Josiah Dark Thrillers Box Set

by Tim Ellis

  ‘Have you been onto the NIFD?’

  ‘No, not yet. I was waiting to see . . .’

  ‘You think we’ve got time to wait and see?’

  ‘By the look on your face I’m guessing not.’

  ‘Ring them as soon as we get back downstairs and find out who they sent to the care homes.’

  ‘Okay. We’re getting close, aren’t we?’

  ‘We would be if you refrained from waiting to see. Have you finished yet?’

  ‘We’ve only just sat down.’

  ‘Well, hurry up then.’

  ***

  Dixie thrust her phone at him with a hand over the mouthpiece. ‘The woman at the NIFD won’t give me any details. She says I need a warrant.’

  He ignored Dixie’s phone, picked up his and pressed a button, which transferred the call. ‘Who am I speaking to?’

  ‘Marnie Inches. I’m the . . .’

  ‘I don’t care who you are lady. I have seven dead children here and you’re concerned about a warrant. I’m Detective Inspector Josiah Dark from the Serious Crime Directorate in Greater Manchester. If you don’t give me the information I need I’m going to think you’re involved in the murder of those dead children. I’ll explain to the magistrate how you’re obstructing an active murder investigation. He’ll happily provide me with a search warrant, and then I’ll come up to London and close you down for the foreseeable future. I’ll search every nook and cranny; I’ll freeze the institute’s assets; I’ll send in the Fraud Squad who’ll take away all your computer and paper-based accounts; I’ll look closely at every director, manager and employee at the NIFD – especially you Marnie Inches . . .’

  ‘What do you want, Inspector?’

  ‘That’s very kind of you. Let me pass you back to DC Lake and she’ll explain what information we require.’ He transferred the call back to Dixie.

  Dixie wrote down the information and put the phone down.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘The NIFD send out mailshots, advertise in Education Department newsletters and so on. Schools, care homes and others contact them to provide presentations. They then pass it back to the local trainer . . .’

  ‘Who is?’

  ‘Jeremy Gaunt & Son, 84 Silverdale Road, Gatley, Cheadle.’

  ‘Postcode?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we check . . .’

  ‘If we call and ask him to wait for us – what do you think will happen?’

  ‘Forget I said anything.’

  ‘I already did.’

  ***

  The front of Jeremy Gaunt & Son (Funeral Directors) Ltd was like the front of a shop. There were Georgian bay windows either side of the matching door. Displayed in the windows were a summary of their services:

  Traditional Funerals

  &

  Monumental Masons

  0161 496629

  and

  Hearses

  Or

  Horses and Coach

  The bell jangled when they opened the door.

  A heavy-set woman in a blue and white poke-a-dot blouse smiled at them as if she herself had just lost a loved one. ‘How can we at Jeremy Gaunt & Son help?’

  Dark showed her his warrant card. ‘Is Mr Gaunt in?’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘The father.’

  ‘They’re both fathers.’

  He sighed. ‘The elder one.’

  ‘I’m sorry, he’s attending a funeral at the Eternal Garden, Wilkinson Road in Stockport.’

  ‘The son?’

  ‘They’re both there. I’m afraid I’m the only one here.’

  ‘What time will he be back?’

  ‘The funeral was at three-thirty. I don’t expect him back until around five o’clock.’

  ‘Maybe you can help us?’

  ‘Maybe I can.’

  ‘We’re investigating the death of the girl found in Handforth . . .’

  ‘I thought you looked familiar with your grey hair.’

  ‘Silver.’

  ‘I suppose it could be mistaken . . .’

  ‘We’ve been in contact with the NIFD in London about presentations given to care homes in the Greater Manchester area. We’re informed that all such requests were passed to Mr Gaunt.’

  ‘Yes, he possesses the Certificate in Teaching in the Lifelong Learning Sector. As well as the presentations, he also tutors at Stockport College.’

  ‘Does Mr Gaunt live on the premises?’

  ‘The young Mr Gaunt does – Roger. Jeremy has a beautiful four-bedroom detached bungalow on Style Road, which isn’t too far away.’

  ‘Does Roger accompany his father to the presentations?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  He waved his hand round the room. ‘And this is the funeral directors?’

  ‘Well yes, this is the office. The rest of the business is through that door.’ She pointed at a door to her left.

  ‘I’d like the guided tour, please.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but what’s this all about, Inspector?’

  ‘The murdered girl went missing from a care home where Mr Jeremy Gaunt provided a presentation . . .’

  ‘And you think he killed the girl?’

  ‘It’s one theory we’re investigating.’

  ‘Don’t you need a search warrant?’

  ‘Everybody wants to see a search warrant today. I can obtain one if I have to, but that’ll make it official. Which means that it won’t be just the two of us having a quick look round, the place will be crawling with police officers, forensic scientists, forensic accountants . . . You’ll have to close the business for probably a week, hordes of press will park themselves outside and the public will conclude that there’s no smoke without fire . . .’

  ‘Threatening people must be against the law.’

  ‘I’m not threatening you with anything, I’m simply telling you exactly what will happen if you force me to obtain a search warrant. And to be perfectly honest, I don’t see what the problem is. I have a dead teenager and most people would be only too pleased to help. If you’ve got nothing to hide, I don’t understand what the problem is.’

  ‘There’s no problem. And, of course, I want to help.’

  ‘Then show us round then.’

  She went to the front door, locked it and turned the sign to CLOSED. ‘Follow me.’

  They followed her through the door, along a corridor to a door and into a room with a stand for a coffin, a large wooden cross on the wall and a number of flower vases.

  ‘This is Chapel B,’ Mrs Inches said.

  They continued to follow her as she led them from room to room.

  ‘The lobby, family room, Chapel A, the entry foyer, male and female toilets, cabinet display, workshop, storerooms, lounge for the staff, office equipment store, another store and two offices.’

  ‘And that’s it?’

  ‘Yes. Well, apart from the double garage for the hearses.’

  ‘Can we see?’

  She sighed, led them through a door in the foyer to a double garage and switched the lights on. ‘There – a garage.’

  Dark looked round. It was a double garage. Nothing more, nothing less. The floor was solid, and there were no doors in the walls except the one they’d come through. ‘Okay.’

  They went back into the foyer.

  Marnie Inches followed them.

  ‘No basement or secret rooms?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Look,’ Dixie said, pointing to a framed drawing of a beautiful and extraordinarily detailed green, brown and yellow butterfly. ‘It’s called the Golden Kaiser-i-Hind and it’s signed by JL Smith.’

  ‘It was a present to Mr Jeremy,’ Mrs Inches said. ‘The name means Emperor of India.’

  Dark stared at the butterfly and knew it had been drawn by the killer. ‘Who’s JL Smith?’

  ‘John is another local funeral director. He’s a very talented artist as well. He has a business – JL Smith & Son
– in Handforth. In fact, he often accompanies Mr Jeremy to the care homes when he’s giving his presentations. John also has a Teaching Certificate and its planned that he’ll eventually take over all of the presentations from Mr Jeremy when the time is right.’

  They walked back through into the shop.

  ‘Can you give me the address of Mr Smith?’ he said.

  Mrs Inches smiled. ‘Of course.’ She wrote it down and passed it to him.

  ‘Are you finished here now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You don’t think Mr Jeremy or Mr roger are the killers?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that.’

  ‘I’d be grateful if you didn’t speak to anyone about our visit until tomorrow.’

  ‘Not speak to anyone?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Anyone in particular?’

  ‘I could put you in protective custody.’

  ‘Another threat?’

  ‘Yes, that is a threat – don’t talk to anyone.’

  ‘I won’t talk to anyone.’

  Outside Dixie said, ‘Do you think she will?’

  ‘Go back in there and tell her if she does, I’ll lock her up for perverting the course of justice.’

  Dixie opened the door of the shop, and then called over her shoulder, ‘The bitch is on the telephone already.’

  Dark went back inside, took the phone out of Marnie Inches’ hand, stood her up and threaded a plastic restraint around her wrists.’

  ‘You can’t do that.’

  ‘I just did. And I’ll be changing you as well.’ He took out his phone and arranged for a squad car to come and take Marnie Inches away, a search warrant for John Smith’s address, back-up to attend there and forensics.

  ***

  Two boys and a girl, with backpacks on and carrying shiny new metal detectors, came towards them.

  ‘Aren’t they the children who found Erin Jameson?’ Dixie said.

  ‘Mmmm!’

  ‘Hello, children,’ Dark said. ‘What are you doing here?’

  They’d arrived at JL Smith & Son (Funeral Directors) in Handforth, and were heading towards the front door.

  ‘Hello, Inspector,’ the girl said. ‘Paulie and me came to get Smiffy. Smiffy lives here with his dad.’

  Dark glanced at Dixie. ‘Does he now? Have you got an older brother, Smiffy?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Only, the sign says: JL Smith & Son.’

  ‘My dad did it when I was born, so he said. Anyway, I’ll be going into the family business when I’m old enough, and eventually it’ll all be mine.’

  ‘That’ll be good.’

  ‘Sure will. I won’t have to worry about finding a job like these two saps.’

  ‘Who’re you calling a sap?’ the girl said, smacking Smiffy round the head with a balled-up fist.

  ‘And me,’ Paulie agreed.

  ‘Where you off to?’ Dixie said to them.

  ‘Can’t you guess? You being a detective an’ all.’

  ‘Metal detecting?’

  ‘I think she’s got us bang to rights, Robyn,’ Smiffy said.

  ‘Is your dad in, Smiffy?’

  Smiffy nodded. ‘Sure. He often works late. Got Mrs Hensby comes in to cook for us.’

  ‘Well, have a good time, children,’ Dixie said.

  ‘And don’t go uncovering any more bodies,’ Dark growled.

  ‘We won’t,’ Robyn said.

  The children wandered off towards Spath Lane.

  Two squad cars pulled up. One of the officers had a search warrant in his hand.

  A white forensic truck arrived. The senior scientific officer was Lisa Wong.

  ‘Where’s Polly?’

  ‘Had a nervous breakdown.’

  ‘And that’s my fault?’

  ‘Everything is your fault, Dark. Polly says not to call her she’ll call you.’

  ‘And you’re here instead?’

  ‘No wonder they give you the difficult cases.’

  He briefed her and told her what she was looking for.

  Dark rang the bell.

  ‘Maybe the boy was mistaken,’ Dixie said. ‘Maybe his father isn’t in at all.’

  Eventually, they heard the key turn in the lock. A man with gelled hair combed straight back from his high forehead, a green apron over dark pin-striped trousers, a matching waistcoat, white shirt and black tie was standing there. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Mr John Smith?’ Dark said.

  ‘Yes.’

  He showed his warrant card. ‘Detective Inspector Josiah Dark from Greater Manchester’s Serious Crime Directorate. I have a search warrant to search you premises.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because we believe you’re involved in the murder of Erin Jameson, Jasmine Troop, Christine Lloyd and Jane Thomas.’ He didn’t mention the other three girls – they had been found yet.

  ‘Me? I suppose I need to call my lawyer, don’t I?’

  ‘You’ll have ample opportunity to call your lawyer, Mr Smith. For now, I’d like you to go with two of my officers to your home and wait until we’ve completed our search.’

  ‘Of course.’

  The two officers escorted Smith to his house.

  Mrs Hensby was still there, and she made the two officers and Mr Smith a cup of tea each.

  Dark and Dixie wandered through the funeral directors and stood outside in the freezing cold waiting.

  ‘What if they find nothing?’

  ‘Do you think that’s likely?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘There you go then.’

  Lisa Wong appeared after two and a half hours. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Have you been practising that word in the mirror, Wong?’ Dark said to her.

  ‘There’s nothing in there, Dark. No tattoo equipment or inks; no preservative chemicals over and above what would normally be expected; no artist’s easel, paints or pencils – nothing. There’s plenty of evidence for dead bodies, but I think that’s to be expected.’

  ‘You want me to come in there and do your job for you, don’t you?’

  ‘Feel free. As I said, there’s nothing of what you’re looking for in there.’

  ‘I’ll make deal with you – if I do find what I’m looking for inside that building, you show me all your tattoos.’

  Her eyes narrowed. She glanced at Dixie. ‘Okay. It’s not likely to happen, but by some freak of nature if it does it’ll just be you and me in the room – no one else?’

  ‘We have ourselves a deal, Wong. Get all your people out. Then you and I will go in together.’

  She did as he said, and then the two of them went back inside.

  JL Smith & Son (Funeral Directors) Ltd had been built on a corner plot. The entrance door led into a main lobby that went straight ahead into Chapel A, or left to a variety of rooms: Male and female toilets, a lounge for families, a coat room, offices and a reception, a fire exit, urn display room, a room for selecting caskets and headstones, and then there was a small corridor that led to a staff dressing room and a preparation room. The double garage was to the rear.

  Wong smiled. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘We haven’t finished yet.’

  He walked round the building twice more and eventually found what he was looking for behind a shelving unit in the preparation room that completely covered the far wall. It had been made to look as though the rear of the unit was simply the wall of the building with shelves attached, when in actual fact it was part of the back of the unit. He expected a wood or hollow sound when he knocked on the wall, but Smith had done a really good job in hiding the door – it sounded exactly like plaster covering brick.

  The mechanism to open the secret door wasn’t in the room, it was beneath an urn in a recess in the corridor.

  The brick wall at the rear of the shelving unit eased forward, swung open around a well-oiled and sophisticated hinge mechanism, and a light came on.

  There were a set of five concrete steps that
led down to an old brick tunnel.

  ‘This isn’t new,’ he said, rubbing his hand over the bricks in the tunnel.

  Wong copied him. ‘No. Looks and feels like Victorian. Maybe an old sewer.’

  ‘Hopefully – no longer used.’

  They came across two more sets of five steps leading down to short tunnels until there was a thick rusty steel door facing them.

  ‘Where are we?’ Dark said.

  ‘I’ve got a feeling there’s an old church around here somewhere, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we were beneath it.’

  When they opened the door, they found what they were looking for and some things that they hadn’t been looking for. Strapped to a flat table was a naked girl of around fourteen years of age. She’d been drugged, but was still alive.

  Wong found an old sheet and wrapped the girl up in it.

  Dark carried her out through the tunnels, up the series of steps into the preparation room and laid her on a table. ‘Get your people down there, Wong. I’ll call for an ambulance.’

  Aftermath

  World Exclusive

  by

  Dixie Reyes

  The Knutsford Hippogriff

  (syndicated)

  This is a true story about a Detective Inspector with a dark heart who’s been consigned to the basement of a Greater Manchester police station because he solves the murders no one else can solve.

  Here’s how it began . . .

  ‘What did you think?’

  ‘Read like a penny dreadful. Have you been evicted again?’

  ‘I came to pay you the money I owe you.’

  ‘About time.’ He stepped aside to let her in. ‘Well?’

  She wrote a cheque out for thirty thousand pounds.

  He threw it on the hall table.

  ‘Aren’t you going to count it?’

  ‘No. Anything else I can do for you?’

  ‘Do you want to collaborate again?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where are your wife and daughters?’

  ‘They’re not here at the moment.’

  ‘They haven’t been here for over a year.’