An Eye for an Eye (Detective Kate Young)

by Carol Wyer

  ‘You said you didn’t tell Hope her son was dead.’

  ‘Correct. I wanted undeniable proof. I promised I would find him, and I intended keeping my promise. Where did you find him?’

  Kate looked down at the desk, pausing for a heartbeat before she told Faith what she’d been trying to find out for so long. ‘A clearing in the woods in the grounds of the Maddox Club.’

  ‘I suspected Cooper might have hidden him somewhere nearby. Can I see him?’

  ‘Maybe we can arrange it. Tell me, Faith, why did Hope come to the UK?’

  Faith’s mouth twisted downwards. ‘She’d been trying to get to the UK ever since Joseph went missing. She saved up all the money I sent her. She didn’t tell me she’d finally been granted a visa and just turned up out of the blue. She almost messed up my plans.’

  ‘I’m struggling to understand this. You killed three people while she stayed with you. You were out at all hours and throughout the time she stayed with you, yet she had no idea of what you were up to.’

  ‘Luckily for me, she caught a stomach virus and was bed-bound for a great deal of the time. I told her I was part of an investigation, which explained my hours, and insisted she stay at home when I was out.’

  ‘The virus only lasts a few days. She would have recovered within four days.’

  ‘No. I made sure she didn’t. I put small doses of laxative in her food. It was the only way to keep her out of all this. She had no idea. I swear she didn’t.’

  Kate was still not convinced. Hope and Faith were extremely close. There was every chance Hope knew exactly what her sister was up to and Faith was now protecting her. Kate would have to see how she reacted under interrogation.

  Faith stared ahead, her perfect features unspoilt by sorrow, but her voice was heavy when she said, ‘So, if the flight had been on time, she’d be on her way home as we speak.’

  Kate still had an important question to ask. ‘Why did you go to such extraordinary lengths to torture and murder these men? You could have gone to the police after you spoke to Farai, not taken matters into your own hands.’

  ‘Gone to the police? Begged for help! Do you actually believe the police would have wasted precious resources searching for an illegal immigrant who’d turned to prostitution? Don’t make me laugh. You’re off your head if you believe that for one second.’

  ‘His disappearance would have been investigated.’

  ‘Do you think it’s a fair system, DI Young? A just system where every citizen is treated equally?’

  Kate held her gaze. ‘I think we’ll leave it there for the moment. You shouldn’t have taken matters into your own hands, Faith. The police would have handled this for you.’

  There was a pause and Kate thought they’d come to the end of the interview. But Faith didn’t move, eyes locked on Kate’s. She dropped her voice. ‘You don’t really believe that, do you? Open your eyes and look around you, Kate.’

  Her cold stare was filled with hostility. Kate cursed herself for having been duped by this woman who’d only ever intended to use her for her own means. She swallowed the bitter taste rising in her mouth. Faith was cold, calculating and vengeful. In spite of all that, Kate couldn’t disagree with her. Had she reported her suspicions to the police, it was almost certain they wouldn’t have received the attention they warranted, especially given John Dickson’s involvement with the Maddox Club and friendships with Alex and Ian.

  Faith continued to hold her gaze. They might not be friends, but they shared common goals; a desire to uncover the truth and hold those responsible accountable for their actions. It was unlikely Faith would have got the justice she really wanted for her nephew any more than Kate would for Chris’s death. Not unless she took matters into her own hands. Kate didn’t flinch at Faith’s words. She knew the woman was right, and she had a journal that would substantiate those claims.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  THURSDAY, 10 JUNE – EARLY MORNING

  Faith was charged at last. There was still her sister, Hope, to interview, but Kate allowed herself a breather. She stood outside the station. It was 3 a.m. and the only sound came from the odd car passing by on the main road. She sensed rather than heard William next to her.

  ‘Great job, Kate.’

  ‘I don’t think so. It would have been a better outcome if we’d been on top of this before it got out of hand. She foxed us for a long while.’

  ‘You were on her tail.’

  Kate breathed out softly. ‘And she’s right. If she’d come to the station and told us about her nephew, he’d have only been marked down as a missing person. We wouldn’t have spent the number of man hours searching for him that this case has forced us to.’

  ‘Kate, listen to me. You saved Sierra and Cooper. You might even have saved Raymond Maddox, who, by the way, wasn’t at the club the night Joseph died. I have been assured he only dropped by on the evening of January the second on his way to the airport, and left soon afterwards. His story checks out. You did an outstanding job. You’re one of the best we have.’

  ‘Then heaven help us all,’ she replied, and without a further word, walked back inside.

  Three hours later, she drew up outside her own home. Blackbirds sang heartily as she unlocked her front door.

  ‘I’m home,’ she called.

  There was, as she expected, no reply. Although he was dead, she simply couldn’t break the habit of talking to him.

  The journal was exactly where she’d left it in the cereal box. She extracted it from its hiding place and sat at the kitchen table, an invisible fog of sadness enveloping her as she felt the indentations on the exterior, knowing Chris’s hands had touched it, and hoped by some process of osmosis that any left-over energy would be transmitted to her. She missed him with all her heart, soul and every atom of her being.

  She turned to the first page, read the names and details Chris had written in fountain pen. These were people he suspected were part of a paedophile ring, presumably the one he and Dan had been investigating. How Chris had uncovered all this was a mystery, but he had interviewed victims and put together a comprehensive package pointing to a number of people, including names she recognised: celebrities, heads of institutions, others from educational establishments and even some clergy. If he’d written the article or articles, it would have blown careers, families and lives apart. The pages were documented with dates and websites and even meetings when victim and abuser had come together. She remained unaware of the time as she read on, and only when her eyes slid over and stopped on four words did she pause. Chris had written, ‘Gold Service, Maddox Club’.

  ‘You knew,’ she whispered.

  ‘I suspected, but you uncovered the truth. I was close to exposing them.’

  She read on. ‘The prostitutes weren’t of legal age.’

  ‘Some were, but Xavier also requested children, especially boys.’

  ‘Do you think Dickson slept with an underage girl?’

  ‘I do, but you would need to prove it.’

  ‘Faith mentioned a pimp called Farai. If I could track him down, he might be able to tell me who he sent on the second of January when Dickson, Corby and Wentworth were at the club. Joseph was under age. The Bulgarian girls might have been, too.’

  She stood up at once. She needed to search Chris’s den. There might be even more information in there.

  The door opened silently and she switched on the light, waiting for it to emit a soft glow before she entered. A crisp bluebottle lay on its back next to the dusty keyboard. Although the computer on the desk remained plugged in, it was password protected, so she’d not even attempted to turn it on. It would have been pointless. She didn’t know his access code.

  She had to track down and talk to Farai.

  ‘What will you do if you find him and he confesses the girls were under age?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet. One step at a time. It would be something to prove Dickson lied.’

  ‘Think about this before you dive
in. Who’s going to believe the testimony of a pimp against a superintendent in the police force? He might have egg on his face about sleeping once with a prostitute, but he won’t lose his position. It won’t expose him,’ said Chris.

  ‘But he knew about Ian and Joseph. He ought to have stepped in that night, or at least helped direct the investigation in the right direction.’

  ‘Ah, Kate. You’re up against it. You’ll be the one who will suffer in that battle. You’ll need more ammunition than supposition and the word of a pimp.’

  Her head fell back against Chris’s leather chair and she groaned. Chris was right. She couldn’t bring down her superior with such flimsy evidence. The overhead bulb was dimming, the glow flickering, as if about to go out. She reached forward to flick on the desk lamp and her hand brushed against the keyboard. The computer came to life with a tired wheeze, as if it had been dozing. There was no password as she thought. Chris must have removed it. Behind the dusty screen she saw their faces – her and Chris, laughing, happy, and her eyes filled once more. She pressed the home button and read the document file names, drawn to one entitled Kate.

  She clicked on it and frowned at the heading, ‘Potentially Corrupt – Sensitive Information’.

  The photographs were of familiar faces, officers she knew and had worked with. How on earth had Chris come across these people, and what had made him suspect they were corrupt? There were so many – five, six, seven. She paused, cursor hovering over the person she had hoped to bring down – John Dickson. Her pulse quickened. He might slip away this time, but she’d continue to pursue him until she could find something to lead to his downfall. There was another photograph under Dickson’s. She scrolled, and as his face came into view, her mouth dropped open. No. He couldn’t be.

  Looking back at her from the screen was her father’s best friend and her mentor, DCI William Chase.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Although my name is on the front cover of this book, I can’t take all the credit for it. I might have written it, but I’m hugely grateful to have such a first-rate team of professionals behind me who all played a part in bringing An Eye for an Eye to publication.

  To everyone at Jane Rotrosen Agency, especially my agent, Amy Tannenbaum, sincere thanks for championing my script.

  To my outstanding editor, Jack Butler, who recognised further potential in the script, guided me through the initial processes and teamed me up with the truly awesome Russel McLean. Russel brought masses of enthusiasm and insight to the editing process, transforming An Eye for an Eye from a good book into one that makes me ridiculously proud to call it my work. Thanks for the laughs along the way, Russel.

  To my sharp-eyed copy-editor, Gill Harvey, and my amazing proofreader, Sarah Day, who are without doubt the best I’ve ever worked with.

  To all the team at Thomas & Mercer involved in getting this book to publication, whose professionalism and expertise have been hugely appreciated.

  To my street team and the numerous book bloggers and reviewers who generously help promote my work. Never underestimate how much your support means to us authors.

  And to you for purchasing An Eye for an Eye. Thank you for your kind messages and emails telling me how much you’ve enjoyed my work. They mean more than words can convey.

  Finally, to my other half, Mr Grumpy. Thank you for your patience and dependable support. You are my world.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Winner of The People’s Book Prize Award, Carol Wyer is a bestselling author and stand-up comedian who writes feel-good comedies and gripping crime fiction. A move to the ‘dark side’ in 2017 saw the introduction of popular DI Robyn Carter in Little Girl Lost, the #2 bestselling book on Amazon, #9 bestselling audiobook on Audible and Top 150 USA Today bestseller. A second series, featuring DI Natalie Ward, quickly followed and to date her crime novels have sold over 750,000 copies and been translated for various overseas markets, including Norwegian, Italian, Turkish, Hungarian Slovak, Czech and Polish. Carol has been interviewed on numerous radio shows discussing ‘Irritable Male Syndrome’ and ‘Ageing Disgracefully’, and on BBC Breakfast television. She has written for Woman’s Weekly, Take A Break, Choice, Yours, Woman’s Own and HuffPost. She currently lives on a windy hill in rural Staffordshire with her husband, Mr Grumpy . . . who is very, very grumpy.

  To learn more about Carol, go to www.carolwyer.co.uk or follow Carol on Twitter: @carolewyer. Carol also blogs at www.carolwyer.com