way. I’ll bring her back soon.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Miriam, it’s not your baby.’

  ‘It’s not yours, either. I’m going to close the door.’

  He rammed the toe of his shoe into the narrow gap. ‘No, you’re not.’

  She looked down, horrified. ‘Move your foot! I want to close my door.’

  They struggled for a second, both of them trying to force the door in the other person’s direction; him to get it open, her to lock him out. Realising she was probably heavier than him, he dipped his knees and rammed his shoulder into it. The impact caught her by surprise and she fell back, one hand keeping hold of the handle, her arm a barrier to him getting in. He used his fist like a hammer on her forearm, beating down on her wrist until her grip broke.

  She was on her knees, wailing. ‘Leave her here, you’ve stolen her. I know you have!’

  ‘What the fuck’s wrong with you? I need to take her to see her mum.’

  ‘You’re lying. You’re lying!’ She lunged at his legs. Fingernails dug into the soft skin of his inner thigh. Pain, sharp and hot.

  He kicked out and the side of his foot connected with her armpit. She lifted a few inches and fell heavily against the wall. He looked about. Where the hell would she have put it? The first door opened on a dark bedroom. The covers of the bed were neatly made. He moved to the front room. Stuffed fucking cats everywhere. He kicked a couple aside and saw the baby on the sofa, nestled on a folded blanket, cushions forming a raised barrier either side. On the arm of the sofa was a half-finished bottle of milk. He jammed it into a pocket and had only just lifted the baby up when he heard movement behind him.