by Linda Coles
“That’s nice, isn’t it,” she purred, and ran her fingernails up and down his back lightly, waiting for the right moment.
“Kiss my neck,” she ordered, and Aaron quickly obliged, leaving soft kisses dotted up and down her neck. Frankie let out low moans of enjoyment.
That’s what his ears heard, what his brain registered, but that wasn’t what was really happening. Frankie was making all the right distracting sounds, but they weren’t for real. She was acting her part out, the sexy siren, the sexy killer. Her left hand rubbed his back gently, but her right hand was preoccupied with the syringe she’d placed down the back of the sofa cushion, in just the right place.
Flipping the cap off the top of it, and with Aaron completely distracted, she raised her right arm up in the air ready to bring the whole thing down with a slam into his shoulder. But the moment had other ideas.
Chapter Ninety-One
The two women watched on as Stephanie finally reached the cottage and hesitated outside the door. Suddenly Amanda’s phone filled the car with sound. As a detective, she knew better than to dismiss a call; she had learned the lesson the hard way some years back.
“Damn. Sorry, Ruth, I’d better answer it.” She pressed ‘accept.’ “Amanda Lacey speaking.” There was silence at the other end of the line. “Hello? Lacey here. Who’s calling?” She heard a faint gasp, possibly a woman’s, and waited a moment longer before trying again. “It’s okay to talk. I can hear you’re there.”
A woman’s faint voice filled her ears. “I’m sorry,” she stuttered. “Maybe I have this all wrong.”
“Why don’t you tell me anyway? Perhaps I can help you,” Amanda said gently. It wasn’t the first time she’d received such calls, had someone on the other end unsure of what to say or do.
“It’s Georgia here.”
“Hi, Georgia. What can I help you with? Have you thought of something?”
“I think I might know who you’re looking for, who was with Sebastian that night, when he was murdered. I’ve been thinking about all the pieces fitting into place but I don’t want to drop the person in it if it’s nothing.”
“I understand, Georgia. Are they a friend of yours?”
“She was. Is. I mean, we were friends a long while back and lost touch. Then she suddenly came back into my life about a week ago. And she has a scarf, like the one with the poppy on. She’s a vet too, with short hair. Oh my god!” Georgia started to break down on the other end of the phone and Amanda did her best to console her and keep her talking.
“Shh, Georgia, you’re doing the right thing. Just try and stay calm and talk to me, okay?” A slight gulp confirmed Georgia was still there and listening. “What is your friend’s name and where is she now, do you know?”
Georgia sniffed loudly. “Philippa. Philippa During. A vet in Rickmansworth, but she’s not home. I believe she’s away this weekend, up north with her boyfriend.” Another gulp, this time with a half sob mixed in. “Oh dear. What will happen to her now I’ve told you?”
“You’ve done the right thing, Georgia,” Amanda said again. “Leave it with me. We’ll need to ask her some questions and look a bit deeper. No one is in any trouble right now. Do you have an address or a number for her?”
“Yes, I have her number. It’s in my phone. What will happen now?” Georgia sounded more and more distressed with every word that left her mouth.
“We’ll talk to her and take it from there. If she isn’t who we are looking for, nothing will happen to her, but we have to investigate first. You’ve done the right thing, Georgia. Thank you. Now, take a moment and find the number in your phone, and I’ll hang on here.”
A rather nervous “Okay” came from Georgia’s end of the line, and Amanda waited uneasily, hoping she didn’t hang up beforehand. A moment later, Amanda was writing the number down.
“Thank you, Georgia. You’re very brave. Now, we’ll follow this up right now and see what we can find out. Don’t worry. I’ll be in touch soon. Before you go, do you happen to know where up north she may have gone, or the boyfriend’s name? Did she say?”
After a brief silence, Georgia said, “The Lakes somewhere, maybe Windemere. She wouldn’t tell me his name but he’s already spoken for, and a pilot.”
Amanda felt a jolt of adrenaline surge through her body. She hung up the call with Georgia, pressed a speed dial number that went straight to Jack, and leapt out of the car, holding the phone to her ear as she ran forward into the darkness.
A scream came from inside the cottage, shattering the eerie night silence.
“Oh my god! No!” shrieked a woman’s voice. The front door slammed and Aaron heard the sound of footsteps running down the path away from the house. “No! No! No!” came the voice again, getting fainter now.
Shit, shit, SHIT!
“Stephanie! Stephanie, oh my god! Please wait!”
He tried to scramble off Frankie as best he could without hurting her, and out of the corner of his eye he saw something long, like a pen, fly through the air. He leapt to his feet, unaware of the death sentence he’d just sidestepped, and fished madly for his trousers.
“My wife. Oh hell! I’d better go after her,” he said to Frankie, flustered. This was not how it was supposed to be. “Get some clothes on, but stay here!” he said, reaching for his shoes.
“What the hell?” He bent down, puzzled. There was a syringe beside one of his shoes. It took him a moment to register what it was exactly, and where it could have come from. It certainly wasn’t his. He picked it up, taking care to keep the bare needle end away from himself, not knowing what it contained but knowing instinctively that it wasn’t a good thing and it had been meant for him. He held it out in his hand and turned to Frankie, a questioning look on his face.
“Care to explain what this is and what you intended to do with it?”
Frankie pulled her silk robe around her a bit more tightly. “Just something to relax us a little,” she stammered. “I thought you might enjoy it. It really heightens the experience.”
She gave a weak smile, but that wasn’t going to work with Aaron now. He had more pressing problem to deal with—his wife. Still holding the syringe carefully in the palm of his hand, he jogged down the short hallway. He reached for the door handle and a figure appeared out of the darkness, blocking his way out.
“Amanda! What are you doing here?”
“Never mind me right now, Aaron. Are you on your own in there or are you with a woman by chance?”
Aaron craned his neck past her; he could see the headlights of a car in the distance, and worrying about Stephanie. The interior light was on and he could see Ruth and Stephanie in the front seats.
He was aware of Amanda asking another question. “And what’s that in your hand. Where did you get that?”
“It’s not mine! I’ve just seen it myself. I have no idea what it is!”
“Open your hand slowly, Aaron, and give it to me.” Her voice was deadly calm. “Carefully,” she said as he uncurled his fingers.
So Georgia had been right, thought Amanda. She felt ill. In a low voice she asked, “Who gave you this, Aaron?” She kept her voice hushed, suspecting the owner was in the other room—the woman Stephanie had just witnessed with her husband, and Georgia’s old friend.
“It’s Frankie’s, I’m assuming,” he said, equally quietly, and pointed behind him over his shoulder with his thumb. “She’s in the lounge. Why?”
“Stay here. Have you got your phone handy?”
“No, it’s in the lounge. What’s going on?!”
“Keep your voice down,” Amanda ordered him. “I’ll tell you later, but right now, get to the others in the car, call 999 and stay put. Now go.”
Aaron jogged down the lane to the car. Ruth saw him coming and got out, reaching him in three long strides.
“You leave her alone, you piece of shit,” she began.
“Never mind that now, Ruth. Call 999. Amanda needs assistance. And for god’s sake, stay in the car
, both of you!”
“What? What’s happening?” Ruth took a step back.
“Just dial the police, would you?”
Aaron’s voice was a squeak of fear. He left Ruth fumbling for her phone and jogged back to the house in case Amanda needed his help. If he wasn’t in the shit before with Stephanie, he most certainly was now.
Chapter Ninety-Two
Amanda entered the lounge, not really sure what she’d find. It was times like this she wished she was armed. While she’d instructed Aaron to call the police, the cottage was out in the middle of nowhere and the police could take a while—and then send what, exactly? A beat bobby on his cycle? This wasn’t the Metropolitan police in Croydon, no armed response unit here; she’d have to do the best with what she had.
In the lounge, a woman was sat in an old chair, wrapped only in a flimsy robe, the wood fire her only protection from a chilly night. She kept her head down, looking at the carpet, and didn’t speak a word. Amanda wondered what she was thinking about. Did she know her game was up? That Amanda was a detective, that she knew about the syringe and its lethal contents? Or was she hoping that she could get away with a tale of a party drug perhaps, or a sleeping drug.
“I’m DS Amanda Lacey. And you are?” She waited for the woman to raise her eyes and say something, but she stayed mute and still. Trying again she asked, “What’s your name?”
Still nothing. Amanda kept her distance, not knowing if the woman had any other weapons close at hand, like a hunting knife.
“This would be better for you if you fill me in a little. The local police are on their way and I know exactly what is in that syringe. Were you about to use it on Mr. Galbraith?”
The woman’s head flew up now, and a volley of words spewed out of her mouth.
“He’s no Mr. Nice Guy, you know! He hunts for fun, kills big game for fun! How can any decent person do such a thing?” Anger flared in her eyes now, and her voice rose. “Look around you, at these so-called ‘trophies,’” she said, wafting her arms around the room. “They all died at his hands, for fun!”
“Is that why you wanted to hurt him, because he hunted? Is that why you killed the others, because they both enjoyed the sport too?”
“Yes! They deserved to be taught a lesson! Gloating to the world about what they’d killed, their sick pictures of themselves with their kill. I thought I’d do the same to them. Nice touch, didn’t you think? Let them be someone’s trophy, my trophy.”
“Seems a little extreme, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“I couldn’t care less what you think! I’d have had another trophy if you lot hadn’t turned up and interfered. He’d have been dead shortly and another trophy photo posted, showing the world what happens to those who hunt big animals. But you’ve screwed that up now. He goes free, gets away with murder!”
“Unlike you, though.”
“If it’s my price to pay for cleaning them off this earth, then so be it. I didn’t do it for malice. I’m not a cold-blooded murderer. I didn’t get enjoyment from it.” She lowered her voice and added, “Quite the contrary, actually. It really upset my stomach, made me sick.”
“If you’re looking for sympathy on that score, you’ll not get any from me.”
The reflection of blue flashing lights was just visible on the walls as the police vehicle came to a standstill outside. There was the sound of car doors slamming shut, boots on the wooden floor. Amanda turned to the men in uniform and introduced herself, all the time keeping one eye on the woman in the chair.
“DS Amanda Lacey, Met, Croydon.
“Sergeant Carl Blake, Windemere. Care to fill me in?
“Sure will. Quite by chance, even though we have two other victims, I came across this woman after driving the cottage owner’s wife up here for the weekend. This woman was with the owner’s husband, and had this with her.” She showed him the syringe. “It’s filled with a lethal substance that will kill in seconds if it’s administered. It’s my belief she intended to use it on her victim, Aaron Galbraith, then cut his throat and post the images to social media like she has the other two victims. One in London and one in Manchester. She has admitted as much while we waited for you.”
“I’d heard about that, seen the photos. Quite a way to publicise your crime,” he said to Amanda, then turned his attention to ‘Frankie.’ “So, care to tell us anything more?”
“I’ve said all I’m saying for now. I’m just sorry I didn’t get to finish him off. He gets away with it.”
“So you’ve said,” Amanda said disdainfully. “Can you tell us your name or have we got to search for your wallet?”
“Philippa During.”
Blake stepped over to her and got right to the formalities.
“Philippa During, I’m arresting you for the attempted murder of Aaron Galbraith and the murders of,” he looked at Amanda who filled in the names of the two victims for him, “Sebastian Stevens and Fiona Gable ….”
Amanda stood quietly to one side as he read Philippa her rights, cuffed her and escorted her outside to the waiting police car out front, where more units were now arriving. Another officer took the syringe, now in a plastic evidence bag, the needle secured so as not to prick anyone accidentally. With the murderer now out of the house, the lounge and the rest of the house had become be a crime scene. The local police would have to process it and catalogue the evidence. But there was no doubt about what had gone on that night, and what Philippa had planned to do. Aaron Galbraith had been one lucky man, she mused, though when Stephanie got hold of him, he might think otherwise. What a sorry state of affairs for her friend to be mixed up in.
Out of her jurisdiction, there wasn’t much more for Amanda to do at the scene. She made her way back up the lane to her waiting car. Aaron, wisely keeping his distance, sat on an old fallen tree nearby. She walked over to him.
“You’ll need to go to the station, too,” she told him. “There will be further questioning in the morning, but they have their suspect and she’s not denying anything, though they’ll want your side of things.” He nodded. “Best you stay local tonight, though not here at the cottage, obviously. The police will give you a lift when they’re done, I’m sure. And you might want to get dressed again. They’ll sort you out a blanket or something.” He nodded again, too numb to add anything. “We’re all staying back in the village, though as you can imagine, Stephanie is pretty distraught. You might want to leave talking to her until she’s calmed down a bit. We’ll drive her home tomorrow if that’s what she wants. I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you, Amanda. What a bloody mess I’ve made.” He hung his head in shame; it was going to be a long road for them to get over this, if they ever could. He watched glumly as Amanda went over and got in the driver’s side of her car and put her arms around his wife, pulling her close.
He wished he could have done the same.
Chapter Ninety-Three
Ruth, Amanda and Stephanie had finished breakfast and were chatting over warm milky coffee in the dining room at the hotel. The room was half full of weekend visitors all ready and raring to go on a day of discovery, nature, great walking tracks and, of course, stunning lake views. And that was exactly the opposite of how Stephanie was feeling. Red-eyed from a night of horrendous tears, she sat at the breakfast table feeling numb all over, too broken to cry any more. Not for herself so much, but for her two young boys back home and how they were going to take the news of their breakup. The two people they loved and trusted the most were about to go their separate ways. She could see no other way forward.
“You don’t have to do anything yet, Stephanie—no rash decisions, nothing,” said Ruth. “Aaron has betrayed you, I get that, and more than once, I get that too, but just wait a while before you mention anything and upset the boys.” She thought for a moment and then added, “Would it be helpful if I called your mum, asked her to keep them for another day or so, and we’ll stay here? Or I can go—whatever you prefer. Give you some time.”<
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Stephanie shook her head slowly, almost trance-like. “No, I should go back, pick them up, and try and get on the best I can until I’ve spoken to Aaron. Where is he, do you know?”
“Well, he’s not at the cottage, that’s for sure. He’s probably wrapped in a blanket, somewhere not too far away. The police will have sorted him out somewhat, I expect.” While it wasn’t time for laughter, the thought of him still in a blanket eating breakfast somewhere amused her and she smiled despite herself.
“What are you smiling at?”
“Sorry, Stephanie. This is not the time or the place. I’m sorry.”
“No, tell me. I could do with the distraction.”
Ruth had no choice not to tell her now, and Amanda eyed her partner warily.
“I was just thinking about him sat in a café eating breakfast nearby, but still wrapped in a blanket. Look, totally inappropriate, I know. I’m sorry,” she said again.
Stephanie stared directly at her, giving her a look Ruth couldn’t quite fathom. Had she now made matters worse? Suddenly Stephanie exploded in a fit of laughter, throwing her head back, laughing loudly and catching stares and scowls from diners at nearby tables. When she didn’t immediately quiet down, Ruth stood, laughing a little herself, and went round the table to her friend, crouching down to hug her. Then as suddenly as it had begun, Stephanie’s laughter stopped and she burst into tears.
“Oh no! Honey, what’s the matter?” Ruth cried, holding her friend closer.
It was all too much—the upset of recent events and the recollection of distant ones. Through her tears, Stephanie told Ruth and Amanda about the events from years ago, the scars on her legs, about that one terrifying night with another man, long before she’d ever met Aaron. That man had enjoyed playing with a knife, and he had drugged her and abused her all through one endless night of unspeakable horror. The recent upset with Aaron brought the unwelcome memories back. She’d never known his name that night, but she did now. His name had been all over the news: Sebastian Stevens. The coincidence wasn’t lost on Amanda.
