Passion Killers

by Linda Regan

  The paramedics moved as close as they dared, waiting anxiously with a stretcher and emergency oxygen at the ready. The armed police officers closed in around Brian and Kevin, rifles pointed.

  Then another shot split the air.

  Brian Finn fell on his back, blood pumping from his chest.

  Kevin leapt up, waving the gun.

  “Drop it!” Banham roared. “Drop it now, or you’re a dead man!”

  Kevin obeyed. Crowther grabbed him and spun him round, clicking handcuffs on his wrists.

  The paramedics came rushing past to the aid of Brian Finn and Katie Faye.

  “You’ve killed him,” Kevin yelled at Banham. “You’ve killed my father.”

  Banham walked swiftly up to him. “No.” He pushed his face into the lad’s. “No, Kevin. You’ve killed him. And you’ve killed three women. Maybe four.” He stood back and looked into the boy’s eyes. “Kevin Stone, I’m arresting you for the murders of Shaheen Hakhti, Susan Rogers and Theresa McGann, and for the attempted murder of Katie Faye. You do not have to say anything…”

  After he had finished reciting the familiar formula, he remained motionless, his eyes still locked with Kevin’s. Crowther took his arm and pulled him away. But Banham was having none of it. He shook off Crowther’s restraining hand and squatted beside Katie Faye’s prone body. Alison was already there, alongside the young woman paramedic.

  “How bad is it?” Banham asked quietly.

  “Critical,” said the paramedic. “She’s haemorrhaging. We need to get her to hospital and into theatre as fast as we can.” She held a thick absorbent pad to the wound, applying pressure to try to stem the blood still pulsing out. “The head wound looks pretty bad too, and we’ve no way of knowing about internal damage.”

  Banham stood up and stepped back as a uniformed policeman came to help lift her on to the stretcher.

  “Take care of her,” Banham said, a note of desperation in his voice. He followed them to the ambulance, and gently supported the stretcher as the two men lifted it inside.

  A hand slid into his and gave it a squeeze as the siren sounded and the ambulance sped off. He turned to find Alison beside him.

  “Modern medicine can work wonders,” she said quietly. “Stay positive.”

  He turned to face her. Those sludge-green eyes were swimming. He lifted her hand and gently kissed it.

  Kevin’s final victim still lay on the ground a few yards away. Banham and Alison walked towards Brian Finn’s body in time to hear the other paramedic say, “I can’t help this one. He’s gone.” He removed the plastic resuscitation tube from Finn’s mouth.

  “Was it the knife or the bullet wound?” Banham asked.

  “You’ll need the FME for that,” the paramedic said. “But if you’re asking me to hazard a guess, the bullet has only grazed his shoulder.” He pointed at the wound oozing blood through Finn’s shirt. “That’s caused a bit of damage, but I wouldn’t say it’s enough to kill him. On the other hand…” He pointed at the stab wound in the middle of the man’s chest. “The knife penetrated here. You really shouldn’t take my word for it, but I think the post mortem will confirm that that’s what killed him.”

  Banham stood up, his legs feeling suddenly weak. “Alison, will you drive me to the hospital?”

  “Of course. I’ll bring the car down.”

  Crowther was lighting a cigarette as Alison passed him. He offered the packet to her.

  She shook her head. “Thanks, but I’ve given up.”

  “Never give up,” he said, following his cocky grin with a Know-all Col wink. “If you really want something, you should never give up.”

  By the time Banham and Alison reached the hospital Katie Faye was in theatre undergoing emergency surgery. A young, exhausted doctor came to meet them.

  “It’ll be a long, uphill battle, I’m afraid,” he told them. “And I can’t promise you she’s going to pull through. She had lost nearly six pints of blood, and though we’ve put it back, there may already be brain damage.” He knuckled his eyes, which were rimmed with dark circles from lack of sleep.

  Alison flicked a glance at Banham. Guilt was surging off him in waves. She felt almost as bad herself, and it didn’t help that all the good his therapist had done would be totally in vain if they lost Katie Faye.

  It was no use telling him it wasn’t his fault. A team of twenty-four had worked the case, round the clock in some cases. Three women had lost their lives before they found the killer. Banham would blame himself for the three deaths, and if Katie became the fourth the emotional cost would be unthinkable.

  She gave his arm a small squeeze, as if he was a grieving husband. He was, of course, and that lay at the root of what she knew he was feeling. He had never come to terms with his wife’s murder, because her killer had never been found, and now the only way he could deal with it was to track down killers who preyed on women, and make himself responsible for every victim.

  But this time there was more. Had he really fallen for Katie Faye?

  To her surprise his hand covered hers and gripped it.

  “When will we know more?” she asked the doctor.

  “I’m afraid I can’t answer that. The knife entered her back and ruptured a kidney, causing intensive bleeding. It’s too early to say for sure, but we may be looking at a transplant.”

  Banham’s eyes were closed. Alison handed the doctor a card. “We’ll need to know the moment she comes round.” She flicked a glance at Banham and corrected herself. “If she comes round. We do need to interview her.”

  Banham followed her down the corridor, but she had the impression he was on autopilot. They came to a coffee machine, and she stopped and felt in her pocket for coins. “Milk and sugar?” she said, feeding the silver into the slot.

  He nodded, and seemed to come back into himself. “I’m surprised you aren’t frothing at the bit to get out,” he said. “We all know how you feel about hospitals.”

  She waited for the muddy liquid to trickle down. “I thought you needed a pick-me-up before we go back. You liked her a lot.”

  Banham stared into the cup she handed him. “I wanted to keep her safe,” he said quietly. “It was her eyes. They were so like Diane’s.”

  So that was it.

  She could see he was pretty close to breaking down. He must really care, she thought; that’s the first time in eight years he’s admitted to real feelings. He had fallen for Katie Faye. Well, that was life. Suddenly she felt her own emotions well up. She got a grip and started to walk on, leaving him to finish his coffee. Suddenly she felt his hand at her elbow. “Alison, please sit down,” he said, guiding her to a seat in the A & E waiting area. She did, and looked up to find those blue eyes staring intently at her.

  “Alison…” He took a breath and looked down into his lap. “I know we agreed that we wouldn’t jeopardise our working relationship by becoming…” He looked up, blushing.

  “What?” she said. “By becoming what?”

  “Intimate.”

  There was a pause, then she said, “I agree.” Then, before she could stop herself, she added, “And as you know, there is someone in my life.”

  He stared at her, holding his breath. Then he let it go and sipped his coffee in silence.

  “Who?” he asked after a long pause.

  Why had she said that? Sometimes she wanted to kick herself. You’ve blown it now, said a small, insistent voice inside her head.

  She threw her hardly touched black coffee in the bin. “No one you know,” she said.

  Banham slowly got to his feet. “Katie has eyes like Diane’s,” he said. “But no one has eyes like yours.”

  This time the silence seemed endless. Eventually she could take no more of it; she stood up and said briskly, “We’ve got work to do. Let’s interview Kevin Stone, before he has time to feign madness.”

  As they made their way out they passed radio and TV crews and men in scruffy jackets who could only have been tabloid journalists. The hospi
tal was fast filling up with media, all panting for news of Katie Faye. Alison wondered, not for the first time, how they had got wind of the story so soon.

  “I hope she’ll rally to see how much everyone loves her,” Banham said, climbing into the passenger seat and clicking his seat belt into place.

  What a price to pay for the attention, though, Alison thought. But she decided, for once, to keep her mouth shut.

  18

  Kevin Stone’s smug grin made Alison want to pound his face to pulp. He lounged back in the chair across the table, next to the weak-mouthed, bifocalled solicitor who had represented Kenneth Stone.

  Banham’s fingers were interlocked and his knuckles were white. Alison could tell he was in danger of losing his temper, but was making a big effort to stay calm.

  Kevin glanced, still grinning, from Banham to his solicitor and back again. He had ignored her from the start; he clearly didn’t relate to women, she realised. But as he wiped his hands surreptitiously on his beige Armani jeans, she saw that he was nervous too. And with good reason, she thought. Detective Inspector Paul Banham, the best cop in the business, had run him to earth, and now he would dig for every last drop of evidence to ensure this smart-alec boy was put away for the rest of his life. Three women had lost their lives and a fourth lay with hers in the balance; not forgetting a man who’d given his own life to save others.

  At first Kevin had refused legal representation, even when Mr William Twig, whose flat balding head made him look like a cross between ET and a used cricket ball, had turned up. Crowther, who was on a mission to get promotion and took every opportunity to impress his superiors, had talked him into allowing the solicitor into the interview room.

  Alison had brought William Twig up to speed, and was delighted to see the complacent look on the man’s face turn to grave concern. Twig was well known through his connections with Kenneth Stone’s political party, and it took a great deal to knock him off balance; this time it was plain he gave little for his chances of getting his client off. When Alison told him they were waiting on news from the hospital, and Katie Faye could well be added to the list of murdered women, William Twig looked deeply worried.

  Banham’s penetrating eyes blinked. He unlocked his fingers and rested his arm on the table, then clasped his hands firmly together. He obviously didn’t trust himself not to hit Kevin, and Alison understood why.

  “You still want to stick with the they had it coming scenario?” he asked Kevin.

  Kevin’s smile widened. He pushed his tongue into his cheek and nodded.

  Alison heard the intake of breath. Banham clenched his fists.

  “How long had you been planning the murders?”

  “They had it coming. All of them.”

  “Answer the question,” Alison snapped, returning William Twig’s glare.

  Twig turned to Kevin and shook his head.

  “We’re impressed,” Banham said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You had us all fooled.”

  Kevin nodded his head regally, but this time just one side of his mouth smiled.

  “You rang Shaheen from your mother’s phone, when she was on the train coming into St Pancras,” Alison said.

  He nodded at them as if they were small children learning their ABC.

  Alison pushed on. “You told her you were coming to pick her up.”

  He nodded again and said haughtily, “When I got there, I told her there was a change of plan. I had been told to drive her to Judy and Kim’s house; the meeting was to take place there because my dad was at home. Then I drove to a quiet lane, and I cut her throat. I put her in the boot. I had to break her legs to get her in, they wouldn’t bend properly. I can’t remember the make of the car. I think it was a Ford…” He turned his hands as if he trying to wind up his brain.

  “A Mondeo,” Alison prompted.

  “That’s right. Aren’t you the clever one?” He’ll pat my head in a minute, she thought.

  His expression darkened. “The bitch peed on the seat. After she was dead, she peed on the seat. It stank. I wore overalls to do the job, but it still took me three showers to get rid of the smell. I wasn’t happy about that.”

  “I don’t suppose her family were very happy either,” Banham said coldly.

  Kevin’s chin flicked up. “What about my family? My real dad had no life. He spent nineteen years in prison because of her. And now he’s dead. Shot down like an animal. I hope the man who shot my dad is going to hang. He deserves it.”

  “That would be you,” Banham said, hands palms down on the table. “The gunshot only grazed his shoulder. It was the knife wound you inflicted on him that killed him.”

  William Twig’s face paled. Kevin looked at him for support, but he said nothing.

  Banham continued, “So when forensics confirm what I already know, I’ll be adding manslaughter to the three murder charges. And we mustn’t forget one attempted murder. Attempted for the moment, that is.” He raised his voice. “You’ll be spending your life behind bars, young man, and you’ll deserve every minute of it.”

  As William Twig opened his mouth to object, Kevin leapt across the table and flew at Banham’s face. “You set me up, you bastard.”

  Quick as a flash, Alison was up and round the table, pinning his hands behind his back. “Sit down,” she shouted, “unless you want to add assaulting a police officer to the list. Or would you prefer we just locked you in a cell?”

  Kevin obeyed, breathing heavily.

  “My client needs a break,” William Twig said.

  “Fine by me,” Banham said, straightening his shirt.

  “I’m all right,” Kevin said, subsiding into his chair. “I’m glad I killed those slags. I enjoyed cutting that brown woman’s throat.”

  “Because she was brown-skinned?” Could he get any worse, Alison wondered.

  “No. Because she caused Ahmed Abdullah’s death and let my real dad take the blame. She thought she was a cut above, but she was the worst of them all.” He pushed out his lower lip. “She asked for it. My dad spent his life in prison because of her. And now he’s dead too.”

  “Where did you get the red g-strings?” Alison asked, more from curiosity than from any real need of the additional evidence.

  “They were in the skips Kenneth bought at that auction. We were looking for videos of Mum and Auntie Katie, and I rooted through the other stuff and found the bags of red g-strings. Mum suggested Kim might like the other costumes for her dance productions, and sent me round to her house with the skips. I took the thongs out and gave the rest to Kim and Judy. Mum had mentioned that Auntie Katie’s stripper name was Honeysuckle, so I wrote HS on them to make her the main suspect.”

  “Did you write anything else?” Banham asked quickly.

  He nodded. “Nobody was quite sure which of them was Honeysuckle. Brian thought Mum changed hers from Candyfloss to Honeysuckle, and Katie was actually Strawberry. Then I realised there was an S in just about every name, so I drew the strawberry on a couple of them to throw the blame on Auntie Katie again. It was just fun really. Giving you lot a puzzle to solve.” He wiggled his fingers. “Not that you were very good at it. You found the bag of g-strings I buried under the shrub with the knife, but you missed the others, under the lining of the boot of my car with the overalls. I still had enough left for the other three.” He shook his head sadly. “Not now, though. I’ve blown it. I won’t get the chance.”

  “I don’t understand why you wanted Katie to get the blame,” said Banham.

  “She did a lesbian act with my mum.” He looked vulnerable suddenly. “That really turned me over. My mother, a dyke.” He shrugged. “No matter really. I was going to kill her anyway. I was leaving her till last.”

  Alison and the pallid William Twig made eye contact. Alison couldn’t help wondering how he thought he would defend this one.

  “Something’s puzzling me,” Alison said. “The day Shaheen was murdered a call was made to her from Katie Faye’s mobile. Was th
at you too?”

  He smiled. “Yes. All part of my plan to make you suspect her. They were all waiting at our house. Katie’s bag was with her coat; I took her mobile and dialled Shaheen’s number.”

  “You worked out every little detail, didn’t you?” Banham said.

  Kevin’s grin was back. “Clever, aren’t I? I was going to use Katie’s car too, to meet Shaheen at the station, but I couldn’t find the keys. So I had to steal one.” He grinned again.

  “What about Susan?” Alison said.

  “What about her?” His face twisted with disgust. “Fat slag. She smelt of cheap perfume and cat’s pee.”

  “Is that why you left her unrecognisable?”

  He shook his head and looked serious. “She was responsible for it all. She taught my mother to be a stripper. She was ghastly, and I hate cats.” His bottom lip turned down. “Even her clothes smelt of them.” He laughed humourlessly. “I enjoyed hacking her to bits. She was a piece of shit.”

  “One thing I really don’t understand,” Alison said. “If you were so fond of your real dad, why kill Theresa? He really loved her.”

  Kevin hunched in on himself, drawing his shoulders together as if to protect himself. “I saved him from her,” he said, almost apologetically.

  “You broke his heart. She had his child. Your half-sister,” Banham reminded him.

  He wiped his hands on his trousers again. He looked at William Twig and said in a low, confidential tone, “He didn’t know.”

  Alison was running out of patience. “What didn’t he know?” she demanded.

  His eyes narrowed. “Bernadette’s father wasn’t my dad. She just said that to get money out of my mother.”

  Banham and Alison exchanged glances.

  Kevin continued. “It was Ahmed Abdullah. She told me, last year. I was going to go to the social services about Bernadette; she was always drugging the poor kid so she would sleep and Theresa could go out. I told her I wanted to make sure she was properly looked after, and since she was my sister the social services would listen to me.” He rubbed his face, and his eyes grew distant. “The silly bitch said she wasn’t my sister. She begged me not to tell Brian, because it was the only thing keeping him going in prison, and it would break his heart.”