A Cold Cold Heart

by John Nicholl

  There was an air of urgency in DCS Davies’ voice when she spoke. ‘All right, Laura, I’ve heard enough. I’m assuming you’ve arranged for the scenes of crime team to make a thorough examination of the place?’

  ‘That was going to be my next call, ma’am.’

  ‘Okay, understood. I’m going to issue an immediate alert to all UK forces, and to the various ports and airports. If he’s on the run, I don’t want him leaving the country. That complicates things legally. If we can prevent it, it’s to our advantage.’

  ‘Are you going to notify the public? He’s a risk; he’ll kill again, if given the opportunity. People have the right to know how dangerous he is.’

  Davies sighed. ‘Yes, Laura, I was coming to that. I’ll get something issued. A full description, the reason he’s wanted, instructions not to approach him under any circumstances, and to contact the police immediately if seen. The usual in these cases. It’s not something I haven’t done before.’

  ‘Will you be doing that this morning? As soon as you can?’

  The DCS smiled. ‘I’m writing it as we speak, Inspector. You can leave it with me.’

  ‘Sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean to imply… ’

  ‘I’d stop digging if I were you, Laura. Is there anything else you want to say before we end the call?’

  ‘There is one thing, ma’am.’

  Davies placed her pen down on her desk. ‘Come on, what is it?’

  ‘I think Grav’s daughter may be at risk. Turner’s got a thing for her. Can we give her some protection until he’s caught?’

  Davies thought for a second. ‘Has Turner made any specific threats towards her?’

  ‘Well, no, he hasn’t, but I still think ’

  ‘Every woman who comes into contact with Turner is in danger. We can’t protect all of them. Let’s just concentrate on catching him quickly. I’m going to need all our resources at my disposal; officers are the one thing I haven’t got to spare.’

  ‘But I really think ’

  ‘My decision’s made. Please leave it at that. If you identify anything to suggest Emily’s at immediate risk, something specific, tell me about it, and I’ll re- evaluate. Is that clear?’

  ‘It is, ma’am.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it, Laura. And ensure you check the CCTV for the area. If Turner’s driving another vehicle, we need to know about it.’

  ‘I’ll make sure it’s done, ma’am.’

  ‘And knock on neighbours’ doors. See what they know.’

  ‘I will, ma’am.’

  ‘Today, Inspector, it can’t wait.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, I’ll get on to it.’

  ‘And keep me informed of each development, no surprises.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. As soon as anything significant happens, you’ll be the first to know.’

  41

  Laura Kesey didn’t get an answer at the first three doors she knocked on, but she could hear the unmistakable sound of daytime television when she knocked at house number four. She knocked again and waited. Why the delay? She was cold, she was wet through, and she was shivering. Should she walk away and try the next house? No, she had a job to do. It mattered.

  Kesey took a deep breath and knocked again, as eighty-three-year-old Myra Nicholl was making her slow and weary way down her hallway. The old lady was reliant on a walking frame and was very much hoping that her visitor was still in situ when she finally reached her front door … thankfully, she was. ‘Oh, hello, dear. I wasn’t expecting a visitor. What can I do for you?’

  Kesey held her warrant card in plain sight. ‘I’m with the local police. We’re making enquiries in the area and are speaking to all potential witnesses. I’d like to ask you some questions, if that’s all right?’

  ‘Why don’t you come in for a nice cup of tea in the warm? You look as if you’re frozen. I’m glad I’m not out there in the cold.’

  The detective smiled, thinking that the woman reminded her of her much loved paternal grandmother. ‘I haven’t got time for a cuppa now, sorry, but another time. I want you to tell me if you’ve ever seen Charles Turner driving anything other than his red sports car, anything at all?’

  Myra Nicholl adopted a puzzled expression, searching her mind as the long gone past infringed on recent events and clouded her thinking.

  ‘Think carefully, please. Anything you can tell me may be important.’

  ‘Am I right in thinking that Mr Turner is that rather nice- looking young man, living across the road, the solicitor?’

  ‘Yes, he’s the man.’

  ‘Another vehicle? Oh, I don’t think so, dear. Are you sure you won’t come in for a nice cup of tea and a biscuit? It’s no trouble. I’ve got all the time in the world.’

  Kesey made a mental commitment to call again when she had more time. ‘I’m sorry, I’d like to, but I’ve got more houses to call on.’

  The old lady looked despondent. ‘Oh, all right, dear, but you must visit again when you can. You’re always welcome.’

  ‘I will. Goodbye for now.’

  ‘Goodbye, dear, don’t forget to call.’

  As the detective walked away, pulling her coat around herself against the stinging rain, the old woman called after her, in a sing -song voice that sounded younger than her years. ‘Oh, there was one thing, dear, now that I think about it. I did see someone driving an old van into Mr Turner’s garage. I thought it was a bit odd at the time. Why would anyone do that?’

  Kesey stopped mid step. ‘I think I will have that cup of tea after all.’

  ‘Come on in, dear.’

  She followed the old lady as she manoeuvred herself towards the lounge, every item of furniture an obstacle. ‘Have a seat on the sofa, and I’ll get you that cuppa and a biscuit or two.’

  ‘That would be lovely, thank you.’

  ‘Milk and sugar?’

  ‘Just a drop of milk, please.’

  Mrs Nicholl reappeared from the kitchen a few minutes later with a walking stick in one hand and a cup and saucer in the other. ‘I’m on my way.’

  Kesey rose from her seat and rushed towards her. ‘Let me give you a hand.’

  The old lady shook her head and smiled. ‘I’ll manage with this, but if you could fetch your cup and the biscuits from the kitchen, that would be wonderful.’

  Kesey did as instructed, keen to expedite matters. ‘You were going to tell me about the van?’

  Mrs Nicholl sipped her tea. ‘Well, I don’t know how much more I can tell you.’

  ‘But you’re sure you saw a van?’

  ‘Oh, yes, a big white one, covered in rust.’

  ‘When was this?’

  She looked downhearted. ‘I’m not getting any younger. My memory’s not what it was I’m afraid. I couldn’t put a date on it.’

  ‘Roughly how long ago are we talking? One week, two weeks, three weeks or more?’

  Mrs Nicholl blew the air from her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, I’d be guessing. I don’t want to mislead you. I can remember looking through the window, and I can remember seeing the van I mentioned, but that’s it. I think it stuck in my mind because it seemed so out of place.’

  Kesey considered pursuing the matter further, but decided against. The old woman looked close to tears. ‘Did you see the driver?’

  ‘Not that I can remember. It was dark and my eyesight’s not what it was.’

  ‘But you are certain you saw a van? A van being driven into Turner’s garage?’

  ‘Oh, yes, dear, I definitely saw one. I just don’t know when it was or who was driving. I hope I haven't wasted your time.’

  Kesey dunked a ginger biscuit into her tea. ‘You’ve been very helpful, Mrs Nicholl. It’s appreciated.’

  ‘Thank you, dear, I think the police do a marvellous job. I’m glad to be of service.’

  42

  Emily parked her father’s aged green Volkswagen hatchback on the driveway and exited the vehicle just as the luminous grey sky dusted the area with a flurry of snowflakes.
She had a strangely disconcerting feeling in the pit of her stomach as she approached the house, inserted her key in the lock, and slowly opened the door. She tried to shake off the feeling, as she entered the hallway, but it refused to let go. She hung her coat on the end of the bannister, and told herself that a degree of anxiety was natural and understandable under the circumstances.

  Emily entered the lounge and flicked the light switch just inside the door. The bulb burst into seemingly enthusiastic life, and she froze, statue like, staring to her right, where Charles Turner was sitting, cross -legged, in a brown leather armchair next to the gas fire. ‘Welcome home, Emily, I hope work wasn’t too onerous for you. There’s a pot of coffee ready and waiting. I thought I’d surprise you.’

  She seriously considered kicking off her heels and bolting for the front door, but decided she was unlikely to make it before he leapt from his seat and grabbed her. ‘I didn't recognise you at first.’

  ‘Ah, yes, the hair and glasses. I thought a new look would be to my advantage, given recent events. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. You’re not a complete ignoramus.’

  Emily felt her gut cramp and spasm. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Turner’s smile became a sneer. ‘I thought you’d be pleased to see me. Don’t tell me we’re no longer friends – what have I done to deserve that?’

  She took a step back as he rose to his feet. ‘How did you get in?’

  He laughed. ‘The kitchen window was open. It wasn’t difficult. You really should be more careful. I’m sure your father would tell you the same thing, were he able to, what with him being a police officer and all.’

  Emily took another backward step as Turner slowly approached her.

  ‘Why so nervous, Emily? You look pale and lifeless, and it suits you. Maybe the harsh light highlights your impending mortality. Yes, I think that’s probably it. The glare of the bulb on your pale, winter skin; the dark makeup around your eyes. You look like a beguiling corpse awaiting burial in an open coffin, and you’ve never been more attractive. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.’

  Emily was quivering now, her adrenal glands in full production; fight or flight, or just stand there, open mouthed and sweating, and attempt to placate him? ‘My dad will be home soon. You’d better go before he arrives, he’ll arrest you. You’re running out of time.’

  Turner placed a hand on each of her shoulders. ‘Oh, I don’t think so. I know all about his health problems. You told me yourself. Remember? We talked about it, I reassured you. Your erstwhile knight in shining armour is somewhat tarnished these days. Is that really the best you’ve got?’

  Emily resisted the impulse to scream and forced a fragile smile that looked far from compelling. ‘Yeah, sorry, I’m nervous, that’s all. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. You’ve been wonderfully supportive; a ray of sunshine in my life at a difficult time. It was just a shock finding you here, sitting in the dark, that’s all. Why don’t we go out somewhere for a bite to eat and a few drinks? What about that nice Italian restaurant in Merlin’s Lane? Or the place we went on that first night, in Laugharne. We had a great time. You liked it there, didn’t you?’

  Turner pushed her towards the settee. ‘Oh, I don’t think so, Emily, not tonight, not ever. Things have changed. We’re approaching the end game. I think we both know what I’m talking about.’

  Emily fell into the seat and pressed her legs together. ‘We’re good together, aren’t we? Me and you. You and me. There’s a spark of attraction between us, something special. I know you can feel it. Why spoil that?’

  He sat next to her and patted her knee. ‘What are you really thinking in that pretty head of yours? What’s on your mind? I’ve heard enough of your crap for one lifetime. Did one of those moronic police officers your father works with tell you about my arrest? Naughty, naughty. They really shouldn’t have done that.’

  Emily shook her head frantically. ‘No, it’s nothing like that. I thought you must be unwell when you didn’t turn up for work. I was planning to ring you this evening to ask how you were.’

  Turner dug his thumbnail hard into the side of her knee and made her wince. ‘I know you’re lying, Emily. Who told you? Was it that Laura Kesey with her stupid, infuriating Brummie twang? She seems like the sort of fool who’d break the rules of evidence.’

  ‘Nobody said anything.’

  ‘I had to listen to that bitch for almost two hours. She’ll pay for the inconvenience she caused me. She’ll suffer one day, I can promise you that much.’

  Emily cried as a trickle of urine soaked her underclothes. ‘She didn’t s- say a thing.’

  He pressed his forehead against hers. ‘Do you really think I’m that stupid?’

  She wanted to pull away, she’d never wanted anything more, but she couldn’t move. ‘No, of course not. I can understand you being upset. Anybody would be if wrongly accused of crimes they didn’t commit – particularly something as ghastly as the murders.’

  Turner whispered into her ear. ‘Murders and rapes, don’t forget the rapes. Those girls didn’t die easy.’

  Emily was sobbing now, a stream of salty tears running down her face and smudging her mascara. ‘It must have been awful for you.’

  ‘Oh, it would have been, if the plebs had any worthwhile evidence, anything in the slightest that could link me to the crimes in question. The police are such limited creatures. It’s laughable, really. If you’re expecting the boys and girls in blue to come to your rescue anytime soon, you’ve lost already. Just give up. It’ll be easier that way. Go with the flow.’

  Emily swallowed and spoke through her tears. ‘Why don’t we have some coffee? You said you’d made some.’

  Turner averted his gaze to the ceiling and suddenly jumped to his feet in one athletic movement. ‘Yes, why not? The time seems right. I wondered if you’d comment on the aroma when you first came in.’

  ‘I’m full of cold… I’m sure it’s lovely.’

  He picked up the percolator, poured a single cup of strong, black coffee, and handed it to her with a half -smile playing on his lips. ‘I want you to drink the whole cup. Every bit. Don’t leave a single drop. I made it especially for you. It would not be a good idea to leave any, you may see a side of me you haven’t seen before if you do. Believe me, you don’t want that.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to have some?’

  ‘Just drink your coffee, there’s a good girl.’ Turner knelt in front of her as she lifted the cup to her mouth.

  ‘Please let me go, Charles. We’ve had fun, haven’t we? Why not continue our relationship? We’re good together. I’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘How gullible do you think I am? Just finish your coffee before I pin your head back and pour it down your throat.’

  She raised the cup and drank, forcing herself to swallow the bitter liquid as every cell in her body was yelling no.

  ‘Come on, down it goes. Don’t make me ask you again.’

  ‘Why does it taste so odd?’

  ‘Just drink the fucking stuff, you don’t have to like it.’

  Emily took another gulp and cringed.

  ‘I’m losing my patience, bitch. Get it down.’

  She recoiled at the use of the B word and drained the cup. ‘It’s empty.’

  ‘Every drop?’

  She looked in the cup and nodded. ‘Yes, every drop.’

  ‘That’s much better. Top marks. I want you to hand me the cup, lie yourself down on the settee, and try to relax. Do it now, please. Don’t keep me waiting.’

  Emily was shaking uncontrollably as she followed his instructions.

  ‘That’s it, time to rest. It will all be over soon enough.’

  ‘What’ll be over? What are you going to do to me?’

  ‘Just lie back, Emily. Lie back and shut your stupid mouth. I think that’s best.’

  She stared at him with pleading eyes that were slowly closing. ‘What are you… ’

  Within seconds, she
had drifted into a deep, dreamless, chemically induced sleep that would last for hours.

  43

  Turner’s long - suffering secretary thought long and hard about contacting the police. She’d changed her mind more than once after watching the early evening news, and the decision wasn’t getting any easier. She picked up the phone and started dialling the number, but placed it back on the receiver, thinking a glass of wine may help her relax.

  Her husband of six months looked at her and smiled encouragingly. ‘Are you going to ring, or not? You heard what they said on the news. We’re talking murder, not some triviality. Why not get it over with? You’ll feel better once you’ve done it.’

  She screwed up her face. ‘Yeah, but he’s my boss. Actually, ringing is a lot harder than just talking about it. He’s been good to me. I like him. I just can’t believe he’s done the awful things they said. Why don’t we have a nice glass of wine and a bite to eat while I think about it? There’s a nice bottle of Chardonnay in the fridge.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Helen. He’s wanted for murder. It wouldn’t have been on the telly if they weren't sure. You said that yourself. Do you want me to dial for you? Would that help?’

  She handed him the phone. ‘Yeah, go on, then. Will you speak to them for me as well?’

  He dialled the number and waited until he heard the female telephonist say, ‘West Wales Police. How can I help you?’

  ‘My wife wants to speak to an officer about Charles Turner, the murder case. She thinks she may know where he’s gone.’

  ‘What’s your name and contact number, please? Just in case you’re cut off before I put you through.’

  He provided the information as requested.

  ‘Thank you for that. I’ll put you through to Detective Inspector Kesey. She’s heading up the investigation. I think she’s free.’

  ‘Thank you; I’ll just pass the phone to my wife.’

  Helen glared at him, with a look that said a thousand words, snatched the phone from his hand and put it to her ear, just as the detective said, ‘DI Kesey, CID.’