by Emmy Ellis
They removed them, and Helena popped them on the back seat. She could procrastinate by bothering everyone on the phone, asking for updates, but it wouldn’t stop her having to make the next step. She’d have to speak to Valerie Watkins no matter what, so she took a deep breath and left the car.
With Andy by her side, she walked up the path and knocked on the door. A young blond lad answered, about nineteen or so, and cocked his head.
“Yeah?” he said, his white T-shirt marked with lines where it had been ironed then folded.
“Is Valerie Watkins in?”
He raised his eyebrows and looked Helena up and down. Assessing what sort of person she was and why she was there?
Probably.
“I’ll just get her.” He turned and walked up the hallway. “Mum! Door!”
A woman came down the stairs, and there wasn’t any resemblance to Katy at all. Maybe her daughter took after her dad. Her black hair sat high in a ponytail, and it seemed they’d disturbed her doing her makeup. Only one eye had black liner on the top lid. She could pass for thirty if not for the lines beside her eyes and mouth.
Helena produced her ID and introduced them. “May we come in? It’s about Katy.”
Valerie went white and sucked in a sharp breath. “Is she all right?”
Helena smiled tightly and gestured to be let in. She stepped inside, and Andy came in behind her, closing the door. Again, Helena gestured, indicating they go through into the living room on the right.
“Sit down, Mrs Watkins.”
She did, on a coffee-coloured corduroy sofa with sagging cushions at the back. Andy remained standing by the door while Helena sat in a chair at an angle to the sofa so she could clearly see Valerie’s face.
“What’s happened?” Valerie asked, gaze darting from Helena to Andy then back again.
“We’re investigating a person who seems to have been following Katy around. Has she told you about this?” Helena laced her fingers in her lap.
“No, she hasn’t mentioned it.” Valerie wrung her hands.
The lad came in and plonked himself in the other chair. “Not earwigging or anything, but she told me. Some bellend asked her if he could buy her a coffee or something. She said he’d been turning up wherever she was, and he went up to her in the café. She told him no, and he got arsey with her, said he just wanted to be mates.”
“When was this?” Helena asked, praying for an actual date to save Phil having to trawl through umpteen Wednesdays of CCTV.
“About a month ago.”
Relieved the timeline matched what Ol had said, Helena relaxed a little. “Did she tell you what he looked like?”
“Nah, just that he was a weirdo.”
“Why wouldn’t she tell me?” Valerie asked, staring around at everyone.
“Because you worry too much, Mum. Katy reckoned he was just some dickhead, end of. I told her if he bothered her again to ring me and I’d go and sort him out.”
Valerie glared at him as if telling him with her eyes he ought to watch his language in front of the police. “But if he was following her, he’s more than just a…what you said.”
“Is there anyone you can think of who this might be?” It was a long shot, but Helena had to try. “An old school friend? A work colleague?”
The lad shrugged. “Like I said, just some weirdo.”
“Mrs Watkins?” Helena prodded, sensing it was hopeless to even ask.
Valerie shook her head. “I have no idea. Since she moved out, we don’t see her much, maybe once a fortnight, if that. She doesn’t tell me anything except what she gets up to with her friends, and even then that’s only with me asking what she’s been doing. I don’t think she’d share if I didn’t ask.”
Crap. I should have got Ol to contact her friends. “We know Katy’s best friend is someone called Cassie. Do you know where she lives?”
“She lives in Dean Street,” the lad said. “Can’t remember the number, but it’s the only one with a red door, halfway down the road. I had to drop Katy off there once when she’d been here for Sunday dinner. They were going to The Villager’s after.”
“Thank you,” Helena said. “This next question is distressing, and I’m sorry to have to ask it, but do you know of anyone who’d want to harm Katy? Has she had an argument with someone recently; has she mentioned a grudge?”
“You what?” the lad said, scowling. “Are you saying someone’s hurt my bloody sister?”
“Charlie…” Valerie warned.
“Because if they have, I don’t get why. Katy’s great,” Charlie said. “Everyone likes her.”
Just as I was expecting. Helena held back a sigh. She may as well break the news now. “I’m sorry to inform you, but we have reason to believe Katy was murdered last night.”
Charlie shot out of his seat and sat beside his mum. He shook all over, while Valerie screamed. He hugged her, crying, and Helena had to turn away. She looked at Andy, who lowered his head—yes, this was the rotten part of their job. He walked off to make the usual sweet tea. Helena never spoke while he was doing it. There was no point. Valerie and Charlie continued crying, gripping each other as grief swept over them, and Helena felt like she was intruding just by being there.
Andy returned and put the cups on a side table, and it seemed to pull Valerie from wherever she’d gone inside her mind. She untangled herself from her son and reached for a cup, handing it to him.
“Drink that, love,” she said. “The sugar will help.”
Helena guessed the woman was putting her own upset aside in order to be strong for her son, and she admired her greatly for it. A lump rose in her throat, and she had to blink to stop any tears forming.
Valerie straightened her spine and sniffed. “Is it the same person doing it as the one mentioned on the news?” She sounded no-nonsense, all business.
“We believe so, yes.” Helena gave a wan smile.
“What is going on around here?” Valerie hugged Charlie with one arm while he sipped tea and stared at the carpet. “So many people killed in a matter of days. This used to be a safe place, for God’s sake.” Then, “Would she have suffered for long?”
Helena wasn’t going to lie. “I don’t know if it was quick. The medical examiner is with her now.”
“Where did it happen?” Charlie croaked, his face red and blotchy.
“At her home.”
“Did she take someone back with her?” he asked. “She was on a hen do last night. I was at the same bloody pub with my mates. She was fine. No one was bothering her.”
Helena perked up. “Were you there the whole time?”
“No, I got there at seven and left just after nine.”
“Did you see anyone acting suspiciously?” Please have noticed something. “Someone watching her?”
Charlie shook his head. “It was full of regulars, the hen party, and me and my mates. There wasn’t anyone there who would have done…done that to her.”
“Can you recall everyone who was there?”
“I’ll try.”
Charlie reeled off names, and Andy wrote them down, then left the room. Helena guessed he was calling the names in to Ol and Phil.
“Do you know how she got home?” Valerie asked quietly.
“She walked alone. We believe she got there safe. Unfortunately, it appears someone broke in via the back door.”
Valerie wailed at that. “My poor baby. She would have been so scared.”
Helena excused herself to phone Dave Lund, their distress too raw to witness. He said he’d be with them inside ten minutes. She returned to the living room and explained an officer would be there shortly to help them through this difficult time. Valerie drank her tea, staring into space, and Charlie did likewise.
Once Dave turned up and introductions were made, she left the FLO to it. He was excellent at his job and would ease Valerie and Charlie into the next steps with calm and grace. They couldn’t be in better hands.
Chapter Eighteen
&
nbsp; He woke up panicked, recalling what had happened last night. He wouldn’t have stabbed that copper if he hadn’t chased him. They’d be on to him soon, and he hadn’t finished what he’d set out to do. There was one more left. Would he be able to kill him before he got that knock on the door?
“Fucking hell,” he muttered, getting out of bed and padding downstairs, scratching his crotch then stopping because it reminded him of Eddie.
He made cereal for breakfast on autopilot, his mind on that knife going into the copper’s belly. He’d jabbed it in just enough to shock the bloke so he could run away. He’d gone straight home—if he’d walked the streets for a bit, he’d have been picked up in no time. Better that he hide out at home than get stopped by another patrol and have to explain why he was carrying a sodding roll of plastic sheeting and had blood on him.
At the kitchen table, he ate, sifting through his feelings. While he didn’t have any remorse for stabbing the pig, he did have anger simmering. The incident could mean everything would be cut short if they stepped up the search for him—which they would, considering he’d had the audacity to attack one of their own.
He imagined moving away now, today, to start that new life he’d promised himself, but allowing the other bloke on his list to live meant he’d torment himself with his freedom for the rest of his days. He’d always be there in the back of his mind, whispering, “No…no…no.”
He couldn’t deal with that.
Soon it would all be over, and he could walk away with no regrets.
* * * *
Mum was wailing about Eddie going missing. She slung more alcohol down her throat and kicked at a magazine half hanging off the table. It fell to the floor he’d hoovered a few hours ago, and anger boiled inside him.
Eddie had been gone for six months now, so why couldn’t she just get over it? Her drink intake had got worse, and she’d lost her bloody job and all. He was sick of paying the bills, sick of having nothing left of his wages except for enough to have a pint in The Villager’s every night.
She was a selfish bitch, only thinking of herself like that.
He stared at her, and a red mist descended, forcing him to yank her by the arm and haul her standing. She swayed, pissed as she was, and stared at him, her eyes glassy.
“We’re going out,” he said.
She spluttered. “But it’s the middle of the night.”
“Yeah, when normal people are in bed. You woke me up with your fucking crying, you loud cow. You need a walk.”
He’d already got dressed, having had enough of listening to her, the plan sinking into his head fully formed. The nighttime express was due at three-forty, and it didn’t stop at Smaltern station, just breezed through on the way to Scotland. She still had her clothes on from the daytime, slippers instead of shoes, but that would just add to the authenticity. She’d wandered out, alone, drunk, and flung herself onto the tracks, that was what they’d say.
He grabbed the mask and blonde wig from a kitchen cupboard. Eddie had bought them once the police had gathered he’d worn the witch one to rob Den’s, saying it was a good idea to keep wearing them. He put them on and returned to the living room.
Mum stared at him and whimpered. “Why are you wearing…?”
“Shut your face. I’ve had as much of you as I can take.”
He guided her outside, closing the front door quietly so the neighbours didn’t hear it, and kept to the shadows as he tugged her along the street. The station was only five minutes away, but it took fifteen, what with her staggering. He didn’t take her to the actual station but through a field, the track hidden behind a long row of bushes. He shoved her through and followed her out to the other side.
“What are we doing here?” she asked, the words elongated and floaty in the darkness. The moonlight shone on her, and she teetered, holding her hands out for balance.
“You’ll see.”
He cracked his fist against her temple, and she went down, hitting her skull on the rocky verge. She was out cold, and if she hadn’t been, he’d have kept punching her until she was. He carried her to the track and placed her down, then went back to the hedge to hide behind it and watch.
The rumble of the express was music to his ears, and he stared into the gloom, waiting for the headlamps to pierce the night and illuminate the woman who’d given birth to him but hadn’t cared about him at all.
The train went by too fast for him to see what it did to her, but once it had continued into the distance, slowing to a stop, he couldn’t hang around to inspect his handiwork. He walked home, lighter of heart than he’d been in years, and thought about how Eddie and Mum had treated him. Then his mind went to all the others who’d pissed him off, rejecting him, giving him the sense he wasn’t important to anyone, anywhere.
And his plan was born.
Chapter Nineteen
In the incident room, everyone crowded around Phil’s computer. CCTV had come up trumps, and they were looking at the image of Katy Watkins just about to enter Vicky’s Café on a Wednesday last month at one-thirty. The footage had been paused, showing her with one hand on the door and one leg bent, ready to step inside.
“Play it slowly,” Helena said.
Phil clicked it to resume, and Katy walked into the café. The camera was pointing directly at the building, and Phil had enlarged it so they could see what was going on better. Two minutes of waiting passed, Katy presumably at the till placing her order, then she appeared again. The café had a high table running the length of the window, and she sat on a stool and tucked in, eating some lasagne. She had a cup in front of her, and a woman browsed on her phone beside her, nibbling on a sandwich.
A man walked along the street and stopped outside the café, staring in. The hairs on Helena’s neck rose. His body was similar to the man in the alley out the back of Den’s, but his hair was longer. Unfortunately, she couldn’t see his face as his back was to the camera.
Phil paused it. “Look…” He pointed at the window. “His reflection.”
“Fucking hell,” Helena said. “Take a shot of the frame and blow it up in a minute. I want to see what happens next first. It might not even be him.” But her gut said it was.
Phil pressed Play.
The man went inside and straight to Katy, to the side where no one else sat, and leant over her, caging her in. She glanced up at him, easing her head back to get some space between them, and his lips moved, maybe him asking if he could buy her a coffee. Katy’s expression changed from confusion to annoyance, then he spoke again. Her face switched to fear, and he reared back, stared at her, then stalked away.
He didn’t leave the café, but Katy did, scurrying up the street, clutching her bag strap as though she thought the man would come out and rob her. He followed then, at a distance, and she glanced over her shoulder, spotting him. Then she went out of shot.
“Bastard,” Helena snapped. “Get that reflection frame enlarged, please.”
Phil did so, and while the image was grainy, the man’s face was clear enough.
“Fuck me sideways,” Phil said, peering closer. “My brother went to school with that little twat.”
“You what?” Helena’s heart went crazy, banging hard and too fast, skipping a couple of beats. “Tell me you have a name.”
Phil scrunched his eyes up in thought. “Can’t bloody remember. Hang on, I’ll ring my brother.” He whipped his mobile out and placed the call. “Benny, who was that weird kid you went to school with, the one who always stank and stared at people? The skinny one who kept wanting to be your mate and didn’t like it when you said no?” A pause. Phil scribbled down the name on his pad. “You’re coming back a day early? Brilliant. It’ll be good to see you. Does working in France suit you? Good. Anyway, speak soon. I have to go.”
“Got you, Ian fucking Landon,” Helena said, her legs going weak from the adrenaline rush. “Get his address, Ol.” And to Phil, “Send that image to be enhanced. I want a clearer one if possible. Tell them it’s
urgent. Print off the one we’ve got for now.”
“Ninety-four Sweetbriar Road,” Ol called.
“Nothing bloody sweet about the man living there,” Andy said.
Helena walked over to the printer and snatched the image out of the tray. “We need to speak to Louise to see if there are any uniforms handy. We’re going to need backup for this. Come on, Andy.”
She raced downstairs and slapped the image on the front desk, startling Louise.
“Him,” Helena said. “He’s likely the one we’re after. Do a quick search for any priors for me, will you? Ian Landon, ninety-four Sweetbriar Road.”
Louise tapped on her keyboard. “Nothing on him as far as crime goes. Doesn’t mean he hasn’t committed any, though, does it. Some of them are crafty bastards. Hang on a sec. I’ll just check other people at that address.” She typed in a command. “Three people, but what looks like his father left years ago. There’s his mother, I assume, a Regina Landon, but she’s deceased. And an Eddie Goddard who was reported as a missing person by Regina a long while back.” She clicked her mouse. “The father’s last known address is in Wigan, and he’s also dead. Overdose.”
So they had a loner to deal with. Great. They tended to be the worst. Too much time by themselves to plan things.
“Right, what about this Ian’s workplace?” Helena was getting frustrated. She wanted immediate information. It wasn’t coming at her fast enough.
Louise typed. “He’s unemployed.”
“So he has plenty of time to catch up on sleep when he’s been out killing people at night, the wanker. What about other family members?”
Louise typed again. “Nothing, sorry.”
Helena grabbed the image off the desk and scooted into the uniforms’ break room. Five of them sat at the same table, drinking tea and having a good old gas.
“Guys, your break is over. I need you—now.” She gave them the address and told them to park the police cars down the road out of sight. Holding up the image, she pointed to Landon’s face. “We’re after him for the recent murders and the attack on Clive, got it?”
