She and Rob made their way to a group of officers who were frantically trying to cobble together stuff from their cars to make a landing for the boy, should he fall or be dropped. From that height, it was unlikely that he’d survive. Kelly spoke to a uniform, who confirmed that a female negotiator was on her way.
‘Not a woman!’ she exclaimed. ‘Nedzad won’t listen to a woman. His culture is masculine; women are supposed to be mothers and wives, not police negotiators.’
It was a blunder, and she radioed Eden House to see if they could get a man. Meanwhile, they’d have to do the best they could.
‘You!’
Kelly looked up to the walkway. Nedzad was staring at her, his face a picture of rage and hatred.
‘Yes it’s me, Nedzad,’ was all she said. She stepped forward.
‘You took my baby!’ he shouted, and the child wailed.
Kelly looked at the little boy’s face. It was a moment that made her heart fly into her mouth. From her position four floors below, she could just make out the terror etched into his little face. He’d gone quiet again, as if resigned to his fate, but the pain carved into his expression told of the horror of being exposed to such danger. She raised her hand, as if to try to reach him.
‘Dale,’ she said. The boy’s eyes opened and flickered towards her. She smiled, and his mouth closed. His gaze held hers, but then Nedzad started to shake him.
‘He’s called Daris!’ he roared. The toddler began to scream again.
The situation was rapidly getting out of control. And they still didn’t know where Blackman was. Their efforts were completely concentrated on saving this little boy.
‘Nedzad, what do you want?’
‘I only wanted my son.’ His voice had lowered and Kelly noted the use of the past tense. It was a worrying development.
She saw spittle spray from Nedzad’s mouth. It fell like a mist. It was clear to all of the officers present that the man was desperate and inches away from doing something stupid.
She’d never seen Nedzad Galic up close, but she realised now what he was capable of. She swallowed and looked up again. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that six or seven uniforms had joined together several high-vis police jackets and moved into position under the walkway.
‘My boy!’ Galic wailed. It was a guttural, primeval noise, and Kelly knew that he was preparing to throw his boy away; figuratively as well as literally.
She took to the stairs and sprinted up them. Two officers followed. They had to get to the man. His cry had been one of resignation as well as hatred and pain: if he jumped with his son, it was doubtful that they’d be able to catch either of them. Her lungs screamed, but she managed to sprint up the final set of stairs and emerge onto the walkway, panting.
‘Don’t!’ she screamed, running full pelt towards him. He didn’t expect her, and tucked the toddler under his arm and tried clumsily to climb up onto the wall. Kelly reached him and grabbed on to the boy with every ounce of strength she had. It unbalanced Nedzad, and he let go of his son as he tried to steady himself. He looked at Kelly as he began to fall backwards. She heard shouts from the ground below, and then the sickening thud of flesh and bone hitting concrete.
In the silence that followed, she looked down at the child in her arms. Dale was staring at her. He blinked, and Kelly smiled at him. She hoped with all her heart that he was young enough to forget this trauma. Holding him tightly, she walked towards the stairs. Nedzad Galic had ended up like one of his victims, twisted and broken like Jenna Fraser, in a pile of torn organs and cracked bones. Her radio crackled: the fall had been fatal. Nedzad hadn’t killed his victims with his bare hands; he’d done it with his poison. But Kelly still wanted a conviction. Galic was dead. Bobby was dead. She knew too that there were always new thugs waiting to step into vacuums left by the law, but this was one that she would pursue.
She listened to her radio as she walked slowly down the steps. She heard that Tony Blackman had been apprehended and arrested not far from where they were now.
She closed her eyes. If she wasn’t holding the child, she’d have fist-pumped the air. They had an adult to hold accountable, and the beginnings of a case for justice for the kids who, one way or another, had perished at his behest.
Chapter 64
‘You look tired,’ Johnny said to her. She knew that he spoke from the heart, and it was an expression of concern.
The investigation into Faith Shaw’s death had drawn to a close and left the team at Eden House with a sense of weird, unfulfilled cynicism. It wasn’t healthy. Kelly had tried to spin a sugar coating by emphasising the fact that they’d exposed the largest drugs gang in the north-west for many years, an achievement that was hailed by the drugs squad as damn fine police work. Her officers had provided the final pieces of the puzzle that the Manchester teams had so painstakingly pieced together. But that paled into insignificance every time Kelly thought about Faith’s brother Michael, or Jake Trent’s best friend, or Jenna Fraser’s mother. It was like one huge, deflating let-down. An anticlimax like no other.
The snow had returned and coated the Lake District with a blanket of secrecy, hiding events that you might not believe possible should you peruse the scene from the top of a mountain. The main roads were clogged for hours every day as the gritters tried to clear routes across the National Park.
The hospital was warm at least.
Kelly held her mother’s hand. She knew what was coming because the ward sister had suggested another pot of tea, and brought biscuits into the room. They only did that when they were about to lose one of their patients. Nikki and Matt were there with their three children, as well as Johnny and Josie. And Ted. The little room was cramped and stifling, even though the temperature outside was minus seven. The hospital heating banged out waves of arid, lifeless air that suffocated them and made them regret each item of clothing they wore; whether it be a T-shirt or a jumper, nothing was right. Nothing would be right for a long time.
Nikki sniffled. Matt fidgeted. Josie held onto her dad. Kelly was touched that the teenager wanted to be here. Josie reminded her a lot of Faith. Both girls were independent and fearless. And she had genuine affection for Wendy. Kelly imagined Faith fighting for her life, and hoped Josie never had to.
Kelly avoided her sister’s gaze and leant against Ted. Nikki had stared at first, but even she didn’t have the audacity to start an argument now. Wendy’s chest moved slowly up and down; occasionally she’d mutter incomprehensibly and look unsettled and agitated. She wasn’t to be resuscitated; when the moment came, she’d be allowed to slip away.
Beside her, Kelly felt Ted catch his breath. He pulled away and held her hands, nodding towards the bed. He was the only person in the room who knew death intimately; he knew exactly how long it took, and what was happening to Wendy’s insides as she held on to the last breath.
‘It’s time,’ he whispered in Kelly’s ear.
He went to Wendy’s syringe driver and checked the level. Then he checked her cannula, calling for the nurse to come into the room. He mentioned Haloperidol. The drug was administered to terminal patients at the very end of their palliative care plan, when they grew anxious and distressed. No one really understood why this happened, not even the top neurologists. It was thought that as the body prepared to shut down, the brain displayed last-minute signs of fretting.
The nurse smiled sympathetically at the gathered loved ones. Kelly watched as she checked Wendy’s pupils. She knew that they dilated in the moment before death. This would be the second time she had seen a parent expire agonisingly in the face of the disease that slowly strangulated its human host. She glanced at Ted, who watched as the nurse carefully drew up the drug and squeezed it into the cannula. Then he turned to Kelly and nodded. Johnny knew what it meant, and reached out to her, placing his hand on her arm. She touched it, her ring catching a shaft of light from the window and sparkling.
The nurse left, and the only movement in the tiny room was the
slow heaving of Wendy’s chest and the sniffles of her family. Nikki watched Kelly and followed her lead by approaching the bed. They each took one of Wendy’s hands.
Momentarily, Kelly thought she saw her mother open her eyes and look at her. She bent and whispered into her ear, saying her final goodbyes. Ted stood behind her and covered his mouth. Kelly turned and allowed him to squeeze in next to her. She took his hand and placed it on her mother’s chest.
‘Goodbye, Wendy,’ he said.
Kelly closed her eyes and felt for Johnny’s hand.
Another coughing fit took hold of Wendy and everybody froze, apart from Ted, who held her torso gently so as to soften the impact of the violent coughs. It was the kindest thing Kelly had ever seen. When he finally let her go, Wendy took a large intake of breath … and then nothing.
They waited. They watched.
Ted bent his head.
Kelly took her mother’s hand, but it was limp.
Nikki sat on the edge of the bed, her sobs coming in shaking waves. Kelly turned away and sank into Johnny’s arms, where she held onto Josie as well.
It was the thirteenth of January.
Chapter 65
Johnny bought a pre-owned thirty-four-foot 2004 Sealine S34 from a dealer in Windermere, and she was a beauty. He’d chosen luxury and performance and Kelly had been surprised that he’d gone for something so glamorous. She was thankful for the interior, which consisted of wooden decking and full wraparound covers. It had a tiny kitchen, shower and toilet, and bed. They’d been aboard for a week.
They stopped when they needed food or a restaurant meal, but the only other reason to shore up was for a swim. Otherwise, they powered gently up and down the lake at ten knots, which was the limit on Ullswater. They saw few vessels, and when they did, the captains were usually known personally to either Johnny or Kelly, and they waved and shouted greetings. Occasionally they’d go ashore for a pint, but more often, they’d stock up on wine for the boat. They were barely eight miles from their houses, but it didn’t matter; they could have been in Alaska and it wouldn’t have made a difference.
It was a peace they hadn’t known for months, not since a weekend away in a hotel in Windermere. Josie had finally relented and gone to see her mother.
‘How you doing?’ Johnny asked Kelly regularly. It was a question without answer and he knew it, but it was his way of checking in and telling her that he cared.
Every day was different. Sometimes she remembered all the positive and joyful things about her mother, and she’d smile to herself, recalling a joke they’d shared or something they’d agreed on. Other days were hell, and she was consumed with regret and grief. Johnny counselled her on the process of mourning; it was, he told her, a journey.
‘No it’s not, it’s a fucking cliché,’ Kelly raged and Johnny let her. Anger was all part of the journey.
Occasionally, Kelly behaved like a child and used her fingers to denote speech marks as she analysed herself and regurgitated long words used by shrinks who dealt with loss. She’d learned to throw them out in answer to probing questions from concerned friends and relatives. ‘Self-preservative numbness’ was one of her favourites, and she laboured over the words with exaggeration if she was feeling particularly frustrated: a signal to Johnny that something intense was on its way. Usually an outburst – a kick, a slammed door or an expletive in response to a well-meaning question – was all that was needed to move on, but now and again Kelly went quiet, and Johnny knew that was a bad sign. It was easier when she shouted or told him to go fuck himself. He could argue, challenge her, refuse to leave, and all the other things you did for the person you loved. It drove Kelly nuts, but he persevered.
It was worth it.
Her moods wouldn’t level out for perhaps a year, possibly two; that was what all the experts said. Kelly said she didn’t give a flying fuck what the experts said, and Johnny said he knew she didn’t.
A few psychos whom Kelly had put away over the years wrote sympathy cards, and it caused her to fly into thunderous strops. Johnny encouraged it. He gave her stuff to punch, he let her push him overboard, and he even wrestled her. Most of the time, it ended in laughter or tears, and that was the whole point.
‘How the hell do they get my address?’ she screamed at him.
‘It’s not difficult if you want it badly enough. People leave digital footprints everywhere.’
She hoped that she never heard from Tony Blackman. No one had ever prosecuted a single individual for the drug-related indirect murder of three separate minors, and it had been tried at the Old Bailey as a ground-breaking case. Every day of the seven-week trial, the courtroom and public gallery were full to bursting as lawyers, barristers and QCs alike listened to how the case was tried. Kelly knew they had him on gross negligence manslaughter if it fell through, but she needn’t have worried.
They won. He got life, with a minimum of thirty-three years, for causing the deaths of Jenna Fraser, Jake Trent and Faith Shaw. Kelly had given evidence and she was the only witness Blackman had looked at. On the drugs charges, he’d received four sentences totalling seventy-three years. On top of his stretch for the murder of Belinda Rawlinson, he’d never see freedom again. Sadie and Luke both got suspended sentences, but their nightmares would be punishment enough. The screams of a terrified girl alone in the forest, knowing that her friends had left her there at the mercy of her attacker, would haunt them for the rest of their lives.
Kelly sat on the bow of the yacht. The lake was utterly calm and disarming. She peered into the depths below. As far as she could see, it could have gone down for thousands of metres, hiding secrets no one would ever find. It mesmerised her. Johnny handled the controls and watched her. The early spring sun caught the fire in her hair and it shone orange and red, reflecting her fire. They were sailing to the Peak’s Bay Hotel to meet Ted. Kelly had taken her mother there for dinner on the night that she first suspected her parentage. It was almost a year ago now.
The plan had been to scatter Mum’s ashes near Dad’s in the hotel garden, under a rhododendron bush. But Kelly couldn’t bring herself to do it. She also couldn’t face telling Nikki why. The urn sat in a case in her bedroom, and she’d avoided Nikki’s questions and demands to hold a ceremony and choose a resting place.
They approached the wooden jetty that led to the prestigious hotel and spotted Ted waiting for them on the shoreline with a member of staff. He smiled. Kelly waved, and Johnny manoeuvred the boat expertly towards the landing. He switched off the engine and tethered his new pride and joy, and they both jumped off. Ted approached and embraced his daughter, then shook hands with Johnny.
‘I like the name,’ he said.
They all looked towards the boat and admired the newly sprayed title, in blue, on the stern.
Wendy, it read.
Acknowledgements
I would firstly like to thank my agent, Peter Buckman, for his neverending encouragement and faith; also Laura McCallen and the team at Canelo for their passion and Jane Selley for her meticulous attention to detail. For their fascinating insight, Harry Chapfield, Cumbria Constabulary (ret’d), Inspector Paul Redfearn, London Met Police, and DI Rob Burns, Beds Police. I want to thank the Lemons: you know who you are, I love you.
And finally, Mike, Tilly and Freddie for being neglected at odd times of the day; I couldn’t have done this without you.
Detective Kelly Porter
When a scandal forces DI Kelly Porter out of the Met, she returns to her home turf in the north. There, a dark criminal underworld lies beneath the veneer of sleepy towns and lush landscapes, and Porter and her team soon find themselves facing the Lake District’s darkest secrets and greatest threats…
Find out more
Dark Game
Deep Fear
Dead End
Bitter Edge
Bold Lies
First published in the United Kingdom in 2019 by Canelo
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
57 She
pherds Lane
Beaconsfield, Bucks HP9 2DU
United Kingdom
Copyright © Rachel Lynch, 2019
The moral right of Rachel Lynch to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781788632676
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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