by Gl Corbin
Table of Contents
Episode 2
His Secrets
Episode 2
GL Corbin
copyright 2013 GL Corbin
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, dead or alive, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Episode 2
Her pulse was still racing. Chris took a deep breath, hoping that might slow her heart rate. Her hands were still clamped tight to the steering wheel. She had only just managed to pull off the road onto the muddy verge before the oncoming car had shot passed. Chris had experienced road rage before, but it had only amounted to a few choice words, a flipped finger or a shake of a fist. She had once seen two men climb out of their cars, and stand chest to chest threatening all kinds of harm, but neither of them had actually thrown a single punch. This had been on an altogether different scale. The idiot in the Audi had tried to kill her. He must have known he was forcing her car into the path of oncoming vehicles. Who would do something like that?
She inspected the car for any sign of damage. It was dark, but the headlights from passing vehicles gave her enough light to do a cursory examination. As far as she could see, there was no serious damage. She didn't want to think about what might have happened if there hadn't been the verge for her to pull onto.
Twenty minutes later, Chris had composed herself enough to think about getting back onto the road. When she saw a gap in the traffic, she hit the accelerator. The car didn't move; its wheels were spinning on the muddy ground.
“Come on!”
The tyres found grip; the car lurched forward. Chris guided it across the first lane, and rejoined her side of the road. Mrs Broomhead was long gone. What a waste of a night. Two miles further on, she spotted a roadside diner and petrol station.
“Mr Broomhead?” Chris had decided to get the phone call out of the way sooner rather than later. “It's Chris Munroe. No, I don't have anything for you. I've had a bit of car trouble. Yes. I will keep on it. I'll let you know when I have something to report.”
Broomhead wasn't happy, but Chris could live with his disappointment. Right now, she was just pleased to be alive and in one piece. The young woman behind the counter had given Chris a strange look when she'd asked for four teaspoons of sugar. Chris's grandmother had once told her that sweet tea was the best thing for shock. It had better be because it tasted awful.
*********
Her bed still smelt of Bradley; she wished he hadn't had to leave so soon. Chris was feeling uncharacteristically needy. It was probably a delayed reaction to the trauma of the previous night. She had rerun the incident in her mind numerous times, and couldn't shake the idea that there had been more to it than simple road rage. It had seemed deliberate – pre-meditated even. In her line of business, it was inevitable she would make enemies. Every unfaithful partner she had caught on camera had reason to hold a grudge. Alan Drake was only the latest in a long line of cheaters who blamed Chris rather than themselves for the end of their marriage. She doubted it would be Drake; the broken nose had seen him off. She could think of at least two other men who she'd caught cheating who had the potential to be violent - but murder?
Trailing unfaithful scumbags was soul destroying, and eroded what little faith Chris still had in the human race. On the other hand, she still had to pay the bills. Right now, she only had a handful of paying jobs. In his day, her father would have been mortified if there had been so little work on the books. His major problem had been coping with the sheer volume of work which came through the door. Once again, Chris felt as though she was letting him down.
After the previous night, Chris had decided to give herself a day off from chasing after cheating partners. Instead, she was going to give her full attention to Mrs Jeremies' case. Not only did it promise to be more interesting, but if she made any progress, she'd be less reticent about accepting the retainer.
Chris had yet to shower or get dressed, but she had managed to make herself a coffee. She read and reread the newspaper clippings. One thing she hadn't appreciated from speaking with Mrs Jeremies was that the cases were spread over a sixty mile radius. Several different police forces were involved, and because no connection between the cases had been established, they were not combining their resources.
It made sense to start at the beginning, and work her way through the cases in chronological order. The first murder had been that of Sarah Milner in Dartworth, some forty miles away. There was no point in calling ahead. The victim's family might be hostile to a PI enquiring into their daughter's death. She figured it would be more difficult for them to turn her away if she was on their doorstep than it would be to slam the phone down on her.
In daylight, the car’s unscheduled excursion onto the muddy verge was all too evident. Dried mud was splattered across much of the bodywork. Grass and weeds were plastered to the mudguards. Chris carried out a more thorough examination of the car, but could still see no sign of serious damage. The drive to Dartworth took her along the same road as she had been forced off the previous night. Her tyre marks were still visible - cut into the verge.
*********
The curtains at the front of the house were still drawn. It was almost midday, so it was unlikely the occupants would still be in bed. Chris pressed the doorbell, and waited for a minute, but there was no sign of movement from inside.
“Hello?” The elderly woman was in her seventies, possibly even her eighties. Her hair was the shade of blue only found in women of that age.
“Oh hello. I was hoping to speak to Mrs Milner”
“She isn’t in deary. Neither of them is.”
“Do you know where they are?”
“I’m sworn to secrecy.” The woman put a finger to her lips.
“I’ve come a long way to see them.”
“I’m sorry deary, but won't see anyone. Not since...” The woman cut short her sentence as though realising she might have said too much.
“Their daughter’s murder?”
The woman nodded. “So awful. Such a nice young woman too.”
“Did you know Sarah?”
“I should say so. We’ve been neighbours for almost thirty years. I can remember when Clare brought Sarah home from the hospital.”
“Was she an only child?”
“Yes. I think that made her loss even worse. What is your interest in Sarah?”
“I’m a private investigator. I’m working for Mrs Jeremies. Her sister’s daughter Rose was also murdered recently.”
“A private investigator? Are you sure?”
Chris smiled. “It’s a family business.”
“What does Rose’s death have to do with Sarah?”
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. That’s what I came here to find out.”
“I was just about to make a pot of tea. Would you care for one? Maybe I can help.”
*********
Mrs Flowers was a delight. Her house had more china ornaments per square inch than the average gift shop. Chris was worried she might catch one of the fragile pieces as she negotiated her way across the living room. The old woman enjoyed gardening and baking; she told Chris this as she offered her a choice of home made buns. Before Chris had the chance to ask any questions of her own, Mrs Flowers gave a potted history of her life. She had been married to Arthur for fifty two years; he had died two years ago. They had been childhood sweethearts. He had worked for the Post office; she had been a librarian.
“Do you remember the day Sarah died?” Chris said.
“I’ll never forget it. When my Arthur passed away, I thought nothing could be worse. But for someone so young to die in such circumstances...”
Chris could see the tears in the
old woman's eyes.
“My Arthur had a good life. We had a good life together. Sarah had her life snatched away from her before she had loved or lived. And it wasn’t only her life. It destroyed her parents. Clare and William were such positive, lovely people. Whoever killed Sarah might just as well have killed them too.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I’m all right deary. Don’t worry about me. If you can help to find whoever did this terrible thing, I’m only too happy to help. Mind, I’m not sure I will be able to tell you anything of any consequence.”
“You said you remembered the day Sarah was murdered.”
“That’s right. I had spoken to her that morning. I’d known her since she was a baby. When she was a young child, she would often come around to my house while her mother had some time to herself. Arthur and I never had kids.” The old woman swallowed. “Sarah was the daughter we never had.”
“How did she seem that morning?”
“She was happy. Happier than I had seen her for some time.”
“Any particular reason?”
“She told me she had a new boyfriend. She had been down in the dumps for some time. Her previous boyfriend, Alex – a nasty piece of work, had cheated on her. Poor girl had been inconsolable. That’s why I was so pleased to see her happy again.”
“Do you know the name of the new boyfriend?”
Mrs Flowers shook her head.
“She didn't tell me. All I know is he was quite a few years older than her; she made a joke about it.”
“Did the police speak to him?”
“I’m not sure, but I doubt it. No one knew who he was – not even her parents. I did wonder if he might be married. That was the only reason I could think of for all the secrecy.”
Chris spent the best part of an hour with Mrs Flowers. After turning down a second cup of tea and a scone, Chris thanked the old woman for all of her help. Mrs Flowers promised to pass Chris’s card to the Milners, but said she though it was unlikely they'd get in touch.
*********
“Chris. You know I loved your father,” Joe Mason said. “But I can’t help you with individual cases.”
“I know. I’m sorry to ask. I just need one small favour.”
“How small?”
“Can you find out if the new boyfriend was ever traced on the Milner's case?”
“I’ll see what I can do. No promises.”
“Thanks Joe.”
Chris noticed she had a missed call. The number wasn’t one she recognised, so she ignored it. Moments later, her phone rang again - same number.
“Hello?”
“Chris Munroe?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Brian Cassidy. I’m a reporter on the Record.”
Chris shared her father’s hate of the press. The Record was a local paper.
“I’m sorry. I’m busy.”
“Wait please. I think you will want to talk to me.”
“Wrong!” Chris ended the call.
The new boyfriend angle would probably turn out to be a dead end, but she needed to know if the police had actually traced him or not. She felt bad asking favours of Joe, but if it would hurry things along it would be worth it.
When she walked into the office, she found a note which had been pushed under the door; it was from her landlord. It appeared her monthly direct debit payment had failed. Hardly surprising seeing as the business’s overdraft was already maxed out. She had to come up with the money within fourteen days or else. The exact nature of the ‘else’ was unspecified.
Her phone rang - it was Cassidy again. She killed the call. It rang again; she killed it again. He was persistent; she had to give him that.
This time her phone pinged to let her know she had a text. It too was from Cassidy. She was just about to press the ‘delete’ button when she saw the first few words:
Serial killer investigation - can we talk?
*********
Chris hadn’t replied to Cassidy's text. She hadn’t wanted to appear to be too keen even though she was intrigued as to why the reporter had referred to a serial killer. As far as she was aware, the only person to have made the connection to-date was Mrs Jeremies. The Record certainly hadn’t run a serial killer story. Chris decided she'd give him a call in the morning.
Her phone rang. This arsehole just wouldn’t give up.
“What now?” She yelled into the phone, and then noticed the caller ID. “Joe? Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”
“Whoever that someone is - I’m glad I’m not them.”
“Did you find anything?”
“The ‘new boyfriend’ lead was followed up by our guys, but it was a dead end.”
“They didn’t find him?”
“There’s some doubt he actually existed. Sarah Milner had mentioned a new boyfriend to her parents, but she'd been deliberately vague, which according to them wasn’t like her. They think she might have made him up.”
“Why would she have done that?”
“She'd been depressed because her previous boyfriend had cheated on her. Her parents think the new boyfriend story was her way of trying to cheer herself up.”
“Do you buy that?”
“Sounds crazy to me, but apparently she had a history of inventing boyfriends.”
“Really? Okay, thanks Joe. I owe you.”
Chris.”
“Yes?”
“No more favours.”
Chris couldn't be bothered to cook dinner. 'Cook' – that was a laugh. What she really meant was she couldn't be bothered to throw something into the microwave. Takeaway pizza would hit the mark – it usually did. Everyone else seemed to have had the same idea. It was the longest queue she'd ever seen in ZeeZee's Pizzas. There were dozens of pizza takeaways, but none of them were a patch on ZeeZee's. The family run takeaway had been her little secret, but judging by the number of people in the queue – the secret was out.
The only problem with ZeeZee's was an acute shortage of nearby parking. Chris had been forced to leave her car on double yellow lines. By the time she'd been served, she fully expected to add a parking fine onto the cost of the pizza. Fate was on her side this time – there was no ticket waiting for her.
The dark blue Mondeo had been parked further down the road from her; it had pulled out when she did. Nothing remarkable about that, but she had now taken three turns, and it was still right behind her. Because of her job, Chris was more attuned to the presence of other cars than the average person. Her father had spent a long time teaching her how to trail a target without being spotted – surprisingly there was quite an art to it. Whoever was driving the Mondeo had not mastered that art. Chris was almost certain the car was following her, but wanted to be one hundred per cent sure, so made four consecutive left turns to end up back where she started. Sure enough, the Mondeo was still right behind her. She could see the driver's face, but did not recognise him.
Back on the high street, the traffic lights in front of her had just turned red. After pulling up behind a courier van, she watched the Mondeo through her rear view mirror. As soon as another vehicle had pulled up behind it, Chris jumped out of her car. The high street was busy with traffic and pedestrians. She had calculated that whoever was following her was unlikely to do anything in front of so many witnesses. Nor could he drive away because he was hemmed in front and back.
“Why are you following me shit head?” Chris hammered on the driver's window.
The man was younger than she had thought – mid twenties. He looked terrified, and held his hands up as though in surrender.
“Open the window!” She continued to thump on the glass.
The man did as she said.
“Why the fuck are you following me?”
The car behind the Mondeo sounded its horn. That was quickly followed by others. The traffic lights were showing green.
“You wouldn't return my calls,” the man in the Mondeo said. He must have seen the confused look
on Chris's face because he continued, “I'm Brian Cassidy from the Record.” He held up his press card.
More and more car sounded their horns. A man stepped out of the car that was directly behind the Mondeo, and hurled abuse at Chris. She gave him the finger, turned back to the reporter and said, “You’d better follow me.”
*********
“I had intended to call you in the morning,” Chris said.
They were outside her apartment block.
“When you wouldn't take my calls, I thought you were ignoring me.”
“I was ignoring you until you mentioned the words 'serial killer'.” She led the way up to her apartment. “Come in. Do you want a slice of pizza?”
Chris was pleased he declined because she was starving.
“Shoot!” Chris said.
They were at her dining table.
“I know you're looking at the Rose Manders' case.” He hesitated as though waiting for her to confirm it.
“Go on.” Chris took a bite of pizza.
Brian Cassidy was tall, slim and good looking in a boyish way. He would have made the perfect catalogue model. Not really Chris's type.
“I understand you're working on the assumption the murders were the work of a serial killer,” he said.
Chris took another bite of pizza. Man it was good.
“Am I right?” He pressed.
“First, you have to tell me what your interest is.”
“Mrs Jeremies contacted the Record some time ago. She was pushing the idea that her niece's murder was the act of a serial killer. She thought the publicity might light a fire under the police.”
“What happened?”
“My editor wasn't buying it. He shut the story down before it began.”
“So what's your interest?”
