The Gathering Man (A DI Erica Swift Thriller Book 7)

by M K Farrar

  “I’m sorry I have to ask you this, but it’s a standard question. Can you tell me where you were last night, and this morning, and also Monday night, going into Tuesday morning?”

  He blinked in surprise at the question. “Oh, umm, I was with my boyfriend the whole time. We don’t exactly have much of a social life. We prefer each other’s company. Hang on, he’s in his home office—we converted the spare bedroom. I’ll check he’s not on a call and then he can come and tell you himself, if that’s all right.”

  “Of course.”

  He got up and disappeared back down the hallway. A muffled knock came, followed by his voice. “Stan? Are you free? There are some police officers here who need to ask some questions.”

  A short, skinny man stepped out to join Alfie. He was smartly dressed in a shirt with an open collar. “Everything all right?”

  “Can you tell these detectives where I was on Monday evening and where I’ve been every evening and night all this week.”

  He looked between them. “Well, here, at home. With me.”

  “You know for sure that Mr Henniger didn’t leave the house all night?” Erica asked.

  “Absolutely. I’m a ridiculously light sleeper. If he farts, it wakes me up, never mind him getting out of bed and leaving the house. What’s this all about, anyway?”

  “They think I might have had something to do with a girl going missing at school.”

  Erica opened her mouth. “That’s not exactly—”

  She was cut off.

  “That’s ludicrous,” Stan interrupted.

  “Really, it’s just procedure,” she said. “It’s not personal. We have to ask these questions or we wouldn’t be doing our job.”

  “It feels personal when you come into our home and start accusing my boyfriend of kidnapping some girl.”

  “No one has accused anyone. Like I said, they’re just questions I have to ask.”

  “Stan,” Alfie said, a warning tone to his voice, “stop it.”

  “Sorry, but I just get so frustrated with this kind of thing. People see we’re gay and assume we’re deviants of some kind.”

  “Mr...?” She paused to allow him to fill in his surname.

  “Morris. Stan Morris.”

  “We didn’t even know you were gay when we came here. It makes no difference to our investigation whatsoever. Mr Henniger had direct contact with our victim in his line of work and may have known what happened to her. If it was someone you cared about who had gone missing, wouldn’t you want to know that we were doing everything we could in order to locate them?”

  His cheeks flared pink. “Well, yes, of course.”

  “Then I’d appreciate it if you cooperated with us.”

  “I believe I already have. Alfie was here all night on those dates. There’s no way he has anything to do with some girl going missing.”

  Erica rose to her feet, and Shawn stood with her.

  “Thank you for your time. Both of you.” She reached into her breast pocket and pulled out a card and handed it to Alfie. “If you think of anything that might help us locate Bethany, please, don’t hesitate to call.”

  “I won’t,” Alfie said. “I do truly hope you find her safe and well. Poor girl clearly had a lot going on.”

  Which someone had taken advantage of.

  She gave Stan a tight smile as they stepped past him, and Alfie showed them out.

  They reached the car, and Erica paused and gave a frustrated sigh. “It doesn’t feel as though we’re getting anywhere, and time is running out.”

  Shawn stopped on the other side of the car, looking over at her across the roof. “It’s not all on you, Erica. There are two different teams working on this now, and multiple police officers. One of them might find something.”

  She remembered how the headteacher had said that he felt as though it was his job to keep his pupils safe, and that now he’d failed. That was how she felt, too, as though all the inhabitants of her borough were her responsibility, and when something bad happened to one of them, it was up to her to put things right.

  “I hope so. If we’re too late...”

  She didn’t even want to put voice to the thought of having another dead girl on her hands. Where would it end?

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  A few hours later, he came back to her, a steaming hot pizza box balanced in one hand and a takeaway cup of Coke and a paper bag containing chocolate chip cookies in the other.

  Despite her fear and misery, her stomach churned. Her hunger clawed up her throat, awakened by the savoury scent of pizza and the sweeter underlying notes of the cookies.

  “Here.” He seemed pleased with himself. “I brought you your favourite meal.”

  He set the pizza box and paper bag down on the thin mattress and placed the cup on the floor at her feet.

  She gripped her hands between her knees, not wanting to give in, but he opened the box to reveal grease and cheese and round bites of pepperoni, and she almost moaned, her mouth flooding with saliva. He pulled one of the triangles from the rest, the cheese stretching thin before breaking, and pushed it towards her.

  “This is for you. Eat.”

  It had been hours since breakfast, and she was starving. Unable to hold herself back any longer, she snatched the triangle of pizza and took a huge bite, swallowing before she’d even chewed properly. Now she’d opened the dam, she couldn’t close it again, and she worked her way through the food, taking gulps of the sweet, sugary drink in between mouthfuls.

  He watched on, his hands folded in front of him, like a proud parent whose child had suddenly decided to finish all their vegetables.

  The thought of her parents suddenly sapped her appetite. The grease and sugar churned uncomfortably in her stomach, and she stifled a sickly burp. Her mum would have noticed her missing by now. Was she worried? Frightened? Would she have told her dad, or not wanted to cause a fuss? What about the police? Would she have let them know or be holding off in the hope that Bethany would come home on her own?

  A wave of deep regret washed over her. She’d been so stupid. To trust someone else over her own family. Maybe her family life wasn’t perfect, but at least she’d been safe. Now she’d got herself caught up in something she didn’t fully understand, but that she couldn’t get herself out of.

  “Well done,” he told her. “You’re doing so well. Take the next few hours to clear your soul and repent on any doubts you might have. It’s normal to be nervous, but if you truly believe, you’ll find a way through this.”

  A way through this? Was that supposed to give her hope?

  A tear trickled down her cheek. “I want to go home now.”

  He dropped to a crouch, bringing his face level with hers. “Home? That place where you said no one listens to you? Where they’re too busy fighting with one another to care about what you’re going through? Look at yourself, Bethany.” He gestured to her face, her hair. “Look at what you’ve become? I thought you wanted something more?”

  The tears cascaded down her face, and her nose became blocked and snotty. “I-I do.”

  “Then stop doubting me on this. Trust that I will deliver you to more greatness than you’d ever believed possible.”

  Maybe he was right. Her life was pathetic anyway. She was pathetic. Look at her, sitting here with skin shiny with pizza grease, her stomach overly full, her hair in patches. It was better that she actually did something for others instead of thinking about herself.

  “Okay,” she said, in barely a whisper. “I’ll do what you want.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  It was getting late, but they still hadn’t checked out the alibi for the headteacher.

  “Send someone else,” Shawn suggested. “Or I’ll go by myself. Go home and spend some time with Poppy.”

  She shook her head. “You know I can’t do that, not when a girl is still missing and potentially in the hands of some crazy cult leader. What if that was Poppy and the detectives working the case just cl
ocked off because they wanted to go home? I’d be furious.”

  “Okay, but let’s at least get some food and something to drink before we go over there. We’re not going to help anyone if we’re fading away.”

  They settled on a drive-through, even though Erica wasn’t a fan of fast food, but the coffee was strong and decent enough.

  They sat in the car eating, Erica keeping an eye on the phone in case any news came in.

  “Are you ever going to tell me what’s been up with you this week?” she asked between mouthfuls.

  He shook his head. “No, so you can stop asking. It’s done now, that’s all you need to know.”

  “I hate feeling that you’re keeping secrets from me.”

  “I don’t want to put you in a difficult position.”

  She pursed her lips. “You know that makes me want to know even more.”

  “Not happening, Erica. Doesn’t matter what you say, protecting you is more important than keeping you happy.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “I don’t need protecting, Shawn. I’m a big girl, you know.”

  “I didn’t want to make my problem your problem, that’s all.”

  She chewed her lower lip. “Why do I not like the sound of that. Have you got yourself in some kind of trouble?”

  “Whatever it is you’re thinking, it’s not that. My cousin needed help with his teenage son, and so I helped. It’s over with.”

  “Helped in what way?”

  He gave a growl of frustration and ran his hand over his head. He half turned from her and then came back round to face her.

  “You trust me, don’t you?”

  “With my life, Shawn, you know that.”

  “Then you’re just going to have to trust me on this as well. I know I haven’t been around as much, but it won’t happen again, I promise. I’m simply asking you to let this go.”

  She closed her eyes briefly and then nodded. “Okay, I’ll let it go, but don’t ever feel you can’t come to me with a problem. I want to be there for you as much as you’re there for me, got it?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got it. Now are you done with this?” He nodded at her discarded takeaway bag.

  “Yes, it was terrible. I have food shame.”

  He chuckled. “Food shame?”

  “Yeah, like when you’ve eaten something bad and now you feel like you’ve done something naughty and not in a good way.”

  He laughed again and gathered up the rubbish and climbed out of the car and threw it away. He got back in as Erica was checking the location of the next person on their list.

  A phone rang.

  “It’s Naeema Shariff,” Erica said. She answered the call. “Naeema, how’s it been going?”

  “Busy,” her voice came down the line, “but nothing substantial yet. How about you?”

  “We just spoke to the school counsellor, Alfie Henniger, but he was home with his boyfriend all of last night and this morning, and also on the night that Stacey Ford was killed. He says he only had one contact with Bethany and that the meeting didn’t last long. She’d been upset and had stormed out. His boyfriend was there and verified his alibi.”

  “What are your thoughts on him?”

  “That he seemed genuine.” Erica glanced at Shawn who was nodding in agreement. “That could be a front, though. The boyfriend might be covering for him.”

  “Let’s keep our minds open,” Naeema said. “I’ve had a couple of my DCs talk to the girls who were bullying Bethany. They claim not to know anything, but I made sure my guys came down hard on them for what they’d been doing. My officers may have hinted that if Bethany had done something to herself, their whole lives would be ruined if they ended up being responsible for a girl’s death.”

  “Good. I hope it makes a difference. It’s such a destructive, soul-destroying thing for one person to do to another, especially at their age. I don’t understand what those bullies get from it.”

  “A sense of power. A relief that if they’re doing the bullying, then they’re not the ones being bullied. Sometimes it’s a self-defence mechanism, maybe they’re seeing it at home and since they can’t control what’s happening there, they bring it into school with them.”

  “And sometimes girls can just be bitches,” Erica said.

  “That, too.”

  There was no excuse for it, in Erica’s mind. A way of making themselves feel bigger and better. There were healthier ways of doing that. It was no wonder poor Bethany had quite literally been pulling her hair out.

  Naeema continued. “I spoke to the dance school teacher about Stacey. She was understandably upset upon learning about Stacey’s death, but says Stacey hadn’t been coming to class for the past couple of months. She couldn’t remember ever seeing anyone hanging around the class out of school hours, but she did say she’d often see the cleaners or caretaker, or even some of the teachers.”

  “Unfortunately, that doesn’t help us much.”

  “No, it doesn’t, but someone has to know who both girls have been talking to. That school is the connection, I’m sure of it.”

  “Okay, keep me informed if anything comes up.”

  Erica ended the call and turned to Shawn. “Let’s go and check out the headteacher’s alibi.”

  “We can get someone else to do it, Erica,” he insisted.

  “No, he’s right around the corner. Let’s just get it done.”

  It barely took them ten minutes to drive to the address Mr Woodhouse had given them for his alibi. Jim Mackay’s house was a terraced ex-council property, like many in the area.

  She knocked on the door. A man in his forties, with a shaved head and a goatee answered. “Yeah?”

  She flashed her ID and introduced them. “We’d like to have a word.”

  “What about?” He seemed suspicious of them.

  “It’s probably best we don’t do it on the doorstep.”

  “You’ll be wanting to come in then?”

  “That’s right.” Erica stood her ground.

  He let out a breath. “Fine, come in. You’ll have to excuse the mess. I wasn’t expecting visitors.”

  She wasn’t interested in the state of his house. “We’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”

  He backed up and let them through and closed the door behind them.

  “Where were you last Monday night?” She wasn’t going to tell him that his friend had given his name as an alibi. She’d prefer to hear it coming straight from Jim Mackay’s mouth.

  “Monday? Let me think. Oh, that’s right. I was over at a mate’s house.”

  “What’s the name of this friend?”

  “Peter Woodhouse. Why?”

  “Is that something you do regularly, go to his house, I mean?”

  “Yeah, it is. We share a common interest.”

  “What’s that then?”

  “Guitars.” He nodded to an electric guitar on a stand in the corner. “We both play. Not to a professional level or anything like that, but we quite often get together to jam, and have a beer and maybe a takeaway. Bit sad for a couple of single middle-aged men to do, but it’s better than looking desperate in a bar full of twenty-year-olds.”

  She wasn’t going to argue with him there.

  “And you were definitely at his place on Monday night?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Until what time?”

  “Around one. I couldn’t stay any later. We both have jobs to get up for, though admittedly his is more important than mine. Actually, I can prove I was there. I ordered pizza to his house. I bet I’ve still got the confirmation email. Hang on, let me grab my laptop.”

  It wasn’t normally something they’d ask for, but he seemed overly keen to prove to them that the two of them had been together that evening, so Erica didn’t interrupt.

  The laptop was sitting on a set of shelves. He stood and reached up to the shelf, exposing a few inches of skin between his jeans and the bottom hem of his t-shirt.

  Erica sucked in a b
reath. Below his navel, partially hidden by a thin line of light-brown hair, was the same symbol that had been cut into Stacey Ford’s skin, the same one little Florence Emerson had been wearing on a leather cord around her neck.

  Her voice hardened. “Can you explain to me what that tattoo is on your stomach.”

  He froze. “What?”

  “You have a symbol tattooed on your stomach, right below your navel. It’s for a cult called The Second Law. Care to explain it?”

  “I don’t have to explain anything to you.” His gaze darted left and then right, as though he was searching for an escape route.

  Erica took a step closer. “Jim Mackay, I’m arresting you for the abduction of Bethany Emerson and the murder of Stacey Ford. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

  She tried to get cuffs on him, but he swung his elbow back and caught her in the face. The blow rocked her head back, and pain exploded through her jaw. “Son of a bitch!”

  The moment Mackay caught Erica in the jaw, Shawn jumped straight in. Shawn was tall, and strong, and he slammed the other man up against the bookshelf, sending the items on the shelves toppling.

  “And assault of a police officer,” he added to the charges.

  “This is bullshit, I haven’t done anything.”

  “We need to get this place searched,” Erica said. “I’ll call for backup and get SOCO out here, too.” She turned her attention back to the man. “Where is she?” she demanded. “Where’s Bethany?”

  He gritted his jaw. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “What about Stacey Ford? You want to tell me what you know about her?”

  “Nothing. You’re insane.”

  “We’ll see about that. You’re coming down to the station with us.”

  “I’m not talking to you. I want a solicitor.”

  He could have a solicitor, of course—the station would appoint him one if he didn’t have one himself—but it would take time. It would mean wasting precious hours where Bethany could be in trouble.