The Secret Admirer: An absolutely gripping crime thriller (Detective Natalie Ward Book 6)

by Carol Wyer

  ‘What excuse did he give her?’

  ‘He didn’t. He told her he was being victimised by the police and needed her support. Said he had done nothing, he’d only sat alone in a pub in town, trying to figure out how best to mend their relationship, but he couldn’t prove it or his whereabouts to us and needed her to back him up.’

  ‘She believed him?’

  ‘No. She said he’s been lying to her face for months. She didn’t want to perjure herself and said whatever he’s got himself into, he can extricate himself without her help.’

  ‘Sounds like that’s a marriage that’s definitely on the rocks,’ muttered Lucy, who’d been listening.

  Natalie agreed. ‘Fortunately, it’s worked in our favour. Henry’s at breaking point. This should tip him over. Anything else?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  Natalie left them, mind on Henry. She was sure he was responsible for harming Gemma. She had little idea why he’d target Fran or Hattie, but now was the time to find out exactly what had happened. She wished she knew what was going on with David and Mike.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Tuesday, 20 November – Early Evening

  ‘What’s this private investigator’s surname?’ Natalie asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Oh, come on! You don’t expect me to believe that, do you?’

  Henry turned to his lawyer. ‘I honestly don’t know. I met him in the pub and he said he could help me track down Maisie. I was pissed and went along with it. I didn’t ask for credentials…’

  Henry opens the folder he’s been given. The semi-retired private investigator, Keith, only took forty-eight hours to track down Maisie. The girl had used an alias. Her real name is Gemma Barnes and she’s a language student at Samford University.

  ‘How did you find her so easily?’

  The PI wipes beer foam from his moustache and rests his hands across his wide girth. If his beard was white, not jet black, he’d pass for a friendly Santa Claus with his twinkling eyes behind frameless glasses. Henry half expects a hearty laugh but instead the man taps the side of his bulbous nose and says, ‘The Internet. Everything is online these days.’

  Henry gives the man five crisp ten-pound notes that he stole from the petty cash tin at work. He’s been dipping into it on and off for a while. He doesn’t take too much at any one time, that way he doesn’t raise suspicions. The investigator came cheap, a chance encounter in the pub when Henry had consumed too many Southern Comforts and had complained bitterly to the stranger at the bar about being scammed. He reads through the handwritten notes – cloak and dagger style, with clandestine meetings in dark corners of pubs and cash-in-hand payments. The girl had played him for a fool. She hadn’t been abroad to buy jewellery. The photos she’d sent him of Dubai had been screenshots taken from a tourism website.

  ‘This her address?’

  Santa Keith nods. ‘It’s student accommodation and she shares it with two other girls and two lads.’

  Henry flicks through the notes. He’s not sure how to use this information yet although he has an idea brewing, one that will prevent this girl from ever duping anyone again.

  Natalie’s fists balled and she hit the desk with sufficient force to make Henry stop bleating. ‘That’ll do. You don’t know this private investigator’s surname or where his office is or anything about him except he’s called Keith and you first met him in the Wild Duck pub in Sutton Coldfield on October the twentieth?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You met him again on October the twenty-second at the same place?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How did he arrange that meeting?’

  ‘He rang me at the office.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘In the morning. Mid-morning.’

  Natalie would have to get details of incoming calls to the engineering company for 22 October at around that time to try and trace this elusive PI. Henry had admitted to planning to attack Gemma. He’d stolen the sulphuric acid from work, where it was used as a pickling agent to remove impurities on metals.

  ‘Okay. Tell me what happened on Friday the sixteenth.’

  Henry scrubbed at his face with both hands. A bubble of snot appeared under his left nostril. Natalie had to look away as he spoke.

  He waits for the number 34 bus. He’s checked the timetable and she might be on the one due in a few minutes. The jar of acid is in his left-hand pocket and he is wearing two pairs of latex gloves to protect his hands while removing the lid. He can’t afford to get any on him. He is pumped and ready to do this. He was going to shout at her so she’d know who was responsible for maiming her but decided against it. He doesn’t want to be identified. He’s drunk four pints of beer and a whisky chaser. There’s no going back now. Gemma’s going to get what she deserves. She won’t be able to flirt with any other poor sods like him.

  Gemma has no idea who he is. He told the engineering company he had personal problems and they gave him time off, which means he’s been able to drive to Samford every day, hoping to find the right moment to exact his revenge. The first day, he walked about campus with a dog lead in his hand as if hunting for a lost hound, and no one had glanced his way. He located the language department and waited outside. His patience was rewarded and he finally saw her in the flesh. She was as beautiful as her photos had led him to believe and his chest constricted knowing she’d been leading him on. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. He watched her laughing with a tall, blond-haired lad who wheeled his bike beside her and who couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

  The following day, he found a bench close to the bus stop near the library, from which he could observe the comings and goings, and watched her get off the number 34 bus. She bussed in every day at around the same time, but the campus, filled with students, wasn’t the best place to strike. He waited until she caught the bus home and boarded it, in the hope of attacking her in the street outside her house. Sitting directly behind her on the bus, breathing in the faint scent of almond shampoo she’d used on her glossy hair, he overheard her telephone conversation and learnt she was going to work in the library on Friday evening, after seven when it was quieter. That would be perfect. It would be dark and he knew where she would get off. He let her alight and carried on to the next stop, where he got off and waited for a return bus. Friday would be the day.

  Five minutes pass and the number 34 bus draws up to the stop bang on time. He squints, heart thumping solidly in his chest. Is she on it? He creeps forward towards it, hidden in the shadows and the darkness of the evening. The doors open with a wheeze like somebody sneezing, and Gemma descends, eyes on her mobile as she reads and replies to a text message. He wonders if it’s from a man, maybe another sap reeled in by this unscrupulous bitch. She is alone. He looks left and right and turns around. There isn’t another soul – only Henry and Gemma. Henry and Gemma on their date at last! The corners of his mouth twitch at the thought, and hunched over, he loosens the jar lid between his gloved hands. He looks back up, checks the area is clear and takes one last look at Gemma. Her hair is swinging as she walks and a smile plays on her lips as if she’s laughing at him. Now! He rushes towards her, freezing her to the spot. The last look he sees is wide-eyed confusion as he hurls the jar’s contents at her.

  The scream is ear-splitting and she collapses to the ground, writhing, hands scrabbling at her face. He turns and flees. As he corners the building, out of sight once more, he glances back. A woman jumps from an old-fashioned bicycle and, flinging it aside, crouches beside Gemma.

  Henry has had his payback.

  ‘Never, not for one second, did I consider the possibility she would die. I know what I did was wrong but I never, ever intended to kill the girl. Believe me.’ Henry spoke to his lawyer rather than Natalie. The tears had dried as the realisation of what was to come finally dawned on him.

  ‘Wrong? It was abhorrent!’ Natalie stopped herself before she launched into a tirade fuelled by
disgust at his actions and lack of remorse. ‘You are responsible for the death of Gemma Barnes.’ She let the words sink in but he only looked startled and tearful. Could this man have also killed Fran and Hattie? She had seen similar looks before on the faces of cruel and clever killers, capable of great deception. Henry could be one such person, prepared only to confess to what he had to. She said sharply, ‘Fran Ditton and Hattie Caldwell.’

  Henry’s long face stared mournfully at her. ‘I don’t know them.’

  ‘But you did. They were Gemma’s housemates. The private investigator gave you their details.’ Her voice grew with the anger she felt towards this man, who’d felt he was justified in throwing acid in Gemma’s face.

  ‘He only gave me Gemma’s identity. I swear on my children’s lives, I had nothing to do with those deaths.’

  Murray gave a low threatening growl but Natalie maintained a poker face. ‘You expect us to believe a word of what you say after all the lies you fed us earlier?’

  ‘I swear. I didn’t do anything to them. I didn’t. No.’ He turned again to his lawyer, hands together in prayer. ‘I’ll confess to the acid attack but I didn’t intend to kill Gemma and I definitely didn’t harm anyone else. Please, tell them.’

  The lawyer lifted one hand to calm the man. ‘I think we’ll leave it here, DI Ward. My client and I need to discuss this matter, and as you can hear, he is not accepting blame for the other deaths. We’ll talk again should you find evidence to the contrary.’

  Natalie couldn’t press any further. If he wasn’t going to confess, they’d have to uncover evidence to prove he was their perpetrator. For the moment, she wanted to get out of the interview room and find out what had happened to David.

  ‘DS Anderson will read you your rights, and your lawyer will explain what will happen next.’ She’d found Gemma’s killer but the investigation was still wide open. It was possible somebody else had murdered Fran and Hattie, and she had no idea why.

  Gemma,

  I ought to say how sorry I am that you were attacked. I should feel guilty and be in tears, but I’m not. In many ways you got what you deserved. My main regret is that you died. If you’d lived, you’d have discovered what it’s like to be ostracised. You’d have seen that look of disgust in people’s eyes that I see most days. You’d have been the butt of cruel jokes, as I have been. Had I not shed several stone, I’d still be receiving jibes and caustic comments. You see, people are quick to make judgements. They don’t understand why that person might be overweight or disadvantaged in some way, through no fault of their own. You’d have found out what it is like to live on the other side – the darker side. It’s a shame you didn’t experience that.

  An Ex-Admirer

  Mike shoved open the sitting room door, took a step inside, pulled back out. ‘David!’

  He took the stairs two at a time. All the bedroom doors were shut. He began with what had been David and Natalie’s room. The bed was neatly made, duvet straight, cushions plumped and positioned.

  ‘David!’ His voice boomed and bounced off the light green wallpapered walls and shook the tassels hanging from the matching lampshade.

  He crashed into Josh’s room, with its gaming posters attached to the plain blue walls, bed made and desk empty of the computer and games console that were usually in situ.

  The bathroom was next but no sign of David. That only left Leigh’s room. He swallowed hard and turned the handle. The sight caused him to momentarily shut his eyes tightly.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Tuesday, 20 November – Evening

  Murray hurled his notepad onto the desk. ‘The bastard’s got an alibi. He was at the animal park with his kids and wife on Saturday afternoon, and Sunday he was at home.’

  Natalie chewed at her thumbnail. Henry wasn’t behind the other murders, so who was? She paced the floor, her nervousness not solely down to the investigation. If Mike was this long in getting back to her, something dreadful had happened. No sooner had she had the thought than her phone buzzed and Mike’s name came up on the screen. She snatched it from her desk and marched into the corridor, eyes fastened on the leather settee.

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘He’s alive. He’s been taken to Samford General.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll make it?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know.’

  The news was a physical blow to her stomach, causing her to bend over involuntarily as if she was going to be sick. Lucy caught sight of her and walked to the door.

  ‘You okay, Natalie?’

  Natalie waved her away.

  ‘I’ll come to the hospital.’

  ‘I don’t think you should yet. He was unconscious when I found him and I don’t know how oxygen-deprived he was. I don’t know if I got to him in time.’

  Natalie understood the subtext of his words. David might live but be permanently brain-damaged. This was no cry for help. David had intended on dying. ‘Oh, fuck! What have I done to him?’

  ‘It wasn’t you, Natalie. It was many things that mounted up and eventually overwhelmed him. I let him down more than you did. I’ll stay at the hospital for a while and see what the doctors have to say.’

  Her mind shouted a hundred questions at once but one more loudly than the others. ‘Josh! What do I tell him?’

  ‘The truth. You can’t keep this from him but let’s give it an hour and see what the prognosis is before we tell him.’

  We. She drew a shuddering breath. We. She wasn’t alone. Mike would be by her side. There was some comfort to be drawn from that even though her heart was clattering against her ribs. She’d be of no use by David’s bedside or sitting in the hospital waiting room for news. After being tugged in both directions – relationship and duty, back and forth – for what felt like minutes but was only seconds, sense prevailed. ‘All right, I’ll wait to hear from you… and thank you.’

  The voice was heavy with sadness. ‘Don’t thank me yet. I’m not even sure I’ve done the right thing by rescuing him.’

  ‘You have. Believe me, you have.’ Mobile in hand, she took several sharp breaths and then counted to ten – inhaling on each number and exhaling slowly. The rattle in her chest lessened. Seven. Eight. David was safe now. Nine. There was nothing more she could do. Ten.

  Lucy, now at her desk facing the door, watched Natalie’s every move, her body poised to react, ready to surge forward and comfort if needed. Her shoulders relaxed when Natalie walked in and lifted her hand.

  ‘It’s okay. Everything’s fine now.’ She wasn’t willing to discuss the matter with her team. She didn’t want to give a single indication she was unfit to lead the investigation.

  Murray, who’d had his back to the glass and not noticed anything untoward, slapped his hands against his thighs. ‘Yes! We’ve got a trace on the PayPal account that Henry sent money to. Oh!’

  ‘Oh, what?’ said Lucy quickly, her chair sliding back across the carpet as she scrambled to her feet to join him.

  ‘Fuck me! The account belongs to Lennox Walsh.’

  ‘Please tell me you’re joking,’ said Lucy.

  ‘See for yourself.’

  ‘That little fucker! We’ve spoken to him loads of times.’ Lucy stomped around in a wide circle.

  Natalie wasn’t wasting any time. ‘Pull him in immediately.’

  Lucy was halfway out of the door before Murray had stood up. He pounded after her, both flying down the corridor at speed. Natalie watched them turn left at the top of the stairs and disappear. She needed to update Dan. She wanted to see David and find out if he was going to be okay. Most of all she wanted to hold her son and assure him his father was going to be all right.

  Lennox pulled at his whiskery chin, tugging at individual hairs. His demeanour had swung from outrage to rage and now truculence. His lawyer, Carolyn Pickerton, a woman in her forties, in a three-piece trouser suit and with sleek black hair swept into a clip, had advised him to calm down, so with one arm clamped under the other, and his free hand
twisting hair follicles, he smouldered silently.

  ‘The money Mr Warburton transferred was sent to a PayPal account linked to your bank account. Can you explain it?’ Natalie asked for the third time.

  ‘He made a mistake with the name of the account. Must have got the wrong one,’ he mumbled, his hand partly shielding his mouth.

  ‘Stop fucking me about!’ Natalie’s voice filled the room. ‘We’ve got your bank account details. You knew that money was sitting in your account. You were over £1,000 in the red until that money arrived in your account on October the twentieth, and on the twenty-first, you spent £520’ – she glanced at the notes in front of her – ‘in Go-Go Games in Samford, where you purchased the Sony PlayStation 4 Pro and several games. On Monday, November the nineteenth, three days after Gemma was attacked, you withdrew £2,000 in cash, putting yourself back in the red. Was that the money we found in Fran’s room?’

  ‘No. I owed people money. I paid them back. I gave them the money I took out of my account. I don’t know anything about any money in Fran’s room.’

  ‘Who did you owe money to?’

  ‘Some guys… for drugs.’

  ‘You owed drug dealers money?’ Natalie’s eyes narrowed as she spoke.

  ‘Yes. I’ve been getting credit from them for a long while.’

  ‘What drugs?’

  ‘All sorts.’

  ‘Be more specific!’

  ‘Smack, snow, Billy. Crystal meth.’

  The boy was confessing to taking heroin, cocaine, amphetamines and methamphetamine. The most expensive was the crystal meth at about £200 per gram. It was possible he had owed drug dealers, but Natalie didn’t believe him.