Next Victim

by Helen H. Durrant

  “I’ll organise something for the pair of you. Don’t fret about that now.”

  “Do I tell him?”

  “No, I’ll give him a ring myself. He’ll understand, Mia. You mustn’t worry.”

  Rachel knew her daughter would be disappointed. Jed was new in her life, exciting, and happy to spend money on her.

  “Do you want his special number?”

  Rachel inhaled. Special number? “Yes, love, that’s an idea.”

  Mia told her and Rachel scribbled it down. It was familiar. She took the note from her pocket. The number Amy was checking. It was the same one. This was the third number Oliver had been ringing before his murder. This proved that Jed knew the lad.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  A quick check in the mirror. During the last few days, the man had become obsessed with his appearance. He was dating again, so he wanted to impress. His hair had been carefully styled by an expensive barber, the recently grown facial hair was looking good and his wardrobe had been given a long overdue facelift.

  It was early afternoon, and Luke would be waiting. His day off, he’d said. Perfect for a meet up in town and a glass or two of wine.

  The man smoothed his hair, straightened his tie, and licked his lips. The last time they’d met, Luke had given every indication of being interested. The coy looks, the smiles — and that goodbye kiss. The man had savoured that. A new victim, a new chapter. He couldn’t wait. Today, he would get it all right. When he had his ultimate victim lined up, everything must go like clockwork, down to the final second. He’d get one go, there’d be no second chances.

  There’d been very little about the case in the papers. The police must be tearing their hair out. He smiled. Exactly what he wanted. It was all set up to confuse them even more. By the time he’d finished, they wouldn’t know which way to turn.

  * * *

  Luke was waiting for him at ‘their table,’ as the man called it. He was confident that this time he’d be less nervous. Luke was the perfect victim, mild-mannered and far too trusting for his own good. Now that they’d met at last, Luke would be much more relaxed.

  “I got us a bottle of red,” Luke said. “I remembered you saying you liked it.”

  With a smile and a nod of approval, the man sat down. “I’m glad you came. I did wonder. People often let me down.”

  “It was good of you to choose me. I’ve been on that site for weeks but no one has shown any interest,” Luke admitted.

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “It’s true. A friend of mine says it’s because I don’t flower things up. Apparently, I need to show off more, exaggerate a little on my profile. But I can’t. I am how I am. No amount of touching up is going to change that.”

  “I like you as you are.” The man took hold of Luke’s hand across the table. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re perfect. This friend of yours — an ex-lover perhaps?”

  Luke shook those lovely curls. “No, a woman. I find women easier to confide in. They understand me. If you do consider dumping me, warn me first, won’t you?” He fluttered his eyelashes. “Don’t just send a text, please.”

  “That won’t happen,” the man said. “I don’t have your number for starters.” He laughed and after a brief hesitation, Luke joined in.

  “Pass me your mobile, I’ll give it to you.” The man watched Luke tap the number in. “Go on, text me, and then I’ll have yours.”

  The man replied with a kiss and a smiley face. “Do you want to eat?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’d like that very much.”

  “Be a love, pop inside and ask for some menus, and see if there are any spare tables. It’s a little chilly out here. I just felt my mobile vibrate. A pain, but I’d better see who wants me.”

  Luke did as he was told without hesitation. Instead of his phone, the man took a small vial of Rohypnol from his pocket and emptied it into Luke’s wine. Not long now. A shiver of excitement ran down his spine. Yes, he’d chosen well. Luke was an innocent fool, deserved all that was coming to him. He hadn’t intended to go for the kill today, but the way he felt . . . Why not? His gear was all ready and at the house. He’d drug Luke and walk him to the venue. A little fun, and then he’d see.

  “I’m sorry, Luke. There’s been an emergency at work. They want me to go in.” The man held up his mobile. “You can’t get away from them, bloody things make it too easy.” The look of disappointment on the young man’s face was truly touching.

  “That’s too bad. But there’ll be another time. Won’t there? You do want to see me again, don’t you?”

  “Of course. But we don’t have to go just yet. Sit down, finish your drink.”

  “I’d hate it if this ended before we even got started. I do want to get to know you better.” Luke downed his drink in one.

  The man stood up. “This has nothing to do with us or our developing relationship. It’s a glitch, that’s all. We’ll get it together soon, never fear.”

  Luke nodded. “I’m so relieved you feel that way. Let’s make it this week sometime.”

  The man put his arm around Luke’s shoulder and gave him a kiss on his cheek. “I didn’t bring my car into town. I’ll have to get the train from Piccadilly. Walk with me,” he said. “We’ll arrange our next meet on the way.” Luke struggled to his feet, already unsteady. The man held him tight as he stumbled. “No worries, I’ve got you.”

  Luke giggled. “I must have drunk more of the wine than I thought.”

  “I know a short cut. Soon have us there.”

  “This isn’t usual for me. I feel funny, my head’s all woozy.” Luke tripped on the cobbles, almost falling.

  “Whoops, old son.” A passer-by was showing an interest, and the man dipped his head.

  “Is he okay? I’m a nurse,” the stranger said.

  Just his luck. And it had all been going so well. The man laughed. “Too much wine. I’ll get him home, don’t worry. He’ll be fine.”

  With a shake of his head, the nurse went. Hopefully, the interfering bastard hadn’t looked too closely. The man didn’t want a photofit appearing in the dailies. Someone who knew him might see it, and his cover would be blown.

  After a ten-minute walk, they were in the deserted street. The man had already chosen a house. The front door was unlocked and there was still the odd piece of furniture inside, including a beaten-up sofa. He laid Luke down on it. This was going to be good.

  Chapter Thirty

  It was wrestle-with-her-conscience time. Should Rachel tell the team what she knew? She sat at her desk, head in her hands. Tell, and she’d risk her career. Rachel would have to admit to knowing McAteer. How else could she explain having his number? And it wouldn’t just be her. Mia would be questioned, all of them would. But keep quiet and she’d be going against everything she believed in.

  Dare she question Jed herself? Have a quiet chat about Oliver? Ask him outright what he’d hired him for, and what had happened to the lad? That might be the only way to go. But if Jed had had Oliver killed, he was hardly likely to admit it.

  In the meantime, Amy mustn’t make further progress with her investigations. The young woman needed something else to occupy her. Rachel returned to the incident room.

  “Amy, drop that. Chase up ownership of that land. If we haven’t heard back from the land registry, get on the phone. If that fails, get onto the council. They should know.”

  “Will do. I’ll start right away.”

  Rachel looked at Elwyn. “The Gregson killing. Speak to the workforce again. Dig deep. They’ve had time to think by now. Someone might have remembered something. Bring Croft in and let’s have another word. Ask him if he knows why the CCTV was turned off last night. Ring Mrs Andrews, find out if she’s ready to talk to us yet.” She checked the clock. “I have to go out. I’ll be back within the hour.”

  Without any further explanation, Rachel grabbed her jacket and left the station. Outside in the privacy of her car, she rang Jed. “We need to talk.”r />
  “I knew you’d come round. The girl wants me in her life.”

  “This isn’t about Mia. Meet me now. The pub at the end of Deansgate in ten.” Rachel knew that Jed had an office in Spinningfields, so that was doable.

  “Fortunately, I’m in town,” he said. “But I don’t have long.”

  “Just be there. And it’ll take as long as it needs. You’re damn lucky you’re not being arrested as we speak!”

  Wasn’t that the truth? If it was anyone but Jed, that’s exactly what would have happened. But there was a limit to how long she could cover for him. Suddenly Rachel felt sick. Was that what she was doing? Covering for Jed McAteer? How could she be so stupid? If any of her colleagues got so much as a whiff of this, she’d be out on her ear.

  Rachel left her car in the underground car park and walked to the pub. They’d met there in the past. He was sitting in a window seat. She gestured to a table against the wall, in the shadows. She didn’t want anyone seeing them.

  “What’s troubling you, babe?” He got up and pecked her cheek.

  “You are. You and your antics.” They sat down. “Do you know a young man called Oliver Frodsham?”

  Jed shook his head. “Should I?”

  “He’s been murdered. For several days before it happened, he’d been calling your number. The same one you gave to Mia. Don’t muck me about, I want the truth, Jed. Now!”

  She didn’t like the way he looked at her. No one in the world dare speak to Jed McAteer this way. For a moment, Rachel thought he might lash out. But he simply inhaled, slowly.

  “I’m a lot of things, Rachel, as well you know. But I don’t lie to close friends and family.”

  “I’m neither,” she said firmly.

  “Family, I think. After all, Mia’s my daughter.”

  She ignored that. “You hired Frodsham to take paperwork from Paul Greyson’s office.”

  “Not me, not this time. And who the hell is Paul Greyson?”

  “How can you sit there and tell me bare-faced lies! You know well enough.” She was angry now, no longer afraid. He’d tell the truth, or she’d drag him down to the station. “We have statements.” She was thinking about what Croft had told them.

  He took a mobile from his jacket pocket. “Calls, you say. Look at this.” He brought up his call history and showed her. “Unknown number. Calls I didn’t answer. Check. Go on,” he pushed the phone toward her.

  Rachel looked closely. The number that had called Jed did belong to Frodsham. “Where did he get your number from?”

  “It’s my work mobile. It’s on all my business cards.” He smiled. “Someone has had a bloody good go at setting me up.”

  Now she didn’t know what to think.

  “Liam told me what you did, the interrogation. What was the idea?”

  “The land between Piccadilly station and the canal, and adjacent to Greyson’s yard. What’s your interest in it?”

  “None whatsoever. I know of it, it’s my business, and I heard it was up for sale. Hugo Franklin must have finally decided to sell.”

  “Franklin, the developer?”

  “That’s him. But he’ll have a job offloading that little lot. It’s too pricy, particularly given its problems.”

  “What problems?”

  “It’s heavily contaminated from the old dyeworks. Franklin bought it for a song years ago. Once it’s cleaned up, it’ll be a valuable site, but the costs are too much for me.”

  Jason Fox had said there were traces of arsenic on the nuts and bolts they’d found. “Would arsenic be one of the contaminants?” she asked.

  “Among other things,” he said.

  “And Hugo Franklin owns the land? And he knows about the problems?”

  “Yes, he is bound to. I did some checking. The records are all there, and as my people will tell you, that particular fly in the ointment was never sorted. Whoever buys it will have the added expense of decontaminating it before it can be built on.”

  “You’re not involved? Not even as an investor?”

  “No. Like I said, too expensive. Apart from anything else, it’s in the wrong part of the city for me. I’m looking at a site down by the Quays. That’ll give a much better return. But not a word. The land hasn’t hit the market yet.”

  Very candid, but could she believe him? “Frodsham is dead, murdered. And so is Greyson.” Rachel watched him for a reaction. Nothing, not a flicker.

  “I don’t know who they are. Nothing to do with me, Rachel.”

  “Frodsham was a student and Greyson owned a firm adjacent to the land in question.”

  “Sounds like he should have chosen his friends more carefully.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The land you’re on about. Perhaps you should ask yourself if Franklin was trying to offload and who to. Even contaminated land has a value.”

  “But it couldn’t be built on?” Rachel queried.

  “No, there’s no hiding the fact. It would come up in the searches. But Franklin is not all he seems. He has a past you know nothing about and a lot of dodgy friends. He may want rid and was pressuring this Greyson to buy. Greyson said no and it got him killed. You need to speak to the owner, Hugo Franklin. Find out from him what’s going on. ”

  Rachel didn’t know whether to believe Jed or not. “Greyson was found with a bullet through his heart. His office was raided and we found prints. Can you assure me that none of them will belong to you or your thugs?” “I don’t employ thugs.”

  “You employ Beatty. What do you call him?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Why are you doing this, Rachel? Why pursue me like I am some sort of vicious killer?”

  “Because you are, Jed. You didn’t see what was done to Frodsham. Or perhaps you did. Perhaps you were there. What I don’t understand is why the torture, why the burning?”

  He looked genuinely puzzled. “I have no idea what you’re on about. You know my history. Sure, I’m not whiter than white, but I’ve never killed anybody.”

  “Because you pay people to do it for you.”

  “Even if that was true, which it isn’t, the usual way is a bullet, not what you’re describing.”

  The problem was, Jed was right.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Rachel returned to the station, still thinking about whether she believed Jed. He was a good liar. But there was something about the way he’d looked at her that rang true.

  “Jason Fox has been on,” Jonny told her as soon as she walked in. “Reckons it’s urgent, something you’ll want to hear.”

  “I know who owns that land,” she told them before disappearing into her office. “Bloke called Hugo Franklin. What do we know about him?”

  Rachel called Jason. She needed all the help he could give her.

  “Firstly, I took a sample of the blood we found at Greyson’s,” he told her. “The blood someone used to write those letters on the tarmac.”

  Mac. She knew that name, and it sent shivers down her spine. Jed’s criminal associates always referred to him as Mac.

  “What about it?”

  “Everything checked out. It was Greyson’s blood. Given the trace we found on the nuts and bolts, I took soil samples from the land. It is heavily contaminated.”

  “Yes, so I’ve been told. I’m currently trying to work out what that had to do with the deaths, if anything.”

  “Getting back to Greyson,” Jason said. “A message written in his own blood has to be significant. Mac for McAteer is what I’m thinking. Thought you should know.”

  Those warning bells were back. Jed had just assured her it had nothing to do with him. Besides, he was with Mia and Ella last night. But he did have people on his payroll. One of them perhaps?

  “It could be a ploy. Supposing the real killer wants us to think it’s McAteer?” It was a stab in the dark, but it was all she could think of. Rachel was desperate for the spotlight to fall anywhere else but on Jed. “Thanks, Jason, I’ll get on with it.”

  S
he flopped back into her chair. Something weird was going on, that was for sure. None of Jed’s people would leave such a brazen clue. They’d do everything they could to cover their tracks. A rival gang? Possibly. But gangsters had better methods of sorting their arguments.

  Rachel returned to the incident room but said nothing about the conversation with Jason.

  “Did you bring Croft in?” she asked Amy.

  “Yeah, he’s drinking coffee in a soft interview room, boring some poor uniform to death.”

  “What about Franklin? Have you looked him up?”

  “I can’t find anything on him, ma’am, other than a speeding offence. I’m trying to contact him but he’s out of town until tomorrow. His secretary will ring me when he gets back.”

  She needed to speak to Franklin. Only he could clear up the question of the land. Meanwhile, she had to find out if Jed was involved in the two deaths, as much for her own peace of mind as anything else.

  “Mrs Andrews? What about her?”

  “She’s still sedated. Her sister is with her, and she says perhaps later today.”

  Rachel nodded. “Get me photos of Beatty, McAteer, as many of his people as you can, Frodsham and a handful of randoms. Elwyn, you can join me on this one.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  “What’s going on, Rachel?” Elwyn said. “You disappear without saying where you’re going, return in a state . . . and what did Jason Fox say to you? You’re as white as a sheet. Look, your hands are shaking.”

  “I’m tired, that’s all.”

  She glanced at him. The look on his face said it all. He didn’t believe a word. The urge to confide in him was getting stronger. At least he’d get off her back then.

  “It’s more than that. Your stress goes way beyond this case. It’s a tough one and it’s getting to us all, but what’s going on with you is off the scale. Tell me. I can help.”

  “No, you can’t.” Her tone meant back off. “We have to do this right. I have questions for Croft. Let him do the talking, Elwyn. Don’t help him in any way.”