Hope to Die: A gripping new serial killer thriller (The DS Nathan Cody series)

by David Jackson

  ‘I just find it odd,’ Cody replies, ‘that your client seems to know so much about Andy Puckleton’s personal affairs, and yet so very little about Mary Cowper. But I’ll move on.’

  Cody opens up a folder. Takes out a photograph and slides it across to Daley. It’s the one of the killer outside the Metropolitan cathedral.

  ‘For the benefit of the recording, I am showing Mr Daley photograph delta tango 713. Colin, do you recognise this man?’

  Daley glances at it. Shakes his head. ‘You’ve asked me this before. It’s not me, and I don’t know who it is.’

  Cody passes him another image. ‘This is image delta tango 717. It’s a picture of the coat the man in the photograph was wearing. Does that look familiar?’

  ‘Again, you’ve already asked me about it. No, I’ve never seen that coat.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Certain.’

  ‘You’ve never owned a coat like that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Colin, I should warn you that we are currently conducting a search of your house for evidence.’

  Daley seems unperturbed. ‘Go for it. You won’t find a coat like that there. Ask around. You won’t find anyone who has ever seen me wearing something like that.’

  Cody puts the photos away. Then he says, ‘Do you know what a lump hammer is?’

  ‘Yes. Of course.’

  ‘Have you ever owned a lump hammer?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got one. You’ll find it in the cupboard under my stairs. Check it out. You won’t find any bloodstains or whatever on it, if that’s what you’re thinking. Oh, and just to help you out, there are a couple of hammers like that in the school workshop. You might want to get those checked out too.’

  The sudden display of cockiness irritates Cody. Puts a little dent in his own self-confidence that he can put this case to bed.

  Cody picks up a large envelope. Slides three evidence bags out of it.

  ‘For the recording, I am now showing Mr Daley evidence items delta tango 918, 406 and 212.’

  He arranges the bags carefully in front of Daley.

  ‘Do you know what these are, Colin?’

  ‘They look like fishing weights to me,’ says Daley. He looks up at Cody, puzzlement creasing his features.

  ‘And you know that because . . . ?’

  ‘Because I sometimes go fishing.’

  ‘Do these weights belong to you?’

  Daley looks at them again. ‘I don’t know. They’re weights. Lots of people who fish have got them. Why do you ask?’

  Cody ignores the question. ‘So they could be yours? I mean, you have owned weights like these?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve had similar weights. I don’t know if these are mine, though. I’ve got a box full of them in my shed. Did you get them from there?’

  ‘No, Colin, we didn’t collect them from your home. These particular weights were found at the crime scenes.’

  Cody watches as it dawns on Daley what he is being told. He makes a bloody good job of seeming surprised by it.

  ‘Then they can’t be mine, can they? I mean, what is this? What are you trying to say?’

  ‘Yes,’ Prosser says. ‘What are you trying to suggest here? That my client killed three women and left his own fishing weights at the crime scenes? Why on earth would he do that?’

  ‘That’s what I’d like to know,’ says Cody. ‘Somebody left them there, presumably for a very good reason.’

  Prosser slams the lid down on his laptop. ‘Detectives, if this is the best you can do, then I think it’s time we called this to an end, don’t you?’

  ‘We’re not finished. We have—’

  ‘You have nothing. Zilch. No evidence has been presented to suggest that my client played any part in the murders of these women. Fishing weights? I mean, come on, guys. The only ones on a fishing expedition here are the police.’

  Prosser smiles at his own weak joke, while Cody starts to feel the case slipping through his fingers. He’s fully aware that Blunt is observing him on the monitors – watching him make a complete hash of things. He promised her that this bit would be easy, and it isn’t. He’s looking like an incompetent fool.

  Daley is literally about to get away with murder.

  Cody tries not to show his anger as he formally terminates the interview. He sees the smug satisfaction on Prosser’s rubbery lips, and wants to straighten them out with a well-aimed punch.

  ‘Well, that was a waste of everyone’s time,’ says Prosser. ‘Perhaps after a break we could deal with whatever charges you intend to press regarding the incident with the schoolgirl, and then we can call it a day. I’m sure you people have got better things to do, such as hunting a murderer.’

  ‘We’re not done,’ says Cody. ‘We haven’t completed our search of Mr Daley’s residence yet.’

  ‘Well, good luck on that score. You’ve heard my client say that he will assist you in any way possible. He’s got nothing to hide.’

  Cody feels a familiar tingling. A kind of pins-and-needles in his face. It’s a feeling he hasn’t experienced in a long time. Not since his first case working with Webley. He knows this danger sign too well. Knows that it heralds a loss of control – that it could even be a prelude to violence.

  No, he tells himself. Not here. Not with Blunt watching.

  ‘Your computer,’ he blurts out at Daley.

  ‘What?’

  Cody’s mind races. He knows he cannot use what Grace told him, but at the same time he needs to re-establish some mastery of the situation before he blows a fuse.

  ‘We’ll be searching that, too.’

  He stares hard at Daley. Sends a message to him: Deal with that, you bastard. That’s what will nail you. That’s what will put you away for the rest of your life.

  Daley’s mouth opens and closes several times. Cody waits for the fear, the denials, the confession.

  ‘Fine,’ says Daley. ‘Knock yourselves out.’

  And then Cody is on his feet. Fighting the pain that explodes up through his body, the tsunami of confusion that is swamping his mind, he takes himself out of that room before he can do physical damage to someone or something.

  45

  Cody moves along the corridor as fast as his gammy leg will allow, his eyes on the sanctuary of the washroom ahead. The sound of Webley calling his name somehow penetrates the cotton-wool fuzziness in his head, but he ignores it and ploughs on.

  In the washroom he turns on the tap. Splashes ice-cold water onto his face to send the blood surging into the blocked vessels of his brain.

  ‘Cody!’

  He wipes the water out of his eyes. Turns his head to the left to see Webley standing over him.

  ‘This is the gents,’ he tells her. ‘You’re not allowed in here.’

  She wrinkles her nose, and her dimples dance in time. ‘Believe me, it’s not out of choice. I’m more worried about the smells in here than the chance I’ll catch sight of the Chief Super’s todger.’

  ‘So why did you follow me in?’

  ‘I wanted to check you’re okay.’

  ‘I thought my welfare was off the agenda. After what you said—’

  She holds her hands up. ‘Fine. You’re right. Forget I asked.’ She starts to walk away.

  ‘Wait,’ says Cody. ‘I’m sorry. I’m . . . not feeling great.’

  She turns back to him. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘My leg. It’s killing me.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The painkillers. I don’t think they agree with me.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Daley. He’s making monkeys out of us.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Isn’t that enough?’

  ‘You had a wobble back there, didn’t you?’

  He grabs a paper towel. Drags it across his face.

  ‘Well?’ she says. ‘Didn’t you?’

  ‘Maybe. Okay, yes. A little one.’

  ‘Shit. I thought you said you were better.’

 
‘I’m better than I was. I’m a long way from cured, though. At least I didn’t knock the smile off Prosser’s face.’

  A couple of months back, that’s exactly what he would have done. Webley won’t have forgotten what he was like then. She witnessed for herself how unbalanced he could be.

  She says, ‘Don’t worry. You weren’t the only one who felt like doing that. You think Daley’s going to walk on the murder charges?’

  Cody crumples up the paper towel, imagining it to be the head of Colin Daley, then tosses it into the basket. ‘Not if I can help it.’

  And then he’s limping through the doorway, abandoning Webley to the dangers of the men’s washroom.

  *

  She watches him go. Winces at the ache in her chest. She puts it down to her war wound, but it could be something else. It could be a reaction to the pain she saw etched on Cody’s face. Pain that ran deeper than his injured ankle. Pain that betrayed an infection in his soul.

  I shouldn’t care, she thinks. He has hurt me too much, and so I shouldn’t care. I told him as much. Stood outside in the cold and said so to his face. You’re on your own, I told him. I wash my hands of you.

  So what am I doing here? Why did I follow him into a room that smells like a pig-pen? Why did I ask if he was okay?

  Because he’s like a mistreated puppy. A dog that has been starved and beaten and tortured will react badly to other humans. It will growl and snap at them, and it will generally find itself unable to fit in.

  That’s the position Cody is in. He can’t help acting the way he does. The damage done to him was too extensive.

  And yet, she thinks, he brought me into that interview with Daley. He could easily have asked for someone else, but he didn’t. He brought in the very person who tore a strip off him for not giving a shit.

  Damn him.

  Damn him for making me care about him.

  46

  Grace carries her mug of tea carefully back to her desk. It’s Earl Grey, her favourite. She loves the delicate flowery aroma almost as much as the taste.

  Nobody notices as she passes through the room. She’s as ethereal as the steam from her cup. They don’t know what a crucial contribution she has made today. They’ll probably never know.

  She’s not sure how she feels about that.

  Without her information, Colin Daley would probably not be sitting in an interview room right now, and MIT would still be flapping its wings over the meaning of a few fishing weights.

  She has no idea what the weights might signify. Not her problem. The cops will sort that out. It’ll be an easy ride for them now.

  But only because of what she told them. That’s the important thing.

  And yet nobody can know about it.

  It doesn’t matter, she tells herself. You didn’t do this for recognition. You did it because it was the right thing to do.

  Crap.

  Damn right it matters. I handed them the breakthrough on a platter. The squad should be writing songs about me.

  Okay, so I cut some corners. I did some things that were technically illegal. I broke the law.

  Shit. I work for Merseyside Police and I broke the law! And I told a detective sergeant about it! My God, what was I thinking?

  A smile of wickedness breaks out on her face. She feels deliciously naughty all of a sudden.

  Cody knows about her mischief. He’s the only one privy to her wrongdoing. A shared secret. How exciting.

  It didn’t seem to bother him that much. Blunt would probably have thrown the book at her, but Cody wasn’t prepared to chastise her. She recalls exactly what he did say, though. That memory will never be washed away.

  Grace, I could kiss you.

  That’s what he said, I kid you not. His very words. Ask him. Go on, ask him.

  Grace, I could kiss you. Grace, I could kiss you. Grace, I could . . .

  ‘Grace!’

  Her eyes flutter open, and he’s there. All six foot of him. Well, near as damn it.

  He’s wearing an earnest expression, and for a second she worries that she was echoing his words out loud. Let the ground open up and swallow me now, she thinks.

  ‘Cody! Er . . . yes? Can I help you?’

  She thinks she comes across sounding like a hotel receptionist. But if he will go taking her by surprise like this . . .

  ‘Grace, we need to talk again.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘In private. Again.’

  ‘Okay.’

  And now her stomach is fluttering. Her asking Cody for a private meeting was one thing, but the reverse situation seemed unthinkable. She is not used to being summoned to surreptitious liaisons with handsome, charismatic men. Not used to it with ugly, lacklustre men either, for that matter.

  He leads. She follows. She glances behind her, to see if anyone is looking. This is supposed to be clandestine, but she wishes someone would notice. She is tempted to cough or stumble, just so they will look up and wonder why she is being led away so furtively.

  Cody moves awkwardly across the corridor and into the same interview room they entered earlier. He holds the door open for her – such a gent, even though he must be dying to take the weight off that ankle.

  I could look at that for you, she thinks. I did some first aid. I’m sure I could offer you some relief.

  ‘Grace,’ Cody says when they are both ensconced in the room.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘About our earlier conversation . . .’

  ‘Oh, God. I’m not in trouble, am I? You didn’t tell DCI Blunt?’

  ‘What? No. That stays between us. But I need something else from you.’

  Something else? Something not work-related, perhaps? Would that be too much to hope for?

  ‘Sure,’ she says, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice. ‘Name it.’

  ‘It’s Daley. He’s proving a tough nut to crack.’

  Ah. So it is work. Had to be, didn’t it?

  ‘Okay. How can I help?’

  ‘That stuff you told us before, about Daley’s account being used to access online material related to the victims – there’s no mistake about that, is there?’

  ‘No. If you’ve got time, I could explain exactly—’

  ‘No, that’s okay. I just wanted to check how sure you were.’

  ‘I’m sure. I’d stake my reputation on it.’

  Cody smiles. ‘That’s what I was hoping you’d say. And the evidence for this – it’s out there in cyberspace somewhere, right?’

  ‘Well, to be more specific—’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. But could it also be on Daley’s computer?’

  ‘I’m not sure what—’

  ‘Could there be evidence of the same activity on Daley’s computer?’

  ‘It’s possible. But I can’t guarantee it – not without looking at the machine.’

  Cody is beaming now. ‘I was hoping you’d say that, too. Great idea, Grace!’

  And then he’s out of there. Like Webley before her, Grace is left alone in a room, wondering why there’s an ache in her chest.

  *

  He finds Blunt in a monitoring station next to the interview room. As he enters, he sees at once that she is replaying the videos of the interview with Daley.

  ‘Cody!’ she says. ‘I thought you might have gone into hiding after this.’ She gestures to the screen.

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ he says. ‘But to be fair, the camera hasn’t caught my best side there. And I was never really clear about my character’s motivation—’

  ‘Stop pissing about, Cody. This isn’t funny. Daley’s dancing rings around you.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that—’

  ‘That’s because you don’t know whether you’re coming or going. He knocked you senseless in there.’

  ‘A minor setback. I’ll come back in the next round.’

  ‘I’m not sure there’ll be a next round. You’ve got nothing left to hit him with. Unless he throws in the towel, w
e’re beat.’

  Cody raises his eyebrows. ‘Are you a boxing fan, ma’am?’

  ‘I’ve watched the Rocky films. But you’re no Stallone, so let’s get real here. Unless a miracle happens, we’re going to lose this one.’

  ‘Well, maybe we’re due a stroke of luck. There’s one place we haven’t looked for evidence yet.’

  Blunt narrows her eyes at him. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Take a look at this . . .’

  He leans across Blunt, causing her to pull back in alarm at the invasion of her personal space. Cody grabs the computer mouse, starts rewinding the video.

  ‘Here,’ he says. ‘This is where Megan questions him about frightening the life out of the schoolgirl. What do you notice?’

  Blunt pushes Cody out of the way and leans forwards again. ‘He’s irritated. Nervous.’

  ‘His right leg. See that? See the way’s he’s jiggling it up and down? He does that when he’s worried.’

  ‘Okaaay. So where does that get us?’

  Cody grabs the mouse again. Jumps to a point near the end of the video. ‘This is just after I’ve suspended the formal interview.’

  They both stare at the screen. They hear Cody telling Daley that they will be searching his computer. And they see Daley’s leg bouncing up and down even more violently than it was before.

  ‘Look at that,’ says Cody. ‘It’s like his leg is plugged into the mains. His face and his voice are telling us one thing, but his body is telling us another. He doesn’t want us searching his computer. He’s worried we’ll find something. I know it.’

  Blunt waves him out of her space again. ‘Fine. We’ll take a look. If there’s anything there, HCU will find it.’

  HCU is the Hi-Tech Crime Unit. It’s normally their job to analyse computers for evidence of crimes.

  ‘Right,’ says Cody. ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’

  ‘Why don’t I like the sound of that?’

  ‘HCU have probably got dozens of computers on their waiting list. And even if we can get ours pushed to the front of the queue, they don’t know what they’re looking for.’

  ‘Cody, they are the experts. We have to trust them to do their job. How else are we—?’

  ‘Grace.’

  ‘What?’