Dead End

by Leigh Russell

  ‘His name is Paul Hilliard and he's – he's insane.’ Briefly Geraldine explained the reasoning behind Paul Hilliard's killing spree.

  ‘You're telling me he blamed Abigail for his daughter's suicide?’

  ‘Yes. Your wife and his daughter's best friend – another fifteen-year-old girl – were both killed. He was planning the death of the doctor who carried out his daughter's abortion and he also murdered a seventeen-year-old male witness and –’ She hesitated to disclose that Paul Hilliard had almost killed her too.

  ‘Oh my God.’ There was a pause while Matthew took in what Geraldine had said. ‘A fifteen-year-old girl. Well, thank you for coming to let us know.’

  ‘How's Lucy?’ Geraldine asked as the door began to close.

  ‘Do you want to come in? But –’ Geraldine waited. ‘I think it's better if you leave us alone.’

  ‘If you'd like a visit from the family liaison officer, you have the number.’

  ‘Thank you, but I don't think so. I mean, she was very helpful but we need to get back to some sort of semblance of a normal life, if we possibly can. We're moving back to York soon, leaving all this behind us. It's for the best, all things considered. Charlotte's never settled down here either, and her mother's not getting any younger so she wants to be nearby.’

  ‘Charlotte?’

  ‘Yes. She's coming with us. She's been great with Lucy and Ben.’

  Geraldine hid her surprise. She hoped Charlotte would be kind to the children, but in any case there was nothing she could do about it. ‘And Lucy's alright?’ She would have liked to see the motherless girl.

  ‘I think so. As far as we can tell. In a way I think what happened to her kind of helped her to stop thinking about her mother. That sounds terrible, doesn't it? But we're trying to forget. Forget what happened, that is,’ he added quickly.

  ‘We're not going to forget Abigail, but we're trying not to remember how she died. If we think of her as though she had an accident it makes it easier to deal with somehow.’

  ‘Of course.’ Geraldine certainly sympathised with Matthew Kirby's desperation to shield his children from the horror and agony their mother must have endured, and suspected he'd told them she was unconscious throughout her ordeal. It would have been a kindness to lie about it. Abigail was dead, they had to move on in any way they could. The circumstances in which she'd died might be too terrible for her children to bear.

  The truth could be devastating.

  His daughter's suicide had crushed Paul. Geraldine wondered how his life might have turned out if he'd never discovered the truth, had somehow believed her death was simply a tragic accident, or whether there was something about him that made his insanity inevitable. He had once functioned as a successful man. He'd qualified as a pathologist, married, had a child. It was impossible to know if the man or the circumstances had triggered his insanity.

  Either way, she too had to try and move on, like Matthew Kirby. There was no point in dwelling on how she had been so easily conned by a calculating and devious psychopath who had deliberately set out to exploit her emotions in order to gain inside knowledge of the investigation.

  As she drove back to the station she wondered whether Lucy had now genuinely accepted Charlotte into her family, or if she was merely tolerating her presence in exchange for their return to York; an unspoken truce with her father. Either way, Geraldine hoped the girl would resolve her inner conflicts. There was even a chance she might blossom if Charlotte paid her enough attention. Perhaps that too was a tacit deal struck between Matthew and Charlotte, a marriage in exchange for loving Lucy and Ben. Geraldine smiled at her hope that Matthew Kirby and his children might one day achieve happiness through these compromises in spite of everything that had happened.

  68

  CHANGE

  Geraldine steeled herself to hear her colleagues discussing Paul Hilliard, but there was a cheerful air of commotion in the Incident Room on her return. Ian Peterson was standing in the middle of the room surrounded by a group of younger officers who all seemed to be talking at once. Geraldine had missed his announcement, but she soon gathered what was going on.

  ‘The first round's on me,’ Ian called out above the hubbub. He grinned as a rowdy cheer greeted his statement.

  ‘When's the happy day?’ someone asked.

  Peterson shrugged. ‘We haven't got that far yet.’ He dropped his gaze, suddenly sheepish, and everyone cheered again.

  ‘Another one bites the dust,’ a raucous voice sang out. The jeering was drowned in another cheer and several officers clapped the sergeant on the back.

  ‘Come on, first round's on Ian. What are we waiting for? Let's go!’ The group of officers surged towards the door, chattering cheerfully.

  ‘You coming, gov?’ Ian called out, looking around to see who was following and catching Geraldine's eye.

  She smiled. ‘You bet. I'll be over the road before you've finished buying that first round. I'll have to come and congratulate you properly.’

  ‘She means commiserate,’ someone joked.

  ‘Tell me, gov, how did you know all along that Matthew Kirby was innocent?’ Peterson asked her, suddenly serious. ‘I

  was so sure – we were all so sure he'd killed Abigail.’

  ‘Geraldine's intuition is what makes her such a gifted detective,’ Kathryn Gordon answered for her.

  Geraldine felt her tension lift. Perhaps sometimes it was better to trust her judgement of other people after all. She couldn't give up on herself just because a charming psychopath had successfully misled her. She'd always known the life she'd chosen wouldn't be easy.

  ‘You saw through Paul Hilliard,’ she reminded the sergeant.

  ‘True. Maybe I'll be as good as you one day, gov.’

  ‘You might even get to be an inspector, if we're all very unlucky,’ someone called out.

  ‘I bloody well hope so,’ he answered, turning back to rejoin his colleagues who were milling around in the middle of the incident room, waiting to get to the pub. ‘I'll have a wife to support!’

  Geraldine turned to Kathryn Gordon who was standing beside her and added under her breath, ‘I could do without all this celebrating, I'm knackered. But I'm glad they've sorted themselves out. The relationship's been a bit on and off, but from what I can make out he's crazy about her.’

  ‘Life on the force,’ the DCI replied with a wry smile. She turned away and raised her voice to address her colleagues. ‘I have a brief announcement to make too.’ A hush fell on the bustling room.

  ‘What is it, ma'am?’ Geraldine asked, knowing exactly what the DCI was going to say.

  The older woman's features relaxed into a smile again. ‘I'm leaving.’

  ‘What? Leaving the force?’ someone asked in polite surprise.

  ‘Yes, I'm finally retiring and not before time. I'm getting past it.’ She waved a hand dismissively at the respectful murmur of dissent. ‘It's time to move on.’

  ‘What are your plans?’ Geraldine asked.

  ‘Oh, there's so much I want to do, now I'll have the time. I won't be sitting at home knitting.’ She gave a forced chuckle that failed to mask a flash of regret and, just for an instant, Geraldine felt a spasm of selfish fear. Kathryn Gordon wasn't all that much older than she was. But Kathryn Gordon had suffered a minor coronary, she reminded herself quickly and, in any case, Kathryn Gordon was nearly old enough to be her mother. In fact, she must be about the same age as Milly Blake. The comparison with her real mother caught Geraldine unawares and she dropped her gaze in consternation.

  ‘Don't be upset,’ Kathryn Gordon sounded surprised, but Geraldine could only smile and shake her head; it was hardly possible to explain that it wasn't Kathryn Gordon's impending retirement that had shaken her composure.

  ‘Seriously,’ Geraldine went on quietly as the rest of the team gathered around Ian Peterson again, clamouring for a drink, ‘what are you going to do?’

  The DCI spoke lightly. ‘I'm going to travel for a whil
e, see some far away places I've always dreamed about – the Taj Mahal, the Grand Canyon, Istanbul – there's a whole world to be explored out there and then – oh, I don't know. I'll see where life takes me. Footloose and fancy free, that'll be me from now on. No deadlines, no pressure, no problems…’

  ‘Sounds wonderful,’ Geraldine lied, ‘going off like that.’

  ‘It seems everyone's moving on.’

  ‘Yes, it's exciting, isn't it? But I'll be sorry to leave.’

  They both glanced up at Ian Peterson who had come over to join them.

  ‘What's that?’ he seized on Geraldine's last words. ‘You're leaving the force, gov? But you can't. You –’

  Geraldine laughed. ‘No, I'm not leaving the force, Ian. I've got a transfer. I'm off to the Met.’

  ‘You're going to London?’ For an instant he looked startled,

  then he reached out and shook her warmly by the hand. ‘Well done. That's fantastic. You coming over the road then? Drink to a double celebration.’

  ‘We're on our way, Ian,’ Kathryn Gordon told him, and he turned and hurried back to his waiting colleagues.

  Unexpectedly, Kathryn put her hand on Geraldine's arm. ‘We must stay in touch, Geraldine. Keep me posted on how things go in London. I want to hear all about it.’

  ‘Yes, ma'am.’

  ‘And you can call me Kathryn now,’ the Detective Chief Inspector smiled. As they went over the road to the pub, Geraldine hoped the celebrations would focus on Ian Peterson's marriage plans, the DCI's retirement and her own transfer to the Met; anything to avoid picking over the case. It was hard to accept that Paul had cynically encouraged her to fall for a fantasy, a dead end. The real Paul Hilliard was a calculating killer. It would have been far better in many ways if the paramedics hadn't arrived in time to save his life.

  She couldn't bear to think about what had happened, or listen to any more speculation about his future, but predictably the other officers were discussing it when she and Kathryn entered the pub.

  ‘He's got to be locked-up in a secure psychiatric unit,’ a sergeant was saying. ‘He's a complete nut job.’

  ‘Round the bloody twist and then some,’ a constable agreed.

  Ian Peterson glanced up and saw Geraldine join the circle. ‘Hey, gov,’ he called out loudly. ‘I suppose you'll be too bloody high and mighty to come to my wedding now you're going to London? Oh Jesus,’ he added in mock horror, ‘I'm getting married, God help me.’ He grinned as several of his colleagues began whistling the wedding march. More joined in whilst others began gently ribbing the sergeant, congratulating Geraldine or wishing Kathryn Gordon well in her retirement. With Paul Hilliard's name no longer on everyone's lips, Geraldine relaxed and smiled her thanks to the sergeant who raised his glass to her. Sorry to be losing his company, she wondered if he would miss working with her.

  Too worn out to cope with her confused emotions Geraldine left early pleading exhaustion, which wasn't far from the truth. She knew she ought to call Celia and share the news about her transfer to the Met, but didn't feel up to warding off her sister's disappointment. Feeling guilty about not phoning Celia, she called Hannah instead.

  ‘I've heard from the Met and guess what?’

  ‘You got the transfer?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh my God, I'm so pleased for you. Well done!’

  Geraldine couldn't help being affected by her friend's enthusiasm and began to feel excited herself for the first time. ‘To be honest, there's been so much going on, it hasn't really sunk in till now – I'm going to London! Don't say anything to Celia, will you, please? She doesn't know yet.’

  ‘Don't worry, I won't breathe a word, but she's bound to be pleased, it's such a great career move for you. And it'll do you good to have a change of scene after all that's happened.’

  ‘Yes, these last few weeks have been tough. Not that I expect London to be any easier.’ Geraldine knew that wasn't what Hannah meant, but Hannah didn't mention Paul's name and Geraldine was grateful for her friend's sensitivity. She would have liked to tell Hannah how much she depended on her friendship, when so little else in her life felt secure. At times it seemed she could rely on nothing but the moral certainty that murder was wrong. She sometimes felt she had constructed her life around that belief.

  Only after they rang off did Geraldine remember she hadn't told Hannah about her adoption. Maybe it was better that way. Some things were best forgotten, like Paul Hilliard. However hard she tried to put him firmly out of her mind, whenever she closed her eyes she saw a syringe trembling against a white background and a crazed face glaring at her.

  But, like the Kirbys, she was moving on and she had a feeling her memories of Paul Hilliard would soon be eclipsed by the challenges and hazards of life in the capital city.

  She couldn't wait.

  Author Extended Biography

  Leigh Russell studied at the University of Kent at Canterbury where she gained a Masters degree in English and American Literature. In addition to being an experienced secondary English teacher, she has a Diploma in Specific Learning Difficulties and has taught Adult Creative Writing classes. Leigh Russell is married and has two daughters.

  Author's Q &A

  Do you regret not coming to writing earlier or do you think you need life experience to write well?

  It surprises me that I stumbled on my passion for writing so late in life, but it would be churlish to harbour regrets when I've been so lucky in my writing career, attracting the attention of a publisher just two months after I started writing and being offered a three book deal straight away.

  Why crime? Did you grow up reading the genre?

  There wasn't a conscious decision to write crime, no Grand Plan. About four years ago an idea occurred to me, I began to write, and haven't managed a day without writing since. It was like turning on a tap. Crime stories in particular fascinate me. I enjoy the challenge of devising an intriguing plot and creating a variety of characters, and am interested in the questions raised by murder stories. What is it that drives someone to kill another person? It touches on so many issues - good versus evil, life and death, human relations, all of which are fascinating to explore through the medium of story. Since the origins of fiction, from Beowulf and the monsters of ancient Greek legend, through Sherlock Holmes’ enemy Moriarty, to modern crime fiction, we've been attracted to the detective-hero who combats the forces of evil. Contemporary crime fiction has moved away from the infallible superhero-detective, with elements of a caped crusader – but we still want the comfort of the ultimate restoration of moral order which fiction can offer.

  Is there anybody you particularly admire in the crime genre or who inspired you?

  Yes, there are so many crime authors I admire – Val McDermid, Ian Rankin, Mark Billingham, Dreda Say Mitchell, Simon Beckett – far too many to list here. I usually read UK authors, but am a huge fan of Jeffery Deaver who has just described me as “a brilliant talent in the thriller field”. I'm pleased that he's been invited to write the new James Bond novel, Carte Blanche, and can't wait to read it. He seems a perfect choice, not only because he writes so well, but because he is fiendishly clever.

  How does it feel to suddenly be a bestselling author? Does it change your way of thinking or the way you write?

  I certainly feel more confident about my writing after receiving so many encouraging reviews for my novels so far, but I don't think I've changed much. I'm still hooked on writing. There is an additional pressure in knowing so many readers are following Geraldine's career, but I try to focus on writing as well as I can, and just hope that my fans continue to enjoy my books.

  Where do you get your ideas and the material for your stories?

  Finding ideas has never been a problem. I wrote in an article once that I can see dead bodies anywhere, which isn't as ghoulish as it sounds. Writing crime thrillers is like problem solving, fitting the pieces of a jigsaw together. Start with a body and then the questions follow. Who is the victim an
d what is their story? How much does the reader need to know about the killer and his or her motivation? Finally, the detective enters the story, to investigate the murder. And there you have it — a crime thriller.

  Does DI Geraldine Steel represent parts of your own personality and character? If not, where does that protagonist come from?

  I write psychological thrillers because people fascinate me endlessly. Although plot drives my narrative, character interests me most. So perhaps it's paradoxical that I have no idea where my characters come from. They must be a composite of people I've met or observed, but they are never based on anyone I know. My plots are worked out carefully in advance, but I tend to give my characters a fairly free rein and watch them develop so sometimes characters say or do something for no apparent reason. Only later do I realise why they behaved in that particular way, because they were preparing for a later scene I hadn't consciously thought about yet. Although they can surprise me, I always try to understand my characters and see the world through their eyes. Geraldine Steel is developing and I feel I'm getting to know her as the books progress. There may be a parallel between the workaholic detective and the obsessive nature of writing, but of course if a writer stops working, people's lives aren't on the line. If you're engaged in a hunt for a serial killer, how do you switch off at the end of the day? And how do you relate to people from other walks of life? If you talked about your work dispassionately you'd sound monstrous, but if you allowed your emotions to become engaged you wouldn't be able to do your job. Writing is compulsive and it can be very difficult to switch off so I understand the obsessive in Geraldine. As for why my killers are so convincing - that's the magic of imagination!

  What do you enjoy about writing a series? What are the challenges?

  Writing a series poses several challenges. When I started writing Cut Short I hadn't plotted the arc of my main character all the way through the series as most authors do, since I had no idea this story would turn out to be the first of many, so my protagonist is developing as I'm writing. As the series continues I've tried to achieve a balance between providing my readers with a familiar pattern while at the same time offering something new with each book. I'd hate my books to become ‘formulaic’, but at the same time don't want to resort to something different and shocking just for effect. In the book which follows Dead End Geraldine relocates, which gives her life a natural shake up, and this adds a new dimension to the narrative.