The Murder Club (A Miller Hatcher Novel Book 2)

by Nikki Crutchley

  Tears welled in Cassie’s eyes. This isn’t the best place for a chat about this, Miller thought.

  But Cassie sniffed and continued. ‘It was the hardest on us girls. Me and my sister. I know there are Mum’s parents. I know people say that parents shouldn’t have to bury their child, but Nana and Grandad had her for forty-three years. Dad loved her, I know. But we lost our mother. Not to cancer or a car accident. We said goodbye to her one day and we never saw her again, and we never knew why. For so long everything was hanging in the air – all these unanswered questions. So many what ifs.’ She shook her head. ‘Every child needs their mother. I needed her. I felt lost back then and I feel lost now. I have no direction. It’s like when she disappeared she took part of me with her and now I can’t function. I’ve lost a part of myself and I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to find it.’

  Miller looked down, suddenly emotional. Pull it together, Miller. She suddenly felt guilty about having her mother as long as she had.

  Cassie turned away and served a couple who took their drinks to the pool table. She came back and said, ‘Sometimes I used to imagine she’d had an affair. That she’d run away with a man. And that one day, once she had everything sorted, she’d come for me. And then when she didn’t, that dream got old, rotten almost. It used to give me comfort, but then it turned – left me wondering why she hadn’t come to get me yet.’

  She picked up a cloth and started wiping down the bar. ‘I’m not sure if I fully appreciated the fact that there was a chance she’d been taken, murdered. But as the years went by, I started to understand that she wasn’t coming back. That whatever had happened, whether it was through her own decision or someone else’s actions, she was gone from my life for good, and I started to fall apart. Drinking, drugs, one bad relationship after the other. As the years went on and the uncertainty built, the lack of answers, I found myself thinking I’d done it all wrong.’

  Miller sipped her Coke. ‘Done what wrong?’

  ‘I’d grown up wrong. Her disappearance had broken me, and I’d put myself back together incorrectly. It’s like Mum was my instruction manual.’

  They were both silent. Cassie seemed fine, as though she’d got something off her chest. Not for the first time that day, Miller felt a huge sadness for what some people had to go through.

  Cassie’s face lit up and Miller turned to see who had walked in. Tiff. The tall redhead walked towards them. She glanced at Miller, eyes narrowing, then ignored her. She walked behind the bar and said, ‘Hey babe, thought I’d come see you for a quick fix.’ She grabbed Cassie by the waist, which made her giggle, and kissed her.

  Cassie pulled away, glancing around. ‘Tiff,’ she whispered, stepping back.

  Miller was sure the performance was for her. Tiff marking her territory.

  ‘What are you up to?’ Tiff asked Cassie, still ignoring Miller.

  ‘Just finishing up my interview with Miller.’ Cassie’s face was flushed. ‘It’s actually been really good to get some things out. Thanks, Miller.’ She walked to the other end of the bar to serve someone.

  Tiff leaned forward over the bar and hissed, ‘Leave her alone.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Leave her alone. I know all about you, Miller Hatcher. You’ve spent enough time with my girlfriend. She’s not one of your lost causes. Not all young women need to be rescued – not by you.’

  Tiff adjusted her expression for Cassie’s return. ‘Better go, Cass. I’ll get us some dinner. See you at finishing time?’ She leaned in for a kiss, but Cassie stepped back, grabbing Tiff’s hand and squeezing it instead. Tiff smiled and walked away.

  Chapter 24

  Miller woke on Thursday morning with a sick feeling in her stomach. Her alarm clock read 6 a.m. She hauled herself out of bed, changed into shorts and a singlet and went for a run, hoping to clear her head. But the peace of Lentford at this time of the morning only made her mind race. For each of the last two weeks there had been a murder. Kahu had told her that time of death for both women had been late Thursday evening. Did two murders make a pattern? If it did, they couldn’t do much about it anyway. Everyone was on high alert. Windows and doors were locked when some hadn’t bothered to do so for years. Surely he couldn’t get away with it again – the whole town was ready, waiting.

  At home, she finished up an article for Ngaire. She’d told Logan she’d meet him at his house just before ten. She walked into the lounge and chose a record. It needed to be something light, fun, to contrast the day she was about to have. The Essential Beatles was a good pick but once she’d finished her coffee, got out of the shower and changed, she heard ‘Yesterday’ reverberating throughout the house. The melancholy ballad was not the way she wanted to start her day and she moved the arm to the next track and hummed along to ‘Penny Lane’ as she got herself ready.

  She looked at a photo of her mum and dad on their wedding day, running her finger along the silver frame, wiping the dust off. It had been a rocky marriage and had ended when her dad had died of liver disease when Miller was sixteen. This morning she looked at her mum, choosing not to look at her dad. ‘Day one hundred and seventy-nine, Mum. See how well I’m doing?’ She smiled. But she could feel the familiar pressure building. This one wasn’t about a story, not really, her normal stress about wanting to get something right, this was about him, the letters, and whether there would be another one. This was about the fact that she knew deep down they would eventually meet face to face, but she didn’t know when and she didn’t know how the meeting would go down.

  Just one drink. Just one drink and the pressure will evaporate. I could handle things so much better.

  ‘No,’ she said quietly, looking at her dad’s face in the photo. It was yet to tell the story of his alcoholism because at that stage he was just a ‘social drinker’. She thought of the times he drank to get a handle on things, to get through a week... a day.

  Miller started at a knock at the door. She walked down the hallway, put the chain on – she’d never done that before – and looked through the crack.

  The sight of Logan Dodds shocked her. ‘Logan, what are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at your place.’ She unchained the door and grabbed her bag.

  He knows where I live.

  ‘I was picking up Li, so thought it would be silly not to pick you up as well.’

  Miller gave him a tight smile. ‘How did you know where I live?’ She hoped her tone didn’t come off as accusatory.

  ‘I’m a Dodds. We know everyone around here.’ He smiled, clearly pleased with his vague answer. ‘Ready?’

  Miller locked up and walked to the van parked on the side of the road.

  ‘You can hop in the back with Mary and Joseph,’ Logan said as he heaved his weight into the driver’s side.

  Miller let out an involuntary laugh. ‘Mary and Joseph?’

  ‘We know, we know. But you can’t help who you marry,’ Mary said. She would’ve been in her mid-sixties and wore long cotton pants, a collared shirt and a cardigan. Miller almost passed out looking at all the layers she had on.

  ‘Sorry,’ Miller muttered.

  ‘Not a problem,’ Joseph said. He was sitting next to Mary, his hand entwined with hers. He had on shorts, long socks and lace-up shoes, and a short-sleeved shirt with blooming wet patches under his arms. He wiped the sheen of sweat from his bald head that was marred with liver spots.

  ‘Miller, I’ve told Mary and Joseph about the article and they’re happy to answer any questions.’

  Miller nodded her thanks to the couple and took the seat behind them in the van.

  ‘Hi, Miller.’ Li turned around from the front seat.

  ‘Hi, Li.’ Miller was glad there was someone normal on the bus. Then scolded herself. She couldn’t go into this morning with preconceived notions about Logan being crazy.

  ‘I’ve just explained to Mary a
nd Joseph about what Li’s doing with her masters. Very interesting,’ Logan said, smiling at Li. ‘Right, are we ready? Make sure you’re buckled up.’

  He pulled out onto the road. Miller could hear Li and Logan chatting as though they were old friends. She pulled out her notepad and leaned forward to get Mary and Joseph’s attention. ‘Mary, can I ask why you’re here?’

  ‘To support Logan, of course. We’re from Hamilton so we pop across for the True Crime Enthusiasts Club once a fortnight, plus we’re on a lot of the same forums. We have a real interest in this kind of thing.’

  ‘I’m sorry to ask, but don’t you think it’s a bit... macabre?’

  ‘I guess some people think that,’ Joseph said. ‘But really we’re just normal people—’

  ‘What’s normal?’ Logan shouted, a noise that reverberated around the inside of the van.

  ‘Good point, Logan,’ Joseph turned around in his seat. ‘Let’s put it like this. Most of us go through life following the rules of society, right?’

  Miller nodded.

  ‘Most of us are not violent, we don’t hurt people – even when we think we’d like to. We’re on the straight and narrow. It fascinates me that there are people out there who, for whatever reason, choose to leave the straight and narrow. There are people that were born never to walk it, but there are also people out there who are forced to leave it. That’s all. It’s an interest in people, our differences.’

  Miller nodded. ‘And you, Li?’

  ‘I’m on the fence with this one, Mills. That’s how I need to be if I’m going to look into it objectively. I think there are a lot of different reasons why people have such a preoccupation with murderers.’

  Logan’s voice took on a tone of authority. ‘Li and I are going to have quite a few interviews. I have a lot of knowledge to share. I’m going to be her main form of information.’

  Li turned and gave Miller a quick wink.

  ‘I must admit, the murders of those two young women are horrible,’ Mary said, pale hand to her chest, fingering the long gold chain that hung around her neck.

  Miller saw Logan’s eye twitch in the rear-vision mirror. Everyone else murmured their agreement.

  ‘It makes me wonder if we’ve got a serial killer on our hands,’ said Joseph. ‘Unbelievably in little Lentford. Who would’ve thought?’

  ‘No. He’s not a serial killer,’ Logan said from the front. ‘He’s a spree killer. Committing murders in a short space of time. A serial killer is one who commits murders over a period of time, with a cooling-off period. Looks like he does it on a Thursday. Makes you wonder if there will be another one tonight. What do you think, Miller?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’ Miller said, refusing to look at him. She looked out the window at the parched fields, thinking the landscape needed a drink even more than she did.

  ‘You seem to have your finger on the pulse of Lentford. You know what’s happening. Any ideas? ... No ideas?’ If Logan knew about the letters she’d been getting, he’d be out of his mind with excitement. And then: Could it be Logan sending the letters?

  Their first stop was just out of Lentford, at the disused dairy factory. They got out of the air-conditioned van and were greeted by a wall of heat. Miller knew what they were doing here before Logan even started his spiel.

  ‘Margaret Hughes, mother to Cassandra and Fiona, wife to Brian, was found here on April twenty-second last year. It is thought Margaret was taken at or around the farm-gate shop she visited just down the road from her house on the outskirts of Tauranga. The body was found by a property development team scoping out the site for potential housing. Karl Taylor, a builder’s labourer, was working on the Hughes’s neighbour’s house at the time of her disappearance and is a potential suspect in her murder. With help from Karl Taylor’s previous employer, police released an identikit of Karl Taylor but so far, no luck.’

  Logan spoke clearly and authoritatively, and if it hadn’t been for the subject matter, Miller would have been impressed. She hated to think what Cassie would do if she knew he was out here now. Logan guided the group around the mostly vacant lot, overgrown with weeds. The old dairy factory was now nothing more than a few dilapidated buildings. Logan led them over to one that had been gutted. With his back to it he pointed at the ground. ‘This was where Margaret Hughes’s remains were found, in a shallow grave. The murder took place over ten years ago and so all that was left was skeletal remains. The police reported that she died from stab wounds. Not a lot else was found. Some bits of clothing and her bracelet and watch. The case is still open but from what I understand police have nothing on Karl Taylor. Feel free to take photos before we go back to the van.’ He stepped to the side, waving a blowfly away, then picked at a cuticle on his left hand.

  Mary pulled a small digital camera from her bag and Miller turned to walk back to the van. Li caught up with her and walked alongside her.

  ‘Be careful with him, Li, okay?’ Miller said, placing a hand on Li’s back.

  Li waved a hand. ‘He’s harmless.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Seriously, Miller, I’ve had a chat with his mum – god, that makes him sound like a teenager. But it’s that, isn’t it? He appears younger than he is. Vulnerable almost? He wouldn’t hurt a fly. Strange interests maybe, but seriously he’s the best fodder for my thesis.’

  Miller walked on in silence, the sunburnt grass crunching under her feet.

  They were back in Lentford within ten minutes. Logan slowed the van and said to Miller, trying to make eye contact in the rear-vision mirror while also concentrating on the road, ‘I know you think this is odd, Miller.’

  Miller didn’t say anything.

  ‘But what I’m doing here isn’t new. There are true crime tours all around the world. Jeffery Dahmer in Milwaukee, the Zodiac Killer in San Francisco, Jack the Ripper in London.’

  ‘I guess it’s the size of the place,’ Miller said, trying to explain without offending. ‘New Zealand is such a small country, Lentford such a small town.’

  ‘There’s the Villisca axe murders in Iowa, small town, twelve hundred people, smaller than Lentford by over half. People pay to stay in the house where eight people were murdered. How about that?’

  Miller wasn’t quite sure what she was supposed to say, and the rest of the occupants of the van remained silent.

  ‘Logan, how much will people pay for these tours?’ Miller asked, wincing at her clumsy change in subject.

  ‘Sixty dollars. The tour goes for about three hours and we visit six sites. We’re doing four today. Just a trial run.’

  ‘We got it for free since we’re the guinea pigs,’ Mary said, shrugging her way out of her cardigan and enveloping the van in body odour.

  ‘And do you fear any kind of reprisals from victims’ families?’ Miller asked

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Logan said. ‘They do it everywhere else with no backlash.’

  Miller wasn’t sure about that. Her article was at least going to give him exposure in Lentford.

  ‘Look,’ Logan said, pulling over outside a tidy blue weatherboard house, ‘how is what we’re doing any different to the hordes who visit Auschwitz or Dealey Plaza where JFK was shot?’

  ‘Logan,’ Miller said, ‘those events were on a world stage, a part of history, a part of politics and war. Before they were murdered, the victims here were like Margaret Hughes, ordinary people living ordinary lives.’

  ‘Twenty-three Shelley Road,’ Logan said, ignoring her. ‘Come on, everyone, let’s go.’

  They stood on the footpath of the deserted street outside the house that was bordered by a picket fence, its khaki paint blistering and peeling in the sun. A For Sale sign had been jammed into the ground. Miller wondered if prospective buyers were told about what went on in the house.

  Logan began to speak. ‘In August 1987, Belinda Martin, Lindy to he
r friends, was murdered by Lauren Lewis. In 1987 the population of Lentford was just over two thousand. Lindy and Lauren both worked in the local supermarket and both frequented the Royal.’ Logan hesitated. ‘Offering their services.’

  There was silence. Then Miller asked, ‘They were prostitutes?’

  ‘Yes. One night, Lauren followed Lindy home in a rage from a client’s place and confronted her right here, on the street. She accused Lindy of stealing one of her regulars and demanded payment. Witnesses said later they could hear the fight. Lindy wasn’t about to give up her hard-earned cash and ignored Lauren. But Lauren followed her into the house and again demanded the money. When Lindy didn’t pay up, Lauren knocked her to the floor and strangled her.’

  Mary got her camera out and started snapping.

  ‘Lauren was arrested only an hour later. She didn’t take into account that there was a witness. Lindy’s thirteen-year-old son saw the whole thing.’

  ‘Oh, how horrible. The poor boy,’ Mary said, leaning over the fence to get a better shot of the house.

  ‘Lauren was found guilty of murder and was sentenced to life with a minimum non-parole period of fourteen years. She was released in 2003. I’ve tried to track her down. I wanted to interview her for my website, but I couldn’t find her.’ Logan sounded disappointed. ‘Right, next stop,’ he said, walking to the van.

  They drove through the main street of Lentford and just before they got to The Oaks Treatment Centre Logan indicated right off the main road to Hamilton and drove down to the river. There weren’t a lot of houses down here, mostly farmland, and one public reserve.

  The van came to a stop under an oak tree, the Piako River in front of them. They got out of the van. There were some other cars parked strategically under trees and Miller could see young children with parents playing in the shallow and teens in inner tubes floating out in the middle where the water was cooler and deeper.

  Logan led them away from the screams and shouts and splashing to a line of oaks that bordered farmland. ‘This is council property here,’ he said. ‘It’s used for picnics and as you can see, is a popular place for swimming. In February 1997, Lance Hohepa, who was seventeen, was waiting here for his girlfriend Jennifer. She never showed up, but Lance was beaten to death by an older man she had also been seeing in secret.’