A Cold Grave: A DCI Danny Flint Book

by Negus, Trevor

  He’d completed the fashion statement with a pair of pilot-style Ray-Ban sunglasses.

  She had promised a home-cooked meal with wine. That’s got to be a good start, he thought.

  As he continued to drive along the potholed lane, his mind turned back to work. His thoughts turned to the busybody detectives who had spoken to him earlier and nearly screwed everything up.

  He couldn’t understand why they were so bothered. So what if Jimmy Wade had received a few slaps from a couple of the male nurses when he first came into Rampton? Surely, the serial killer deserved that and much more. He thought the police would be happy that Wade had been administered some summary justice.

  He put the two detectives firmly to the back of his mind.

  He didn’t want to think about them, or Jimmy Wade, tonight.

  This evening it was all about him and Melissa.

  The trees started to thin out a little. Just as the sun was starting to dip below the tree line, he got his first glimpse of the tiny stone cottage where she lived.

  He parked his Fiat behind a dark blue Daihatsu Hijet van, which was already parked directly outside the cottage. There was no sign of the Ford Sierra she used to have.

  People do change their cars, he thought.

  As he got out of the car, he noticed that the front garden, which had been so neat on his last visit, was looking a little untidy and scruffy. The lawn hadn’t been cut, and the flowerbeds were overgrown with weeds.

  He walked from the cinder parking area up the garden path to the front door of the cottage.

  He was about to press the ornate doorbell when he noticed the front door was slightly ajar.

  He pushed the door open a little wider and shouted, ‘Melissa!’

  There was no reply, but he could hear the television playing in the lounge.

  He opened the front door fully, stepped inside and shouted again. ‘Melissa! It’s me, Stewart. Are you home?’

  He strained to listen above the music that was blaring from the television. There was still no reply, but now he got the faintest whiff of a delightful perfume. He breathed in deeply. He remembered the smell of her perfume from his last visit. She was definitely in the cottage somewhere.

  He walked through the lounge and into the kitchen at the rear of the cottage. In here, the perfume smell was replaced by the beautiful aroma of a chicken casserole being slowly cooked in the oven. He could see a saucepan full of peeled potatoes and another pan of peeled carrots sitting on the hob of the cooker, which was waiting to be turned on.

  The kitchen table was laid for two places. In the centre of the table stood a large, white church candle. Alongside the candle stood a bottle of Pinot Grigio white wine in an ice bucket, next to two crystal wine glasses.

  Reaching out, he slid his finger along the neck of the wine bottle. The glass felt cold to his touch. The ice in the bucket was doing its job and chilling the wine beautifully.

  The back door that led from the kitchen out into the garden was wide open.

  That explains it, he thought. She must have stepped outside for a second.

  He stepped outside and noticed that the lawn at the back was really overgrown. It looked like it hadn’t been cut for weeks.

  Looking down the garden, he saw that the nearest stone outbuilding had been fully renovated. The door to that outbuilding was wide open. He shouted, ‘Melissa, it’s Stewart. Are you out here?’

  Finally, he got a response. He heard her voice from within the recently renovated outbuilding: ‘I’m in here, Stewart.’

  He walked from the back door, down the garden to the stone building. He stopped outside and peered into the gloom.

  ‘What are you doing in there?’

  She moved forward, out of the shadows, and purred, ‘I’m in here, where it’s nice and cool, waiting for you. What took you so long?’

  Stewart Ainsworth couldn’t believe his eyes. Melissa stood totally naked just inside the outbuilding. In the half-light, he could see every delicious curve of her body.

  She tousled her blonde hair and said seductively, ‘It’s so cool in here after that hot kitchen. I’ve been waiting for you to arrive. Don’t you want to join me in here?’

  Ainsworth was stung into action by her words. With a sense of urgency, he began to pull off his polo shirt. Bare-chested, he kicked off his loafer shoes and stepped forward towards the open door of the outbuilding.

  He was so engrossed by what he was seeing that his other senses totally betrayed him. He never heard a sound as Jimmy Wade crept out from behind the bushes where he had remained hidden.

  Wade covered the few yards swiftly and silently. With a ball-peen hammer, he delivered a devastating blow onto the back of the young social worker’s head.

  As soon as Ainsworth fell to the ground, Melissa stepped out of the shadows and walked slowly over to Wade.

  ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘No, he’s not dead. Just unconscious.’

  ‘Can I do it, Jimmy? Can I finish him?’

  ‘Listen to you! Have you got a taste for it now, sweetheart?’

  She smiled up at the serial killer and nodded.

  He pulled her towards him and kissed her hard on the mouth. Her cool, naked body felt good to the touch, and she smelled wonderful. ‘Go to the house, and wait for me upstairs. I just need to secure this idiot. I’m going to enjoy watching you play with him later. Right now, I need to have you.’

  Without a word, she walked back towards the kitchen door. Swinging her curvy hips in an exaggerated manner as she went. She knew Jimmy was watching her every move.

  When she asked if she could kill Ainsworth, she’d been deadly serious. She wanted to experience that sense of mastery over another human being again.

  The abuse and manipulation, the months of brutality and degradation, had finally taken its dreadful toll.

  Melissa Braithwaite had finally lost her mind.

  63

  29 June 1986

  Mansfield, Nottinghamshire

  It was the first evening meal they had eaten together for over a week.

  Sue Flint placed the freshly baked lasagne in the centre of the table, next to a plate of hot garlic bread and a bowl of fresh green salad. She used a match to light the candle in the centre of the table.

  She shouted, ‘Danny, dinner’s on the table!’

  Danny walked into the cosy dining room, carrying a corkscrew in one hand and a bottle of Valpolicella in the other.

  He asked playfully, ‘Would madam like a glass of wine with her dinner?’

  ‘Just a small one for madam, thank you. Oh, it’s so nice to be able to sit and have a meal together for once, like normal people. Just lately, we’ve been like ships that pass in the night.’

  ‘I know, and I’m sorry. It’s been pretty full on since we got back. At least we’re making good progress on the Jenkins case now.’

  Sue sank the serving spoon into the piping hot lasagne and served an enormous portion onto Danny’s plate.

  She said, ‘That’s great news. Help yourself to the garlic bread and salad.’

  Danny poured two glasses of red wine and heaped salad on his plate, next to the pasta.

  They made small talk as they ate their meal together. Happily chatting about the events of each other’s day.

  At the end of the meal, Danny said, ‘That was delicious, thanks, sweetheart. I’ll make a start on the dishes.’

  As he started to stand, Sue touched his arm and said, ‘Don’t rush off. Have another glass of wine and tell me about the progress on the case.’

  Danny topped up his own glass. Sue’s was still full. He picked them both up and said, ‘Okay, but let’s sit in the lounge, where it’s a bit more comfortable. I’ll clear the dinner things away later.’

  Sue stood up and followed Danny into the lounge.

  He placed the wine glasses on the coffee table, and they both sat on the large leather sofa.

  Automatically, Sue cuddled right in next to him, drawing her feet u
p below her bottom. When she had made herself comfortable, she squeezed Danny’s hand and said, ‘So you’re making good progress, are you?’

  ‘I think so. I think we’re getting really close. The evidence is beginning to stack up against our main suspects. Over the next couple of days, if the enquiries we’re doing prove positive, I’ll be ordering more arrests.’

  ‘That’s brilliant news. I’ve felt you tossing and turning in the night. I know this case has affected you more than some of the others you’ve worked on.’

  ‘It’s because the victim was a helpless child, Sue. Whenever kids are involved, it really gets to me. It’s almost like it’s the death of innocence. Don’t get me wrong; all murders are awful. The devastation felt by the relatives of victims is always horrible to see. I think this one really hit home after I’d been to see Evan’s mum. Every day, I can hear her saying that Evan was supposed to be safe going into the care system. If things do turn out the way I think they will, Evan Jenkins was anything but safe going into care.’

  ‘I know it’s awful. I’m so glad you’re close to catching the monsters responsible.’

  ‘Thanks, sweetheart. You haven’t touched your wine.’

  ‘That’s because I’ve got some news as well.’

  ‘Good news, I hope?’

  ‘There’s a particularly good reason I haven’t touched my wine, darling. I’ve been waiting to confirm everything before I told you. I had my suspicions when we first got back from Madeira.’

  Danny interrupted, ‘Suspicions about what?’

  ‘I’ve been to see the doctor today; he’s confirmed what I already thought. I’m pregnant, Danny.’

  Danny was stunned.

  After a few seconds, Sue said, ‘Well, say something.’

  Danny’s face creased into a wide smile. ‘That’s fantastic news. When?’

  ‘When did it happen? Or when’s the baby due?’

  ‘When’s the baby due?’

  ‘If the dates are right, and they’ll be confirmed once I’ve had my first scan, the baby’s due to arrive at the end of February.’

  Danny could feel a surge of emotion coursing through him. He was overjoyed at the news; he’d always wanted a family and had thought maybe the opportunity to become a father had passed him by. He was also experiencing a tinge of sadness that neither of his parents were still alive. Danny knew they would have dearly loved to see their grandchild.

  Picking up on his mood, Sue said softly, ‘Are you okay?’

  With his voice choking a little with emotion, he said, ‘I’m so happy, Sue. You wouldn’t believe how happy I am.’

  ‘Is there a “but” in there somewhere?’

  ‘Definitely not! It’s what I’ve always wanted; you know that. I just wish my parents were still here to enjoy their grandson.’

  ‘Just a minute, mister! Who said anything about a son?’

  ‘Definitely a boy, Mrs Flint. We only ever produce male offspring in the Flint family. It’s all in the genes.’

  Sue laughed and said, ‘Well, unfortunately for you, this baby, like all babies, will inherit HER genes from the mother. So we’ll definitely be having a little girl, as girls run in my family.’

  ‘Twins!’ Danny exclaimed, ‘One of each; then there’ll be no arguments.’

  He reached forward and picked up the two glasses of red wine. He handed one to Sue, but then paused and said, ‘Is it okay? Are you still allowed to drink?’

  ‘This will probably be my last sip for a while. Why?’

  ‘I wanted to propose a toast. To the three of us!’

  Danny raised his glass. Sue clinked her glass into his, smiled, and said, ‘Or the four of us!’

  They both took a sip of the velvety red wine and felt the warmth as the alcohol added to the feeling of their burgeoning love for one another.

  Danny slipped his arms protectively around his wife and said softly, ‘You’ve made me the happiest person on the planet.’

  Sue snuggled in his embrace and whispered, ‘That makes two of us, Danny.’

  64

  1 July 1986

  South Lodge, Retford

  This was the second day Stewart Ainsworth had woken up in the outbuilding.

  His head had stopped aching now. He could still feel the caked-on dried blood that had run from the wound on the top of his head down his bare torso.

  Nobody had come to check on him. His arms ached from the unnatural way they were twisted.

  Whoever had knocked him unconscious had also chained him up. His wrists were now clamped in a set of steel manacles, which were bolted to the stone wall. He had tried everything to dislodge the bolt that held the manacles, but to no avail.

  He still didn’t fully understand what had happened. One second, he was staring at the gorgeous naked body of Melissa … then blackness.

  Although conscious for most of yesterday, he had drifted in and out of a groggy sleep. He hadn’t had the chance to take in any of his surroundings. Today, as the bright morning sun began to stream in through the small, elevated window, he began to better appreciate his predicament.

  He’d been chained up in what was, to all intents and purposes, a makeshift dungeon.

  He could see a further set of manacles bolted to the bare stone wall opposite. The floor of his prison was dry, dusty dirt. He could see rake marks in the dirt where it had recently been cleaned, but he knew someone else had already been held here.

  The stench of excrement and stale urine was still strong, and he knew that before much longer he would be adding to the stink. He could feel his bladder was fit to burst, and the pains in his stomach were getting worse.

  There was a dark stain on the opposite wall, near to the bolt that held the manacles.

  It looked like dried blood.

  Questions raced through his head.

  Why would anybody want to do this to me?

  What was Melissa’s involvement?

  The answer rushed into his brain like an express train.

  Jimmy Wade.

  Surely, Melissa hadn’t deliberately enticed him out here so Wade could capture him? Had she?

  Other disturbing thoughts rushed into his brain at an alarming speed now.

  What if the other people held here had been the two missing male nurses?

  If it was, where are they now?

  The fear and panic began to rise inside him. In desperation, he shouted at the top of his voice: ‘Help me, please! Somebody help me!’

  He carried on screaming and shouting for another ten minutes before the futility of his efforts dawned on him. There was nobody to hear him out here. He knew just how remote Braithwaite’s cottage in the middle of the forest was.

  His throat hurt from the screaming. He was already parched and thirsty.

  With little more than a whimper, he slumped back against the wall. If it was Jimmy Wade behind his incarceration, he knew he was a dead man already.

  He closed his eyes, unwilling to fight against his fate.

  As all hope left his body, so did the contents of his full bladder and bowel.

  Stewart Ainsworth began to sob pitifully.

  65

  1 July 1986

  Mansfield Police Station, Nottinghamshire

  It was six o’clock in the morning, and Danny had gathered almost the entire MCIU team for an early morning briefing. The only people missing from the briefing were Rachel Moore and Tina Prowse.

  It was the day Danny had waited patiently for.

  The final pieces of evidence had been confirmed late last night.

  Firstly, Andy Wills had confirmed that Mayflower Cottage had been sold to Caroline Short a year ago.

  Secondly, Tim Donnelly had contacted him to say that he’d managed to lift two sets of fingerprints from the light bulbs at the cottage.

  The evidence was beginning to pile up against Caroline and Bill Short.

  There was evidence that the Ford Transit minibus, owned and driven solely by Caroline, had been at the deposition si
te on Haywood Oaks Lane prior to the discovery of the body of Evan Jenkins. The tyre cast taken by Scenes of Crime had been proven forensically to be an exact match for the tyres fitted to the vehicle.

  Soil samples taken from the deposition site also matched exactly the soil found underneath the vehicle’s wheel arches.

  A single hair that had been found inside the vehicle was an exact match to the dead child.

  On the bunch of keys used for that vehicle, a key had been found that opened the padlock used to secure the secluded Mayflower Cottage at Bleasby. The same cottage that had been purchased through Gordon and Chisholm estate agents in Mansfield for next to nothing. The agent dealing with the sale was Derek Chisholm. His initials, D.C., were one of the ten sets of initials found alongside encoded telephone numbers in an address book recovered from the search of Caroline Short’s home address.

  One of the other names on that list was William Baxter, an anaesthetist at Chesterfield General Hospital. Discreet enquiries made at the hospital revealed that Baxter had access to the drugs thiopentone and suxamethonium, the two substances found in the toxicology reports from the post-mortem of Evan Jenkins.

  Bill Short had been driven out to Mayflower Cottage by Councillor Leonard Mellor whilst he was under surveillance by the Regional Crime Squad.

  Both men had been photographed carrying in cleaning equipment, including bottles of Exoclean Bleach. The Forensic Science Service had matched the samples of bleach taken from the cottage to that particular brand.

  The crime squad surveillance team had also photographed Councillor Mellor as he opened the cottage, using a key in his possession.

  The forensic evidence was strong and was backed up by other good evidence.

  A full investigation into the finances of both Bill and Caroline had shown a constant stream of individual payments being paid into a Bradford and Bingley Building Society account opened by Caroline Short. These payments were made at regular intervals and were all for the sum of one thousand pounds.