She’d been out of prison for four months. He knew because he’d been keeping track of her, surreptitiously of course, and had been aware of her release date. He wouldn’t have bothered if it hadn’t been for the letter. That fucking letter which made him want to curl up with shame and embarrassment. She’d addressed it to Doncaster Central and he’d been handed it as he’d signed on for work on a chilly spring morning. He remembered that morning vividly as his last moment of peace.
The contents weren’t especially worrying; she wanted to see him when she got out, to make amends for how she’d treated him. It was the usual guilty bullshit that he’d seen a couple of times during his late teens and early twenties. His own fault really. He’d been the one to accept her olive branch when at age seventeen, she’d reached out to him. His adoptive parents had always been open with him and had always answered his questions as patiently and as fully as they could, but it wasn’t enough. At seventeen Dan Hollis had wanted answers to the big questions. He wanted to know who he was and where he came from. His memories of his life before the adoption were hazy, even though he’d lived with his biological mother until he was seven years old, and he felt a need to try to flesh out what he thought he remembered.
He’d met up with Suzanne in a pub two days after he’d turned eighteen. She said that she’d wanted to buy him his first legal drink and looked devastated when he told her that his dad had already done that – he made sure that he called his adoptive parents mum and dad just to spite her; he hadn’t wanted to make it easy. They’d talked and she’d explained her situation; that she hadn’t been old enough to cope with a child and that she’d tried her best but it had all been too much. But, now she was older, she wanted to make it up to him.
Dan had asked a few questions about her life and she was open about her two terms in prison – one for drugs the other for soliciting – but it was hard to hear, as a teenager, that his genes came from somebody who was so messed up, and he’d ended up walking out.
They’d tried again after he’d joined the police force but, just as Dan felt like they might be making progress, she dropped her bombshell. She couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell him who his father was. For that, he loathed her.
Now she was back in his life. Insinuating herself into cracks and corners, ‘bumping into’ him after work or ‘just passing’ his flat. She seemed to be everywhere and the last thing he needed was for his colleagues to find out who she was. The stress had been affecting his sleep and he knew that he’d been drinking far too much but he seemed to be powerless to keep her out of his head. And out of his life.
This morning had been by far the worst though. He’d just been on his way to try to track down the last of the three women that Ryan Buckley had mentioned in his statement, taking the stairs two at a time and smacking the door open when there she was, waiting right outside the back entrance to the police station.
‘Danny!’ she exclaimed brightly as though she were surprised to see him. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’
He stalked off towards his car hoping to out-stride her but he could hear her heels pecking out an insistent rhythm on the tarmac behind him.
‘Wait up. I need to talk to you.’
She grabbed the top of his arm and he whipped round, resenting her touch, her voice, her presence in his life. ‘I don’t need to talk to you!’ he yelled.
She flinched back and then smiled at him. ‘Course you do, Danny. I might have some news for you.’
He sneered at her. ‘Too little too late. Just fuck off.’ He’d dropped his voice to a near-whisper, aware that one of his colleagues could appear at any minute. What would they make of this tiny woman who had obviously got him riled up? She was petite, both in height and frame, and her too-tight clothes were too young for the fifty-year-old woman he knew her to be. The short denim skirt and sparkly maroon crop top would have looked wrong on anybody over fifteen and in daylight they looked as out of place as a morning suit at a football match. Her fake-tanned face reminded him of an old leather sofa that had been in the sitting room of a house he’d shared as a student, lined and worn, and her hair was a wispy, white-blonde mess in need of a brush or a hairdresser. She looked like one of those mummies that had desiccated over centuries but still had hair and discernible features.
Her eyes were very much alive though. There was a taunt in them. She knew that he’d be embarrassed by her and that he wouldn’t want any of his colleagues to overhear their conversation. Her grin widened as his phone rang but he didn’t take the call.
‘Come on, Danny. Five minutes.’
She wasn’t going to go away and he couldn’t be seen talking to her outside the nick.
‘Okay, okay,’ he sighed. ‘Five minutes. I’m working. Get in the car.’
He pressed the remote and the Kia Sportage chirped at him; opening the driver’s side door he nodded to Suzanne. ‘Get in.’
She shook her head. ‘How do I know it’s safe? You could take me anywhere, do anything to me. And you’d get away with it. You’re a copper.’
She was right. He could drive her into the middle of nowhere, kill her, dump her and stand a good chance of not being caught, but he wouldn’t do that because, as she said, he was a copper.
‘Just get in,’ he said. ‘We’ll sit here. I won’t even put the engine on.’
Suzanne looked at him sceptically but she reached out and opened the car door, keeping her eyes fixed on him as she eased herself inside. Despite the anger he felt, Hollis almost laughed at the idea that this woman didn’t trust him. She was the one following him around; she was the one harassing him.
‘So what do you want?’ he asked, plonking himself down in the driver’s seat and turning to face her. ‘I assume it’s money.’
She grinned at him exposing teeth that were nearly as discoloured and ruined as her face. ‘Nice car this,’ she said, running one hand along the leather seat. Must’ve cost a few bob.’ Hollis didn’t respond as she flipped down the sun visor and grinned at her reflection in the vanity mirror. ‘You always were the clever one weren’t you?’ she continued. ‘I just need a few quid to get myself set up.’
‘Set up?’
‘I need somewhere to live, Danny.’
He cringed at her use of the familiar name. Nobody ever called him Danny, not even his parents. He’d got into fights about it at school, taking on boys who were bigger and stronger just because he didn’t want anybody to remind him of her.
‘Don’t call me Danny. I’m not a kid anymore and I can see right through you. Why the hell should I give you anything?’
Her eyes narrowed, snakelike, but the smile stayed firmly fixed on. Hollis could see that she was calculating how far she could push him, and how much she might be able to get out of him.
‘I need a couple of grand. I’ve found a flat and I need a deposit and a couple of months’ rent until my benefits kick in. I’ll pay you back when I can.’
Hollis snorted. ‘Pay me back? How the hell are you going to pay me back? Everything you get will go on booze or drugs. Or are you going to earn a few quid turning tricks like you used to?’
Suzanne turned in her seat and stared out through the windscreen. ‘I only did that because I had to,’ she said, quietly. ‘I had to feed you, buy you clothes. I didn’t want to have a kid, but when you came I did my best to look after you. I used what I had. I wasn’t much more than a kid myself so it’s not like I had a choice, is it?’
Her wheedling tone of self-pity only made him angrier; more resentful.
‘You could have given me up sooner. That was a choice. I could have been settled with a decent family instead of being fed scraps and living in rags. And even when I was getting sorted out you just couldn’t leave me alone. Do you think I don’t remember that day you took me out of school and the police came? Have you any idea what a trauma like that can do to a little kid? I was happy to see you. You were going to take me to the fair and then I was put in the back of a police car. I had no idea what was going on.�
� He felt himself trembling as he remembered his anger and confusion.
‘Oh poor little Danny,’ she mocked, turning to face him with a sneer. ‘Did his mummy mess him up? Well you’re doing all right for yourself now by the looks of things. It can’t have been that bad.’
Hollis didn’t respond. He couldn’t. To speak would be to reveal the rage that was simmering inside him and he wasn’t going to let her know how much she was getting to him. ‘Why don’t you just wait for your benefits and then get a flat?’ he said, trying to ignore her jibe.’
The sneer became even more pronounced. ‘Oh, come on, Danny. You know how it works. No address, no benefits; no benefits, no address. I’ve been sleeping on a friend’s sofa but she won’t let me use her address to make a claim.’
‘And you think a landlord will give you a flat because you’re waving a couple of grand around and might get some housing benefit at some point in the future?’
‘He might if he owes me a favour or two,’ Suzanne responded with a lewd wink.
Hollis felt physically sick. He opened the car door a crack to let in some fresh air and let out Suzanne’s cloying perfume.
‘Not a chance,’ he finally said, the words and the air clearing his head. ‘Why the hell would I give you anything? It’s not like you ever did anything for me apart from abuse me and torment me. Just get out and leave me alone, you junkie whore!’
‘Oh, Danny – don’t be like that. Just a couple of grand and your colleagues in that shiny new building will never know that you’re the son of a “junkie whore”.’
His hand, resting on the door handle, itched to punch something. So that’s her game, he thought, blackmail. ‘I don’t care,’ he lied. ‘Tell who you want. It makes no difference to me.’
Suzanne opened the car door about to get out and then froze as she watched a figure cross the car park about fifty yards in front of them. Hollis followed her gaze to where DCI Raymond was heading for his Volvo. ‘Wait till he’s gone,’ he instructed, grabbing Suzanne’s wrist.
She turned back to face him, the fake smile back. ‘So you are ashamed of your dear old mum are you? Well you know what to do.’
Hollis dropped her wrist as though it had burnt him. ‘I’ve told you, no. Tell who you want. My parents live in Chesterfield. They’re the ones who raised me and taught me right from wrong and thank God they did. Fuck knows what would’ve happened to me if I’d stayed with you.’
She shrugged, completely unmoved by his outburst, and opened the car door fully. ‘We’ll see, Danny. You might not be bothered about people knowing about me but they might see you a bit differently if they find out who your dad is.’
She slammed the door and trotted off across the car park, a look of triumph plastered across her face.
Chapter 5
‘Where the hell are you?’ Kate snapped, answering her phone. ‘I rang you because I need you to get over to Selby’s Garage with me ASAP.’
Hollis mumbled something about dropping his phone leaving Kate to wonder exactly where he’d dropped it and not really wanting the details. The important thing was that he was able to do as she’d asked.
‘Look, I don’t need to hear it,’ she continued. ‘It’s her; it’s Melissa Buckley. And Kailisa confirms murder. And rape. Meet me at the garage in half an hour. Can you do that?’ She knew that her tone was borderline patronising but she wasn’t used to any of her DCs messing up, least of all Hollis. She climbed into her Mini and set off in the direction of the town centre.
Selby’s Garage occupied a large corner unit at the end of a street of terraced houses on the north side of Doncaster. Being only a ten-minute walk from the town centre, Kate wasn’t surprised to see cars lined up two-deep in the yard with another two up on raised hydraulic lifts. Obviously business was good. She drove past the main entrance and pulled in on double yellow lines part way down the street watching for Hollis’s Sportage in her rear-view mirror. She needed to talk to Ryan Buckley but she needed Hollis as a witness and a recorder. It wasn’t going to be an easy interview and she needed a safe pair of hands to make notes and observe every nuance of the man’s face and body. Now she was starting to wonder if Hollis had been such a good choice. Something was obviously bothering him. Kate had never seen him less than immaculate even after hours of night-time observation or a visit to a dirty crime scene, but his appearance and manner earlier had been a shocking contrast with the man that she thought she knew.
She’d also never seen Dan drink more than a couple of pints of bitter but she’d smelt alcohol on his breath this morning, which suggested he’d had a good skinful the previous night and his unshaven appearance and surly manner were worrying. If it had been O’Connor she would have shrugged it off; she knew that he liked a late night and his drinking prowess was legendary but her three DCs were usually early-to-bed, eager-beaver types.
Her phone rang. ‘I’m behind you,’ Hollis said, in his best pantomime villain voice.
Slipping the phone into the pocket of her jacket, Kate got out of the car and spotted Hollis about fifty yards away, close to the garage. She raised a hand in greeting and walked towards him, grabbing his arm and dragging him further down the street.
‘We need to play this carefully,’ she said, foregoing any form of greeting. ‘The body’s definitely Melissa Buckley and it looks like a brutal attack. According to Kailisa we’re looking at a time of death which fits Buckley’s story. We’re also looking for the kill site because Kailisa thinks that she was dumped in the park after being left somewhere else for a couple of hours.’
Hollis’s eyes lost focus as he processed the information. ‘So he could have killed her at home and then rung round her friends before dumping the body?’
‘He could have. Or she could have left for work exactly as he said and somebody else killed her.’
‘Somebody she was meeting?’
‘That’s what we need to find out. I’ve not heard anything from Barratt yet about the car or her colleagues so we’ll have to see what we can find out. Come on.’
She allowed Hollis to lead the way into the office area of the garage, relying on all the stereotypes about men and cars to get them the information that they needed. A young woman was sitting behind a desk which was almost completely swamped by manuals and piles of greasy paper. She glanced up at them, light glinting dangerously off her nose stud. ‘Help you?’
Her hair was dyed a deep black and matched her eyeliner and nail polish. Red lips were a stark contrast in a Goth-girl-pale face and her black t-shirt was emblazoned with a CD cover for a band that Kate had never heard of.
Hollis showed his ID and explained that they were there to talk to Ryan Buckley while the woman’s disinterested stare never wavered. All she was lacking was a mouthful of gum to snap at him. Eventually she turned in her seat, opened a glass partition in the wall behind her that led into the cavernous work area and yelled, ‘Ryan! Coppers for you!’
Not much chance of catching him by surprise, Kate thought.
A large figure in grimy overalls appeared from beneath a Ford Ka. He glanced in their direction before muttering something to one of his colleagues who was in the process of removing something from beneath another car. Buckley got a nod in response and Kate recognised a boss-employee relationship in the gesture.
‘Have you found her?’ Buckley asked as soon as the door closed behind him, shutting out some of the sounds of electrical tools and too-loud Radio One.
‘Is there somewhere we can speak in private?’ Hollis asked the receptionist.
‘Break room,’ she said, pointing to a Portakabin standing beside one of the two huge workshop doors.
Buckley led the way, his overalls straining at the seams as he climbed the steps and ushered them into a box-like space kitted out with a sink, a fridge, a kettle and an assortment of mismatched chairs, most with overflowing stuffing or torn fabric. Every surface seemed to be covered with oil or grease, much of it obviously well-ingrained from years of dirty hands and over
alls. There was a small, square coffee table in the middle of the space, covered in car magazines and an array of chipped mugs. The room smelt of men; of hard, physical work, sweat and an underlying odour of cigarettes, which obviously predated the smoking ban.
‘Seat?’ Buckley asked, pointing to the least offensive derelict armchair. Kate shook her head and leaned against the wall next to the door allowing Hollis to take the seat, which was too small for his long limbs. Buckley sprawled on a rickety office chair which was missing a wheel and had been repaired with what looked like a dog’s rubber ball cut in half.
‘Have you found Mel?’ he asked again.
‘We think so,’ Kate said and for a second the man’s face brightened until her tone registered.
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t want to hear this.’
‘Mr Buckley, Ryan,’ Kate said gently. ‘The body of a woman was found on Town Fields yesterday. She matches the description of your wife, including the scar and the moles on her back. We’ll need you to formally identify the body but it’s very likely to be her. I’m very sorry.’
She watched as the man in front of her seemed to implode. He drew his limbs inwards towards his core, hands over his face, elbows on knees, his huge bulk shuddering with shock and barely contained grief. Hollis turned to look at her – the question clear in his eyes. Was this man their murderer? Kate always liked to watch intently whenever she had to deliver news like this. She tried to assess the reaction, the initial response, and the first few words, to try to establish whether the recipient was faking. She didn’t get that feeling from Ryan Buckley. The slow-motion curling in on himself reminded her of a baby hedgehog she’d once found as a child. It had tried to turn itself into the smallest ball possible for protection and comfort and Buckley seemed to be having a similar response, making himself a smaller target; bracing himself against any further blows from her or Hollis. And, unfortunately for him, there was more to come.
The Kate Fletcher Series Page 53
